Perhaps the strangest event that transpired during Pax’s slow repair time was that he couldn’t remember my name.

“Cal Hoke,” I shared with him almost every day. “I’ve worked for you for the last four years.”

Pax was on his bed, showered and dressed, but he wasn’t wearing a shirt. His hairy blond chest was exposed for my likeness, and faithfully I ogled his firm nipples and pumped pecs, always craving his skin. “What do you do for me?”

I was at the bottom of his bed, checking in on him after a long day with the Palominos and two ranch hands. “I’m a vet. I look after the horses.”

“Where are you parents?”

“Demised. Like yours. Your mom and dad passed away in a plane accident in 1997. You were pretty young. You lived with your Uncle Grant. Do you remember him?”

“Who?” he asked, befuddled with my question, which was something that happened all the time lately because of his recent accident in the barn and its circumstances.

“You bought this place from him when you turned twenty-two. He made you sign a promissory note. You lived up to your end of the bargain. Your Uncle Grant died six months later and willed the place to you.”

“How many acres again?”

I told him, which he was always surprised by. “Do you remember how many horses you have in the barn?”

The look he shared with me was quizzical, which explained that he couldn’t remember a damn thing about his life.

“Sixteen Palomino. And you have two ranch hands. You remember any of this?”

Overcome by frustration, he shook his handsome head and confessed, “You’re a stranger to me. I don’t know you.”

“Not to worry, Pax. Your memories will be flooding back before you know it. I’m a pretty good guy, and I’m here to help take care of you.”

****

Pax’s kiss was something magical to me; a power that offered exceptional lust as an aphrodisiac. Our faces were connected by semi-parted mouths and noses, which gently rubbed together. His tongue explored my tongue, quickly exited, and fell between my lips and teeth yet again. Some of my breath was lost because of his action, yet I was completely enamored by his connection, helpless against him, and under his unexpected sex-hex.

I could have pushed him away, but chose not to. Instead, I relished our bodies compressed and upright together, and enjoyed a kiss that I would always remember, no matter what age surfaced in my future. Desire was found, and I became his plaything in the outbuilding, driven by own greed, which was a spirited and unconditional longing for his hunger to the mix with my own hunger, having the two never dissipate.

There was no thunder that night except for our combined heartbeats. The sound of autumn rain plinked off the outbuilding’s aluminum room and filled our ears. Neither of us were disrupted by the sound because we were occupied with our heavy kissing. Nor were we interrupted by the flashes of gold-white-yellow light, a product of the storm at hand, lightning with no thunder, but much brightness. The moment between us was far more interesting and exciting compared to the lightshow outside my comfortable abode. Frankly, I had all I wanted for my personal entertainment tucked against my chest, and his Pax’s mouth mixing with my own mouth. Nothing more was desired as we blended.