The Shearing Gun (11 page)

There was a pause. When Elliot answered his voice was softer, lower, and more intimate—despite the distance between us. “Maybe I’ll just have to offer the blow job to the person who organized this magical ride for me, then.”

My hand went to my dick as I palmed it through my cotton pajama bottoms. It had already been half aroused from simply talking to the man, but then he went and put that image in my mind! My dick sprung to full attention and began waving madly.

“Fuck, Quackle!”

His laughter was sexy and personal. “Yeah, that too if you’re really willing.” I groaned out loud and squeezed hard at my wood. He laughed even more. “Oh, ho! It does sound like someone is ready. Are you turned on, Hank?”

“You are a fucking wanker, Ell! I’ve been really nice to you and found you a ride home tomorrow—then you go and fucking tease me. What sort of friendship is that?”

“Who said I was teasing, Hank? And just for the record? Yes, I have been known to both fuck and wank. Do you need a wank, Hank?”

I tried to think of something unappealing and unsexy. Sheep dips. Lamb castration. Shearing in the February heat. Moldy crops.

It didn’t work.

I released my rock-hard dick from my pants and gave it a couple of strokes. “I’m going to have to call you back in two minutes, Doc.” My voice had gone deep from arousal, and I knew that I could finish myself off and call him back in less than two minutes, at the rate I was going.

“No!” he almost yelled. “Come on, Hank. I’m all on my lonesome in a hotel room. You can at least be a buddy and talk to me, can’t you?”

The guy was a sadistic twat. He
had
to know why I wanted to hang up the phone for two minutes. He wasn’t that thick was he? “Ell….”

“Are you touching yourself, Hank? Do you have your erection in your hand?” Nope—he wasn’t thick at all, in the head at least. He knew exactly what I had in my hand. “I have mine here. He’s leaking for you, Hank. He’s thinking all about you. He’s thinking about my mouth on you.”

My breath hissed out from between my teeth at the image. I stroked harder and faster, imagining Elliot doing the same. I could see his lean, skinny body and that shock of black pubic hair, and I imagined he was reclining on the hotel bed, stroking his tasty cock, and teasing me over the phone. I panted hard and hoped that he couldn’t hear the slapping sound of my hand against my flesh over the phone.

I groaned. Loudly.

“That’s it, Hank. Tell me what you’re thinking about,” he breathed into the phone. I could feel that whisper the entire length of my spine.

“You.” The word slipped out of my mouth before I could stop it. I squeezed my eyes closed tightly and could see him clearly in my mind. My climax was rapidly approaching and I promised myself I could think about the ramifications of this call later. But for now I needed one thing, and one thing only.

“Yeah? What am I doing, Hank?”

My tongue felt swollen and hot in my mouth. My skin burned where I was using too much friction and not enough lubrication, but it didn’t matter. I blurted the truth. “You’re bent over my bed.”

And I was done for. Just voicing the image was enough to send me flinging off into space. My dick spurted, white spunk flowed in rivers as it shot out of my erection. I shouted a wordless exclamation and squeezed my flesh hard. I clutched at the phone and gritted my teeth, lost in the moment for a long minute.

Sanity returned slowly, creeping up on me like a foggy morning. Then the fog cleared, and I blinked rapidly, glanced around the room, and found I was in the lounge room with the TV on, not in my bedroom pumping into Elliot’s willing body as I had imagined. I sighed and looked at my phone. We were still connected, which meant I’d just come in my hand while the local doctor listened. I put my ear back to the device.

“Quackle?”

“Nearly… there….” Elliot’s voice was breathy and strained. I could hear the hitch in his breathing as he reached for his own pleasure.

I laughed. “Shit, Quackle. You just made me lose my junk all over my lounge chair. How am I going to explain to my brother that you and I had a mutual jerk off over the phone if he asks about the stain?”

“Ugh!” Elliot’s cry was like the thick cream on top of a pavlova. And I love my pav. I waited while he recovered, grinning like a kid in a lolly shop the whole time.

“You still with me, Quackle?”

“Yes… I think so….” He sounded a little unsure. I’d had a little bit more recovery time, so I teased him.

“Do you think you’re aware enough to take down a number of a guy you need to call? Or is your brain still pea-size from the lack of blood?”

He chuckled. “You’re not going to try and give me Dom’s number, are you?”

“Nah, mate. Do me a favor? Wipe your hand off and grab a pen.” There was no denial of what just happened—on either end of the phone. “I’ll give you the phone number of the guy who’ll bring you home tomorrow. His name is Ken. He’s waiting for your text and will pick you up from whatever hotel you’re staying in at seven tomorrow morning.” I waited while he gathered himself and found a pen before reciting the phone number. “Ken will bring you through and drop you at the Whin Bin Rock Road, just after Highbury. I’ll pick you up from there and bring you to my house, so you can collect your car.”

“Okay. Thanks, Hank. You’re a real lifesaver. I would’ve been on the bus if it wasn’t for you.”

“Yeah, whatever,” I said. “I just knew who to ring. Now this phone call is going to be costing me more than those pay-per-minute lines, so I have one more question, and then I have to go. How is the Palmer boy?”

Elliot sighed over the phone. “Lucky as all fuck, to tell the truth. If I hadn’t been so close to town, it could’ve been a different story. Me and another doctor sewed him up some in Katanning, but it wasn’t enough. He’s having microsurgery as we speak. I don’t know how you stand it, Hank. Out there in the country, a kid could bleed to death before medical help arrives. I don’t know if I like the responsibility of saving lives without backup. If you hadn’t invited me to the game…. If you had asked me to stay and help you on the farm instead, then Jackson Palmer’s parents would be planning a funeral right now.”

I swallowed, thinking of how close death and life really were. “But you
were
there, Doc. And you do the best you can with what you’re served. That’s all we can really do. You’re going to get lucky some days, like today, but other days it’s going to be too late. You can beat yourself up about it, but you’re going to end up so twisted that you won’t be of any use to anyone. Not even as a sheep herder. Now get to bed, and I’ll see you tomorrow, okay?”

“Okay.” He paused. “Hank?”

“Yeah?”

“Thanks. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Chapter 10

I
PARKED
my car off Whin Bin Rock Road and pulled out my
Countryman
newspaper. It was the only thing I ever read, and I could imagine Elliot’s derision if he found that out. The guy was a doctor and must’ve read a million books in his lifetime. If he discovered how thick I really was, he would be running in the opposite direction.

And I wasn’t sure if I wanted that or not.

The last twelve hours had been fraught with self-loathing, embarrassment, and regrets. I had no idea what had come over me to make me act so rashly. Phone sex? With someone from my hometown? How bloody stupid and dangerous was that to my secret? And I was petrified to find out what Elliot thought it meant for our relationship.

Did he consider it a green light to continue to a more sexual level? Were we more than friends now? Was he thinking we would have a closeted romance in the isolated country? A secret affair? Or worse? A not-so-secret affair? Did he think I would openly declare our relationship—whatever it may be—to the wide world?

And most importantly—what did I want? A friend? A lover? A fuck buddy?

My dreams were filled with miniature angels who looked horrifyingly like people from my life and all urged me to do different things.

There was the angel of my dad, dressed all in white with a set of pale wings, his face twisting as he told me that I was disgusting and perverted, and that I should stay away from any type of sexual relationship near my home in case I was found out. That angry angel whispered that I was dirty and that I needed to prove my manhood by having a spotless reputation and doing my old man proud.

But then a Paul-angel, also complete with wings and halo, came along, pushed him away, and told me that there was nothing wrong with being gay, and that I should let others know. This angel whispered of loving and cherishing another person, of not being alone, of walking true to my path.

Then an angel in a tight white outfit, who looked a lot like the twink, Dom, came prancing over and reminded me about my no-fishing rule. He waggled his butt in my direction and told me that my rules had worked fine for three years—why change them?

He was shut down and thrust aside by an Elliot-angel. This angel looked at me with sadness and told me that the worst thing I could ever be in life was lonely and alone.

Surprisingly he was joined by both Neil and Middy. The two of them looked ridiculous in white, but they were laughing and shoving each other like they were on the football field. In my dream I looked at them both and asked, “What would happen if everyone found out I was gay?”

The Neil-angel laughed out loud and sneered, “What, you? A butt fucker? You’ll never work again. I don’t know anyone who would buy stock off a pansy.”

But Middy shook his head. “Who gives a f-f-fuck? You are judged on your c-c-character and actions. Not on your personal life. Look at my dad.”

I had to agree with that one. Middy’s father had done eight years in jail for race fixing. No one would dare take a race tip from him, but he had an uncanny knack for knowing the markets and the weather. If Tony MacDonald sidled up to you in the pub and told you that you should wait two more weeks before putting wheat in the ground, then you were an idiot if you didn’t dump the lupins you were planning to plant the following day and rush off to buy wheat. He was a gambling addict, but his knowledge of the land was respected.

The angels argued around and around, never agreeing with one another and not helping me a lot.
Well, hell!

I woke with grit in my eyes and feeling like I should dive back under the covers for the rest of the day. I was nervous about seeing Elliot again, but also looking forward to it. I hoped I could coax another sweet blush from him and call him Quackle enough times that he snapped and did something outrageous back to me.

I read an article about falling grain prices, skimmed the pages that talked about the monumental fuckup the government orchestrated by suspending live exports to Indonesia, and was reading about climate change when a car horn sounded nearby. I looked up and saw Elliot getting out of a standard white Pajero four-wheel drive, along with another, older fella I didn’t know.

A smile cracked my face, and I jumped out.

“Hey, Doc!”

“Hi, Hank. Have you been waiting long?”

“Nah, mate. Not long.” I looked at the other guy and stuck out my hand. “Hank Woods. Thanks for bringing our doctor home to us.”

Ken Darby came over with a grin and introduced himself. He asked about where I lived and I told him, explaining my farming set up. It was clear from his knowledge and interest that he was a career country cop. He would be policing in the country until retirement. I liked him immensely.

“So I hear you got yourself a grandkid?” I asked, and he rushed off with a description of his new grandson, obviously an extremely proud grandfather.

Finally he waved good-bye, told Elliot that he was welcome to come and share dinner at his house in Nyabing and meet his wife, then got back in the car and pulled away. I waved before turning back to Elliot. He was leaning against the hood of my car with a plastic bag in his hand, his face an expressionless mask.

“So…?” I asked.

“What do you mean?” he hedged.

I was glad that we weren’t going to talk about last night. It was like dodging a bullet. I motioned for him to get in the car and changed my mind about what I was going to ask him. If he wanted to discuss the mutual jerk off, then he was going to have to bring it into the conversation. I wasn’t brave enough. “So did the Palmer boy come through surgery okay?”

Relief filled his face, and he became animated. The concern he had for his patient was obvious. “Yes. The surgeon is hopeful that we got him to the hospital in time. We will have to wait a couple of days to test the nerves and extremities, and of course he’s going to need recovery time, followed by some physical therapy, but he’s alive and has all of his fingers.”

I climbed behind the wheel of the car and looked at him in amazement. “You are incredible, Quackle. I can’t believe you have the ability to save someone’s life like that.”

He smiled gently at me. “What you do is important too, Hank. Where would the world be without farmers? Starving to death, that’s where. It’s my job to make sure the farmers are still around to feed us. Your job is to grow the food. Very different jobs, yes, but neither is more important than the other.”