Growing up on a farm in West Texas in the 70s was a time in my life that I will never forget. Especially this particular summer because it was the bi-centennial summer of 1976. It was also the summer that I would realize my true self regarding what I wanted in a partner. Girls were always the talk among friends. At my age, it was just all talk. But for me, things were different.
At an early age, I had always been intrigued by a man's body. But you are quickly taught that men don't look at men. So I learned to hide my intrigue and would steal glances at my friend's bodies or sometimes strangers in certain situations. But those are moments that I would rather forget.
Instead, I want to remember someone I met in January of 76. The farm owner that my grandfather worked for always hired migrant workers on the first of the year; he would employ only two workers. Most of the time, they would be older men working the entire year on the farm, sending their money to their families, and leaving around December.
However, this particular year he would hire three.
After dinner, from time to time, my grandfather and I would walk down to the workers living quarters in the early evening hours. There the men would get into cards and domino games, or the two older men, in their late 30s, would sit around bullshitting with my grandfather. But Martin was younger and, at the time, only 22 but could pass for my age easily.
After the first few nights, he wandered off alone when the older men started their bullshit sessions, and I followed him. That's how we started getting to know each other. I had just barely turned 18, and being a senior in high school, Martin had more in common with me than the others.
We would talk about school and the day-to-day events in my life. As a high school dropout, Martin was always interested in my daily school life.
My senior year was always the main topic of our conversations. After a while, Martin became someone I could talk to for advice. Being eighteen, naive, and unpopular in school was a struggle. However, Martin's advice would turn out to be gold. He helped me maneuver the pitfalls of being an unwanted, mostly unnoticed senior in high school.
After a couple of months, the other two men became unhappy with their jobs and ended up quitting and returning to their families. Martin, on the other hand, stayed and kept working. He had no family waiting on his financial support, so he stayed and worked for himself and the experience.
Summer finally arrived, and school ended. Martin and I were closer than ever. I started noticing things that were getting harder and harder to hide. I saw his shoulders, how they were always back and very broad, and the muscle tone when he would take his work shirt off. His biceps and forearms were well-defined.
It took every ounce of energy to keep from gasping the first time I saw him pull off his shirt completely.
Then one day, the unthinkable happened. He stood against his front doorway, and I sat just outside on the grass. I have no clue what the conversation was about, but I can remember it like it was yesterday, staring at the crotch of his faded jeans.
I could see the outline of his cock. I couldn't take my eyes off it. Then the conversation just stopped. I don't know when it stopped or how long it stopped. I only remember looking up and those big brown eyes staring at me. I could feel my cheeks flush, and I knew I was blushing. Badly.
I quickly looked away, and my heart was racing. I would think to myself, how could I be so stupid? I was sure I had offended Martin and, at that moment, had no clue what to say. Then, panic-stricken, I jumped to my feet. I stuttered something out loud and managed to excuse myself, and I quickly went home.
Was Martin going to change? Was he going to start thinking that I was some fag? Did I disgust him? All I could think of were the questions running through my head. I tossed and turned that night as I lay in bed. Did I ruin it? Was Martin going to change? So many things came to mind, but most of all, I thought of the outline of his cock.
It had been days since I had gone to visit Martin. I had started working with a friend on his farm, helping his family. I would be up early in the morning and so tired that by the time I got home, all I wanted to do was eat, shower, and go to bed. But lying in bed late at night, I always thought of Martin and what he could be doing at that moment. Was he thinking of me?
Work on my friend's farm was finally all caught up, so I wasn't working as late plus, in a couple of days, I would have to start looking for another job. I had until September before I had to check into my college life. Everything was all set up for the next phase of my life. All I had to do was get through the summer.
Late one night, I walked towards where the farm equipment had been left. I kept kicking at the ground and mumbling to myself when a voice out of nowhere called out and scared me.
"So, did you get lost?" My heart jumped into my throat, and I almost jumped out of my skin.
It was Martin sitting on one of the pieces of equipment, calling out to me. My head was flooded with so many thoughts and emotions that it seemed like forever before I could answer him.
"Not lost, just putting in a lot of hours at work." Smiling as I answered. Trying to hide how much he had scared me.
"I know how that goes," Martin responded, and just like that, the conversation started as if it had never stopped.
It was as if nothing had happened. I suddenly felt at ease and comfortable again. Not a word was mentioned about the awkward situation from days before, and to my wonderful surprise, the big lug hadn't changed. We were just two guys hanging out and talking about our day.
The weekend arrived, and I usually went to the city on Saturdays with my grandfather. My grandfather was always quite the lady's man, and at the time, he had a lovely lady friend he would stay with over the weekend.
I would go because my grandfather's girlfriend had a couple of really cool daughters, and they were always really sweet to me. So I would hang out with them. Sometimes I'd go to movies, parties, or other social events with them. It was never sexual, just friends.
But this weekend, I decided to stay home and hang out on the farm instead.
After my grandfather had left, around noon, I headed down to see what Martin was doing. I knocked and heard a voice call out, telling me to come in. As I walked in, Martin was getting out of the shower. He was still slightly wet, with a towel wrapped around his waist and another over his head.
The towel around his waist came down to his knees, but as he walked, I could catch glimpses of those muscular thighs when the towel would part ever so slightly with each step he took. I could tell that he was surprised to see me.
