The Boys of Nodaway Ridge
by Nicholas Hall
Chapter 4
"He is our friend who loves more than admires us and would aid us in our great work." – (Channing)
Glancing at my watch, noting I still had some time before I had to be at the church for the service, I continued busying myself with tasks that needed my attention. I intended to take some much needed and desired time off after today. The file folder entitled, "Nodaway Ridge Shares" garnered my efforts. "Nodaway Ridge Shares" or "NRS" as it was known locally, is a community organization which, for many years now, has helped the old, the infirm, the widows and widowers, the unemployed, and those less fortunate by sharing the excess bounty or, in the absence of excess, any food, garden produce, or meat products available or other skills, such as lawn mowing, handy-man projects, sewing, quilting, house-keeping, companionship; you name it, "NRS" was there. It was sort of a great, big food pantry, but not a food pantry, available to all in need and provided by all in the community. At one time or another, even in the best of times, people have needs and "NRS" tried to help out. It operated originally on a shoestring, financially supported by small cash donations by the recipients of the acts of charity and by those who donated food, services, and time. It was Frank's idea years ago and when we returned to Nodaway Ridge, people insisted we take over management of it again. Really, it was the least we could do, but in a few days someone else would have to manage it; I was tired and just plain wore out!
A week or so after Jeremiah Tolliver's funeral, Frank and I were fishing for catfish one night along a small tributary of the Des Moines River and, we caught a large number of fish, more than his family and mine could eat. We decided to call it quits and slip into the sleeping bag we shared in the tent we pitched while still daylight. Once in the sack, cuddled close as we usually do, holding each other in our customary lover's embrace, I quietly asked Frank, as I nipped on an ear lobe and slipped my tongue inside of his ear, "What are we going to do with the extra fish?"
Frank was quiet, laying his head next to mine, running his fingers up and down my chest lovingly until he settled his hand around my hard, weeping slippery cock-head, stroked it couple of times to prepare it for entry into his tunnel of love. He had a heart as big as all outdoors and a prick to match it, and was a very loving person, gentle, kind, and my boyfriend! I couldn't help but love him with all of my heart and knew I always would. When we were separated during the night, I'd reach out in the dark seeking him and, once my hand touched his body and settled gently on his warmth, I'd sigh and return to sleep.
"Well," Frank began, "I've been thinking a lot since the funeral about how Jenny was going to manage with two little boys and all. I know she'll have a widow's pension and her folks will help her as best they can, but, you know as well as I, the Tolliver's don't have that much either. I suppose we could give them the extras but why don't we check. I think they have enough donated for now."
Before I could respond in agreement to his suggestion, he continued, "But, she's not the only one in Nodaway Ridge who could use some help by giving them some of the extras we all have at one time or another; like the fish we have tonight."
Frank' family of eight, including his Mom and Dad, don't have that much either, but here he was, willing to share with those he thought were even less fortunate. I've heard and seen his mom and dad say and do the same thing. James, his Dad, and Winnie, his Mom, would often prepare a casserole, instruct Frank to deliver it whomever because "they could use a little extra right now" even though their own cupboard might be a bit sparse. The family was very giving and caring, so Frank came by it naturally.
Frank was right, there were many people who did need extra help, in what some people thought were "good times" and in "bad times" as well. If a recession hit Nodaway Ridge, that would be good news for the local economy. Yeah, we were all poor, some poorer than others, but prideful!
"How about those times of the year when someone has extra vegetables from the garden or in the fall when there's a big apple or pear crop; or when there's an abundance of those little white peaches, what do we do with them? There's always a big crop of walnuts, hickory nuts, pecans, and butternuts; what do we do with them? Every one of us has shot at least one more pheasant, quail, duck, or goose during hunting season than we can use and there's deer aplenty in the woods along the river and in the hills. Nate, there's a lot we could do, if Nodaway Ridge could just share the surplus, and I think we can, if we put a mind to it."
With that final statement, Frank slicked my rod up and down a couple of more times, leaned over kissed me sweetly, and murmured, "I love you so much Nate. Why don't you fuck me, Big Boy?" and rolled over on his stomach. Well, of course I would; when you're in the arms of someone you love as intensely as I loved him, how can you refuse?
He wanted to name our project "Boys of Nodaway Ridge Share" (BONRS), but I didn't think some of the adults or churchy people would appreciate that, although I did think it was hysterically funny and appropriate considering what we were doing when the idea was hatched! Once I'd thrust deeply inside him and mated him with my boy-juice, I lay on top of him waiting to soften (we both liked to keep the other inside us as long as we could afterwards), we decided there was maybe a half dozen other boys, not counting Sam and his new friend, of the same sexual orientation as us who might want to be included in the project. We'd approach them the next week in school, carefully of course, since none of us wanted to call attention to ourselves as being "queer" or "homos," so "softly, softly, catches the monkey" would be our watchword.
When we returned home the next morning, catfish all cleaned and divided up, with the extras set aside, I casually asked Grandma, "Know anybody who would like some catfish?"
She smiled at Frank and me, nodding in the affirmative. "Mrs. Adams in town, and Mr. Hanson, out on Pike Road; they both live alone. Mrs. Adams used to work at the little store in town until her husband took sick. After he passed away, the store wasn't hiring anymore and I think they thought she might be too old. The new owners were from out of town and really didn't know her very well. All she has now is her Social Security and that's not much. Mr. Hanson never married and was a meat cutter in one of the big markets in Central City until his legs started bothering him as a result of standing on his feet all day. He gets a disability pension, but he's not quite old enough for regular Social Security. He has about twenty acres out there and used to raise a big garden, pigs, and chickens to sell, but not anymore. I don't think his pension is very much either. Anyway, they could use and appreciate some fresh fish."
Grandma put our portion of the fish in the refrigerator and Frank and I dropped off his share at his house before going to Mrs. Adams and Mr. Hanson's. With eight in the family to feed, we always gave a much larger portion to the Cauldwell's. They would eat most of it in one meal.
We stopped in town to deliver fish to a very appreciative Mrs. Adams. She was a small lady, wizened with age and experience, but with a twinkle in her eye and quickness in her step. Her mind was as nimble as a young lass skipping about the dance floor enjoying a growing bevy of appreciative and adoring young men waiting, anxious for her hand in the next dance. She was so appreciative of our small gift, commenting that she would have one of the fish today and put the other two in the freezer for the future.
She wanted to give us something "for gas" she explained, but we refused. Instead, we took a few minutes and shared with her Frank's idea for Nodaway Ridge Shares. Her expression became animated as she declared, "Such a clever idea; I'd be willing to help as much as I can and I know many of the ladies in the area would be willing to pitch in also. I'll bet Pastor Tolliver would lend his assistance, too."
Thinking for just a moment, hand resting on her chin, she waved the other at us, stating, "You really should talk to Jim Hanson. You know, he was one of the best meat cutters in the area, working over in Central City until he had to retire. He knows so many people; please talk to him. I think he's lonely and would like something to do."
Frank and I laughed and when she cast a puzzled look in our direction, I explained that's precisely where we were headed after we left her house. Standing up on her toes, she gave first Frank and then me, a kiss on the cheek, then, with tears in her eyes, patted our backs, and bid us goodbye as we left for Mr. Hanson's house. This was beginning to make our efforts all worthwhile. What other reward do we need when others are grateful for little favors?
Mr. Hanson's small house on his acreage needed some repairs, reflecting his lack of physical strength or ability to do so. The house needed paint, the fence was in disrepair, and the garden was unused for some time, although the small barn, sitting out back of the house, was in decent shape. It was a house not unlike many others in Nodaway Ridge; the owners not having the financial resources or youthful vigor to paint or do minor repairs, yet, compared to some of the others it was in good shape.
We knocked on the door and when no one answered, we prepared to leave, but I thought I heard a voice call out for us to "come in- I need some help!" I pushed open the door and Frank shouted, "Where are you?"
The angry, frustrated reply came back, "In the fucking bathroom!"
We didn't know where the bathroom was so it took a couple of minutes to locate it down a short hall near a bedroom. Sticking out heads in the door, we could see Mr. Hanson, sitting in the bathtub.
"Thank God you heard me," he sighed with relief. "I can't get out of this goddamned tub; my legs aren't working very well today. I should have known better than sit my ass in the tub, but my balls and ass crack needed scrubbing."
Frank and I hustled over to the tub to assist him and as we were lifting him out, Frank just had to say, "Couldn't you just have dropped your pants and used a wash cloth on your jewels?"
Mr. Hanson just snorted at him as we wrapped our arms around his naked body and placed him on a chair. He really wasn't very big, probably a couple inches shorter than me and about one hundred twenty or thirty pounds.
"How long have you been sitting in that tub?" I asked. "The water is cold."
"Long enough for my dick to become more wrinkled and shriveled than it was before I climbed in. Get a towel from the cupboard and help me dry off."
Frank and I giggled, retrieved towels from the cupboard, looked quizzically at each other, and zeroed our eyes in on Mr. Hanson's uncut average-sized flaccid dick and really low hanging balls, draped over the edge of the chair he was sitting on, hanging pendulum-like similar to a set of ram sheep balls wagging between the wooly legs. Frank would make about two of him I figured, but Mr. Hanson could be a grow-er and not a show-er, too.
As we started to dry him, Mr. Hanson made no effort to help or object when we reached his crotch and carefully, gently dried his penis and gonads (we each had to take a turn to make certain they were dry), and noticed it was beginning to stiffen up. By the time we were done, he had a raging hard-on and proved he was a grower, not a big grower but about five inches or so. It's one eye stared at us as his member throbbed a couple of times.
"Surprised an old man can still get a hard-on?" he snickered. "Well, the gun's still hot even if it shoots blanks. I haven't had a young man handle me so gently in years and I do appreciate it, but, although I do like younger guys, not quite as young as you, so you're out of luck there boys, if that's what you're looking for."
He smiled again, looked at us knowingly, and added, "No, I don't think you were; you seem to have each other, don't you?"
Our faces blushed red, but we didn't answer – we didn't need to – he knew!
We helped him to his bedroom where he pointed out the clothes we could get for him. While he was dressing, Frank suggested, "You could get a pair of crutches to use around the house and some handholds put in the tub to help you and out. Maybe you could put a shower head in to make it easier to clean your balls without having to soak them, or we could come over once a week and scrub them real well," and giggled!
Mr. Hanson put his head down and said quietly, "Frank Cauldwell, I can barely afford food and utilities, much less any extras and as much as I'd like to have you scrub my balls and dick, I think you've got your hands full with young Nathan there."
He was clearly embarrassed at his financial straits, but was willing to mention it to us. Well, he had no other secrets from us so why not that? We were somewhat surprised he knew our names, but there are very few strangers in Nodaway Ridge, so it was not unusual. The fact he knew Frank and I were lovers was really a shock, but as I watched him, it became clear he was no different than us, just older and lonely!
Frank put his arm around him and helped him out to the kitchen while I put the fish in the refrigerator. We explained we had extras and my grandma and Mrs. Adams thought he might like some. I also went on to explain our project concerning sharing extras in the community. He loved the idea, also volunteering to help all he could. He knew a lot of people and would do all he could to help organize and work, where he could, to make the project successful.
"You, know, boys, with a little help we could get my big garden going again and maybe even raise a pig or two to donate. I know some farmers over near Keokuk who might donate some runts if we'd pick them up and raise them."
He thought a moment, smiled at us, and said, "You boys are lucky to have each other. I know I can share my secret with you and it will stay that way. Years ago, I had a love just like you, Nate and Frank, loving each other, but he left me once his family began to become suspicious. Since then, I've had no one else and I must say, it can get rather lonely. Could you boys just stop by once in a while to visit – nothing else, you understand?"
Of course we would; he was a nice guy and was willing to help with Nodaway Ridge Shares project. As we left, he patted us each on the ass and said, "Us boys, young and old, have to stick together, don't we?" and made a jacking motion with his right hand. Mr. Hanson would be one of our strongest supporters, of that we had no doubt.
The Literary works of Nicholas Hall are protected by the copyright laws of the United States of America and are the property of the author.
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