A Horny Short
It may have been true that Alex had lived on a farm all of his life, but that he lived a farm life really couldn’t be further from the truth. From an early age, Alex made it clear that he wanted little to do with the dirt and the animals that constituted his family’s living. When he was old enough to be considered responsible for chores, Alex’s contribution was to the cleaning of the house, the cooking of the meals, and occasionally even the tending of the flowerbeds from which his mother sold bouquets in their roadside farm stand, but Alex rarely strayed beyond the fence that bordered the yard from the rest of the farm.
However, the odd errand sometimes required him to visit the barn, and one particular night when he was nine saw his mother thrusting a foil covered plate and a can of cola into his hands to take to his father. Alex hated the barn. From the smell of the cows to the whir of the giant fans that kept a steady flow of air moving through the long gallery, Alex thought it was perhaps the most revolting place on earth. He balanced the plate in his hands while skipping across the huge space in only the cleanest, driest spots.
Alex’s dad was in the milking parlor—a place that he had even more rarely visited than the barn itself. When he pushed upon the swinging door, he found himself at the end of a long corridor illuminated by harsh fluorescent lights. On either side were the raised platforms on which stood a dozen cows, tails facing in like soldiers, evenly within metal rails. In the center of the corridor was Alex’s father.
Alex had never seen his dad working in the milking parlor before. It struck him that even though his father was in here multiple times a day, he had never encountered him in the long brown rubber apron, the black gloves, and the green rubber boots. He was always in a plaid shirt, jeans, and brown work boots when he came and went from the house, and Alex felt a little shaken with the sudden realization that this metamorphosis apparently occurred on a regular basis and he had never known about it. He stood at the door and watched his dad, looking a bit—he thought—like a mad scientist in the midst of hoses that gathered from each stall and snaked into ports at even intervals in the parlor floor.
His dad hadn’t seen him standing at the door. Alex watched in interest as his dad pulled a rag from a bucket in the center of the corridor and started wiping the dangling pink udders of a cow. It’s hind legs danced around his extended arm as he did this. Then, chucking the rag aside, he picked up a bundle of hoses hanging before him and started to plunge the hissing cups on the ends on to each udder. The machine began to churn and click, the hoses pulsing as the milk was extracted from the udders. He turned to another cow on the opposite side, and pulled the hoses from the udders, letting them fall in a hissing heap on their hanger. Grabbing a cup with a funnel top, he dipped it over each utter, coating it in an oozing sheen of orange liquid.
Feeling as though he had just been a witness to something forbidden, Alex spun around and left the milking parlor, confused and a bit frightened his dad’s interactions with the beasts in the stalls. The years old image of his gentle dad sitting on a stool and placidly milking cows had just been shattered by this strange reality—this alien torture chamber of snaking pipes, strange sounds, and orange goo. Dropping the plate on his father’s desk in the little office outside the parlor, he ran back to the house and up to his bedroom. He couldn’t sleep that night. His mind kept going back to his father, clad in rubber boots and an apron, standing among the hoses.
When Alex had entered his teens, Jeb came to work on the farm. A few years older than Alex, he was still in school and regularly came to help out with evening milking and to perform errands on weekends. Though Alex still made it a rule to have very little to do with the operations of the farm and, indeed, had vowed to move away as soon as he was old enough, he still took a liking to Jeb. Being regularly invited to take meals with the family, Jeb had almost become a member of the family.
One damp Saturday afternoon in September, Jeb came down from the barn to grab a bite from the kitchen. He arrived at the back door wearing gray rubber boots spattered with mud and bits of hay. When Alex’s mother opened the door and greeted him, he dutifully stayed on the mat inside the door while sitting on a chair and removing the boots so as not to sully the pristine kitchen. From his seat at the table, Alex was transfixed by Jeb’s boots as well as the way he grasped their tops and pulled his feet out, pointing them down. Ever since the night in the milking parlor all of those years ago, Alex had been bothered by the sight of rubber boots in a way he could not describe, and in spite of the inexorable presence of mud that came with living on a farm, he had never even acquired a pair of his own. The familiar disturbing feeling returned to him as Jeb set his boots beside the door and padded to his spot at the table in his socked feet.
Throughout the meal, Alex found himself stealing glances at Jeb’s feet that rested on the rungs of the kitchen chair. They looked like normal feet. But something in Alex’s mind told him that they were not, as they had been housed inside a pair of rubber boots all morning. Peering over at the two offending boots standing at attention by the door, Alex made up his mind that he was going to need to take a closer look at them and get to the bottom of their mysterious hold over him.
The opportunity presented itself to Alex sooner than he had expected. As the clouds broke that afternoon, Alex was sent retrieve a basket of apples from a neighboring orchard. As he turned from the end of the drive onto the lane, he heard the sound of crunching feet behind him and Jeb calling for him to wait up—his duties for the day were done and he needed no excuse to hang out with Alex. Alex was glad for the company, though it was with mild discomfort that he noticed the rubber boots still climbing up Jeb’s calves.
The two plodded along, Alex glancing at Jeb’s feet as he occasionally kicked a stray stone from the road with the toe of his boot. They spoke of school, sports, and girls, although Alex couldn’t see himself ready to date anytime soon.
“What are you waiting for?” Jeb asked, looking sidelong at him.
Alex concentrated on the road ahead of him and shrugged. “I’m not really waiting for anything. I just don’t feel interested is all. All of my friends are dating and it seems like a lot of drama to me.”
Jeb grinned. “Drama can be fun, too.” He looked past Alex as they passed a field of vegetation, fading and withered after the heat of summer. He elbowed Alex and pointed to the stretch of ragged leaves, broken by the green and brown orbs of forgotten watermelons. “Want to have some fun?” he asked, pushing past Alex and stepping over the small drainage ditch that separated the road from the patch of vines.
Alex stopped and watched Jeb as he pushed through the spoiled vegetation, the damp vines scraping against the sides of his boots. “What are you doing?” he called, perplexed.
Jeb stopped before a half rotten melon. “This is gonna be fun,” he smiled, giving his head a little shake. Lifting a booted foot, he brought the tread down hard upon the shell, which instantly gave up its shape under the force. In a dull wet thud, Jeb’s boot flattened the rind among the vines, the deep scarlet strings of flesh folding up over the top of his foot.
Alex was shocked. “Jeb, that isn’t our land. It’s the Hathaways.’ I don’t think they would like it—“
Jeb waved him off. “This is an entire patch of rotten watermelons. All they’re gonna do is plow them into the ground anyway. They’ll probably even ask me to do it for them.” He stalked across the vine wasteland to the next unsuspecting melon, and raised his boot again. Alex’s unease over the gray boots began to morph into something else—an ache in his groin—as Jeb pulverized another watermelon, red-brown flecks clinging to his ankles. “Aw, did you see that one?” he cried, laughing. “Still juicy!”
By now, Alex had himself crossed the drainage ditch, entranced by the destruction brought to the watermelon patch by Jeb’s boots.
Jeb took aim at another, as though it was a huge roach bumbling through the scrubby vines in need of extermination. He brought his foot down, the shell of the fruit making a sickly cracking sound as it split open. A large chunk of mealy flesh rolled onto the top of Jeb’s boot, which he lifted from the ground carefully like an elevator to bring the mass of seeds and pulp to his hand. “Want some?” he said, leering at Alex with an outstretched hand.
“No thanks. I’m still full from lunch,” Alex retorted. Jeb swung his hand back, the glob of watermelon flesh now situated like a softball in a pitcher’s hand. “Don’t—“ Alex warned just as Jeb launched it.
The mass flew apart almost the moment it was airborne, a few stray chunks striking Alex’s shirt and pants. “You jerk,” Alex cried, flicking the slimy seeds away. He reached down and grabbed his own handful, but this one was from Jeb’s second, juicier melon. Alex held up his hand, dripping as though with dark blood.
“Shit!” Jeb yelped, backing away. In his haste, his boot slid on a shard of rind and—though he tried to right himself—a scraggly vine grasped at his heel and he tumbled to the ground. Alex pounced, ready to smash the fistful of rotten fruit into his face. “No!” Jeb half screamed, half laughed. “I surrender! Parley! Truce!”
“Request denied!” Alex declared as he stood over Jeb and prepared to make his move. Jeb raised his foot, putting a gray rubber boot between him and Alex as his only defense. Without even thinking about what he was doing, Alex dropped the fistful of melon flesh and grasped the sticky bottom of the boot, wrenching it from Jeb’s leg. Jeb’s socked foot slid out and his heel hit the ground. Alex tumbled backward with the limp boot waving before him.
Jeb sat up, laughing. “Okay. Come on…give it back.” But Alex scarcely heard him. He sat with the prize in his lap, his hands feeling the soft rubber ripple and wobble beneath his squeeze. He glanced at the white sock protruding from Jeb’s jeans, and looked inside the boot at its former place of residence. The warmth from Jeb’s foot rose the opening. “Dude, hello?” Jeb called, his laughter fading into impatience. “Can I have my boot back now?” He scrabbled across the vines to Alex and plucked it from his hands. As he shoved his foot back inside, both he and Alex noticed the bulge that had formed in Alex’s jeans. “What the hell?” Jeb breathed, looking up at Alex with a look of bewilderment. Alex returned his look and shrugged, equally puzzled.
“So nothing like that has ever happened to you before?” Alex asked a few days later as Jeb rinsed out feed bottles for the calves. Alex’s confusion over his reaction to the boots in the watermelon patch had generated a need to confide in Jeb that had surpassed his proclivity of steering clear the barn. As soon as Jeb had arrived for his next shift, Alex had trudged out to meet him.
Jeb shrugged as he ran the bottles under the tap. “I mean, I get hard. All teen guys do. It’s hormones. And there’s no telling what might make it happen. But if you’re asking if I ever got a boner over a boot—“ he glanced up from his task at Alex’s expectant face, “—I haven’t.”
Alex was distressed by this. He was hoping that this could be explained and shrugged off. His mind was also a battlefield of relief and disappointment that Jeb wasn’t wearing the rubber boots today, but instead had on his regular black work boots. “I wonder what’s going on,” he muttered in dismay.
Jeb shook the excess water from the last of the bottles and propped it in the drying rack. “Now THAT is an easy one,” he declared. “You’re horny.”
Alex giggled at the word. “I’m…what?”
“Horny,” Jeb repeated, smiling as he dried on hands on his overalls. “Means you gotta unload or your dick will drive you crazy.” When Alex stared blankly, Jeb grew incredulous. “Please tell me you know what I’m talking about. You’ve rubbed one out before, haven’t you?”
This was the first point in the conversation where Alex even thought to feel embarrassed. He felt himself flush, and hated himself for it. “I mean…I’ve touched myself before,” he stammered.
Jeb raised his eyebrows. “But have you ever taken it…to the grand finale?” He shot Alex a look that told him he should know what he was talking about, but didn’t. Jeb tossed his head back in a short bark of a laugh. “No wonder your dick is out of whack! Dude…you gotta see to that!”
And so began Alex’s daily quests to rid himself of horniness. What started in the shower soon grew to additional sessions in the bathroom and then the bedroom, and once even in the laundry room when no one was in the house. Based on Jeb’s explanation of the problem, Alex was sure that his problem was due to a build up of hormones and—as this problem did not reverse quickly as he had expected—he figured this must have been a long time in the making. Ironic to him, however, was that the only thing that could successfully get him from starting to finish line was to think about Jeb’s boots—to picture the way they looked when they slammed into the juicy flesh of the spoiled melons.
It was a week or so later, when he was heading back from having dragged the garbage cans to the end of the driveway, that Jeb beckoned to him from the machine shed. Curiously, Alex followed him into the dank outbuilding, which smelled of diesel fuel.
“Have you taken care of your little problem yet?” Jeb asked as Alex entered the shed.
Alex blinked, his eyes adjusting to the light. In spite of the bulb hanging from a cord, the shed was darker than the rose-tinted September twilight outside. “Problem?” he asked.
Jeb grinned. “You know…” he gestured to his crotch. It was then that Alex looked down and noticed that Jeb was wearing his rubber boots. Immediately, he felt his cock respond.
“Oh,” Alex faltered, grateful for the shadowy interior of the shed. “Well, I’ve certainly been making an effort.”
“Oh my god,” Jeb said slowly. “You’re getting hard now.” He ogled Alex’s worn corduroy pants, which apparently would not hide his shame, even in the dim light.
“Yep,” Alex said flatly, trying not to act embarrassed. “I did what you said, but…”
“Is it—is it my boots?” Jeb looked down as his rubber clad feet as though expecting to see something unusual.
“Yes,” was Alex’s simple reply. What was the point in denying it?
Jeb let out a soft laugh. “That’s…so weird. I thought for sure that you could have taken care of this by jacking off. And…you’re sure you did it right?”
Talking about this with Jeb while he stood in the boots before him was doing nothing to assuage his affliction. “I’m sure,” he replied with a hint of impatience.
“You—?” Jeb made a motion with his hand that stood for ejaculation.
“Several times,” Alex verified.
Jeb grinned at this and shook his head in disbelief. He put his left foot up on an old tractor tire. The boot squealed as if in protest as it came in contact with like material. Alex’s response was involuntary—as his cock suddenly throbbed, he exhaled audibly. Jeb caught his reaction.
“Oh,” he said with raised eyebrows, looking from his boot to Alex. “Does, does this bother you?” Alex couldn’t tell if Jeb’s tone was simply curious or was laced with deviousness. But when he failed to answer and merely swallowed hard, Jeb flexed his foot in the boot with a resultant shriek of rubber pulsing in the confined space. Alex grabbed his crotch and turned to leave, by Jeb caught him by the arm. “Aw, come on,” he coaxed with grin. “Don’t go. I wanna see how this works.”
Alex looked at him with narrowed eyes. “You’re just being an ass,” he spat.
Jeb widened his eyes innocently. “No way, man. I’m here to help!” Both broke into giggles with how ridiculous the claim sounded. Jeb stepped back to the tire and rubbed the side of his leg against it. The shaft of his boot squawked loudly. “What does that do?” Jeb asked, looking at Alex’s bulge. He spoke in the same way a person might ask about flipping an unmarked circuit breaker.
Alex shrugged. “It makes me really hard. It almost hurts.”
Jeb laughed with incredulity. “This is insane,” he said softly. He grabbed a bucket and turned it over in front of Alex, resting his boot on it in front of him. “What about if you get a closer look?”
Alex squatted before the boot, taking in not just the way it curved about Jeb’s foot and gracefully swooped up his ankle, but the smell of the vulcanized rubber. Alex nodded as he looked up at Jeb. “I’m getting…juicy,” he admitted.
Jeb grinned, almost excited. “Touch it,” he said. Alex looked at him doubtfully. “Go ahead,” he urged. “You must want to.”
Alex reached out tentatively, as though afraid the rubber sheathing Jeb’s leg might sear his fingers, but when his skin brushed the supple shaft, he found himself squeezing Jeb’s leg with both hands. He ran them down to forefoot and felt the outline of Jeb’s foot through the rubber.
“Fuck,” Jeb exclaimed. “You are wet!” He pointed to the spot on Alex’s pants.
Alex suddenly had enough and started to back away. “I don’t think I want to do this anymore, Jeb.”
Jeb shook his head. “Don’t stop now, man. That would suck for you. Just let it out.” But Alex backed further toward the door. “Tell you what,” Jeb negotiated, “you can shoot on the boot.” Alex stopped and looked at Jeb quizzically. Jeb gave him a lopsided grin. “And if you do, I’ll do it, too.” Alex paused, not knowing if he should stay or run, but Jeb flexed his toes inside the boot on the bucket, bending the rubber tantalizingly.
Jeb broke out in a smile as Alex stepped forward and unzipped his pants. He knelt before the raised boot, his erect cock pointing toward it almost accusingly. He started to run his hand over it as he had learned to in the past several days, but Jeb stopped him. “Spit on your hand,” he advised. “Trust me,” he said as a dubious look crossed Alex’s face. Alex did as he was told, and when he resumed his massage, he looked at Jeb with wide eyes at the new sensation. Jeb smiled in satisfaction and watched in interest as Alex brought himself to a quick finish, erupting fine white ropes over the front of the boot.
“Damn,” Jeb said as he surveyed his shin. “Not bad!” Alex sat back on his heels.
“Your turn,” he said breathlessly.
Jeb obliged. Undoing the fly on his overalls and adjusting his boxers, he brought out his own cock, which was already hard from his observations of Alex. Spitting on his own hand, he began a massage, which he did while looking at Alex with a smug expression on his face. After a minute, his face began to look strained, and he started to nudge the bucket forward with his boot so as to extend it further before him. Alex watched as Jeb’s jaw worked and his own semen began to blob onto the shin of the boot, mingling with Alex’s.
“See? Told you,” he said, clearly satisfied with himself. Alex grinned, feeling as though he and Jeb had come to some sort of understanding.
That was not the last time that Jeb and Alex met in the machine shed. But as Jeb finally went to college and eventually quit working his job at the farm, their bond eventually dissolved. He eventually married and took a job with an agricultural consulting firm, where he frequently went to work wearing rubber boots. But he never though much about his sessions with Alex again. Alex, however, shed his farm existence and moved to the city, as he had always known he would. And he remained obsessed with rubber boots for the rest of his life.
Shoe Horny 