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Author's Note: I just got my eyes Lasix-ed the other day (using "Laser Beams", LOL!) and my vision isn't quite up to snuff yet. If you would please, note any misspellings or formatting errors in the comments section, below. I'm going to shamelessly use y'all as my editors. :-)

And to top it all off, I hit the "backspace" key one too many times when entering tags, and it deleted the whole entry. Grrrr!! It was hard enough putting this in the first time, much less doing ti again!

Enough nattering about - on to our story!

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Spring was on the way in, and the weather was completely unpredictable. The snow of the previous week had just been melted by brilliant sunlight and warm temperatures when Mother Nature apparently decided it hadn't been cold long enough. Arctic winds froze the slushy ground to treacherous ice overnight, and drove snow into large drifts against the side of the barn.

Bubba's grandfather had known what he was doing when he built the barn, and the doors were on sides which accumulated the least amount of snow. Still, there was some digging out to be done before the cows could be milked and fed, and by the time we got the chores done both Bubba and I were exhausted.

We struggled through cleaning the equipment, and for once it was I who insisted on disinfecting the apparatus again when it wasn't done to my satisfaction the first time. It was a turn of the tables to hear Bubba bitch and moan, but it was also gratifying that even though he didn't feel that it needed to be done, he still re-did the work because I wasn't satisfied. It felt like we'd finally pulled together as a team, and that made the cold walk back to the warmth of the house easier to bear for both of us.

We pulled off our boots and coats in the mud room, gave each other a quick once-over to make sure we weren't tracking manure into the house, and collapsed onto the living room couches. We seemed to be in complete agreement that breakfast could wait for a little while. Bubba grabbed the remote in one meaty fist and thumbed on the stereo on to a news broadcast for some background noise, oblivious to what was being said. Over the sounds of some morning program or other I could hear the wind whipping the snow against the storm window screens, almost sounding as if it were angry that it had been left outside. Seconds later, Bubba added the peaceful sounds of his snoring to the mix, and that was enough to push me under the surface of my own consciousness.

It might have been a few minutes later, it might have been over an hour, I'll never know. The sounds of the radio program had changed, and now callers were talking to a celebrity therapist, playing out their little daily dramas. I was awake enough to figure out I was hungry, and I was thinking about getting up and starting lunch when I looked over at Bubba, who was still making soft, snuffling sounds that told me he was deeply asleep.

"Fuck me running, " I said softly, when what was snaking down his crotch caught my eye. It looked like he was trying to shoplift a radiator hose in his pants. Catching myself, I quickly looked away. For the love of God, I didn't need to see that. I didn't want to even know that my cousin had a penis, much less how big it was. We'd shared a bathroom for three months now, and were comfortable with one of us pissing while the other shaved or showered. We just did what most guys do when they're in a situation with forced intimacy - we pretended that it wasn't happening. When you're in a locker room shower everyone acts like nobody's naked, just like when you're taking a dump in a truckstop bathroom, nobody says anything when you blow your guts out your ass. You just flush and go on with life. Avoiding the obvious makes life easier on everyone. But this...

I was disgusted at myself for my weakness, but I couldn't resist. I turned my head and looked at the crotch of Bubba's Wranglers again. The length wasn't that much bigger than I'd seen on other men, probably eight, maybe eight and a half inches long. But the thickness of the shaft was damned impressive, perfectly matching his thick, rugged build, and I couldn't ignore it any more than I could have ignored a locomotive thundering by me at sixty miles per hour. This, I thought, is what truly separates gay men from straight men. I had to look. Just like Bubba or any other straight man would have looked at a juicy set of tits bobbling in front of his face, I had to look at his cock. Some time during his sleep he had rolled over mostly onto his back and shoved a thumb into the front of his waistband, unconsciously giving me a perfect view of the denim straining to contain his manhood.

What is he dreaming of? I mused, wondering if it were the stripper he'd fucked the month before. Thoughts of him banging the woman made a feeling well up inside me that I wasn't prepared to face. It was jealousy, envy, and lust all wrapped up in a shell of doubt and insecurity. I didn't want to think what I would have done to have my cousin fucking me instead.

As I watched in mute fascination he stretched a bit, his thick fingers pushed his prick into a slightly more comfortable position in his jeans. And to my damnable fascination, I watched as a small, dark spot pushed its way through the fabric. Pre. Whatever was going on inside his head right now, it was one hot fucking dream. I watched as it spread to the size of a dime, mesmerized by the sight. I knew I shouldn't be looking at him, I knew it was wrong to be lusting after my own cousin, no matter how hot he was. I felt an honest desire to turn parts of my life around, and although I'd never be straight, I'd certainly be less of a slut. Living with Bubba had done that much for me, at least. Yet here I was, thinking about getting fucked stupid by my hunky cousin.

My hunky cousin who, I realized, was no longer snoring. My eyes shot up to his face, and found that he was looking at me with a truly unreadable expression in his eyes. He wasn't glaring at me, but it wasn't a tender, loving look, either. I'd gotten pretty good at reading his moods, but this one was incomprehensible. For an instant I considered closing my eyes and pretending to go back to sleep as if nothing had happened, but for some reason I couldn't. His gaze held me with riveting force. Neither of us spoke for a shame-filled eternity which probably lasted no more than thirty seconds. Then, like the guilty suspect in a police drama, I had to either speak or grab a gun and kill myself. "It's who I am, cuz. I can't change any more than you can."

Silently he considered me, then he nodded his understanding. There was still no condemnation in his eyes, no disgust or dislike. His eyes still held mine, and I knew that he was still Bubba, and I knew that he didn't love me any less than he had five minutes ago.

Then he did speak. "I'm the one who should apologize," he said. "You didn't do anything wrong."

I shrugged my shoulders. "Nothing to apologize for," I said, "you didn't mean to."

I got up off my couch, and he quickly rolled off his own, meeting me in the middle of the space. He pulled me into a bearlike hug, holding on to me like a drowning man might. His words were quiet into my ear, and I somehow knew that he would never have talked to anyone else like this, man or woman. "Still, I'm sorry. I don't want to make it hard for you."

What he'd said was kind, and I didn't want to ruin what he was saying by laughing at the words he chose, but in the end I couldn't help it. As if betrayed by my laughter, he held me at arm's length for a moment. Then his eyes went wide and a huge hand went up to cover his face in embarrassment. The tips of his ears went crimson, and he peeked out over his fingers like a child. He gave up and pulled me back into the hug, squeezing the breath out of me for a moment before letting me go. He pressed the side of his head into mine just before we separated, one last signal that things were still okay between us.

We both wiped tears from our eyes and tottered into the kitchen like drunks on a bender. When the laughter had quieted, I ventured, "I'm glad we can laugh together. I don't want something like that to turn into a subject we can't talk about. I mean, shit, for a second there I thought you were going to say you'd never had a hard-on before."

Shaking his head, Bubba disagreed with the notion. "Oh, I've had 'em, all right. Probably more times than anyone knows. I'm just usually better than that at hiding 'em."

Thinking about it, I realized that whenever Bubba took a nap on the couch, he was either under a blanket or he had a pillow over his crotch. Same thing when we ended up in the same bed. He always put a pillow between us, and I was usually facing away from him. He could have popped boners all day long and I'd never have known about it. That wasn't something I cared to think about, and wasn't something I thought needed to be brought up in casual conversation so I let it slide. "I haven't been that bad since junior high school," I replied. If he wanted to get out of this conversation, This was an easy exit ramp.

To my surprise, Bubba ignored the easy way out and continued on the same track. "It was even worse for me back then," he said, chopping onions and ham for an omelet. "I'd get a hard-on if a stiff breeze blew past. I think I spent two years of my life walking around with my shirt untucked and my books held in front of me."

"I've talked to women about that," I said, thinking back to some conversations I'd had back in college. "Trust me - they didn't notice your problems any more than you noticed theirs. They were all wrapped up in pimples, small breasts, or not having their periods yet. And the other guys were all too busy trying to hide their own boners to notice yours, no matter how big yours might have been." I put bread in the toaster, but didn't push the plunger yet.

Bubba scrambled eggs expertly and swirled half of them in the hot skillet. "My dick wasn't all that big in junior high," he said, finding it easier to talk about now that the ice was broken. "It was the same size as everyone else's. It didn't start getting thicker until maybe my junior year. Then everyone else's pretty much stopped growing, and I just kept getting thicker. Not just my cock and nuts, but everywhere." Without having to think about it, he flipped the half-cooked eggs in the pan, putting the raw side of the eggs against the hot pan to cook. He quickly added handfuls of sausage, ham, onions, and peppers to the pan, covering it all with yellow and white cheese then expertly flipping half the eggs over the top.

"That was the same time the coaches started getting me into heavy weight training. For a while they thought I'd be a good linebacker on a college team. I had scouts telling me I could go to college on a scholarship if I wanted to, but I never took them up on it. Somehow it just seemed more important to come back here and do this."

"What, make omelets?" I asked, straight faced. I got a dirty look for my trouble.

"Smartass," he said, but his eyes laughed. "By that point my folks had died, and if I'd left for college it would have meant giving up the dairy. This is a good life, and I don't have regrets about my choice."

"You're right, it's a good life. You seem to be happy with the way things turned out." I couldn't resist a bit of digging, even though I knew I should let sleeping dogs lie. "But most men wouldn't be so content, having to live alone this far away from everyone else. Most guys find a wife and have a passel of little kiddies running around by this point."

Bubba finished the second omelet and slid it onto a waiting plate. The toast popped up right on time, and I smeared both pieces with butter before tossing them onto the plates. We sat at the table, and Bubba looked around and motioned to the scene with a broad, dark-furred arm. "Look around you. What on Earth do I need a woman around for? I've got everything I need right here, and I've never needed anyone else to make me happy. I got out of that a long time ago." He cut off a chunk of eggs, stuffed it into his mouth, and talked around it. "I've got a nice house, a great job, and good friends. If I want conversation, I've got you to talk to. If I want sex, I go into town and pick someone up for the night, but that doesn't happen all that often. Usually I just jerk off. It causes fewer problems that way."

"I don't know if I could live like that," I said, considering how social I'd been back home.

Bubba grinned. "What do you think you've been doing for almost four months?"

I stopped for a moment and considered it. He was right. I hadn't had sex in almost twenty weeks, and I didn't really miss it all that much. Between Bubba's good company and the massive amount of work to be done on even a small agricultural business, I didn't have time to be lonely. "Point," I conceded.