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Russian olives

I walked into the morning air. This was my favorite time in the desert. It was cool, a little chilly in fact. What moisture had gathered during the night was causing a slow breeze toward the towering red cliffs as the thermals formed for the day. I took a deep breath and coughed.. damn.. there were Russian olive trees blooming somewhere close by.

I disliked the intensely sweet smell. Although the trees were beautiful to look at and grew well in this desert town by the river, the cloying scent permeated everywhere. I considered them trash trees. They sucked the water from the parched ground, lowering the water table even more than it was normally. The fruit they bore was useless for anything but trash birds. I was more than ready to leave this town and move to a more pleasant environment.

Today I would be spending some time down by the Green river. That was kind of a joke. Among the rivers I had been used to when I traveled the Pacific northwest it was what would be called a creek most of the time. It was about the only water around for a hundred miles though, serving as drainage for the high plateau of Eastern Utah and Western Colorado. The color was a joke also. It was really a muddy tan from all the silt it carried from the high desert it ran through.

I knew a place where the sand of the river kept the water cool through the day. I was sure however that the Russian olive trees were going to cause some unpleasantness for me. My sinuses were already itching. Damn, I thought.

After a nice breakfast of cool milk, several sausage links, eggs and toast at my grandmas kitchen table I headed out for the day. I packed a backpack lunch of cold chicken, a couple of stout beers that I was going to keep cold in the river, some grapes and an apple before I left home. I looked forward to spending some time just relaxing after a long week working for Old Man Johnson in that dusty store on Main street. It had been there for a hundred years, and showed it.

Somehow I had wound up in South East Utah after a couple of years of college. Family ties and all are pretty persuasive and BYU was their school of choice. At thirty and unmarried my parents had insisted that I leave Provo when I had found the bars of Salt Lake City too enticing for their liking.

My grandmother had called and told them of an opening in the hardware store near where she lived. Most of the younger people had moved on leaving few people to do the work that the older folk could no longer do. Old Man Johnson must have been ninety if he was a day. He smelled of age but still had a twinkle in his eye when he told of the days when he was a youngster driving cattle working on a ranch. He used to say... Some of those cowboys, some of those cowboys.. then drift off into memory smiling a little.

There weren't that many cowboys around now I grumbled as I slipped down the cleft in the river walls. I sure wish there was. Most of the men around here are either too young, or too old. I should have stayed in Salt Lake City I thought ruefully.

The river where I came out was dark with the overhang of the scrub trees that always grew near water. The Russian olive smell was stronger here where the lingering coolness concentrated the aroma. I decided to walk down the river for a way to see if I could find a place where the trees had not yet gotten hold of the small amount of real dirt in this sandy river bottom.

Walking down the riverside, occasionally into the water then out again, I took some time to enjoy the wet on my feet and legs. I wasn't paying too much attention to where I was going. Before long I had lost the smell of the trees, the desert birds were calling each other, I was able to see a couple of swirls in the water where I thought there were a few fish were still finding a cool place to stay alive in the heat.

I went around a bend in the river where it flowed swiftly by the cliff that it had cut in the sandstone. I was surprised to see a cave carved into the far side of the bend. It looked like a good place to stop and enjoy some solitude. Sandstone caves can have some interesting artifacts in the Southwest. Some people have found prehistoric settlements of the Anasazi and other tribal art placed on the walls of these caves. I was hoping to see something interesting as I went into the darkness.

After my eyes adjusted from the bright desert sun I was able to see that the cave had been used. It wasn't from the pre-history Indians however. There was a shaft of light coming down from the back of the cave where someone had tunneled down from the cliff above. I could just make out the carved steps vanishing into the back wall. I looked around seeing what was here to cause someone to have done so much work. There was an old iron bedstead with rope "springs", covered with a blue tick mattress and an old quilt. The odd thing was that they were clean and seemed recently used. I began to realize I had stumbled into someones camp spot.

Back by the stairway there was a ring of stones, some charcoal inside that, an iron rod was stuck in the wall hanging over where the fire would have burned if there was one. From the smoke stains on the wall it was evident that the stairwell also served as a chimney flue when the fire was burning. I went back out into the light, took the food and beer from my pack and sat down in the shade of the cliff. Realizing that my beer had gotten a little too warm while keeping the chicken cool I took it out, got up and put it in a pool that I scooped out of the sand flowing around the cave by the river bank. I thought I had better get the meat down me before it went bad, by then the beer would have cooled off. I had thought a couple of bottles would be enough for this day hike.

I heard some noise coming from the back of the cave as I was finishing my meal. I hadn't gotten to the beer yet thinking that the fruit had been enough moisture to help the chicken go down. I turned around as some rough boots came into view down the stairs. The man was well over six feet tall and seemed dark skinned in the shadows. His shoulders filled the stairway to overflow as he twisted sideways and ducked to get down into the cave. He carried a canvas bucket in one hand and a camp lantern in the other. I knew he wasn't expecting anyone to be there by the way he went right to a rough table I hadn't noticed in the dark, placed the lantern on it then looked around. The look of satisfaction on his face was quickly replaced by a frown as he realized he was not alone.

Damn, he said, how the hell did you get in here. Nobody but me has known of this place for nigh on fifteen years or more. What the hell are you doing in my cave?

I got up from the cave entrance and stuck out my hand. Elmer, I said, Elmer Hoffsteadder. I live in that little town down the way with my grandmother. I had to get away. It gets real stuffy with just too old folk and too young folk around. A man can't be himself I said with a grin hoping I could blunt his irritation. I'm sorry I invaded your space. I was walking up the river trying to get away from those stinky sweet Russian olive trees.

His face softened a bit as he came toward the light. I could see the wind wrinkles on his face where he had squinted against the weather for most of his life. He looked forty,forty five or so with the brown red skin that comes from living with wind, rain and snow exposure. He was wearing a faded plaid shirt that could have been red, or purple, or maybe blue. Maybe all three. He had on the blue jeans of a cowboy cut tight to his boot tops so the stickers and branches couldn't get up his legs and cause painful scratches. A man had to protect his health out there with no doctors around. His boots were scuffed, a little down at the heels but well oiled and flexible. They had been well and lovingly cared for. He had stirrup scuff marks on the insides of his boots where he had spent countless hours on his horse making the rounds of the cattle that he smelled of. That and the smell of his horse's sweat. And his own sweet, rough man scent. My nose twitched at that as it took me back to the locker rooms of the college jocks I used to clean up after when I was in college.

Excuse me, he said, he lifted the canvas bucked and took out a simple meal of bread, cheese, what looked like jerky and an old battered thermos. Then he went past me down to the water, leaned over and got a full bucket. I gotta go take care of Barney he said. As he left up the stairs I gave his strong flat butt a quick once over then turned around. His shirt was almost too tight for him to wear it comfortably, pulling tight across his broad back.

I sure have lived too long without a special friend, I thought, when an old cowboy starts looking good. As the cowboy came back into the cave I went out to the river to get my beers. I might as well offer him one as an apology for the home invasion I thought.

Here, I said, you drink beer? as I handed one toward him.

He said, Mr. I don't like to drink with strangers. Don't think that just because you give me a beer I am going to like you any more for it. Then he reached out, took the beer I offered and popped the top off of it.

After a long drink where he downed almost half of the bottle he said. Damn, fella, that is real good though. It has gotten hot out there. You said your name was Elmer. That is a funny sissy name if you ask me.

Oh, I said.. and you are Mr. tough cowboy. Thanks for the insult after drinking my beer.

He laughed at that. If it is any help, I'm Arty, Arthur for the old folk around here. He stuck out his hand taking mine in his. It was rough, cut and healed from many wounds doing his job out there on the sagebrush plain. He had a strong grip that was nice to feel after too many soft town hands over the last few years.

Come on and join me at the table, not much there, but you can share what I got he said.

Oh, I just finished eating when you came down the stairs I said. All I had left to do was drink a beer and get naked. That last part kinda, sorta, slipped out. Sometimes my kid brain just takes over, ya know? I felt a little embarrassed and I guess it showed.

Arty said, hearing me stammer a bit, hell, now don't start that bullshit. Guys get naked all the time. It is just a natural part of being out here. Even us cowboys get tired of the stink now and then. After I eat, and we both finish our beers, we can go play in the river, okay?

I grinned at him. What makes you think I want to do that with you, old man?

Arty looked at me real serious saying, I saw how you looked me over when you first saw me. And I saw where your eyes lingered longest. You aren't a breeder any more than I am. I am just a bull without a need to find a cow. What I need to find is another bull. Ain't no one going to come searching me out so I have to take what I can , when I can, and be happy for that. You don't have to play if you don't want to, but I would sure like to see another naked man if you don't mind.

I took a long pull on my own beer. I hadn't thought I would find anyone out here in this god forsaken place where I could relax and let my natural juices flow. Mr. cowboy started to look better as my thoughts rearranged themselves into a nice comfortable channel.

I haven't played with older men like you I said. Honestly I have always had an attraction to the twenty somethings that I found in Salt Lake. I am so lonely here though that even playing with you will be a real treat.

Oh, Arty said, eyes sparkling in the shady glow of the light from the cave entrance, I think I might have a little something to show you.

Finishing his bread, cheese, jerky and the rest of his beer Arty stood up from the table. Come on, he said, I haven't got all day. I still have to look for that lost heifer that I came out here for.

He sat down on the bed, took off his boots and socks, unbuckled his pants then started to take off his shirt. He had also been wearing a kerchief to keep the dust from under his shirt. Removing that, he revealed a cleft in his chest that was filled with fine, dark hair. As he unbuttoned his shirt he continued to show off his hard worked body with a dark trail going down to his groin. His chest muscles rippled as his nipples stood up in the coolness. He looked down and grinned. Lifting his hand he rubbed those saying, sure feels good to be out of that shirt.

As he continued to play with his chest I started to undress also. Sitting on the table I removed my desert boots, thick hiking socks now dried from the hike in the river, then pulled off my shirt over my head.

I had gotten soft from grandmas good food and the not so hard work at the hardware store. I looked down at my pot gut, then over to his lean torso. I said to him, looks like you got a bit on me there.

Arty looked at my pale skinned, soft padded but still muscular chest saying. Ain't no sin in having a good cook to depend on. Looks like you got a good one. With that he removed his pants with one quick move, turned and ran to the river.. Last one in, he yelled. Just like that boys I grew up with. I hadn't even had the wit to look at his package as I had been taking my own bluejeans off.

I jumped up running after him. I felt like I was twelve down at the pond I swam in as a kid. Laughing and shouting we started splashing each other. This hike had turned into a very relaxing interlude that promised at least a great memory.

After a few minutes Arty started swimming around in the river, first swimming upstream, then floating down all relaxed. He said,, come on Elmer! He didn't have to invite twice. I swam up to him and floated down beside him. Arty reached out, took my hand and drew me close. He now smelled of river water and an odd scent I couldn't place but it smelled clean.

We managed to swim and float for a good half hour or more, playing and splashing and teasing each other. This old man sure knew how to be young when it suited him. We drifted into the shallows, laying there in the water on the cool hard sand. He looked over into my eyes and said..its time buddy. I knew just what he was talking about.

I lifted my torso up out of the water leaning over him. I slowly let my lips meet his, feeling the stubble of his three day old beard against my face. His arms surrounded my body drawing me close to him. As he kissed me I felt something move against my leg. From the position of it I knew it had to be his dick. I hadn't yet been able to see much of it because of the muddy Green River water. I reached down to help myself to a little feel and realized that it was no little feel at all.

Arty was carrying a good chunk, for sure. It filled my hand to the point that my fingers could barely close around it. As I kissed him more deeply I massaged his growing prick. Arty it turned out was one of those men who were all natural. He was as unspoiled as the day he was born. I continued to give him a little more attention then pulled his skin back to feel his plum and get him totally clean. There isn't much more that I dislike than a soiled dick head.

Arty was busy with my uncut meat also. I had become pretty excited by our playtime. He started to move his butt in that dance that men do when they want a little more than their partner is giving them. He was thrusting up into my hand as his erection grew to what I thought was full hard. He had an eight by six at least, if not more. I was happy that I had a chance to get some real fine pleasure from this man. I wondered how long it was going to take him to finish the play, and get on with the serious fucking.

Arty looked at me with brown eyes saying, I feel that bed calling, Bronco. We got up, walking back into the cave with both of our stiff cocks waving the way. Arty pushed me down on the bed onto my back. He leaned over my groin surprising me by taking my rod in his mouth.

Wait! I gasped, I was thinking you were the top?

And who said I ain't, Arty said, shut up and enjoy it.

I leaned back down enjoying the feel of an expert cocksucker working on me. I had not thought to ask Arty if he was top or not. Turns out it didn't matter.

I was moaning and writhing in pleasure after a few minutes of Arty's expert attention. I felt I was going to blow when Arty stopped, got up, went to the wall, reached into a niche pulling out a jar.

I have only used this on myself, he said. Now I am going to use it on you. He opened the jar revealing some sort of yellow grease, I didn't ask what. As he slathered it on his meat stick, working it back and forth, I saw that what I had considered fully hard wasn't. He continued to look at me and work on himself for a few minutes. His dick reach full hard when his foreskin would no longer cover his dick head but was retracted well down his shaft. I reached out and to take a little of his lube and put it on my still hard stiffy. Just watching him jack off was turning my brain to mush.

Lean back, Elmer, Arty said, leave your back on the bed and your legs up in the air, this old man is going to fuck you stupid.

My heart pounded in lust. I wanted that hot man up my ass. It is odd how some guys get when sex promises to be so good.

He took the blanket, folded it and laying it on the floor, knelt down. He put my legs over his tall , strong, broad shoulders, He took a handful of yellow grease, rubbing it over and into my asshole, press his plum against my pucker. With one slick quick thrust he went all the way in.

I gasped in shock. I hadn't even had time to think of resisting his entry. He stayed there with his dick inside me feeling my ass clench. He leaned over, worked on my own hard nipples with wind chapped lips and his strong white teeth. Biting them just enough to cause me to feel amazing. There aren't too many men who have ever been able to cause my nipple nerves to react in pleasure like that. Most men aren't tall enough to do that either in that position.

He reached down between my legs and stroked my dick keeping it hard. I just could not believe the expert way that this man was using my body. He started to rock back and forth fucking my ass. He was slow and gentle. I guess he could feel that I had not had anyone his size for a while. I was very tight for him.

There I was, on a day off, not that far from my grandmothers house, being fucked and jacked by a cowboy stranger. My mind just went away.

Elmer, Arty said, how you doing?

I came back from Nirvana saying. God Damn, Arty, you are not the old man I thought you were. You are so fucking hot and amazing. Keep working my ass and dick. Ride me cowboy! I exclaimed.

Arty took me at my request and began to pump harder and faster like he was on a bucking horse. I looked up to see the sweat come on his brow, roll down his nose and into my navel forming a pool of liquid. I gripped the edge of the bed and rocked with him, shoving his cock into my ass deeper with every thrust in rhythm with him.

Arty was grunting with effort, his eyes closed, his chest and strong left arm supporting him while his right hand and arm were still busy with my straining member. Elmer, I am going to blow, Arty let out with a whoosh. I could only breath raggedly, engulfed in a wave of passion. I felt his dick harden more and his balls crawl up my ass crack as he started to climax.

It seemed like only a few seconds later Arty and I both came at the same time. My juice was all over his stomach in a fountain that was long pent up. His filled me with hot bull cowboy seed. I could feel his sweet gravy flood into my rectum and up into my gut as I had never felt before. Isn't it amazing what clean living and the lack of opportunity do to give a man a flood of semen to share?

Arty stiffened while his big buddy emptied itself into me, shuddering with small thrusting movements and grunting in the way man bulls do, then slowly relaxed and pulled out.

Come on, he said breathing heavily, lets get cleaned up. That was really fucking good.. or good fucking he said with a big happy grin.

We went back in the river, washing each others cum off. I did a squat and let his seed empty into the river. There was no way I was going to be able to hold that much all the way back to town.

We went back to the cave, got dressed and kissed deeply again.

Elmer, Arty said, you are welcome into my cave any time. I own the Double Bar Bar ranch, why don't you come to visit once in a while? I know a hot spring up one of the canyons that I want to visit with you.

When I got home my grandma noticed my happy look and said, Honey, where have you been?

I said, Grandma, I met the owner of the Double Bar Bar Ranch today, he has invited me to go out and visit him.

Grandma looked at me for more than a few seconds then said, I've wondered about you. You know, I don't think anyone has ever spoken of you about my brother, James. He was one of the men caught up in the Boise, Idaho homosexual roundup in 1955. It was a shame what they did to that gentle man. It has been a family secret for all of these years. Nobody talks of him anymore. Her eyes misted up, they killed him you know, he was never happy after that. I think he died of a broken heart.

She continued, I have know Arthur Jennsen for all of his life. He never showed much of an interest in the family way either. She took my hand in hers and patted it in that loving, wise way some grandmas have. He is a good, hard working man she said.

I leaned over and kissed the top of her head. I think I will stay, Grandma, this old town still has a few surprises I said to her fondly.

As I went to my room and lifted the window to let in the cooling breeze I noticed that the Russian olives never smelled so sweet

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