TEXAS LONGHORNS
By Waddie
Greywolf
Chapter 1
Vincent & Casey Longhorn ~
"Goddamn it, Son, sometimes I just don’t understand you a’ tall.
Shit, Boy! Why, the Hell, would you even consider such a thing?
You be think’n like a crazy man; almost as crazy as that loony old
coot you wanna’ meet up with. All you’ll be doin’ is openin’ up a
can a’ worms what’ll come back to haunt you, and take a big chomp
out a’ yore' butt. Trust me, no good will come of it, and it could
mean a world of hurt for you’n me both. Mark my words, you just
wait’n see, Buckaroo. And, if’n he hurts you half as bad as he
done me, I’m gonna’ wanna’ go an’ kill the son of a bitch. If’n
the good Lord can forgive me for kill’n Charlie in Nam, he’ll
shore’ as Hell forgimme' for re-tire’n his tired old Bible bang'n
butt a little early. Howsomever, society may not, and then you’ll
have ta’ come visit your old man on death row in prison. Would ju’
like that?" Dad asked. I just smiled at him and slowly shook my
head, ‘no.’
"Damn it all to Hell, Casey, I wish’t I’d a’ never told ‘ju ‘bout
that worthless old curmudgeon! I should a’ just told ju’ he done
up and died. He ain’t no damn good, no how. That old hardheaded
bastard, he ain’t never gonna’ change his way a’ think’n. He’s got
his hypocritical head so far up Jesus’ butt he couldn’t see the
light of Almighty God if’n he was stand’n in two buckets of holy
shit up to his boot tops and Jesus took a fart!” Dad exclaimed as
he slammed his hands down on the arms of his wheelchair. I
tried hard not to laugh. God knows I tried, because I knew how
serious my dad's wrath was about his old man, so I remained silent
out of respect for him, but inside I was laughing my ass off
at his outburst of anger. Dad always could find the most colorful
words to make his point when he was venting anger.
“No! No! It’s all right, Dad! No, really, it’s okay. I don’t want
you bottle'n nothing up inside. H'it ain't healthy for a man.
Don't feel like ya’ haf’ta hold back none on my account. Go on,
get it out. Lemme’ know how you really feel,” I joked and at least
got a smile out of him.
“Fuck you, you asshole! I’m dead serious about this, Cowboy, and
you know it,” he demanded, “‘Sides, I done raised ju’ up better’n
‘nat. Some things in life you just gotta' accept the way they is.
Y’ain’t never gonna’ change that old fart. What da’ ya’ think? Ya’
gonna’ waltz up to him, stick out chore' hand and say, ‘Howdy,
Granddad, I’m Casey, yore’ grand-kid you never know'd about. Oh,
yeah, and by the way, I’m a cocksucker,’” Dad said.
“I just ain’t a’ gonna’ tell ‘em,” I replied, “I ain’t gonna’ tell
him nothing ‘bout me. Tell me, how’s he gonna’ know I’m even
related to him? You done went and changed our name before I was
born, even 'afore you’s shipped to Nam. I don’t carry his name," I
argued.
“Listen to me, Cowboy, my old man may be a lot of things, but he
shore' as Hell ain’t stupid. All it ‘ud take is for him to look
into them damn violet eyes of yorn to know some'um ain’t kosher in
Denmark. He give you them violet eyes. Runs in the Langtry family.
I didn’t get ‘em, but yore' Uncle Seth had ‘um just like our
daddy, so’d yore’ Great-Aunt Lillie. Yore’ Great-Granddad was her
brother. Now, you tell me, how many cowboys you run into out there
what's got violet eyes?” he asked.
“So, it’s a coincidence,” I tossed off.
“Coincidence? Don't make me laugh, Boy! You look enough like my
little brother to be his identical twin and with them violet eyes
it's a sure bet Curtis Langtry would know something ain't right
about you – at least enough to make him inquire further. You
gonna' lie to him?” Dad asked.
“I'll wear contact lenses,” I argued.
“Contacts? Contacts my ass!” My dad responded with a snort. He
wasn’t buying it.
"Look, Dad, I know the story. You done told it to me about a
hun'nert times or more. How you got momma pregnant with me when
you’n her was only sixteen. Then, after granddad caught you and
Bubba Swanzey suck’n each others dicks in the barn he kicked you
out. You joined the Marines and got sent to Nam. He got so angry
at you he kicked you out of his life, but nobody can stay angry
forever, Dad. It takes a Hell of a lot more energy to be angry
with somebody than it does to forgive 'em. ‘Sides 'at, you married
momma afore you went to Nam and granddad and grandma had you when
they's only sixteen. Two years later Uncle Seth was born.
"After Granddad cut you out of his life, you got pissed at him and
cut him off completely when you went and changed our name. How do
you know he ain’t felt bad about what he done and tried to contact
you? How could he? He don’t know our name. Your younger brother,
my Uncle Seth, went an’ got his'self killed in Nam. Granddad’s
gotta’ be a lonely old man. I’m twenty-one so he’s gotta’ be
fifty-three. That’s pert-damn old. He might not live much longer.
I might not have another chance. Look, Dad, I just wanna’ meet
him, be around him for a while, get to know him, see what kind of
man he is, and judge for myself. He don’t haf’ta know who I am.”
“Bullshit! Who you think you’re talk’n to, Boy? You never could
keep no damn secrets. Them folks you tell 'em to can’t neither,”
Dad said and laughed at me.“You tried for years to keep it from me
you had a hitch in yore' get-a-long; you liked rodeoing with the
Boys a little better’n the girls. Hell, I done know’d it from the
time I come back from Nam my Boy was gonna’ like his vice, versa.
Didn’t make me no never mind, but chore' momma and I talked about
it. She suspected as much way 'afore I did. Mother’s know that
sort of thing about their sons. She just figured you was chip off
the old block. Hell fire, I guess it was me what give ya’ the damn
gene. I won’t deny I shore' found ole Bubba’s dick mighty tasty.
Yore’ momma knew about that, too. Ain’t too much you can hide from
folks in a small West Texas town. She didn’t care, but I never had
nothing to do with another man after I come back from Nam. I was
faithful to yore' mom, Son. I loved your mother with all my heart.
"I remember the first night you sucked my dick after yore’ momma
died. You was feeling scared and all alone, so you asked to sleep
with me a couple of nights. You done thought I was asleep one
night, but I was playing possum to see what you’d do. After
driving me nuts for more’n an hour lick’n and suck’n around on my
balls you finally decided to get down to the main course and
wrapped chore' pretty little lips around my stiff pony. Thought
I's gonna’ pass out for sure. T’was like them pearly gates parted
for me, and I passed on through. Surprised the shit out a’ me. For
a young kid, you weren’t too damn shabby neither. Got me old cock
off quicker’n shit through a goose. Swallowed ever’ bit a’ my
cowboy spunk right-down like a pro. I was downright proud of ya,
Boy.
"I done figured if my Boy was gonna’ like to suck a man’s cock, I
didn’t never want him being called no lousy Goddamn cocksucker,”
he said. I cringed at dad’s candor, he took a sideways glance at
me and chuckled. "Over the years, you got a Hell of a lot better.
You only improved, and to be honest with ya,’ Boy, I don’t know’s
your old man can give you up that long to go rodeoing after a
dream what may never come true. ‘Sides 'at, you're gonna’ miss
your old man’s warm mouth wrapped around your fine taste’n cowboy
cock and knock’n on your pretty little back door during the middle
of a long, cold, winter’s night,” Dad said, shifted in his chair,
and laughed at my uneasiness. Then, he grinned at me with his
patented West Texas shit-eating grin, winked, and I knew the next
words out of his pie-hole would be pure, unadulterated bullshit.
“Side’s, you’s the one what done turned your poor old man into a
full blown, gin-u-wine, gold plated, butt-fuck’n faggot. Now,
you’s gonna’ go running off to ride the circuit and take away from
me the warmest mouth and tightest little asshole I ever did fall
asleep in. Thanks, one whole Hell of a lot, Buckaroo, for think’n
‘bout chore' dear old pa. You done went and created this monster,
now you wanna’ lock him in his cage and have the neighbors feed
him while you go play cowboy? I don’t think so,” he declared. Dad
tried like Hell to keep a straight face, but when he glanced up at
me to see if I was buying any of it, he broke out and roared with
laughter. “Ah, fuck, Casey! You know how much I love ya.' God as
my witness, Boy, I loved yore’ momma, but in many ways, you be the
one what done taught me what love is all about. I won’t never deny
it. I know you’d love to meet chore' granddaddy. If'n he was
different, I would be the first to take you by the hand to meet
him, but he ain’t. We don’t need that old bastard in our lives,
Son. He’s nothing but trouble. He’s tomorrow’s bad news come
early. I’m just so damn proud of who you are today and what we
mean to each other, I’m 'afear’d of losing it and you, Casey,” Dad
said quietly. Underneath his bullshit, I knew my old man held deep
rooted genuine concerns, he was frightened for us, and he was
hurting.
“Come go with me, Dad. I’d love to have you along. There’s plenty
of room in the new motor-coach I bought last fall. Let’s hire
someone to run the ranch. Come rodeo with me. You’n me, we’s
partners, Dad. Together, ain’t nobody what can beat us with a
rope. We done won ever’ damn rope’n competition in the western
states, ‘cep’n Texas. I understand why y’ain’t never wanted to
ride in Texas. 'At’s okay, but I wanna’ try my hand on the
circuit, Pa. Grow a beard, Dad. On a slim chance we should run
into granddad, he wouldn’t recognize you today. With you as my
partner, you'n me, we could go all the way. We may not have
another chance. You get around on them store bought legs of yours
real good. Don’t nobody even know you had your legs blown off in
Nam.
"Hell, I ain’t never seen me no sexier walk than you got when you
wear them legs what’s got chore' buckaroo boots attached to ‘em.
You walk, for all the world, like any other genuine rodeo cowboy
on the circuit. C'ain’t nobody tell. The only time you use that
damn wheelchair is when we’s home relaxing.” I grinned at him, “I
always did kind a’ like you in that chair, ‘cause you can’t get
away from me when I gots me the honggries for some good hot cowboy
cream,” I said and licked my lips. I roared with laughter as my
old man waggled a finger at me and raised an eyebrow in mock
disgust. “Hell, it was you what taught me to rope and ride, Dad.
You ride as good as I do with them artificial legs. You taught me
to be the best? Something I couldn’t a’ learn't from nobody but a
champion,” I said.
My dad looked at me with the greatest love in his eyes, blinked
back a tear, and hung his head. “I ain’t half the man you are,
Son,” he said softly.
“Bullshit! What the Hell you talk’n about, Old Man? When I’m a’
lying out underneath you, you’re up on them stubs with that fine
buckaroo saddle horn a’ yours sunk six fathoms deeper in my ass
than the Titanic lies on the ocean floor, just a’ fuck’n me like
an untamed bronc with a burr under its saddle, you shore' be a’
fool’n me you ain’t half the man I am. My old man’s the only man
what ever fucked me so good I stay fucked maybe four to six days
afterwards. I mark ‘em off on a calendar. Ever’ morning I get up,
look at myself in the mirror, and if’n I’s still got that silly
grin on my face, I know my tank's over half-full, and I still got
me enough of my old man's love in me to run on for another day or
two. After my dad fucks me, I know’d I been fucked by a man; my
old man; the best old man a buckaroo could have," I finished with
a big flourish of buckaroo hyperbole.
I was getting good and I was proud of my cowboy-bullshit heritage.
I must have been good. I got him laughing again as I went to him
and grabbed me a big ole handful of buckaroo daddy-cock through
his Wranglers. He whooped like he was about to be scalped. “Get
away from me you pre-vert," he yelled and laughed, “You ain’t a’
gettin’ no in-between meal snacks, neither. Spoil your dinner.
When you come sniff’n ‘round after my old hoss, I better hear me
some heartfelt begging about how you got chore'self some powerful
honggries for a taste of the sweetest cowboy cock you ever had
melt in your mouth. I shore as Hell don’t know about all that
other nonsense you been talk’n ‘bout, but I know fer damn sure you
inherited another one a’ my genes.”
“Yeah, what’s 'at, Old Man?” I asked.
“The bullshit gene,” he replied and roared with laughter. “Damn,”
he continued, “I think you got a double dose of it, Boy. What
don’t come out chore' ass, comes out chore' mouth.”
"There again, Old Man, I learn't it from a champion," I retorted.
We were laughing so hard I got the hiccups. I couldn’t stop.
“Champion, my ass. I got chore' champion," he said and grinned as
he grabbed his big cowboy cock though his Wranglers, "Com’mer,
Boy. I got just the cure for them hiccups,” he ordered. I moved in
front of his wheelchair still hiccuping. “On yer’ knees, Asshole,”
he commanded. I love it when my dad talks dirty to me and orders
me about. He grabbed me by the back of my head and roughly pulled
my face into him until my nose was buried deep into his crotch. I
could smell his masculine odors and his massive cock hidden
beneath the denim of his Wranglers. “Take a deep breath, Boy,” he
growled at me, “‘At’s the smell of the man what loves you; the man
what made you. Think about how much you wanna’ please your old
man; think about how far down that tight little cowboy throat of
yorn you’re gonna’ take your old man’s cock tonight; think about
his hard penis being the sacred tool what created you, Boy, and I
guaran-damn-tee ya,’ them hiccups will vanish,” he said.
I took in several deep breaths of my dad’s signature masculine
smell. Dad never used perfumed soaps or deodorants of any kind,
but he would sometimes use his favorite Aqua Velva after shave;
nevertheless, he always had a clean, virile, pleasant, musky male
odor about him which caused me to get an instant erection and
would drive me crazy; even, when he simply passed by me and I’d
get the faintest whiff of him, I'd pop a boner. Damned if he
wasn’t right. Sure enough, ‘them’ hiccups vanished.
* * * * * * *
If you haven’t gotten the message by now let me spell it out for
you, my dad was my personal hero. He was a simple man of the Earth
who found himself in a world in transition between good and evil.
He did his best at what he could do to make changes, but he stood
fast in the face of wrong. He wouldn’t allow the insidious evil or
oppression of his personal freedoms under the name of false,
misplaced, abusive religious piety, or unholy, self-serving
righteousness, to sway him from his deeper beliefs in love and the
basic goodness of which all men are capable. He gave his all for
his country and never began to question until after he did what he
saw as his duty.
My Uncle Seth followed his beloved brother and joined the Marines.
I never met Uncle Seth. He was killed a couple of months after he
was in Nam, several weeks before I was born. His old man, my
granddad, let his youngest son march to his death without ever
telling him he loved him. A year later, a land mine blew my dad’s
legs off at the knees, and he returned a hero. Dad was awarded
several purple hearts and a bronze star for heroism. Even though
his legs were blown off he was the platoon leader and managed to
pull himself to others more wounded than himself to offer help and
comfort. Since dad changed his name before he left, my granddad
never knew.
Dad returned to the States and the VA fitted him with two
artificial legs he learned to use almost as well as his real ones.
He taught himself to walk with little or no noticeable affectation
to his stride. He learned he could still ride a pony and once
again took up the passion of his youth, team roping. Through the
G.I. bill he went to a community college and learned how to become
a successful rancher. Again, through the G.I. bill, he financed a
small ranch. Even though dad and my mother worked for the first
several years at other jobs, they were soon able to quit and run
the ranch full time. We lived on the ranch outside of San Diego
for most of my life. Dad and I were still living there.
My mom got cancer and died when I was fourteen. It was a blow for
both dad and me. I already began to go through puberty and quickly
realized no one could ever top the sexual fascination I developed
for my dad. I would jack off two or three times a day thinking
about all the wonderfully nasty things I could do with him if I
had the chance. The fact he had his legs cut off at the knees
never entered my mind. He was always that way as long as I could
remember. He was my dad and he kept his body in top physical
condition. He neither smoked nor drank heavily and ranch work was
a lot of hard, physical work most of the time. My dad was a tall,
six foot four, lean, strong, masculine cowboy. He loved the idea
of being a Western man and he worked hard to perfect the image.
For me, he became the epitome of what a cowboy rancher should look
and act like. He was good hearted, generous to a fault, and tried
to help his neighbors when he could. He was always truthful with
me and treated me as a beloved companion rather than strictly as a
son.
One night, about a month after my mom passed away, I couldn’t
sleep. I would cry myself to sleep, but I didn’t want dad to know.
I wanted to be strong for him. I knew his heart was broken, and if
it wasn't for me, I think he would’ve given up. He knew he had to
keep going for me. I woke up and found my pillow and bed around my
head soaking wet. I knew I cried a little before I went to sleep
but not enough to soak my pillow and upper portion of my mattress.
A horrible thought crossed my mind: did I wet the bed? But, I
couldn’t have, could I? It wasn’t wet around my waist and even
though my dad taught me to sleep in the raw my dick wouldn’t be
able to piss so high it soaked my pillow. I was baffled. I was
also a little frightened. I didn’t know what was going on, and I
never felt more alone in my life. I got up from my bed and slowly
walked to my dad’s room.
He always left his door open so he could hear me call out to him
in the night if I was frightened or needed him for anything. It
was a full moonlit night, and I could see everything in the room
clearly. I quietly walked up to his bed and stood silently as I
watched him sleep. It was a warm summer night, and he was sleeping
in the raw with no sheet or cover over him. He was lying on his
back breathing softly. His enormous mature penis lay up and to the
left of his stomach and his huge balls hung loosely between his
massive thighs. I could see the two stumps of his legs stopping at
just below his knees. It didn’t bother me his legs weren’t normal.
He was my dad. He was perfect like he was. I stood for the longest
time marveling at his beauty.
He didn’t shave as much as when mom was alive. Since it was only
the two of us he’d go several days without shaving and would begin
to look pretty scruffy after a while. He would usually shave once
or twice a week. He said it saved him time. I thought his several
days worth of beard made him so virile looking he would keep my
dick hard for days until he shaved. My dad was beyond handsome but
shy of pretty. I saw him as personal masculine icon. He was like a
God to me. I would’ve worshiped at his boots, and over the years,
have done so many times. As I was standing there I knew my
feelings for him were overwhelming all my senses. I could smell
his clean masculine scent and my young sophomore penis began to
get hard.
The longer I stood there, the harder it got. I started to play
with myself. The scene was way too sensual to privately look upon
my personal God and experience such an erotic moment without
manipulating myself. I began to slowly jack myself off and wasn’t
paying much attention to dad. I threw back my head and was really
getting into my fantasies of him and me together while only
allowing myself to glance upon the beauty of my icon enough to
trigger another wave of sexual excitement through my body. Finally
I allowed myself one good look attempting to drink him in, when I
got a shock. Dad was lying on his side propped up on his elbow
watching me.
He was smiling at me. “Casey?” he asked softly with concern in his
voice. “You all right, Son?”
I stopped playing with myself immediately and ran from the room in
embarrassment. I flew to my bed in tears and lay there crying my
heart out. Dad had a way of whistling real loud using two of his
fingers when he wanted me for something. He taught me never to
ignore his whistle. It was a signal for me to come to him
immediately in case he needed me in an emergency. I was deep into
my pillow when I heard his whistle. My first thought was he tried
to get to his wheelchair, fell to the floor, and couldn’t get up.
No matter how embarrassed I was or how much I was hurting, it was
our signal my dad needed me. I hit the floor on a run for his
room, ran through the door and over to his bed. He was still lying
there, but he was holding his arms out to me. I didn’t hesitate, I
was in his big cowboy arms in a minute crying my heart out as he
stroked and petted me to calm me. For some reason I knew I was
safe in his arms, and I didn’t really have to say a word, he
understood. After he got me settled down he began to
quietly ask me a few questions. He looked down at my crotch and
smiled.
“Nice big prick ya’ got there, Youngster. Hell, Son, I weren't
nearly that big at yore’ age. I do declare, you're gonna' be
bigger'n me or my brother. I think you inherited that from yore'
granddaddy,” he complimented me. I didn’t respond. He kept
stealing kisses from me, kissing me behind my ear, and on my neck.
“You know you just done paid yore' old man the sweetest compliment
a son could offer his dad?” he said quietly.
“No, sir,” I answered meekly.
“Well, ya’ did. I woke up and found my handsome cowboy son
standing by my bed with a fistful of his fine buckaroo cock
playing with his'self while he admired his old man,” he said.
“I’m sorry, Dad," I was quick to explain, "I was scared in my
room. Some'um’s happening to my body and I’m afraid. I came in
here to talk with you about it; maybe, ask you to lemme' sleep
with you the rest of the night. When I got here, I saw you was
asleep and, you just looked so handsome I got lost in a fantasy.”
I started crying again, and Dad stole some more kisses to calm me.
“Let’s understand one thing between us, okay?” he asked quietly. I
knew there was more to come, “Don’t chu’ never feel embarrassed or
upset over yore’ feelings for another person, especially yore’ old
man. What you were doing a while ago was a response to an honest
feeling you were having about chore' dad and there ain’t nothing
wrong with it; h’it ain’t nothing to be ashamed of. Now, the next
thing, can you tell me what’s going on with your body, what’s
making you afraid?” he asked.
“I ain't never told ju,' Dad, but since mom died, I cry myself to
sleep most ever’ night, but lately I’ll wake up and my pillow and
all around my head will be soaked. I don’t mean just wet, I mean
water logged, soaked. I’m afraid because I thought I was wetting
my bed, but h’it ain’t down around my waist or the middle of my
bed. I ain’t told ju' ‘cause I get up in the mornings, strip my
bed, and wash everything including my pillow and then dry them.
Ever' thing’s ready for the next night, but damn it, Dad, it’s
happening more often, and I’m getting tired of having to change my
sheets ever’ damn day.”
Dad didn’t say anything for a minute, like he was thinking. He
just held me close and stole another couple of kisses.
“Know what, Cowboy?” he asked.
“What, Dad?” I asked in reply.
“I think I know what’s wrong, but I think yore’ idea of bunk’n it
in with me for a couple of nights is a good idea.”
“What da’ ya’ think's wrong with me, Dad?” I asked.
“I don’t wanna’ say what I'm think'n right now, but I’ll tell you
this, Casey, I’ve cried myself to sleep many nights. Ain’t nothing
wrong with crying when you miss someone. Don’t mean you’re weak or
you ain’t got control of yore’self. It’s just you’re still
grieving for your ma, Boy. So am I, for that matter. It’s probably
gonna’ take us longer than either of us thought to recover from
her death. I can look at you sometimes and know you’re thinking
about her. I know the way you look at me, now and then, you know
I’m think’n ‘bout her, too. That’s part of grieving, Son. It’s
part of life. It’s part of learning to let go. We have to let go,
Casey, we ain’t got no choice in the matter, but yore’ mom
wouldn’t want either one of us going on grieving for her too long.
Know’n and love’n yore’ ma like I done, I know’d she’d want us to
go on with our lives and take her love and memory with us. In a
way, I guess I’m a little more fortunate than you, Casey.”
“How’s ‘zat, Pa?”
“After I planted my seed in her, she carried you in her body for
nine months. When she give birth to you, she gave me the greatest
gift a man could ever receive; she gimme’ you. You’s a part of
her, but you’re a part of me, as well. You came from her body and,
in effect, I still have a part of her to help me let go. I have to
go on to make sure that part of her is okay and grows into a fine
young man. I’ve heard you crying sometimes way into the night, but
I didn’t know if I should holler or whistle for you or not.
Y'ain't said much to me since yore’ ma died. I thought you was
working things out on your own. I didn't wanna' push and make
things worse. Glad you come to me, though. It's always important
you do, Son, when y'ain't sure 'bout some'um. However bad you
might think it is, your old man ain't never gonna' turn you away.
Somehow, I’m a’ think’n this is God’s way of telling us we need
each other; we need to stop being so damned macho independent, and
lean on one another a little more. After all, we’s all we got now,
Pardner. So, get chore'self comfortable over there next to me, and
when I think I'm sure I have an idea what's wrong with you, you’ll
be the first to know, okay?” he asked.
“Okay, Dad. Dad?”
“Yes, Son?”
“Thanks.”
“S’what I’m here for, Cowboy. I love you, Casey.”
“I love you, too, Dad.”
End of Chapter 1 ~ Texas Longhorns
Copyright ~ © ~ 2004 ~ 2016~ Waddie Greywolf ~ All Rights Reserved
~
Mail to: Waddie Greywolf <waddiebear@yahoo.com>
WC = 5,134
12/30/2004
09/28/2016