"Dammit all to hell," Chris cursed, trying to get the nozzle into the opening of the gas tank. He pushed his long hair behind his ear, and then pushed the nozzle until his knuckles went white. "Muthafu..."
There was a cough behind him from the other gas pump on the other side where a big red truck was parked. Chris turned back and was startled by the grinning man looking over at him. The guy was well over six feet, wearing a plaid button-front shirt with the sleeves cut off exposing part of a shoulder tattoo, tight jeans fronted by a big shiny silver buckle, and big tan-colored cowboy hat.
"Diesel nozzles won't go into an unleaded tank," the hunky cowboy explained.
Chris quickly replaced the diesel nozzle and grabbed the correct one as his face went red.
"Uhm, thanks," said Chris meekly with a little ashamed frown.
"No problem," the cowboy said, touching the brim of his hat and nodding before walking over to the cashier.
Chris slyly watched as the cowboy walked away, his boots clacking against the hard pavement. His worn faded jeans looked like they were spray-painted over his big thighs and round ass. Chris watched the tight jeans flex as the cowboy reached back and pulled the round can from his back pocket and threw it into the trash. When he reached the cashier, he turned to the side and saw Chris looking in his direction. He gave his watcher a big full white smile and a wink before leaning down slightly to speak to the cashier behind the window. Chris moved so his vehicle hid him, his heart beating fast. The pump clicked and he grabbed his receipt. In seconds, he quickly pulled away from the pump and sat at the red light, watching the cowboy in the rear-view mirror walking back to his truck with the swagger only cowboy boots allowed.
Now that's a fucking man right there, Chris thought to himself before pulling out onto the highway.
The rains earlier in the day had settled the dust and cooled everything down a bit, but still the steam rose off the hot blacktop as Chris zoomed down the long straight road. What had been a big highway was now a much smaller blacktop road zigzagging through grass and scrub land. There seemed to be fences and cows everywhere he looked. It was a big change from the crowded city. But he was glad to get away from it and from Phillip.
Chris remembered walking in on Phillip fucking the young guy he had hired to help in the garden. They had both talked about how cute the young olive-skinned college student was; and they had even gone as far as planning on asking him to do a three-way with them, which Chris had found really exciting. Phillip had basically stopped having sex with him so Chris was ready for a fuck-around with a hot uncut college cock. It had been far too long. But seeing Phillip alone on the bed ramming his big red Irish cock into the bronze dude's ass, thinking Chris was out of town was just a step too far. That started a long drawn-out battle which ended with their break-up. Of course, Phillip knew everyone and had turned everyone against him after their breakup. Chris decided it was time to move away. He wanted a fresh start in a new town, so he bought a used SUV and packed it up. He didn't have a job, but old friends had invited him to stay with them until he found one.
As he wiped away his tears, Chris didn't see the coyote or fox or whatever as it ran out of the grass onto the road. He swerved to miss it and the vehicle slid onto the muddy shoulder and down an embankment. Chris heard a boom and the sounds of crashing as he was jostled around before the airbags deployed. Then everything went quiet, except for the sound of raindrops on metal as the rain began again.
Chris opened his eyes as someone tapped on the window asking if he was ok. Chris tried to roll the window down, but nothing happened. He cracked the door a bit and the person outside pulled it open. It was the hunky cowboy from the gas station.
"Are you okay?" he asked.
"In a bit of shock this happened, but I think I'm ok. Nothing broke, I believe."
"Well, come on, let's get you out of there," the cowboy said stretching out a big wet hand.
"I need my bag," Chris groaned, reaching backward.
"You get up the bank. I'll get it," the cowboy responded, turning Chris toward the bank and then leaning into the car to grab the black bag. "Anything else?" he shouted back at Chris.
Chris turned around and slipped on the bank, falling face first into the mud. He sat up and wiped mud from his cheek.
"My phone and keys...uhm, my phone is in the compartment in the middle," he said, spitting mud from his lips. He wiped his hand on his shirt, noticing it was covered in mud too. "Shit."
With the bag in one hand, the cowboy jumped up the embankment and held out a hand for Chris. He pulled Chris up in one strong move, his biceps flexing and bulging. The falling rain drenched them both before it suddenly stopped. Chris ran a dirty hand back through his long brown hair before remembering it, like everything else, was covered in mud. The cowboy held out a red bandanna with one hand as he grabbed Chris' shoulder, directing him toward the big red truck. The bandanna was wet and Chris managed to wipe away a good bit of the mud. The cowboy opened the passenger door for Chris who hesitated.
"I'm filthy. I don't wanna get your truck dirty," Chris responded noticing the pristine interior.
"Nothing that can't be cleaned. Put this on," the cowboy said, reaching inside and pulling out a windbreaker.
Chris put on the garment and climbed into the cab. The cowboy shut the door and walked around the truck. Chris watched as the cowboy pulled off his own drenching wet shirt. He noticed the tattoo that ran over his muscular shoulder down to the well-developed chest covered in a mat of light brown hair. The hair ran down in a perfect trail over a six pack of abs down and behind the silver belt buckle. The cowboy opened the driver-side door, throwing his wet shirt behind the seat. He grabbed a dry rag and ran it over his wet chest, then threw it behind the seat too. Chris averted his eyes shyly after the cowboy looked at him and smiled. He slid into the driver's seat smoothly. Chris turned back as the cowboy drew the seat belt over his golden muscled torso and pulled at a leather cord necklace with an unusual pendant on it -like a strange, stylized number four.
"I live just down the road. We'll get you cleaned up and get you a tow to Albert's garage over in Shiloh. How's that sound?"
"Uhm, yeah, that sounds great."
"I'm Cody, by the way," the cowboy said, holding out a rough tanned hand.
"I'm Chris," he replied as he grabbed the hand and shook it, noticing the firm grip he was given.
"Alrighty, Chris, let's get on the road and go get you situated," Cody said as he cranked up the big truck and they pulled onto the blacktop.
Cody reached over and turned on the radio, adjusting the tuner to a country music station.
"What kind of music do you like?" he asked. "I don't figure its country," he laughed.
"No, I like country music...but the older stuff. I've heard some of the newer stuff, but I really like the older songs."
"Like what?" Cody asked watching the road and gesturing toward Chris with one hand.
"Reba, Loretta, Patsy Cline...Shania Twain. I like all the big legendary female artists. Tammy Wynette, Dolly."
"Well, shit, you really like that old stuff?" Cody reached over and pushed a button on the stereo system. "Who's this?" he asked as a song started to play.
