A Stay in the Country, Part II by bare

A Stay in the Country, Part II

The next few days in the country were about as non-adventurous as they come, and that was fine by me.  I have always enjoyed my own company, but it felt strange not having anyone around.  Early the next day I threw on my tee shirt and running shorts and got all the supplies I needed in town.  I then settled into my naked routine.  I cleaned house, watched TV, read books, explored the barn and other out buildings, said hello to the horses, took long walks in the pastures and laid out in the sun. At night, when it cooled down to the high 70s, I soaked in the hot tub and wondered what life was all about.   

Petty as it sounds, I couldn’t help myself but I was still pissed as hell that my new neighbor what’s-her-name had reported seeing me naked out on my balcony to the landlord.  What nerve!   When I got back to the city, I would have to do something to get back at her—something with high shock value.  She wouldn’t last long in my apartment complex unless she experienced a life-transforming event and let go of whatever baggage she was carrying.  I didn’t really have much reason for concern.  The landlord, Gary, lived in the building although he didn’t own it.  I had known him for years.  Very unlikely he’d ever get fired, but he did have to follow protocol when evicting a tenant.  There were other routes to take that would have her begging to get out of her lease, but I knew my anger was getting the better of me.  Oftentimes people that I immediately dislike turn out to be loyal friends.  The owners lived in New York and had never even seen the place, which was probably a good thing.  Gary had been the best landlord I’d ever had.  He was twice divorced and had sworn off women and become celibate.  Like me, he had come to rely on his own devices, and when we got lonely we would watch football or porno flicks and jack off till the cows came home.  We were masturbation marathoners, beat off freaks, blokes that could outstroke.  I don’t think I need to mention that my nudity was a non-issue with him.

Gary managed our complex like the proud captain of a yacht sailing the Turquoise Sea.  He was there to serve as well as command.  His crew came first, but had to meet a list of criteria before boarding, so how the hell did this newbie succeed in coming on board?  Maybe he had temporarily lost touch with reality?  But why? 

It was a small L-shaped complex with the remaining two sides lined with a tall, semi-rotten wooden privacy fence.  Parking slots were outside the perimeter of the building, so everyone had to enter through the front gate.  The building was two stories and all the upstairs units, like mine, had small balconies looking out on the courtyard and the dazzling swimming pool, which was used most frequently by our resident senior citizen, Elsie.  She was in her mid-eighties and had spent the bulk of her life raising her kids and working to support them.  Her husband had left her ages ago with two toddlers, and somehow she had managed to get back in school, graduated with a degree in sociology  and worked for the state as a chemical dependency counselor, ultimately retiring at the age of 80 as the highest ranking administrator in the agency.  She ran the place with an iron fist and lots of tough love.  She had seen it all and didn’t abide any bullshit.  She swam in that little pool every day, smoked a pack of Marlboro lights and opened her door at 4:30 every afternoon for cocktails.  She said it was the vodka that kept her alive.  She just had damn good genes if you ask me, but who was I to tell her to give up the smokes and booze?  

The corner unit beside mine was occupied by Frankie, a gentle schizophrenic who couldn’t harm a fly even if it told him to.  His voices were under control thanks to modern medication and a good shrink.  We had another mental on site.  We called her Lady—a manic depressive who had been to hell and back and knew her demons intimately.  She struggled like no one I’ve ever met.  She was forever going off her meds, and flying as high as a kite in a manic haze, doing dangerous things and getting deep in debt.  Her family would intervene and she would come down, down, down and sleep for weeks.  Then she would bake cookies and send them out to all the residents along with notes of profuse apologies.  When she was manic, she would fuck everything and everyone in sight, including inanimate objects that caught her eye. Gary, the landlord, had once pulled her from her car where she was having orgasm after orgasm with her burled walnut gear shift.  But mostly she had a small army of men and women parading in and out of her apartment, fucking their brains out and smoking  pot and god knows what else.  Sometimes the activity would spill outside and her entourage would gather around the pool where the activity would continue for all to see.  I’d go out on my balcony naked and aroused and watch like a kid at the circus.  Gary had accumulated several video tapes that had become classics with us.  Occasionally he would aim the camera at one of the balconies and catch other tenants participating in the activity from the safety of their balconies.  However, these events were very rare and would invariably get out of hand and keeping the noise down became the main priority after the revelry began to wear thin.   We loved her and she was one of us.   It wasn’t her fault that she had this disorder, but we would plead with her to stay on her meds at least most of the time.  It was absolutely forbidden for any of the residents to even think of calling the police when these Romanesque orgies took place around the pool.  I doubt, however, if the idea ever occurred to any of the residents of this complex.  I think most just grabbed their binoculars, their cocks, their dildos.

There were about a dozen other mostly long-term tenants that occupied the remaining apartments.  Children were not allowed, and most were working class folks who were gone all day and came home each evening to chill out and get ready for another day of work.  Remember, they had all passed Gary’s Attributes of a Good Tenant and Neighbor test.  Which brings me back to the bitch downstairs.  What had gone wrong?  I would have to wait until I got back, and until then I was staying naked and wondering about the that hired man was who was supposed to come by twice a week and feed the horses and do other manual labor things that I couldn’t be bothered with.  I continued to read my books, watch TV, watered the plants and mowed the grass, kept the house spotless and played with my man thing like a little boy.

Today was the fourth day of my stay at my sister and brother-in-law’s farmhouse.  I had stayed up late watching Casablanca on TV the night before and had fallen into a deep nap after a heavy lunch with one too many beers.  I was dreaming that I was naked and riding one of the horses bareback without so much as a bridle, hanging on for dear life, my face buried in the horses long mane, the wind whistling past…suddenly we seemed to crash and there was a loud banging sound like the pop of a pistol.  Startled, I opened my eyes wondering where the hell I was.  Of course, in the country, it all came back to me, and then another bang, bang, bang.  Someone was knocking on the front door.  Had I latched the screen?  The house was all opened up, a strong breeze passing through the doors and windows.  The beer had gone straight through me and I desperately need to take a leak.  I was sweaty and disheveled.

“Be right there,” I yelled out to the stranger whose back was now facing the screen door.  No doubt he could see right through the screen door and didn’t want to embarrass me.  I stood up and realized I was rock hard.  God I needed to pee.  What the hell.  I walked over to the screen door and said, “Yeah, can I help you?”

The stranger turned around and stood facing me.  Instinctively I knew this was the hired help—the handyman.  He wore dark blue jeans and brown cowboy boots and had on a baseball cap emblazoned with the letters NYFD.  The sleeves had been cut from his shirt, showing off his impressive muscles and more than a few tattoos.  His face was bore a ruggedness that matched his physique, and his dark brown eyes looked like they had seen more than their share of hard times.  His look was both tough and gentle at the same time.  I guessed he might have spent time in prison, yet instinctively I knew he was harmless. 

“Sorry to interrupt you sir,” he said, “I work for the Gilberts.  My name is Manual.  Did they tell you they had hired me to do some work around the place?”

“Of course, of course they did,” I stammered, “very nice to meet you.”  I unhooked the latch and opened the door and offered my hand. “I’m Guy, Jan’s brother.” His handshake was tight, but not too tight, you know, just right.  “I was taking a nap, sorry…”

“Oh, uh, I’m sorry I woke you up,” he said apologetically.  

“No, please, it was past time for me to get up,” I said.  I wondered if he could smell the beer on my breath, which instantly reminded me how much I needed to pee.  I looked down and was still sticking straight out, almost.  I didn’t know whether to invite him in or excuse myself and make a mad dash for the bathroom. 

“Sorry, man, but I’m about to piss in my pants.”  He cracked a smile.  What a fucking dumb thing to say, I didn’t even have on a pair of pants.  Jesus, what was with me?

Suddenly I laughed out loud.  He let out another chuckle. 

“Hell’s bells,” I said, “the yard is much closer than the fucking toilet,” and I stepped out on the porch and peed like a water spigot onto the freshly mowed grass. 

“My dad always said that when you need to go, you need to go,” he said comfortingly. 

There was a moment of silence except for my piss hitting the grassy ground. 

“If you don’t mind,” he said, “when you’re finished with that,” and he nodded his head in the direction of my cock, smiling, “I’d like to ask you a question about one of the mares.  She has several nasty looking knots about the size of almonds on her right flank.  It may not be anything serious but I’ve never noticed them before.  I don’t know, if you think maybe you should call John in Hawaii and see what he thinks.  Maybe he’d want me to call out the vet?”

“I don’t know a damn thing about horses,” I said, “but I’d be glad to take a look.”  I glanced over at my tennis shoes that I had parked by the front door so as not to track in dirt or grass.  He caught my gaze.

“You probably ought to put those on,” he said, looking at my tennis, “you know, just in case you step in some horse shit or something.”  I took his message to mean that all I needed were my shoes.  I decided to be positive, and went with that interpretation. Together we headed out toward the horse pen.  I was glad my erection had finally gone down, but it didn’t much matter because this man was about as comfortable with my nudity as anyone I had ever met.  He had that rare, natural ability to make me feel totally at ease and think in the back of my mind that somehow I had met him before.

When Manual and I reached the horse pen, I noticed he had closed the gate that led out to the pasture.   He showed me where the mare was covered in what looked liked a series of small tumors along the side of her right flank. 

“As I said, Manuel, I don’t know a damn thing about horses but I think I know exactly what’s going on here.  I’ve seen this once before.  It was when a friend of mine tied his horse to a tree that had a wasp nest in it.”

“Well I’ll be damn,” he said, “that makes sense. There are wasps all over this part of the country.”

“Yea, and they like to build under roof lines, just like this,” I said, pointing to the small pitched roof that covered the horses’ feeding trough.  “Yep, sure enough, look up here,” I said, “a big nest of those fuckers.  I hate em. Wonder why they stung her on her back flank and not all over her face or front part?

“Who knows,” said Manuel, “but I’m gonna let these horses back out to pasture,” he said, opening the gate. 

“Let me go find some spray.” I said, “unless you know if some is kept in the barn?”

“I’ll look out here while you look in the house.” 

“You bet,” I said. “Be right back.”

I returned a few minutes later empty handed.  “No luck,” I said, what about you?”

“If there’s any insect spray out here I can’t find it,” he said, dismayed.  “I got several cans at my place though.”

“I’m sure that can wait until the next time you come out,” I said.

“Well, maybe so, but we will need to keep this gate closed, and those horses will neigh all night long wanting to get in here to their feed trough and water,” he said.

“I hadn’t thought about that” I said, looking worried.

“Better get this over with,” he said, “I’ll just hop in my pickup and be back in a flash.  Wanna come along for the ride?  I only live about 5 miles from here, and it might be helpful for you to know where I live as I don’t have a phone.  You know, in case something comes up.”

“Why not?” I said.  “Let me run in the house, get dressed and lock the doors.”

“Good idea to lock the doors,” he said, once again smiling, “but you don’t need anything more than those tennis shoes you already have on.”

Clearly  he saw all the doubts racing through my mind.

“My place is more secluded than this,” he said, “and we’re only on the farm to market road for about half a mile, and from then on it’s just back country roads.  Most likely we won’t see a single car, but so what if we do?  It’s hotter than hell and nobody’s going to give a second thought to seeing a shirtless man riding in a pick up truck, I can guarantee you that.”

Why not I thought to myself.  It’s barely after one in the afternoon, the pick up sits up high, back country roads—not too big a risk.  I wanted to stay open to new adventures. 

“Sure,” I said, trying very hard to conceal my excitement.  I ran to the house, grabbed the keys, locked the back door, dashed into my bedroom and grabbed my running shorts and tried to stuff them inside my shoe.  Not possible.  Shit.  I’ll grab a cap, I thought, and tuck them under that.  Perfect fit.  I locked the front door and made myself slow down and take a few deep breaths before I approached his pick up and hopped in on the passenger side.  My heart was still pounding. This was my fourth day of house sitting and my adventure had begun.