Living Out West

"I hate thunderstorms," said my cousin after the latest crack of lightning and flash of light streaming through the room.

This wasn't really the welcome that I had imagined. Mom had thought "learning about life out west" with her brother (my uncle) and his family would be good for me. Toughen me up. And so, here I was, on my first night here, wide awake from the storm outside. My cousin, Anders, was lying on his bed and I was in a sleeping bag on the floor at the foot of the bed he was in.

"Does it do this often," I asked. The last time I was out here, I was seven year old - almost a third my current age. There wasn't much that I remembered except for the occasional image or oddity that stuck with me over the years. I hadn't seen my cousin, his older brother, or my uncle, since then.

"Not too often, but when it gets bad, it gets really bad," he replied. As if on cue, another loud crack rang through the room and my cousin jolted in bed. He paused, then asked slowly, "Are you okay on the floor? I mean, we could bunk up if you prefer. We're all family, after all."

I did not want to sleep on the floor. No one chooses to sleep on the floor. I took the chance to get off the floor, possibly too eagerly than normal. "Yeah, actually." I stood up and saw the shuffle of my cousin's body under the bedcovers against the light coming in through the window. He went right, I went left. I pulled back the covers and slid in, trying to politely stick to the edge of the bed. I did not know my cousin well enough to make contact or to even start considering to divulge the fact that I was gay. Who knows what they think of us out here in sticks.

He was a typical farm boy: average height with a strong frame, muscles that bode him well in the various high school sports he played. His blond hair and green eyes, a trait he shared with his brother and father, made their family photos look nearly suspicious of photoshopping. As for me, I was tall and lanky. I had my dad's brown hair and eyes, setting me as the clear odd one out here in North Dakota.

"Thanks," I finally said as I settled in.

"No problem," he replied before we both fell asleep.

A knock on his door in the morning, and we both leaned our heads up from the bed to regain an awareness of our surroundings. A firm "morning, boys" from Uncle Tomas bellowed through the door.

"Morning, dad," my cousin replied sleepily. He collapsed his head back on the bed to relish a few more moments. He had flipped onto his stomach in the night, his head now turned towards me on the other side of the bed. "Right, you're with me for today, so let's start with a walk around the farm." He smiled but kept his eyes closed while he spoke.

"Uh, yeah, that'll be great," I mumbled. I was still half-asleep yet was also very aware of the raging morning wood that was being restrained by my hand resting along the elastic of my boxers. I paused, waiting for Anders to get up first so I could hide my erection. I felt a slap on my shoulder as he nudged me away and out of the bed.

"Tag, you're first," he said, his eyes still closed. "Bathroom's just opposite the hallway."

I paused, gathered my courage, and cupped my cock in my hand as I rolled out of the bed. Before I took my first step, I felt a strong tug along the back of my boxers, which slid over my hand-covered cock and down to my knees before I caught them with my legs.

"Nice ass, cuz," and a quick smack finally explained what had happened: I had been pantsed. I hurriedly dipped down to pull my boxers back up to my waist and relocate my now semi-soften cock safely inside. I turned my head around, knowing I was blushing. Anders continued, unfazed by my embarrassment: "You really don't need to worry about those. Mom's probably already at work, and all the men in the house tend to walk around naked anyways."

"I'll, uh, I'll just, uh, maybe keep them on for now," I sheepishly replied before heading to my bag to pick out clothes and stuff from my bag.

"Suit yourself," he answered, now turning over onto his back. He brought his hands up behind his head, accentuating his already broad shoulders and revealing two blond, hairy armpits. He watched me leave, and I could have sworn that he had an arm tucked under the covers, too, touching himself.

We showered, ate a quick breakfast, and then walked out towards the field. He pointed out where Uncle Tomas was driving a tractor in the distance. As we approached the barn in the back, Anders' older brother, Jorgen, came out. He was wearing denim overalls, with only a single strap holding the whole garment up around his body. He put us both to shame in strength: he was bigger and taller than his cousin (who wasn't small either), and hairier. A rich swatch of blond hair covered his exposed tanned chest. "Welcome to the farm," he said, smirking at me as he walked past.

We went into the barn and climbed up to the loft to get a better view. We walked out to where a gate opened to the ground below, and Anders started to point things out to me: the edge of the farm, the neighbours and their fields, the town, and even the rough shapes of the next town down the road, too. He talked about the local area with a particular passion that was entrancing: so mesmerising that I only came realise that his hand had traveled from my shoulder down my back and into my pants. It was only when he clasped my ass in his warm, rough hand that I froze up with realisation.

He didn't withdraw his hand. Instead, he just continued to look out onto the land for a few more seconds while his hand became firmer in its grasping and more adventurous in its exploring. He turned his head to me as he smirked, "Like I said, nice ass."

To be continued...