Cowboy Sandwich

By Drew Hunt

Barry Logan’s day starts out shitty and continues to go down the crapper. His car breaks down in the Middle of Nowhere, Colorado. The only mechanic for miles is out of town, forcing Barry to hole up and await his return. Bored and hungry, Barry goes to the town’s only bar in search of food and entertainment. The former is almost inedible, but his interest in the latter is piqued when two specimens of cowboy perfection walk in.

Barry has always had a thing for cowboys, and he’s been on a mission to get up close and personal with as many as possible before flying home to England. Having two cowboys at the same time would be a new experience, and one Barry is eager to try. So when the two men leave the bar, Barry follows in hot pursuit. He overhears them arguing about whose turn it is to bottom that night. Without thinking, Barry offers his services.

Jimmy Pierce and Jake Wilson drive Barry back to the Double J ranch for a night of wild passion he won’t forget. The next morning, Barry wakes in an empty bed to a beeping smoke alarm. It seems the ranch cook quit the night before, leaving Jimmy, Jake, and their three ranch hands to fend for themselves.

Barry immediately takes charge. His cooking meets with everyone’s approval, and he agrees to stay on both in the kitchen and in Jimmy’s and Jake’s bed. The two cowboys are physically demonstrative, both with each other as well as with Barry, who finds himself falling fast for both of them. It’s like a dream come true -- Barry has two men and a job he loves.

But petty jealousies, rivalries, and miscommunications threaten to shatter the dream, and when Barry’s scheming ex shows up, things get even worse. Sandwiched between two cowboy lovers, has Barry bitten off more than he can chew?

• Language: English
• Publisher: JMS Books LLC
• Release date: Apr 6, 2014
• ISBN: 9781611525540

Drew Hunt

Having read all the decent free fiction on the net Drew could find, he set out to try his hand at writing something himself. Fed up reading about characters who were super-wealthy, impossibly handsome, and incredibly well-endowed, Drew determined to make his characters real and believable.Drew lives a quiet life in the north of England with his cat. Someday he hopes to meet the kind of man he writes about. Readers can contact him at [e-mail].

Book preview

Cowboy Sandwich

By Drew Hunt

Published by JMS Books LLC at Smashwords

Visit jms-books.com for more information.

Copyright 2014 Drew Hunt

ISBN 9781611525540

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Cover Design: Written Ink Designs | written-ink.com

Image(s) used under a Standard Royalty-Free License.

All rights reserved.

WARNING: This book is not transferable. It is for your own personal use. If it is sold, shared, or given away, it is an infringement of the copyright of this work and violators will be prosecuted to the fullest extent of the law.

No portion of this book may be transmitted or reproduced in any form, or by any means, without permission in writing from the publisher, with the exception of brief excerpts used for the purposes of review.

This book is for ADULT AUDIENCES ONLY. It may contain sexually explicit scenes and graphic language which might be considered offensive by some readers. Please store your files where they cannot be accessed by minors.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are solely the product of the author’s imagination and/or are used fictitiously, though reference may be made to actual historical events or existing locations. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

Published in the United States of America.

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For all those who believe one cowboy isn’t enough.

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Cowboy Sandwich

By Drew Hunt

Chapter 1

Barry Logan’s day had started out crappy and had gone downhill.

He sat, beer in hand, in a back booth in Rick’s Bar and Grill in Springs—a bumfuck town in Colorado. The place didn’t look all that clean: the tables were in desperate need of a good wipe down, the plastic covering on the bench seats felt sticky, and the music was too loud.

Barry looked down at his half-eaten meal of baked potato and fried chicken. He let out a soft burp. And the food is too greasy, he grumbled. Fearing he’d been overheard, he took a quick look around. The noisy crowd made him nervous. Small towns often meant small minds. Barry picked at the soggy coating on his chicken but pushed the plate away; he’d lost his appetite. He missed the fish and chips of home—the batter crunchy and golden, the chips crispy on the outside and soft on the inside.

Barry’s spirits lifted when he spied two hot cowboys come in and head for the bar. At least six feet four, both men had broad shoulders and torsos that tapered to narrow waists. Both men wore black Stetsons and western-style plaid shirts—one red, the other blue.

Now those I could eat, Barry thought, licking his lips. From the brief glimpse he’d had of their faces, he thought them to be brothers. He’d done many wild things in his time, but never two brothers. First time for everything, he thought and snickered.

Barry adjusted himself as he admired the way the faded Wranglers caressed the pair of tight butts. His mouth watered and his mind teemed with possibilities.

A shout from over by the dartboard diverted Barry’s attention. Two drunks, who couldn’t be far out of their teens, were squaring off over something and it looked like it could get ugly.

The barman—probably the eponymous Rick of Rick’s Bar and Grill—quickly restored order and the two would-be dart players were sent to opposite ends of the bar. Barry was surprised they hadn’t been ejected entirely. Maybe Rick knew their dads and would have a word with them later. This was a small town after all, and didn’t everyone know everyone in such places?

Barry forced himself to turn his attention back to his meal, which looked even less appetizing. Beads of fat were oozing down the sides of the chicken and were beginning to congeal on the plate. He took a swig from his beer to try and fight down the bile.

Someone put some money in the jukebox and Josh Turner’s signature song Your Man was pumped into the room. Barry closed his eyes. He loved this song, but it gave him too many ideas, had him wishing for things he thought he once had though turned out he didn’t. He’d embraced the old adage that the best way to get over a man was to get under another. But he’d been under a number of men, many of them cowboys, during his road trip across the States, yet his heart still felt empty. He knew once his trip took him to California, he’d get on a plane and go back home to England, his tail between his legs. Sighing, he sank lower in the booth.

Barry had been awakened early that morning by someone shaking his shoulder, urging him to get dressed and leave. Turned out the ranch hand Barry had spent the night with was married and his wife was coming home unexpectedly early. Barry had been bundled out of the guy’s trailer without breakfast or even a peck on the lips goodbye.

His day had gotten even shittier when his car, a second-hand Honda Civic that had seen him through four years of college and three years of life in upstate New York, died on what had to have been the most deserted stretch of highway west of the Mississippi.

The day’s crapiness quotient had increased when Barry had discovered there was no cell service and he’d had to trek up the side of a mountain before his phone showed a single bar. Thankfully he’d kept up his membership at triple A, but the overly-perky female dispatcher at the other end had said she’d need more than at the bottom of an empty valley in the middle of bloody nowhere, Colorado as his location. She’d asked if he had a smart phone. Barry confirmed that he did, then he’d had a slap hand against forehead moment when he remembered the phone had a GPS app. He was—or had been—a mobile games developer. His phone revealed his location and Ms. Perky had told him she’d send a tow truck as soon as possible.

Barry had shut off his phone to preserve the battery and trudged back down to his car to await rescue. As he’d walked he’d hoped for someone tall, dark, and handsome. Maybe the guy would be a little grease-stained, but that would only add to his hotness. Barry had read plenty of erotic stories of hapless motorists being rescued and ravished by hunky tow truck drivers.

Back at the bar, Josh Turner was replaced by the younger but similarly sounding Scotty McCreery. His blue and red shirted hunks were still at the bar where they’d taken neighboring stools. Barry’s hopes rose when he saw that Blue’s right and Red’s left booted feet were touching.

Barry shook his head and allowed his mind to drift back to earlier and the shattering reality of the tow truck driver. Far from being the stuff of jerk off stories, Slim was fat, short, smelly, and the wrong side of sixty. Most things Barry could forgive—he used to carry a few extra pounds himself—but Slim tested those limits, as well as the seams of his filthy overalls. Barry had no problem with older men. Heck, he’d had an amazing roll in the hay with a mature horse trainer when he’d passed through Michigan a couple of months earlier. Despite his age, the hunk had had a trim waist and a ripped chest and had given Barry quite the ride. But Slim, with his tobacco-stained teeth and his unerring accuracy of being able to time his farts with the hitting of every pothole, had done nothing to turn Barry’s crank.

Even if the guy had worn a Stetson Barry couldn’t have fancied him, and Barry liked cowboys…a lot. He’d grown up watching western movies with his grandfather. Secretly he’d always wanted the lead cowboy to ditch the girl at the end and ride off into the wild blue yonder with his partner—Barry imagining himself as said partner. It was those Sunday afternoon westerns that had been one of the reasons why he’d applied for and managed to get a scholarship to an American university. He’d pictured himself studying during the week and riding the trails with his cowboy lover on weekends. Alas, he very soon discovered the streets of his Providence, Rhode Island college town were totally devoid of cowboys.

Barry’s classes had taken up much of his attention, and what free time he’d had left had been spent with Robert, a guy he’d met during the second semester of their freshman year. Their shared passion for video games had spilled over into the bedroom and Barry had put aside his cowboy fantasies.

On the jukebox, Scotty McCreary gave way to Johnny Cash, and Barry tried to rid his thoughts of Robert. The arsehole had made his choices, ones that hadn’t included Barry.

Lifting his bottle of Bud Light, Barry discovered it empty. He hailed a passing waitress.

Not hungry, hon? she asked, eyeing his plate.

Uh, no, sorry. But it was lovely. Barry dipped his head. Even though he’d lived in the States for seven years, he still couldn’t shake off his English quirks of never complaining about restaurant food no matter how terrible it was.

The waitress made some remark about how his English accent was cute, took away his plate, and asked if he wanted dessert.

No, thank you. But I’ll take a second beer if it’s not too much trouble.

She laughed. Oh, you’re so polite. Wish the guys around here were more like you.

Barry cursed himself for blushing.

The waitress moved to the bar and Barry looked around for the dual cowboy eye-candy. He soon found them at the pool table. Blue Shirt was chalking his cue stick and assessing the balls while Red Shirt did his best to distract Blue by pulling faces. Barry imagined there was banter between the two but the distance and the jukebox prevented him from hearing the details.

Here you go, hon, the waitress said, returning with his beer.

He smiled, nodded and took a long pull from the bottle.

After wiping his mouth with a napkin, Barry looked around at the other patrons. The place was filling up. It was Friday evening after all, and Barry guessed there was little other nightlife in such a small town.

Tapping his fingers to the beat, he remembered the rest of his drive to town. Slim had kept up a steady chatter, telling Barry all about his various ailments, his no-good kids, his cheating wife, his…Barry had then tuned the guy out, his only concern being how quickly his car could be repaired, allowing Barry to move on to the next big town. He’d quickly discovered on his journey across America that it was safest to hunt for cowboy cock in the larger towns.

The cherry on top of Barry’s craptastic day had come when Slim had told him the town’s only repair garage was closed because of a death in the family. It seemed Bill, the garage’s owner and sole mechanic, was out of town and wouldn’t be back until Wednesday.

Directing Barry to the town’s only guesthouse, Slim had recommended a couple of places to eat, which was how he’d ended up at the wonderful melting pot of fine culture and haute cuisine that was Rick’s Bar and Grill.

The song on the jukebox ended and Barry could hear raised voices. He soon saw it was Blue and Red.

You asshole! You said I could if I won this game. And I won! Blue insisted, pointing at the table and the absence of solid colors.

I said no such thing, dilweed. It’s my turn, and you’re not getting’ out of it, no way, no how. Red stood, arms crossed, the sexiest smirk on his full lips.

The insults continued, the men seemingly unaware they were drawing attention to themselves.

One of the patrons stood and shouted, For fucks sake, would you two fags quit bitchin’ and get a fuckin’ room or something and let us normal folks enjoy our evening.

Barry’s mouth fell open. Red and Blue were really gay? Okay, his gaydar was usually spot on, but he’d put the latest pings on his screen down to wishful thinking more than anything else.

Blue whipped around, his fists clenched, and aimed a death glare at the speaker. Barry shut his mouth and hoped there wasn’t going to be a fight. Although the idea of nursing Blue’s injuries had a certain decadent appeal. And he wouldn’t object to tending to Red’s wounds either.

Barry’s triaging skills weren’t needed because before Blue could launch himself at the smaller, pot-bellied homophobe, a female voice loudly proclaimed, "What the fuck would you know about normal, Billy Ray? Those two weren’t the ones who had to go to the hospital last spring ’cause they had an accident with their vacuum cleaner."

The room burst into hoots of laughter. Red and Blue joined in. But the atmosphere still felt strained. Even though Barry enjoyed perving on the men, he hoped they’d leave so they wouldn’t have to listen to any more stupid taunts. It seemed Blue and Red had the same idea. As they made their way to the door, they began pushing each other, presumably resuming their argument.

Before he knew what he’d done, Barry had tossed a twenty on the table, left his booth, and was heading out after the cowboys. He had no idea why, or what he’d say if he caught up with them.

* * * *

Outside in the car park, Barry shivered and wished he’d put on a jacket. There was a definite chill in the air. He guessed autumn evenings in the mountains were like that. Looking around, he couldn’t see the two cowboys. Surely he hadn’t missed them already.

He walked around a corner and still no sign of Red and Blue. Deciding he may as well go back to the guesthouse, he turned another corner and thought he saw something in the entrance to an alleyway. It was almost pitch dark, and Barry, fearing for his safety, started to turn around to retrace his steps. He heard a low moan and curiosity won out over caution. Approaching as quietly as he could, the shape in the darkness slowly began to resolve itself. Was it Red and Blue? They were sure standing real close to each other. Then the moon came out from behind a cloud. It was Red and Blue. They were kissing. He should turn back. This was none of his business, but, oh, God. Both men were amazing specimens of manly cowboy perfection and…

Come on, man, lemme in that sweet lil ass, Blue’s voice, all low and gravelly, pleaded. It’s sooo fuckin’ tight and I need in it so bad.

Barry’s dick, which had been half-hard ever since clapping eyes on the two studs, sprang instantly to full bone. He really should leave. If they caught him, they’d pound his arse into the ground. The mental images that brought up had Barry stifling a moan.

Nah, man, Red said, running his hands over Blue’s arse. I’m gonna get me some of this tight ass tonight. It’s Friday and I always get me some of this on Fridays. It’s, like, tradition.

Then it’s time we got a new tradition ’cause I’m not giving it up tonight. I wanna do the fucking.

Barry’s briefs grew wet as he heard and saw the two alpha dogs jockey for dominance.

The men fell silent as they hungrily ate each other’s faces. The slurping and moaning were better than any porno soundtrack. Barry just had to get closer. It was a good thing there were no security lights back there. Unless Blue and Red looked directly at him, Barry was reasonably sure he wouldn’t be seen. Peeking round a dumpster, Barry got to within about ten meters of the action. Seeing two big, muscular cowboy studs rubbing against each other while they sucked face was so hot. His hand drifted to his hard dick. God, had he ever been any harder than he was now?

Gonna fuck you so hard you won’t be able to ride a horse for a week, Blue growled between wet kisses.

I’ll plow your man-pussy so deep you’ll be singing hallelujah and praying I’ll never stop, Red replied, ramping up the sexual tension.

Barry thought the two studs were generating enough heat between them the air would burst into flame any second.

Nah, man, Blue panted. It’ll be you singing my praises when I fuck you into the middle of next week. I’ll pork you so fuckin’ hard every cucumber, large carrot or candle will remind you of my big dick.

Okay, so the porn talk was cheesy, but it was also hot as hell. Barry was rubbing himself so hard he was gonna cum any second.

Red’s chuckle was transformed into a moan of pleasure when Blue began to bite the side of his neck. Recovering somewhat, Red panted, Don’t know about cucumbers or carrots, but if you want to fuck something so bad I could ask Billy Ray if you can borrow his vacuum.

Barry let out a bark of laughter. This instantly had Blue and Red breaking apart and staring in his direction. Oh shit! He thought.

Who’s there! Blue demanded, instantly going into the fighting stance he’d adopted in the bar.

Barry thought about staying in the shadows, hoping the two cowboys would lose interest in him and get back to the rubbing and kissing.

Show yourself! Blue shouted.

It was just like in the westerns he used to watch with his granddad. The sheriff demanding that the bank robbers come out with their hands up. With heart thumping, knees knocking, and prick so hard he could hammer nails with it, Barry stepped out from behind the dumpster. Sorry, he said little above a whisper. He began to raise his hands but caught himself before they got above waist height.

What the fuck, Red said.

Who the fuck are you? Blue asked.

Uh, Barry. Barry Logan. I, uh… Barry swallowed. I saw you both in the bar…think you’re so hot, he babbled. And I’d be happy, heck, honored if you’d let me, I mean… He knew he should shut the fuck up; he was already in a deep hole and should stop digging. You can fuck me, both of you.

Blue stood frozen, fists still clenched. Red seemed a touch more relaxed but Barry bet he could spring into action sooner than Barry could say ‘ride me, cowboy.’ Neither man spoke and Barry grew nervous.

I, uh, I should…Sorry. I’ll, uh… Barry took a couple of steps backward and turned to flee. Stupid, stupid, stupid! he told himself as he picked up speed and rounded the corner back into the car park. Was he that desperate for cowboy cock that he’d started begging for it in dark alleys now?

He heard the crunch of gravel behind him. Barry was about to break into a run when something clamped itself onto his right shoulder. He let out a girly squeal before he was brought to a halt. He tried freeing himself but the grip tightened and became painful.

I’m sorry, Barry panted, too scared to turn around and face his attackers. Not that the strong grip on his shoulder would have allowed much movement. I just thought I might be able to help you two out, with your uh, problem and so I… He started to shiver. He was cold as well as scared.

The grip on Barry’s shoulder loosened but a second hand came to rest on his other shoulder. Red walked around and faced Barry. The hands, which had begun to massage Barry’s shoulders, must have belonged to Blue.

You’re not from around here, Red said.

With the amazing massage, it took Barry a couple of seconds to process the question. Here he was, no doubt being softened up to have the shit kicked out of him, and they were commenting on his accent. Uh, no, I’m from England.

Red nodded in understanding.

Barry felt himself being pulled back against Blue’s firm, broad chest. You mean it? Blue’s low, deep voice sent shivers down Barry’s spine.

Uh, yeah, I’m definitely from England. Yorkshire actually, that’s in the North.

Barry felt the brim of a cowboy hat brush his right cheek and warm breath ghost over his ear. No, darlin’, I meant the fuck.

Huh? Barry didn’t understand.

Strong, blue flannel-clad arms wrapped themselves around his chest and his arse was pressed into something hard and very very big. Instantly Barry’s chills went away and were replaced by a flush of heat. He trembled.

Red snickered. What my dumbass partner meant was, did you mean it about letting him…us, fuck you?

Suddenly the light bulb in his head came on. Barry swallowed and nodded enthusiastically. He opened his mouth to speak but his tongue seemed to be stuck to the roof of his mouth. He nodded again to indicate his agreement.

From beneath his Stetson, Red’s face broke into one of the most beautiful smiles Barry had ever seen. The guy had dimples that had Barry’s knees going weak.

Blue ground his hard dick into Barry’s eager arse. Were they going to fuck here in the car park? That would be hot, but... I’ve got a room, Barry groaned as Red’s hands began rubbing Barry’s hips and were starting to move inward. It’s at, uh… He couldn’t think straight, not with two hot studs doing sexy things to him. Mrs. Tanner’s guesthouse. Oh, Yes! Red’s hands had reached their target and Barry was trying to thrust forward into the touch but was held back by Blue’s hands which were gripping his hips. Please.

From behind him, Blue snickered. Eager, darlin?

Yes. Barry saw no point in lying about it. He wanted these two men in the worst way.

Patience, Red said, treating Barry to another of his devastating smiles. We’ll take you back to the ranch. We—

—have chores in the morning, Blue finished and ground his super-hard dick into Barry’s arse, making him moan.

And the walls of Mrs. Tanner’s rooms are kinda thin, Red said, increasing the rubbing on Barry’s dick, making Barry moan even louder.

We don’t want folks to get the wrong, uh, right idea when they hear you scream out our names—

—when we fuck the cum out of you.

Oh, yes, Barry whimpered.

Blue took a half step back and Barry would have collapsed to the ground in a boneless heap if Red and Blue hadn’t been there to hold him up. As they walked across the