Story Orgy Monday – January 13, 2014

Good Monday morning, Orgiasts! Let’s hope it stays a little warmer this week than last, eh? Here’s a little something to help put some sizzle into your morning routine. Today I’m continuing the story I started last week, but from another character’s point of view. Once the title pops out at me I’ll start posting it, but looks like this might be a longer story than I first thought. Ready?

This week’s prompt is: If I had my way —

And now, here’s the next chapter in my new untitled serial story…

Sheriff Billings adjusted the gun belt around his well-proportioned gut and nodded to Sam.

“Ready?” Billings asked, his voice a throaty growl.

Sam nodded back and stood to grab his hat from the hook behind him. “Where we stopping first? The Franklin farm or Riggs’s place?”

“Let’s go by Franklin’s first, try to rattle his cage a bit.” Sheriff led the way out into the heat of the afternoon and they both groaned as they got into the car that had sat baking in the sun.

“Too fuckin’ hot to do anything but sweat and fuck,” Billings said in the rote monotone Sam had come to know so well.

Story_Orgy_logoThe sheriff had a number of tried and true sayings for pretty much every situation, and Sam had heard all of them more than he cared to consider. After six years as deputy under Sheriff Hamish Billings, he had come to understand the man and, he sometimes admitted to himself in the dark of night as he lay all alone in his single bed, hate him as well.

“How are you going to start the questioning?” Sam asked. “All we got is a sketchy witness who says Riggs carried something rolled up out to his truck and drove to Franklin’s place.”

Billings shrugged one big, rounded shoulder. “Just going to ask about the weather and the farm, see if he’s planning on plowing those fields of his next season, maybe plant some seeds in dirt rather than Riggs’s asshole.”

Sam’s gut clenched and he turned away to look out the side window. The bluntness of Billings’s statement had caught him off guard, and he couldn’t help the images that exploded in his mind. Bryson Franklin, dark hair tangled and damp with sweat, braced between Daniel Riggs’s raised legs, gaze fixed on Riggs’s face as he pumped steadily into him. Sam’s cock shifted, threatening to harden into a painful embarrassment unless he got his thoughts under control.

“What?” Billings asked. “Did I shock your delicate sensibilities?” He turned off Main Street onto Route 71, a long stretch of two lane blacktop that cut through farmland on the way to the city where folks drove to go to Walmart and Target and see first run movies.

“No, you didn’t shock me,” Sam said with an embarrassed smile and shrug. “Just didn’t realize there was talk in town about Franklin and Riggs.”

“Shit,” Billings said with a snarl. “If I had my way, I’d haul ’em both in on indecency charges and lock ’em up. Do all of us a favor.”

Sam nodded and once again looked out the side window, trying hard to quell the trembling in his muscles as he watched the flat fields streak past. He had known he was gay since high school, but had hidden it away, even going so far as join in on the torment of the more effeminate boys in school. Now that he looked back on it, he was ashamed of his actions, but he’d wanted to divert any possible attention from himself, keep his friends from noticing the longer than normal stares at the boys of the football team, or the way his glances slid lower than most others in the showers after gym class, or how, the more he drank, the more often he touched his male friends.

He could have left town, moved away to some bigger city, or started over in another small town, but he loved living in Willow River. The open land and the wide blue sky felt like a part of him; if he left this town, it would feel like an amputation. He knew every crook in the river, every farm and who had owned it for the last five decades. He knew the layout of the four corners, each shop and diner and business, along with the alarm codes and back alleys. Willow River rolled through his veins along with his blood, it was home.

And, yet, he longed for things to be different. He wished he could love whoever he wanted, out in the open, without fear of name calling or violence. At night he imagined living with Bryson Franklin on the farm he had inherited from his grandparents. He fantasized about coming home to Bryson after a long day enforcing the law. Sam would help Bryson bring the fields back to life after they had lain fallow for so many years. They would talk about mundane things at the dinner table and, later, make love in the master bedroom upstairs. Sam could almost feel Bryson’s fluid movements as the man slid inside him, filled him, completed him. Sam had never been fucked before, never been with a man at all before, but he had some movies stashed away in his small apartment and he’d experimented as he’d watched them. He knew what he wanted Bryson to do to him, and what he wanted to do to Bryson as well.

“Fuckin’ faggots is what they are,” Billings said, hauling Sam out of his private thoughts and back into his stark reality. “Queers. Butt pirates.”

“Yeah, okay, I get it,” Sam assured him with an embarrassed, nervous laugh that he wished he could change instead to a tone of unacceptance. “You can lay off the names.”

Billings was quiet a long moment, then added, “Bone smokers.”

“Jesus, Hamish, I get it, okay?” Sam shook his head and looked away again, feeling the hot blush in his cheeks and the nervous churn of his stomach.

“What’s wrong with you? Scared they’ll take a liking to you?” Billings asked. “Try to convert you to playing for their team?”

“No,” Sam said with all honesty, “I ain’t scared of that at all.” He shrugged and looked at Billings. “I’m just trying to professional about it, avoid us a lawsuit. All I’m asking is how you’re going to approach them.”

“Them? You think they’ll be together?” Billings asked. He paused as if thinking about it, one corner of his mouth curled up in a sneer. “Think we’ll interrupt them packing fudge out in the barn with the other animals?”

Sam hung his head and let out a long breath, then took a deep one as he searched for, and found, his patience. “Sheriff. We got to treat them with respect.”

Billings snorted. “Respect? Like how they treat the natural law?” He slowed and turned into a dirt driveway and Sam read FRANKLIN on the metal mailbox before it was swallowed by dust and they had left it behind.

“Who’s to say what’s natural and what ain’t?” Sam asked in a quiet voice.

Billings stopped the car and crammed the transmission into Park before squinting at him. “The Bible’s to say, that’s who. What’s got into you today, deputy?”

Sam shook his head, glanced at the sheriff and then to the front door of the house. “Nothing’s got into me. Maybe just nervous to be questioning someone when we got nothing to go on.”

“We got someone who says there may have been foul play,” Billings assured him.

“He loaded something into the back of his truck and drove over here,” Sam said. “If that’s what we’re going on for questioning these days, we’re going to need to stop at every farm between here and Cheyenne.”

Billings shoved the car door open, and hot air swept into the car. “You just stand back and let me do most of the talking, okay? You watch for any tell tale signs he’s lying.”

The sheriff hauled himself out of the car and Sam stepped out on his side. He set his hat on his head, looked left and right across the open fields that surrounded the two story farm house, then fell in step behind Sheriff Billings as he walked toward the long, covered front porch. His nerves were stretched tight, laying right beneath his skin, the heat prickling along them, agitating them even further. As they trudged toward the porch, the sheriff’s boots kicked up small clouds of dust that the wind tore apart as Sam watched, feeling as if his guts mirrored the action.

How was he going to look Bryson Franklin in the eye and listen to Sheriff Billings question him needlessly? How was he going to live with himself if he didn’t speak up soon and shut down the prejudice he heard every day?

~ * ~

Well, there you go. I hope you enjoyed this latest chapter. Leave a comment if you’d like (it’s always fun to get mail!), and then hop on over to the blogs of the other Story Orgy writers. Some of us may take a week or two off, but we’ll be around for the most part. Like our Story Orgy Facebook Page for details about all of our writing. Feel free to like my pages as well if you’re interested in becoming a true Hankie: Hank Edwards Facebook Page or the Venom Valley Series Page. Go ahead and give the other participating Story Orgy writers a read: Lee Brazil, Havan Fellows, Em Woods, and Jade Baiser. JR Boyd opted out of this round, but he should be back soon. Have a very good week and I’ll see you next Monday!

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6 Responses to Story Orgy Monday – January 13, 2014

  1. Jade says:

    Oh, the sheriff is the typical guy you love to hate!
    I’m so glad you decided to keep on with this story. I can’t wait to see what’s going to happen. Will they find out about the body? I can’t say that I want that, but… *sighs* ok, I’ll be here next week!

  2. Ah, I want to give Sam a big hug! I don’t like seeing people lonely and hurting. Maybe Bryson and Daniel could… Or do you have someone else in mind for Sam? Hope so! Loving this story. 🙂

  3. kitchera says:

    yeahh! now I can’t wait for next week 😛

  4. Havan says:

    Is there any way we can make the sheriff be the one in the ground? Awesome installment Hank! 🙂

  5. Lee Brazil says:

    AWESOME! If my vote counts *nudge nudge* I like Sam better than the other guy. 🙂

  6. Cinders says:

    Let’s KILL the sheriff just for shits and giggles…