By Willie Cici - 2018-04-12 04:54
The crusty ranch owner looked about his pick-up truck to hunt for a more recent photograph. He pulled out a picture from the visor. “My granddaughter snapped this picture of Clint.” He handed it to the sheriff’s officer. The sheriff’s officer looked at the farmer. “I said ‘my granddaughter took this picture’. She’s 18. I think she had a . . . thang for Clint.”
“I understand, Mr. Bogart. I have teenage nieces.”, the sheriff’s officer replied. He studied the photograph of the virile, hunky youth at work. (To see Clint’s photo, click here). The officer smiled. It was the type of photograph that a lustful 18-year-old girl would snap. “How long did Clint work for you?”
“Clint worked for me since high school. Three years. He just turned 21.”, Bogart answered. “I don’t understand how a person vanishes into thin air. Used to happen to Daddy all the time.”
“A person doesn’t vanish. He’s somewhere. We haven’t been able to find him.”, the sheriff’s officer answer. “And please, don’t feed me that bullshit cornfield curse story again, Bogey.”
“When the stalks are high, the corn field finds its prey.”, Bogart said.
“So stop planting corn.”, the sheriff’s officer said. “I should charge you with conspiracy.”
“Corn’s been planted on this ground since before the Civil War.”, Bogart answered.
“Yeah. How did that turn out?”, the sheriff’s officer sarcastically replied.
“All I know is that these fields have claimed many a young man.”, Bogart answered.
“Okay. I’ll take it from there.”, the sheriff’s officer said. He tucked Clint’s photograph in his padfolio and walked towards his station cruiser, a supped-up Ford Explorer. As he pulled off onto the country road, Sheriff Officer Randolph Chestnut, a 20-year veteran of the Jackson County Sheriff’s Department, shook his head. The disappearance of Clinton Butler perplexed the officer. When he spoke to family and friends, everyone spoke highly of the 21-year-old farm hand. Admittedly, he wasn’t the brightest bulb in the shack, but he didn’t do hard drugs (millennials don’t consider marijuana a drug) and he didn’t abuse alcohol. He did not have many steady girlfriends, but that did not figure into Officer Randy’s equation. Cute, hunky Clint Butler should not have steady girlfriends; he should have notches on his headboard.
Bobby Jo waded through the rows of weeds awash through rows and rows of corn, ready for harvest. He lost track of time. He could care less about time. For what he had experienced, time did not matter anymore. He listened as the Willows spoke to him and bid him to follow them into the mist. At first, Bobby Jo recoiled. “How do I leave . . .”, he thought. Then, a rush of euphoria, the feeling of climax, exploded in his mind. He could feel the sun on his naked skin. His senses were alive as if every muscle, every sinew felt the pulse and heat of the August sun. (To see Bobby Jo, click here). Bobby Jo ran towards the mist and found himself face to face with another naked man, youthful, blonde and vibrant. “I don’t know why . . .”
“It doesn’t matter. You’re one of us.”, the naked man replied. Bobby Jo smiled. He stared at the young man, whose naked frame impressed Bobby Jo. The naked flashed his smile and flexed his muscles. “Same as you.”, the naked man stated.
The naked man stroked his cock, and said, “You like that, boy?” Bobby Jo nodded yes. “Suck it, if you like.” Bobby Jo slowly fell to his knees and swallowed the naked man’s long, thick cock. “Good boy. You won’t ever feel shame with your brothers.” Bobby Jo smiled. He had hidden his true self for so long that he did not know who he was anymore. Forced to live a lie, Bobby Jo took a fiancé and planned on wife and children. Now, he did not have to ruin his chances for happiness. Instead, Bobby Jo would travel the mist and live his brothers, the Willows. He understood everything. Bobby Jo suckled upon the naked man’s cock, staring dreamily into the naked man’s eyes. The naked man whispered, “Taste me.” Bobby Jo heard the naked man grunt, and then tasted the naked man’s pearly nectar.
The naked man took Bobby Jo by the hand and led him among the tall green fields, slowly but eventually disappearing into the mist. He could hear the voices of farmhands searching for him, calling out his name, but Bobby Jo ignored the voices of the mortals. He walked with the Willows.
The present -
As he returned to the office, Officer Randy walked into his sergeant’s office and said, “Sarge, can we get our hands on old records? Like thirty, forty, fifty-year-old records?”
“May take some time, but you know that cohmputer is an amazing thing.”, the sergeant said with a thick, Southern drawl that sounded more Cajun than Missourian.
“I know, Sarge. I want to research past disappearances at Bogart Farm.”, Officer Randy stated.
“Take your time. Things are kinda slow. We’re not busting these crackers fo the weed anymo’.”, the Sarge whined.
“Okay. Will do.”, Officer Randy stated. He returned to his desk and began to research the internet for the history of disappearances on the Bogart Farm. Luckily, Randy found a recent article in the Kansas City Star that documented the history of the farm and the disappearances that occurred over the last fifty years. Officer Randy read the article closely, and then printed the article for his records and notes. He compiled a list of the missing based on the article and walked into the Sarge’s office. “Closed files are at . . .”, Randy asked.
“County Archives. Good luck.”, Sarge answered, sarcastically. “Pack a lunch. Hell, pack a sleeping bag. You’ll need it.” Officer Randy grabbed his padfolio and headed for the County Archives building. Luckily, his cousin worked at the Archives and would help him in his hunt.
As Officer Randy walked into the County Archives Building, the friendly receptionist, Joline, greeted him. “Hey, sugar! What brings you to these parts?”
“Little research, Miss Joline. Is Lucille in?”, Officer Randy asked.
“Yeah. She’s sleeping in the back.”, Joline chuckled. “Go on back.” Officer Randy walked passed the reception area. Eventually, Randy found an office filled with bored civil servants, processing archive requests.
As he entered the office, Officer Randy sang out, “Lucille.”, mimicking Little Richard’s famous 1950’s shout.
“Don’t you ever get tired of that song?”, Lucille said, as she rose from her desk to greet her cousin.
“It’s a classic.”, Randy said, as he embraced his cousin. “Lu, I need some help.” Randy opened his padfolio and produced the list of the missing persons from the Bogart Farm. “I need the files on these missing persons.”
“Randy, good news. All these records were scanned and now easily accessible. County had to spend that forfeiture money from the Feds before budget year so they converted the paper to computer records. I could have emailed them to you.”, Lucille said.
“But, you would have been deprived of my magnetic personality . . .”, Randy teased.
“And heaping bullshit!”, Lucille added, laughing in her cousin’s face. “Let’s see what we can find.” Randy explained what and who was researching. Lucille searched and found the records on the database and printed out the pdfs for Officer Randy. As they waited for the laser printer to produce the documents, Lucille whispered, “Randy, I don’t want to talk evil about the dead, but . . .”
“The kid’s missing, not dead.”, Randy corrected.
“Whatever.” Lucille leaned into her cousin and whispered, “The boy’s been seen at ‘Happy’s’.”
“Are you sure?”, Randy asked. Lucille nodded yes. “That’s the first I heard of that.”
“You talking to his folks or his foes?”, Lucille questioned. “Jackson County ain’t that big.”
Randy pondered Lucille’s comments. As he collected the printed materials, Randy said, “Thanks for your help, Lucille. You’ve been so good to me.” Lucille rolled her eyes. “Never gets old.”, Randy hooted, as he waived good-by to Lucille and the other staff members.
“Kit, I need you to tend to the weeding this morning. In the corn field.”
“Damn it, Mr. Bogart. It’s gonna be hotter than Hades today.”, Kit whined.
“Then do it now, in the early morning, when it’s cool.”, Old Man Bogart replied.
Kit slapped his worn straw cowboy hat on his thigh in disgust. “Cheap son-of-a-bitch. Machine could do weedin’ in an hour, but the son-of-a-bitch’s too damn cheap to buy the machine.” Kit resolved to get the weeding done as fast as possible. Despite the old man’s predictions, the temperatures were already sweltering. Kit removed his t-shirt, tying it to the loop of his jeans. He reached the corn field, a quarter of a mile away from the barn, in minutes. As he reached the field, Kit noticed that the corn had grown much in the last two weeks. As he entered the stalk paths, Kit felt the temperature drop with the shade created by the corn stalks. (To see Kit in the corn field, click here).
As he made his way through the corn field, row by row, Kit heard rustling noises. Had there been a wind, he would not have questioned. He moved about the corn field cautiously, until he came upon a young man. The blonde-haired man was kneeling among the corn stalks. The blonde-haired man smiled as Kit approached him.
“Who are you?”, Kit asked.
“Buck. Buck Riley.”, the cute blonde replied.
“Where did you come from?”, Kit asked.
“Same as you.”, Buck answered. He flashed his million-dollar smile and flexed his bulging muscles. “Same as you.”, Buck repeated. (To see Buck, click here). Kit did not know how to reply. When Buck stood up, he approached Kit and tweaked his nipples. “You like that, boy?” Kit nodded yes. “I thought so. Same as you.” Buck lowered his trousers, whipped out his cock, and said, “You like that, boy?” Kit nodded yes again. “Get on your knees then and suck it.” Kit was mesmerized by Buck. He knelt and swallowed Buck’s thick cock. “Good boy. You won’t ever feel ashamed again.” Kit did not understand what Buck meant. He stared into Buck’s dreamy eyes and bobbed on Buck’s thick cock. Kit fondled his junk and realized that his clothes had vaporized. Kit deepthroated the blonde stud’s cock, holding it deep in his gullet, until Buck said ‘release’. Finally, Buck pulled his cock out of Kit’s mouth. “Grab your ankles, boy.” Kit bent over, grabbed his ankles and braced for Buck’s cock to fill his hole. Buck shoved his cock into Kit’s hole. Kit expected to feel some discomfort, but instead he felt bliss.
“That feels so good.”, Kit said, as if singing a tune. He grabbed his cock and stroked his meat, keeping beat with Buck’s rhythmic ass fucking.
“It will forever.”, Buck replied. Faster and faster, Buck fucked Kit’s hole, until Kit could hold no longer. Kit sprayed his cum upon the corn stalks. Buck, for his part, pulled out of Kit’s ass and slipped it back into Kit’s mouth. Within a minute, Buck shot his load down Kit’s throat.
After Buck bust his nut down Kit’s throat, Buck took Kit by the hand and walked into the corn field, eventually disappearing into the morning mist.
The present --
Officer Randy returned to the office and began reading the files on the missing persons from the Bogart Farm. After two days, Officer Randy formed two conclusions: 1. All the missing persons were men, age 21 to 25; and 2. All the men had reputations for ‘keeping to themselves’, the old polite southern way of saying ‘homosexual’. Randy rose from his desk, grabbed his notes and walked into his Sergeant’s office and took a seat.
“Sarge, is it possible that the office stopped looking for these boys because . . . they were gay?”
“Yes.”, Sarge replied. Randy was shocked by the sergeant’s candor. “Randy, don’t forget: as late as 1973, homosexuality was considered a mental illness. And I know you will find this hard to believe, Officer Randy, but here in ‘middle America’, in 2017, these so-called enlightened people still think being gay is crazy. This ain’t Hollywood or New York! How many times a week do we deal with disturbances at ‘Happy’s’? Ignorant crackers beatin’ up on the patrons.”
Officer Randy shook his head. “From the turn of the century to 1965, there were twenty-eight missing persons from the Bogart Farm. From 1965 to present, there have only been three.”
“You making the Bogart Farm sound like some ‘Gay Field of Dreams’.”, Sarge teased. “You know that only happens in the movies.”
“Just because we can’t see it, doesn’t mean it can’t happen!”, Randy replied.
“Did my college educated, 20-year veteran just say what I think he said?”, Sarge asked, as he stood from his chair. “Okay. I think . . . you should take the rest of the day off. It’s Friday. You need . . . I don’t know what you need. I would recommend some pussy. That always cleared my mind.”, Sarge said, as he shooed away his officer.
Officer Randy gathered his notes and records and walked out of the Sheriff’s Office. He went to his locker, stored his service revolver and department’s vehicle keys in secured storage, and grabbed his car keys. Randy walked out of the squad room, walked to the parking lot, fired up his Ford pick-up truck, and drove home.
Early Saturday morning, at the crack of dawn, Randy drove his truck to the Bogart Farm. He parked the truck on the road, not wanting to raise any suspicion. As he walked onto the property, Randy headed for the corn field. The stalks had already lost their green luster. The harvest has passed. It was time to thrash the husks and fodder the soil for next year’s planting.
Randy entered the corn field. The rows of stalks had lost their line since harvest. As Randy walked through the fields, the stalks shaded his pathway, casting an eerie feel. Suddenly, Randy saw a man. His skin was the color of corn-silk, as was his hair. His naked skin also glowed like a yellowy haze. (To see Randy’s vision, click here). “I’ve been waiting for you, Randy.”, the man said.
Randy approached the man. He stared, afraid at the sight before him, as if he had seen a ghost. “Brock. Brock Stuart.” Randy said. “You’ve been . . . gone for twenty years.”
“I’ve been waiting for you.”, Brock said. He wiggled his cock in Randy’s direction. “Come here, Randy. No more waiting.” Brock led Randy by the hand into the field, into the fog-like mist. As Randy followed Brock, every article of clothing disappeared from his body. His naked frame glowed with the same golden hue that surrounded Brock.
When the boys reached a clearing, Randy asked, “Where are we?”
“In a place where we are forever young, forever free, forever us.”, Brock answered.
In the Field, Randy saw other naked studs walking towards them. He recognized their faces from the photographs he had studied in the case files. “Who are they?”, Randy asked.
“The Willows of the Field. They did not ‘fit’ into polite society. Here they live their days forever young, forever free.”, Brock replied.
Randy fell to his knees and sucked Brock’s cock. Brock shouted with glee. The Willows circled around Brock and Randy. They watched the lovers consummate a love twenty years in the waiting. Soon, the Willows found their mates and joined Brock and Randy in an ethereal orgy in the Field. The lovers lay upon the fallen husks as they mutually pleasured each other, nibbling, licking, sucking and feeding on their fleshy shafts. The Willow Brock would not be denied his love. “Grab your ankles.”, Brock ordered. Randy bent over, grabbed his ankles and waited for Brock’s love hammer to fill his ass, just as he did twenty years ago, before Brock disappeared into the field. Randy rocked back and forth as Brock plowed his ass. He moaned and hooted. The Willows joined Randy in his chorus as they enjoyed the pleasure of their mates. After minutes of unending pleasure, Brock blast his wad upon Randy’s tanned buttocks, cum drizzling into Randy’s taint.
The couple cuddled in each other’s arms, resting on the makeshift mattress of cornstalks. They said nothing to each other. Brock nestled his semi-hard cock between Randy’s buttocks. Randy enjoyed the natural warmth that exuded from Brock’s body. “I want to stay.”, Randy whispered.
“You don’t have to. Times have changed. The Willows and I understand.”, Brock whispered.
“But . . . I . . .”, Randy tried to explain.
“You have to go back. You’re not ready. When you’re ready, you will return.”, Brock said. The Willows slowly walked into the cornfield slowly disappearing in the mist. Brock too rose to his feet and joined the other Willows into the mist, leaving Randy alone.
Randy stood up and walked out of the corn field, heading for his pick-up truck. As he looked down, Randy realized that his clothes had re-appeared. Before he could reach the road, Mr. Bogart saw Randy and stopped. “Hey, you! What are you doing trespassing on my property?”
“It’s me, Mr. Bogart. Officer Chestnut from the Sheriff’s Department.”, Randy said.
“Bull shit. I know Randy Chestnut. Ugly bastard. Who the hell are you?”
“I’m Randy Chestnut, you blind old fuck.”, Randy shouted. He ignored the crusty old farmer, who continued to hurl insults as Randy walked towards his pick-up truck. As he entered the pick-up truck, Randy caught a glance of himself in the side-view mirror. “Son-of-a-bitch!” Randy touched his face with his hand, his hair, his chest. The reflection was his, but 23-year-old Randy Chestnut, young, handsome, virile, full of life. He entered the driver’s side of his truck and started the engine. Before he pulled away from the curb, Randy extinguished the engine and sat in his vehicle. A calm descended upon Randy. He smiled and said, “I’m ready.” Randy exited the pick-up truck and ran back to the corn field. Mr. Bogart hollered at Randy, trying to stop him, but he bulldozed the old man and left him in the dust. Randy returned to the corn field, stopping near the row where he and Brock made love. “Brock”, Randy shouted. (To see Randy, click here). “Brock!”, he shouted again. Randy entered the corn field, slowly walking through the harvested husks, into the field, into the mist, into the realm of the ‘Willows’. Finally, Randy stopped and smiled.
“I knew you would return.”, Brock said. “I knew.” The two lovers, naked, joined hands and walked through the corn field, where the sun and the corn silk cast a golden glow upon the reunited couple.