Reunions (Part 4)

[Pictured: Uncle Mitch training his nephew in the garage.]

A few miles away from the family compound, Brent finally spoke up.

“What did they do to you?”

“They didn’t do anythin’ to me. I did it to myself.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“Fuck you, you…you know what Brent? Fuck you. You don’t want anyone to be happy, and you can’t be happy for anyone. You’re such a whiny fuckin’ faggot.”

“Then why in the fuck did you come get me! I didn’t want to fucking come anyway.”

“Cause we’re family—”

“We aren’t fucking family, you just…I mean, you can’t just, make up family.”

“I’m not making it up, fucker. Yer such an asshole, you know that?”

Brent sulked for a moment, still clutching his bag and not at all sure what he was going to do now. They drove down the gravel drive and Aaron parked next to the trucks already there, and Brent saw Jed and Butch were hanging out, watching people arrive.

“Hey Jed! How’s it hangin’ man?” Aaron shouted as he stepped out of the truck, and Brent looked back in time to see Aaron grab his uncle’s crotch in one hand, shove their big bellies together and lock lips, and he looked on, horrified. Jed was caught completely off guard, but he didn’t push Aaron away—in fact he blushed, and leaned in a bit, so that when Aaron pulled back abruptly Jed fell forward a step to keep his balance and licked his lips.

“Brent, get the fuck out of the truck, come over here and say hello to your uncle.”

Brent was frozen now. He couldn’t get out there, he didn’t know what was going on, he just wanted to go home. Aaron waited a moment for him, and then tromped around the truck, opened the passenger door and dragged him out onto the ground. “Ya little shithead, show some fuckin’ respect for family for once in your goddamn life.”

“Aww, leave the faggot alone,” Jed said, coming around to Aaron and giving his belly a rub, “He just doesn’t get it, and he never will. Now come on Aaron, how about you and I…you know…”

“Latter Jed, promise, but I gotta get this fucker situated before he runs off and hides in the barn like usual.”

Aaron dragged him and his bag over to the pasture proper, Aaron explaining along the way that Trent and him had decided it was high time that Brent joined the rest of the Taylor men, and quit sleeping with the boys like a damn coward. Brent asked if he was going to be sleeping with Aaron, and he laughed. Aaron was bunking with Brent’s dad in the farmhouse—Brent was going to be sleeping with Mitch—his second or third cousin twice removed, who Brent met shortly, a short, thin and very musky redneck at least fifteen years his senior, already reeking of whisky, and he pulled Brent into an uncomfortable hug which lasted several beats too long. Brent immediately decided he would never be sleeping here, even if that meant he stayed awake all week long.

Unlike previous years, the reunion hit full capacity early—the pasture seething with barechested, heavy gutted men by the first day. It was a particularly hot summer, the stench of redneck was overwhelming, but every time Brent tried to worm away from the throng, Aaron was there dragging him back into the thick of it. He fought him at first, but after a particularly fierce backhand broke his nose and left him streaming blood all over his shirt, he relented—allowing Aaron to ply him with other things instead. Against his will, Aaron and three other cousins forced him into a kegstand—he wound up blackout drunk, and woke in his tent in the early morning, wrapped in the arms of Mitch, the older man’s hard cock leaking against Brent’s bare leg, his ass raw and aching. This did not disturb him. For a moment, he pushed back into the smell of his cousin, until he woke up and realized what must have happened.

Disgusted and terrified, he struggled out of Mitch’s grasp and scrambled out into the camp, totally naked, and found himself surrounded by the sounds of sex in every direction. Aaron was up and waiting for him, also naked, hard and starring Brent down across the camp, but he made no effort to approach him—he only wanted to remind him who was really in change here. Brent looked down and realized he was hard too—and still quite drunk from the evening, and he wrapped his hand around the shaft, Aaron grinning at him.

The terror and panic overwhelmed him again. He spun and raced out of the camp, unable to let go of his cock, away from Aaron, hearing men surge out of their tents after him, his old friend leading the charge, and they caught hold of him before he could reach the wooded edge of the clearing, dragging him back, kicking and shouting and screaming and dumping him at Aaron’s feet.

“Please—please stop, why are you doing this to me?”

“Shut the fuck up, faggot, what the fuck is wrong with you?”

“With me? What about all of you? You’ve all gone insane!”

Aaron bent down and picked the struggling Brent up under the armpits, kicking and writhing, and pulled him into a tight hug.

“I love you, you stupid faggot, I fuckin’ love you to shit,” Aaron said in his ear, and then started kissing Brent, sucking on his unwilling face, and Brent felt that same sloth he’d felt in the tent. He was still drunk, he was tired and exhausted, and Aaron was warm and sweaty, almost the same temperature as the night air, and he was hard and horny, grinding his cock into Aaron’s gut mindlessly now, kissing back, when without warning Aaron dropped him to the ground.

“Better. Now how about you and Mitch finish getting acquainted? I think he’s going to have to keep you on a shorter lead though, since you have a tendency to run off.”

Brent got up, wiping Aaron’s slobber from his face and tromped off. He knew where to go, but had no idea where he was going. The men watched him round the farmhouse and head towards the side door of the garage, and they all returned to their earlier fucking, now simply coalescing into a large orgy at the center of the pasture, Aaron in the center, his cock buried down Jed’s throat.

As soon as the door shut behind him, Brent felt his mind clear. He turned to leave, to run as far away as he could but a leather hood came down over his entire face, blinding him. He struggled with his attacker, hearing Mitch laugh as he dragged him into the middle of the garage. sawhorses had become slings, wrenches and hammers were now paddles and dildos. “Gonna break you in real good, yeah,” Mitch panted, “Gonna break you in piggy, gonna make me a hot fuckin’ piggy by the end of the week, yeah…”

His mind was clouded again. He fought against it, but he couldn’t get enough air in through the small holes near his nose. The collar Mick forced onto him, while only supple leather, was so heavy Brent collapsed to his knees, and when Mick tugged the leash he felt compelled to crawl after him. A zipper releasing his mouth, something pressed to his lips—something gritty, the toe of a boot. Lick the boot, lick it all, lick it for Aaron, for Mitch, for Dad lick it, lick it good like a good little piggy…

***

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Reunions (Part 3) 

[Pictured: Aaron after returning to campus in the fall.]

Brent spent the summer back on campus. He’d spent much of his Freshman year cultivating relationships with several professors in various sciences, and one of them had offered him a research assistantship, which included a small stipend on top of room and board for the summer months. After the near silent ride back from the reunion, Aaron dropped him near the dorm and drove off again, heading home to live with his parents for the summer. Brent wondered what exactly had happened to drive such an invisible wedge between them–he was encouraged when they managed to regain some of their ease of conversation over the next month, chatting on facebook about their plans for the next year, until in early July, shortly after Brent received a tearful call from his mother telling him that his father had left in a rage and promised divorce, Aaron disappeared from the internet, and couldn’t be reached. In some desperation for a ride to visit his mother, he bought a bus ticket out of town, but by the time he arrived home he found she had already seen several doctors for a variety of pain medications and she wandered the trailer in a stupor, tended by two of his sisters who hadn’t yet found some poor match in the trailer park to wed young. With work to do back at the college, he spent a short time consoling her meekly and then returned to campus, hopeful that he might not have to return again.

Aaron remained unresponsive, and Brent assumed his friend was giving him the silent treatment for some unknown reason, but his annoyance turned to concern when he received a message from Aaron’s mother, telling him that after a terrible argument between Aaron and his father, he had left and not returned for two weeks. Since Aaron was legally an adult the police had been no help, and she wanted to know if Brent had seen Aaron at all, but he had no news to give her.

In mid-August, just in time for training camp for the upcoming football season, Aaron rolled into town in his Corolla, mud splattered up to the windows. As soon as Brent heard he was back, he went to find him, and discovered that wherever he’d been for the summer, he’d made some changes while he was there. He was a good fifty to seventy pounds heavier, almost all of it fat, and his moderate southern accent had grown thick and rough. He refused to give Brent any information about where he’d been, and simply said he’d had enough of living at home, and when pressed, he cussed his friend out and stormed off to the dorms to get changed for his first practice.

Between Aaron’s rigorous schedule, and Brent finishing up his summer research work, the next time they spoke was when Brent moved out of the dorm he’d gotten for the summer and back into the one he’d be sharing with Aaron, and discovered that along with his new look, Aaron had let a few other things slip too. He’d only been there two weeks and the room was already trashed–dirty laundry was piled everywhere, beer cans and whisky bottles lined every shelf, and Aaron found a few cellophane wrapped cigars by the window, the same cheap, reeking brand his father smoked.

They fought almost constantly. By the end of the first month, Brent would take any chance he could to get out of the room, and had even taken to sleeping in the dining hall on occasion–one of the few places open all night on campus. Aaron was ornery, aggressive, and unapologetic. The football coaches were unhappy with his weight gain, but with some long hours in the weight room and personal coaching from the assistant coach, Aaron was converting much of the fat to muscle. He stank of smoke and alcohol, refused to shower and clean up after himself. It was a relief, almost, when the homecoming game fiasco struck and Aaron hightailed it off campus.

Not one for sports, Brent was alone in the room while the game was going on, relishing a moment without Aaron around, when his roommate burst into the room, still in his uniform, shaking with rage. After the fact, Brent managed to gather that in the second quarter, Aaron had sacked the opposing team’s quarterback, climbed on him, and started grinding his crotch into the opposing player’s ass, howling and shouting, and he’d been ejected from the game. Aaron was furious, but before Brent could calm him down, there was a knock on the dorm room door. Aaron flung it open to reveal the quarterback he’d nearly raped on the field, and as soon as he saw Aaron, he dropped to his knees and started sucking at the front of Aaron’s uniform pants.

Unable to believe what he was seeing, Brent slipped out of the room and didn’t return until the next morning, where he found the quarterback asleep on Aaron’s bed, ass up, cum leaking onto the mattress, but Aaron was gone. He’d packed a bag in the night and fled. Brent had no idea what to make of the strange two months Aaron had been there, and he tried his best to forget them entirely. However, both the quarterback Aaron had fucked and the assistant coach made it hard, because both of them would show up once or twice a month, usually drunk, asking Brent if he had any idea where Aaron had gone. They looked desperate, like they needed drugs. The assistant coach quit a month later, and the quarterback stopped coming around in December, but the look of need in their eyes was something Brent couldn’t shake.

By the time spring semester arrived, the campus had calmed down, and the story of the homecoming football rape had passed into history and rumor. Brent focused on his school work. His mother had recovered from the shock of the divorce, but Brent hadn’t heard anything from his dad. He decided early that he wouldn’t go to the reunion this year. Besides, he didn’t have a ride to get there anyway, so the point was moot. He’d managed to nab another summer research position, and after finals he moved into his summer dorm. All was fine for a couple of weeks, until someone started banging on his door early one morning.

“Hey Cuzz! Your ride’s here. Get up, ya faggot, or we’re gonna be late to the reunion!”

Brent had no idea who in his family might care enough to drag him all the way across the state to the family reunion, but he  knew he was going to tell them to fuck off. He got up and opened the door to the hallway, and found himself facing Aaron, wearing a flannel shirt and grimy overalls, smoking a cigar and grinning. He looked confident. Happy in his own skin. He’d never looked like that before–even towering over nearly everyone on campus, he’d seemed to shrink into the background. Now he managed to fully occupy the space he was in, and the six and a half foot monster, reeking of musk and grime and smoke caused Brent to take a step back, allowing Aaron to step inside and shut the door behind them.

“Where’s your bag? I’ll throw it in the truck.”

“I–I’m not packed…” Brent said, I wasn’t, I mean, I didn’t think…”

“ What do you mean ya ain’t packed?” Aaron said.

He couldn’t go–he couldn’t go, he couldn’t ride with him all the way there, not in a truck, not with that smoke. What had happened to him? Small details were leaping out at him now. The full beard, the tattoos running all the way down his arms and onto the back of his hands. “I can’t, I won’t…”

“You have to, Brent.”

“No–what happened to you? What did they do to you?”

Aaron laughed, and then grabbed Brent’s forearm. “I ain’t leavin’ here without ya, Cuzz. Family comes first, you know that! Now, ya can either pack some shit in the next five minutes, or I can pick ya up in yer boxers and carry ya out to the truck. Yer choice.”

“You’re not even my fucking family! Get the fuck out of here.”

He tried to wrench his arm away but Aaron dragged him closer, looming over him.

“Alright.” Brent said, “alright, I’ll come. But let me pack some stuff and put some clothes on.”

He threw together some clothes in a bag, hands shaking, and they climbed into the pickup and sped off out of town, windows down and neither one speaking to the other. Brent clutched his bag to his chest, dreading this week more than any other in his life. Aaron turned up the country music on the radio, and sped off down the highway at close to ninety, and they reached the family homestead in record time.