@gabe Thank you so much for your kind words! It was definitely therapeutic to write it all out. I hope it helps someone else along the way, someday. If I can make it through to where I am today, anyone can do it! Again, thank you, and keep in touch!
The Shep Years: 2
-
My extra-tall Schnee’s Western Packer boots had been a bitch to get off, back on, and restyled just right (laced to my knees, loosely tied, with my jeans tucked in exposing the full shaft height of my boots) when I went through airport security. I became aware of how hot my feet were getting as I made my way to the passenger pick-up area. It felt great to be outside.
In minutes I was in Shep’s truck and we were driving away from the airport.
“Seeing you in those boots is making my woody hurt. This is the kind of boner you give me,” said Shep, unzipping his jeans to give his hard cock a little more room. We had been on the road only a few minutes.
“Thanks,” I said, smiling. I knew damn well what boots turned him on and what boots made him totally lose control. “And I’ve been watching you work those pedals in your boots with all that mud on ‘em. Some of it looks very new and wet and I’m resisting a lot of urges right now.
“Yea. I went for a spin down by the rail yard while I was waiting for your flight to land. I spun out a few times, but nothing great over there.”
Shep’s family owned a parcel of land not far from US Rte. 1, in the Royal River area in southeast Maine. By some stroke of luck, there was a section of the land that was perpetually wet, even during the coldest of winters. I never figured out if it was fed by a hot spring, or something like that, but it was private property, secluded, and the mud was thick, soft, deep, and unforgiving. Shep and I had been there together before, and I knew that’s where we were heading now.
Shep eased the truck from the main road onto the access way that led to the land. It was little more than a rutted trail and Shep’s boots worked the pedals furiously to navigate the ruts, potholes, pools of standing water and stretches of springtime mud down the 1/4 mile path to the clearing and field that marked the unofficial entrance to the land parcel.
“I love you,” he said softly. I was about to reply with the same, but he wasn’t finished.
“Get us stuck in the mud. Right now. I need to watch you pump your big ass boots on my pedals. C’mon and slide over here, Bryan, please!”
“You want me to drive?”
“That’s later on. Right now I want you to slide over so I can watch your huge feet and boots pump my pedals. I wanna get stuck in the mud with you. NOW!”
