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The alarm sounded far too early the next morning, and when it did I was surprised to find Bubba's back pressed up to my own in the bed. I remembered that it was Saturday and slapped the alarm off. We let ourselves have an extra hour of sleep on Saturdays to make up for having to get up an extra hour earlier on Sundays to get the chores done before church.

I rolled over and turned toward Bubba's back, crossing my arms in front of me to put the bit of space between us that modesty demanded. "Mmmph," came a sleepy voice on the other side of the bed, "warm." I took that as encouragement, and I pulled the blanket tight around our necks. Bubba's bulk moved a bit, then settled down.

I'd almost fallen asleep again when I felt his bulk shift in the bed. He was in that period of sleep right before coming awake when most people roll around a bit trying to find a comfortable position to hold onto the night a bit longer. I opened my eyes to find him looking at me with eyes that were barely awake."Roll over."

I guessed he didn't want me looking him in the face, or something. Whatever. I rolled over to face the clock, and as I did, I felt his bulk shifting on the bed. The heat from his body was like an electric blanket at my back. He arranged the covers so they were between him and me, and pulled me closer to him. The warmth felt magnificent, and I instinctively snuggled into it like a lizard leaching heat from a rock. I began to raise my head questioningly, but was stopped by his heavy hand on my head. His voice came from right behind me. "Sleep."

Even if he hadn't said anything, I would have dozed off. Having that huge arm wrapped around me, even if it were for heat and nothing else, felt so damned good. Not the kind of good that gets your dick hard, but the sort of good that makes you feel warm and fuzzy inside, like when a friend remembers your birthday, or something. I sighed deeply and nuzzled my pillow, sleep taking me easily.

I woke hours later, and I found that Bubba had turned off the alarm clock completely. He still had me wrapped up under his left arm, and was snoring softly at the back of my neck. I hated like hell to move from that wonderful spot, but the sun was already shining in my window and there were chores to be done. If I wanted to be more like the man Bubba was, I had to act like he would. And in this instance, I knew he wouldn't just lay there while the cows were bustin' to be milked.

Not wanting to disturb him, I lifted his arm and slid out from under it. The house was cold like a meat locker, and the instant I was out from under the covers, I was well on my way to being awake. I pulled on my longjohns and stumbled into the bathroom to piss and toss some water on my face.

My face buried in a towel, I heard the door open and my sleeping buddy come stumbling in. He pulled down the front of his briefs and pulled out his cock, taking casual aim at the water drain in the bottom of the commode. When his stream was steady, he put one arm on the cabinet above the toilet and rested his head on it. I'd seen him piss a couple of times, and I was proud of myself that I'd avoided looking at his equipment. It could be two inches long and skinny, or eight inches and thick as a beer can, I had no idea. Honestly, it didn't matter to me. I knew by that point that the love I had for him had more to do with the size of his heart than his dick.

"God, that feels good," he said, shaking the last drop from his dick and stuffing it back in his shorts. "We've gotta get going."

Even buried as we were inside the house, we could hear the cows calling for us to come relieve their discomfort.

"They waited this long, they can wait four minutes more while I make coffee," I said, shuffling out to the kitchen. I suppose one of us could have walked out there by himself and started the process, but that just didn't seem right. Ever since that first day, we'd always gone out there together. It just seemed like the thing to do. "You need to get dressed, anyway," I said. "You're gonna freeze if you go out there in your underwear."

"Shit, I'm freezing now," he said, hugging himself in the cold. As the coffee brewed, we went into our bedrooms and pulled ice cold insulated coveralls over our long underwear. Five minutes later we were walking out to the milking shed together through knee deep snow, our cups of coffee steaming in our hands. I think we were both trying to put the previous night behind us, but for vastly different reasons.

Trips to the city were infrequent, but in light of what happened the previous night we both sort of needed the change in routine. Bubba still hadn't found the thermostat to the heater, and instead of spending another freezing night at home we made the sixty mile drive into the nearest town, bought a new one, and rented a room at a motel near the county line. The next morning we'd get up early and drive back home in plenty of time to for the morning milking.

"So what do you want to do for dinner?" Bubba asked as he sprawled out on one of the motel room's twin beds. It was uncommon for him to ask me something like that. Usually he made the decisions, and I went along with whatever he said. I wasn't picky, so it worked out well that way. But today, I felt like something different. "We eat great at home, but one thing we never get is Chinese. How 'bout we find a buffet somewhere?"

Bubba laughed. "In this town? I doubt it." But in spite of his words, he rummaged around in the motel's bedside table and pulled out a battered yellow phone directory. It wasn't very thick, reminding me that even though this was the biggest town for fifty miles, it still wasn't all that large. Thumbing through the book, he looked surprised when he found an honest to goodness Chinese restaurant. He called the Happy Family Chinese Buffet, made sure they were still open, and grabbed his coat. "Well, get a move-on, fu-man-chu." he said, "We've got eatin' to do!"

In the realm of all you can eat buffet, Bubba had few equals. I thought he must have an expanding stomach, or something. I'm usually stuffed after three plates, and he packed away five before he even slowed down. And even then, I don't think he stopped because he was full, I think he just got bored with eating. He belched, paid the check, and went out to the truck. "Well, that was...dinner," he said clearly unimpressed.

We headed back towards the motel, and I was surprised when Bubba passed it by. "You haven't missed an exit since I've known you, so I guess we're going somewhere?" I asked.

He grinned and smoothed down the corners of his moustache. "I know a place that's lots of fun," he said. "Sit back and enjoy the ride."

Well, Hell, I thought, it's not like I'm doing anything else tonight.

Ten minutes later, we pulled into a sleazy looking dive that would have looked right at home on the cover of Easy Rider magazine. The front of the bar was dominated by big motorcycles, without exception wearing Harley Davidson badges. Bubba parked his big diesel truck off to the side in a dirt lot among the other four wheelers, and I got a sick feeling in the pit of my stomach. This was way out of my league, and I knew it. I could butch it up around Bubba and he seemed to accept it because I was family, but there was no way in Hell I could blend in with a whole bar full of Hells Angels. But as much as I knew that, I also knew I had no way out. Sink or swim, this was it. I was suddenly aware of how much I'd had to eat at dinner.

I followed Bubba into the dark bar, cigarette smoke rushing out the open door to greet us. Inside it was predictably dark and noisy, the sounds of pool balls crashing into one another coming from one corner, sounds of bottles clinking together coming from the bar. Bubba gave the bartender a quick hand symbol and held up two fingers, and sat down at an empty table near a low stage.

Stage? Oh Christ almighty, I thought, This is a damned strip club! And sure enough, just as the waitress brought our beers out to us, the announcer introduced a rabbit named Brandy to the pitifully small but enthusiastic little audience. She plodded halfheartedly through her routine, took off her top, and waggled her small breasts at us in the hopes of getting a tip. When Bubba peeled five bucks off off his cash and stuck it in her G string, I felt compelled to do the same. "When in Rome.." I thought.

Brandy tag-teamed waitressing duties with another girl in the bar. When one was on stage, the other served drinks. By the size of his tips, Bubba obviously liked Brandy a hell of a lot more than I did. He even bought her a few drinks, and by the end of the night they were both pretty loose.

At two am we left as a threesome, me feeling jealous as Hell that a skank like Brandy was tucked up under Bubba's beefy arm while I shivered in the cold. She followed us back to our motel room, and I spent half an hour with my head under my pillow trying my damnedest not to listen as Bubba banged the living daylights out of her. The only redeeming part of the night was hearing Bubba grunt as he shot his load into her, and for a moment I thought about whipping out my own pecker and jerking myself off. I doubted they'd even notice, with all the noise they were making.

But the thought that Brandy might want to offer me sloppy seconds made any hint of an erection disappear, and I tried my best to pretend to be deep asleep when she gathered her clothes and left.

Once she had walked out of the room, I stole a glance at Bubba's bed. The covers were thrown off, and he lay naked in the dim yellow light of the parking lot's sodium vapor lamps. He was face up, with one arm behind his head, and the other thrown carelessly on the empty space beside him. He was sound asleep, and I couldn't resist staring at his deflated equipment. Thick and pink, it lolled lazily in the valley between his belly and his thighs, his sheath rolled up at the base under his shrinking knot. He groaned in his sleep, startling me a bit, and rolled onto his side, trying to get comfortable. Christ, it was tough not to crawl into bed next to him. Hell, he probably wouldn't even notice I was there.

With a sigh, I gathered up the sheets and covers and pulled them over his softly snoring bulk. I wouldn't take advantage of a friend, even if he did happen to be dead drunk and wouldn't have remembered anything in the morning. It didn't hurt my ethical behavior to know that his cock had just been inside that skank Brandy. I'd have to scrub it with bleach before I'd have much desire to touch it after that. Crawling back into my own bed, the last thought I had before falling asleep was what an idiot I was for feeling hurt.

Bubba was a bit distant the next morning. I filled him in on his antics, and he had the good sense to look shocked when I told him he'd fucked a stripper. At that point I diplomatically suggested to him that he wash his cock with Chlorox. Even if it was the smart thing to do, he couldn't have liked what that implied. I wasn't about to discuss it with him, though. The way I figured it, getting a cheap piece of ass was his way of reasserting his manhood after winding up in bed with another guy the night before.

Weeks later we were sitting around after our work was done for the day, and I decided to tell him about me. There had been some report on the radio about gay marriage, and I though that might be a good icebreaker. I figured that just about the middle of my third beer would be the time. We'd both be pleasantly buzzed, and it had been quite a while since we'd had to share a bed that cold night, long enough that he might not jump to conclusions and wonder if I'd done something to coerce him. We'd been friends for a couple of months now, good friends who talked about nearly everything.

Maybe that's why I wanted so badly to tell him. So I could tear down that last wall between us, so I could get rid of the only dark spot that stood in the way of full disclosure. "But what," a little voice in my head was saying, "will happen if he doesn't want that dark spot gone?" I was going to find out one way or another about a half hour from now, I thought.

"So what do you think about that whole gay marriage thing?" I asked, feeling like my intestines had been tied in knots.

"I don't think much about it." he said, "Can't see how it affects me one way or the other."

"You don't think it's a sin, then?" I asked, fishing for his position.

"First off," he said, counting points on his sausage-like fingers, "I don't think it's my concern. God knows what's right and what's wrong, and it's not up to me to condemn anyone for who they are."

"Secondly," he said, holding up a second finger in a "V for victory" gesture, "I think they're stupid for wanting marriage. They should go for civil unions. The word "marriage" is a hot button that too many people want reserved for religious bonding. Everyone should get civil unions, and those who want to involve the church should be married too.

"Thirdly," His ring finger joined the group, "I think that what goes on in a man's bedroom should stay there, and it's no business of mine."

Well. That put a damper on my plans to enlighten him. But I'd promised myself I was going to tell him, and if nothing else, I was a man of my word, even to myself. "Those are pretty enlightened attitudes," I prodded, "Have you ever had a gay friend?"

"Yeah," he said, "I have. "

This was something I hadn't expected. "Oh yeah," I said, blundering around a bit, "I'm gay too, you know."

The look on Bubba's face wasn't the look of shock and disbelief I'd hoped for. I was disappointed when he just shrugged and said, "Who do you think I'm talking about?"

In the span of a few seconds, I rewound our relationship for the past couple of months, and re-examined it for times when I'd said or done anything to clue him in about me.

Nothing.

"How did you know," I asked, perplexed.

"Uncle Ernie told me before you came out here. You don't think I'd let someone have free run of my farm before I checked them out, do you?"

"You've known all this time and you haven't said anything?" I asked, frustrated that I'd gone for months trying to hide something that wasn't even a secret.

"Well shit! Why would I say anything?" he retorted. I don't care who you sock it to, as long as you get your work done. That's just none of my business. You're a hard worker and you know how to respect boundaries. I've never felt uncomfortable around you, so why should I say anything?"

I couldn't think of a damned thing to say. Bubba's statement took all the wind out of my sails, so I just sat there, befuddled. He'd known I was gay from the start, had liked me and treated me like one of the guys from day one, and had even lay down in bed - hell, he even fucked a chick right next to me - with me without making a fuss about it.

What could I say to that?

Getting the whole (non)issue of my sexuality out in the open seemed to drop one of the few physical barriers between us as well.

Throughout the month of March, I woke up with Bubba in my bed for one reason or another with increasing regularity. Either we got drunk and ended up stumbling into the same bedroom before passing out, or I'd wake up to him sitting beside me in bed and we'd spend the first few minutes of the day talking quietly and drinking the first cup of coffee before our morning chores. There wasn't any sexuality attached to my bed, any more than there was to the couch or the seat in Bubba's pickup truck. More than anything else, I felt proud that he enjoyed my company well enough to drop his macho guard and share time with me that way.