Love, Route 2, Box 478

Grant Forrester was lean, lanky, taciturn. He had been raised a farm boy and was now saving the farm by working full time at home, processing claims for Avanti Insurance. This was on top of all the daily chores of keeping the farm going. Grant had always been too busy for fun or romance; too serious, too intense. He worked his way through college, and – when his folks died – took on the challenge of the farm. Grant through was a dreamer who secretly wrote poetry. He loved sun rises, sun sets, prairie grass blowing in the wind and the smell of new mowed hay. Yet something as missing from his life. But, it was so full and he was so tired every night that he was asleep before he had time to dwell on the puzzle. When he woke up, listening, all he heard was the wind and the farm.

Zack Hayes was loud, boisterous, big boned and ox strong. He took over the delivery chores on RFD Routes 1 and 2 when his gramps retired. His Aunt May Bell was the local postmistress, so no one was surprised. He loved cars, driving fast and living hard. He had a reputation in the county – and a few surrounding – for being wild. It was deserved. He'd spent a number of evenings in jail. Drunk and disorderly. Disturbing the peace. Driving under the influence. Funny thing was, Zack wasn't as happy as he pretended. He had no close friends, male or female. There were handfuls of acquaintances, drinking buddies, old schoolmates, back seat bimbos – but no one close. He didn't understand the sadness that hit him late at night. He was lonely. He drank. It frightened him to think about it.

Now you just know chil' these two were meant for each other. I may be nothing but hired help but I sure ain't dumb. Been around the Forrester place since Grant was 6. Guess I've been part nanny to that boy. Stayed on with no question after his folks passed.

Grant told me, back then, that he was asexual. Doin' the wash give one the right to ask about stains and such. Said he wasn't bothered by night emissions when they came. Claimed he seldom was aroused enough to masturbate. When he did, it was just release, a relieving of pressure -- a pleasant enough feeling but without normal, or abnormal, fantasies.

Zack was as sexual as they come. Everyone in town knew his story. He was busy all the time he wasn't working or drinking. Busy chasing skirts, lifting skirts, crawling under skirts. But he hadn't found 'the' girl he said. So, he kept hunting.

Zack and Grant had been just a year apart all through town school. But, even in this small place they traveled in totally different circles. Zack had been the jock, Grant the scholar. Zack had already been working, making his own way, for five years when Grant came back from college. So, what happened had to be fate. It sure wasn't anything either of them planned. Least that be what folks think.

I claim it all happened thanks to the folks in the home office of Avanti. They sent Grant a laptop and a new set of programs insured, return receipt requested.

Grant was busy spading a new site for his vegetables when Zack honked coming up the dusty drive. Grant met him in front of the rambling frame homestead. He was glistening with sweat, ready for a break. Modestly slipping his shirt back on, Grant invited Zack in for iced tea while he checked the delivery. I poured the tea and set out a place of my famous chocolate chip walnut cookies. I could tell that Zack's memory of Grant didn't jib with the tall muscular frame Grant had developed since high school. He complemented Grant on how well tended the farm looked and lightly passed off the same complement to Grant himself.

Grant grunted an acknowledgment, said everything looked O.K., and signed the receipt. With two big gulps he finished his tea. Grabbing a warm cookie, he stood up. He had to get back to work. So did Zack. Zack tossed a 'see ya' to Grant and a 'thanks' to me as he went out the door.

Now I felt that somehow, in that brief meeting, the beginning of a bond was formed. If Grant was in the front field or tending the front yard when Zack came tearing down the road making Uncle Sam's deliveries, Zack would stop and they'd pass the time of day. Over the next two months Grant grew to expect, even enjoy, Zack stopping by. Half the time now, when Zack was ahead of schedule, he'd pull up the drive, honking and jump out to hunt Grant down, wherever he was working.

They liked each other's company. Couldn't have explained it to anyone. Their conversations, initially, were mundane. But even that slowly changed. Grant told Zack things he had never told anyone – things I knew, just 'cause I was around. He told Zack about his poetry, his plans for the farm. Zack had fun shocking Grant with tales of his ribald adventures at first. Then, as they grew to be friends, he opened up. Zack talked about his fears, how actually empty he felt at time.

Things really changed the night Zack showed up drunk as a skunk. He didn't make it all the way up the drive. Left his car nose down in the ditch. Staggered onto the porch yelling for his ol' buddy Grant. He passed out in Grant's arms but only after confessing, blubbering that he'd failed to get it up in the back seat of his convertible with Mindy Johnston, the raven haired truck stop waitress.

“Couldn't do it, buddy. No lead in the pencil. Flopping around like a wet noodle. Damn, grab hold of this house, it's spinning. Oh, shit!” Zack's voice was slurred. He ended up barfing his guts into the rose bushes.

Grant woke Zack in the morning with a tomato juice raw egg cocktail. Using the tractor he helped negotiate the car back onto the drive. Neither of them said anything about Zack's problem from the night before. Zack yelped at every noise and left with an icepack on the back of his neck and a very heart felt thanks on his lips. Grant bobbed his head.

“What are friends for?” he muttered, barely loud enough for Zack to hear.

That experience scared Zack. When he dropped by that afternoon, he admitted it. He told Grant that this hadn't been the first time. “What the fuck is wrong with me, buddy?” Zack said, a tremble in his voice.

“Maybe you're trying too hard, super stud,” was Grant's evaluation. “Not that I'm any expert. Actually, you asking me about love problems is as stupid as me trying to get one of the cows to explain the theory of relativity.”

Zack looked at Grant with wonderment. This was one topic they hadn't explored. He'd just assumed Grant was involved with someone, but, thinking back, there hadn't been indications that was true. Zack stuffed the last of my current batch of famous chocolate chip walnut cookies in his mouth and chewed. Sorta looked like one of them cows, chewing his cud. I grinned to myself.

From that moment on Zack had a crusade – to get Grant laid. He begged and pleaded, wheedled and cajoled until Grant relented and started taking Saturday nights to go skirt chasing with Zack. He amazed himself, enjoying the camaraderie and the personal interplay of the hunt. His first 'date' was a set up. He figured it out before the foursome got to the theater. Had fun anyway. Copped a feel. Experienced a real French kiss and an exhilarating erection as a byproduct of that kiss. Zack had to know about every titillating moment. They stayed up kicking around the experience.. No way I could keep from hearing it all from down the hall. I think Gary forgot he'd asked me to stay over and help with putting up the tomatoes.

Zack was full of advice on what Gary should have done, should do the next time, bragging about his own experiences –conveniently forgetting his failures. Next Wednesday night it happened again. Zack got bombed, again. Didn't call family. Called Gary, blubbering. For some reason, for the first time, Zack was afraid to get behind the wheel of his convertible. Gary lugged Zack out to the farm and got him bedded down with a minimum of fuss. Talking about it the next day, I could tell Gary was honored but also mystified that Zack turned to him.

Over th next couple of months Zack ended up no less than six times passed out on the bed in Gary's guest bedroom after a misadventure with some 'easy' woman and an escape into booze. They talked around it but Gary was no help.

Zack started browbeating himself about it over breakfast the last two times. Gary started to say something bu got flustered. He didn't know how to say what he wanted to say. Didn't know how Zack would react. Zack may have been impotent with his date those two nights, but he had exhibited no such problem when Gary had stripped him down and rolled his otherwise limp body into the guest bed.

Now I'm pretty sure that was the first experience Gary had ever had with an aroused naked male body. Actually, as far as I know, it was the first experience that boy ever had except with his own. And, he hadn't had that much experience even with that. Those two nights Zack's state of excitement was total. Nothing was functioning except his libido. Gary tried to ignore what he was seeing, but Zack had an impressive specimen of manhood's greatness. Looking at Zack's turgid organ embarrassed Gary, and it also filled him with awe and some other nagging feelings he refused to analyze. So, he said nothing.

It happened a few more times in the next two months.

Now anyone with a lick of sense could have told Gary what he was feeling and Zack what his problem was that he was fighting. But, in these parts, not too many people have the good sense God gave a goose. That's one of my Gran Dalton's sayings. So, the poor snooks had to find out all by themselves what life had intended for them – and the good Lord, bless her soul.

Gary decided to help Zack save himself from himself. Well, that's not exactly how he said it. But, anyway, Gary convinced Zack that the next time he felt like going on a bender – regardless of the reason – he should head for the farm.

“You might as well get drunk as a skunk where you're going to light as to kill yourself and maybe others trying to get here,” was the telling argument that Zack bought.

Three days after this conversation, Gary was already in bed when he heard Zack pounding on the door yelling for him and a fucking beer, a whole hell of a lot of fucking beer. Gary slid out of bed, tugged on a pair of shorts – he'd sort of lost his modesty around Zack -- and headed for the door.

“Need a drink, buddy. Need a whole lot of drinks. You still willing to play barkeep? You want me to head on out?”

“Get your ass in here, Zack. The beer's in the 'fridge. Help yourself. Should I stick another six pack or two in now for later?”

“Do it, buddy. Gonna drink 'til I drop.”

Gary did as requested. He didn't ask what was bothering Zack. Zack didn't offer any explanation, just sat and popped beer cans open, guzzled them, popped more. Then Zack noticed Gary still standing in the kitchen doorway.

“Go to bed, buddy. I'll sleep here, there or somewhere around. 'N thanks. Least I won't get arrested for drunk sleeping.”

Gary bolted wide awake as Zack slid into the bed beside him. Zack was zonked, barely able to stand. But, he'd stripped. Clothes lay in a trail from the kitchen, in front of the refrigerator, to the hall just outside Gary's bedroom. Zack still had a can of beer in his hand. He spilled half of it on Gay as he snuggled down.

“Hold me, Gare, the fuc'n house 'pinning. Make i' stop. Hold me.”

Gary was trembling. It was a combination of outrage at Zack's behavior and something else that he'd started figuring during the last month when he'd shoved Zack's naked but aroused form into the bed in the guest room.

Zack slid down under the covers and then threw his arm, the one with the beer, over Gary's shoulder, drenching the far side of the bed. The can clunked to the floor. Pressed close to Gary, it was evident Zack was fully erect. His hard sex pressed against Gary's thigh. Gary started to roll him away, and stopped. If he moved Zack it would be off the edge of the bed. If he moved himself it would be into the beer. There was one more reason not to move Zack. That reason was Gary's own pulsing erection which had suddenly appeared and tented the covers below Zack's encircling arm.

Gary lay still, willing his flesh to subside. Zack hugged him closer and then started slowly humping his hard cock on Gary's thigh. Zack's face was now nuzzled into the side of Gary's head. Gary tensed as one more sensation rocked his body. Zack was licking his ear, sucking on it, doing a 'wet willie' with his tongue. He shook his head and turned it toward Zack, telling him to quit it. Zack rubbed his nose on Gary's, locked his legs around the leg belonging to the thigh he was humping and kissed Gary on the lips.

“Shut up, fucker. Won't hu't you. M' buddy, rig't?”

Gary's resolve melted. Every feeling he had held back since childhood suddenly came pouring out. He snaked one arm under Zack's pulling them even tighter together. The other arm crept up to curl around Zack's neck and hold him as their lips merged.

Just who ended up ravaging who that night, neither of them will tell. Zack has always claimed he'd figured out on his own that his problem was because he was Gay but wouldn't admit it and really wasn't as drunk as he pretended that night. Gary says Zack was drunk but accepted what happened in the light of day as inevitable and maybe a better was to seal a friendship. He always kids Zack about being such a sex stud he'd fuck anything in his sleep after a beer or two, if Gary didn't keep him in line.

However it went, come daylight those two were lovers. Zack kept his job with Aunt May Bell. He's a hell of a lot more reliable now, since he moved out on the farm with Gary. Gary. Well, you wouldn't know him now. He's bulked up even more. Walks with a swagger almost as dashing as Zack. He's no shy retiring guy anymore. Gets right in you face if you cross him. Seems there's some cross pollination going on for the betterment of them two fellas.

I mean, would you expect to find Gary stretched out nude in the middle of a sheet of shimmery silver vinyl with a cake in his lap. One candle, 'sept it weren't no candle. But Zack did blow it, 'cause it was their anniversary. And then last Christmas. I was there chil'. Do the housekeeping for the boys now. Early, easy early for a farm boy, Gary's up and that scamp goes and strips down again. This time he wraps his loins in red see-through cling wrap with a big red bow 'round his neck. To top that off he yells at Zack that Santa has been to town. Then he hangs a sprig of mistletoe from another ribbon looped around his waist.

Now you know those two didn't get around to opening no boxed and paper wrapped presents until after I nagged them out of the bedroom and fed them Christmas dinner. Chil', they were hungry!!