A Johnny Lee Capstone Novel
Eight men are about to descend upon Capstone's Dude Ranch, and they are in for the most memorable two weeks of their lives. Chief among them are Thrice Montgomery, a spoiled rich New Yorker who has arrived at the ranch, newly single, running from his cheating ex. Marc Tolling has recently come out, the support of his ex-wife and daughter allowing him the chance to indulge all the sexual exploration he's lost out on over the years. What both men do not realize is they will find themselves in competition for the attention of the ranch's studly owner. Johnny Lee Capstone, owner and proprietor of Capstone's Dude Ranch, is the ideal cowboy, sexy and single, hot and hairy, and more than willing to submit to the sexual whims of his guests. There is something familiar about Marc, but what past they shared eludes him, and Marc, for some reason, isn't talking. As for Thrice, his cocky self-assuredness has intrigued Johnny Lee, and soon they begin a passionate, steamy affair. But an unexpected visitor threatens the delicate balance at Capstone's, and as the men venture deep in the misty woods, the sexual heat spills out, ultimately jeopardizing the life of one of the eight men. Rich in the atmosphere of the Smoky Mountains of Tennessee, sexual desire unleashed on virtually every page, DUDE RANCH is the story of three men who give in to their basest desires and in the process realize what has been missing from their lives.
This is a re-release.
He enjoyed his solitude, perhaps a bit too much, but when all of nature fueled his spirit, its lush hills and rolling fields, its vibrant majesty stretching for miles and miles--for more than the eye could see and far beyond the imagination--sometimes you just didn't want to share it with the rest of the world. Alone, Johnny Lee Capstone breathed a sigh of relief, taking cold morning air into his lungs, savoring the chill as he fully awakened to a new day. It was late April, and while morning frosts were a thing of the past, seasonally speaking, summer had not yet dawned on the land he called home. Even still, for Johnny Lee, there was no better feeling than waking up in nature's backyard.
Tossing back his sleeping bag, he gazed over at the fire he'd lit last night, its embers still with a glaze of orange underneath. He rubbed his hands over the slight warmth, while he tried to wrestle sleep from his body. Perhaps he should have put that bottle of bourbon away last night before it had put him away. Oh well, live, learn, drink, repeat, or so he supposed. Johnny Lee's six foot two frame stood up, while his thirty-one-year old knees cracked from inactivity. He wasn't worn down, he just was sore from a lack of exercise, a natural result of laziness settling over him during the off-season. Life in these rugged Tennessee hills though was soon to resume, and Johnny Lee would again return to form, be fit for fighting, and be ready for anything.
For now, a quick swim in the lake would serve him well. It would wake him up.
Johnny Lee stripped down to his nothingness, shivering as the morning chill attacked his frame. He tossed on his black cowboy hat; even when dressed he felt naked without it. He loved to slide his hand across the curved lip of the hat, as though he was someone out of the old West. Far cry from that, living here in East Tennessee.
Hat notwithstanding, the rest of his body was on full display were anyone nearby to witness. He was well muscled, with strong biceps and ropey arms, the result of hearty, sweat-inducing workouts and the sheer fact that he lived year-round off the grueling demands of the land. His thick legs he considered his best feature, meaty calves offset only by that lingering weakness in his knees. Johnny Lee had long been considered handsome, and he wore an alluring smile that charmed any who had the pleasure to meet him. With his perpetual three-day scruff and a broad chest blanketed with dark hair, he was the very picture of the hunky outdoor American male, could have been a model for all those Marlboro ads if he so chose such a vain path. But thing of it is, Johnny Lee Capstone didn't smoke, didn't like the way it poisoned the body and the air, and wouldn't advocate it for a quick buck, that's for sure. And another thing about the elusive soul that was Johnny Lee. While some real men in these here parts might have a problem with it, Johnny Lee had a big thing for other guys. He loved their touch, their smell, the way they lustily squirmed and squealed beneath him when he fucked them.
He padded down to the edge of the crystalline Lake Joyner, relishing the feel of the cool breeze on his bare, furred skin. Above him bright morning sun shone down, sending dappling rays against the slow currents riding the lake's surface. He shivered again, and then adjusted the hat to allow some yellow rays to hit his brown-flecked eyes. Hardened nipples buried beneath his hairy chest jutted out, his fingers teasing them with a tweak of pain. The sense of the erotic washed over him, and he felt his thick cock begin to grow. It had been awhile since Johnny Lee had been with another man, and he supposed he was feeling a certain natural need consume him. The water would probably be freezing, the kind of shock that would knock that enveloping desire from him. But Johnny Lee also wasn't a man who liked to deny himself things, and here in the privacy of his own wide-open space, there was nothing to stop him.
Climbing onto a large rock, its surface smoothed from decades of water washing over it, Johnny Lee splayed his body out, patting the hat down onto his head. For a moment he closed his eyes, content to let the growing warmth of the sun heat his body. A wayward hand wound its way down the furry trail on his stomach, grabbing at his fully hardened cock. It was cut, with a head thick and red, the shaft an impressive nine inches. He stroked, his calloused hands rubbing hard against the sensitive tip. A quick spit into his hand, he now had a natural lubricant, and he began to stroke in earnest. His breathing heightened, his skin flushed with heat, he let his mind wander down the tortured path of his sexual past. From his youthful days of experimenting with others his age less sure of their sexuality to the sexy men he'd met at the ranch, those fleeting love affairs, those unquenched desires, the nights by the fireplace that began with fierce passion and ended with gentle embraces, images flooded his mind and served only to quicken the stroke on his cock.
His other hand snaked to his powerful chest, rubbing at one nipple, the other, brushing the thick hair that spread from his neck and across his pecs, down his belly in an ever-increasing swath. Men had salivated over his chest, they had licked it and kissed it and come on it countless times, and then they had lain with him long into the night, falling asleep in the comfort of its soft mat.
But now, as he stroked, and stroked more, he traced an aimless pattern across his chest, pulling gently at his hair, heightening his desire. In his mind he pictured himself alone on this rock, his hairy, studly sight as near-perfect as you get, cowboy hat perched atop his head as he jerked his own thick cock. Suddenly he felt his heavy balls constrict, he felt power begin to well up inside his loins. He drew a sharp intake of air. Johnny Lee opened up his eyes to watch those last, energetic strokes, and soon, soon, the tip of his cock expanded and his cock burst forth. Ropey white come shot out, one burst, then a second, a third, landing on his furry forearm with a sizzle that could have been bacon on a hot grill.
"Oh my God," he said to the blue sky and fluffy clouds that hovered high above him. "I need to find myself a new man, and fast."
Johnny Lee knew he would, soon enough, since the Capstone Dude Ranch, of which he was the principal owner and proprietor, was about to open its doors for the new season, and with that yearly auspicious occasion would come the arrival of a fresh new breed of men. Some wild and needing to be tamed, others timid and willing to be broken in. Like the broncos they would ride, they would immerse themselves into Capstone's physical, outdoorsy way of life, and if they were lucky, into the warm, passionate clutches of one sexy, sexually ambitious cowboy, Johnny Lee Capstone.
He checked the position of the sun in the sky. Just past eight o'clock he had to imagine, too late to return home for a hot breakfast, dishes would already have been cleared by now and the smell of pie would be filling the kitchen. So, no need to rush back, his father and step-mother could handle things for now, their first guests weren't due until day after tomorrow. Which is why Johnny Lee could take this little sojourn of his, get back to nature, to himself, his four-day camping trip into the hills just hours from completion. So for now, he would continue to enjoy his solitude. He lifted himself off the rock, and then dove with the sleek beauty of a dolphin into the cold waters of the lake. His hat floated on the lake's surface, disembodied.
His scream of joy, of happiness and contentedness echoed all around him, bouncing off the foggy hills that surrounded his makeshift camp. He swam, retrieved his hat and placed it back on his head. He bathed quickly, wiping the sleep from his eyes, the sticky come from his arms, finally fully waking to spring's fresh promise. As much as he was enjoying himself, he couldn't wait for the arrival of his new boarders and to introduce them to the Capstone Dude Ranch lifestyle. His body-shaking climax had only satisfied him to a point. The cold splash into the lake had not doused his desire. He was still thinking about the coming crop of dudes to the ranch, and wondering which of them would light his fire.
Beneath the surface of the water, his cock hardened again.
Boys Will Be Boys
The idea was to do something different for their anniversary. Heck, two years together was like ten years out in the straight world. But Thrice Montgomery and his boyfriend, Ted Ransom had been bucking the conventional trend of meet, fuck, say good-bye with a fake phone number and parting kiss since their initial date. It had been a blind one, and when do those ever succeed? But it had, as had subsequent dates and then the building of a relationship, a life. They would do anything for each other, and Thrice had to admit now was one of those moments. Staring at himself in the mirror, he realized just how far they'd gone with this declaration of "different."
He thought he looked ridiculous, dressed as though he was attending a Halloween party--or worse, auditioning for a Village People cover band. Snakeskin boots, check. Stiff blue jeans. Check. Cowboy hat with a curled brim...see, that was the part that didn't look right. Maybe it was because Thrice was the definition of vanity when it came to his hair. He prided himself on showing off his thick brown locks. He spent an hour every morning perfecting the intentionally messy do, and now he was expected to cover it up with a...a hat? That made no sense. Ted with his flowing blonde mane, the way it naturally curled against his shirt collar, would look perfect in this get-up.
But of course, no guys, no gays, in New York wore hats, cowboy or otherwise.
Where he was headed in a matter of days, the hat was part of the daily uniform. Guess he'd have to get used to it for the two week excursion into the ways of the Wild West. Except for the fact that he was hardly headed to Big Sky country--Capstone Dude Ranch was not in Wyoming, nor Montana or Idaho...but Tennessee. East Tennessee, in point of fact. Thrice hadn't even been aware there was an East Tennessee, and the idea of going there held about as much appeal as South Dakota. Some places just shouldn't exist.
Raised on Manhattan's Upper East Side, educated at a prep school in Connecticut, the grandly named Hamilton Ford Montgomery III--thus nicknamed Thrice--was a silver-spoon, city-born snob with more than enough country club in him to land on the cover of a Land's End catalog. Pearly white teeth added to his handsome look, though at this moment his smile, as that toy store advertised, had been turned upside down. The damn hat just wasn't right.
It was his boyfriend's suggestion to get out and experience the wild--ride horses, attend the land, camp outside with only the cover of night to protect them from animals and elements. That had come just moments after Ted had taken a ride on Thrice's cock, giddy-upping like a horny cowpoke from a porno western. Thrice, upon hearing such a crazy notion, had checked his temperature just to be on the safe side. See, his objection was two-fold. Not only would going to the ranch take the city slicker out of his element, he'd also have to deal with what he called "the straight world." Vacationing alongside families with their noisy, petulant children, it just wasn't his scene. Petulance was Thrice's specialty.
"Here, check it out, I've already taken that into consideration," Ted had said, getting up from the bed and handing over a glossy brochure. "Found this at the Center, it's an old-style dude ranch, but it caters only to the gay crowd. Owned and operated by this guy, Johnny Lee Capstone. Look at his profile picture--he's beyond hot, scruffy, hairy, looks straight out of central casting for a Hollywood cowboy. I'd love to ride that bronco's big boy. Hell, you know I'm not happy unless my night ends with my footprints on the ceiling."
Thrice just shook his head over such an image. Still, Thrice stole a look back at the photograph of Johnny Lee Capstone and had to agree the man defined hotness. He wasn't burly by any stretch, just hunky, and the way his shirt opened up you couldn't help but see a thicket of chest hair. So Thrice found himself agreeing to the vacation in late April. After a nasty, cold, wet winter had consumed New York, Thrice was actually looking forward to getting out of town.
Which is what brought him to this western-style shop in the East Village, with him trying on hat after hat, trying his best not to look like some gay stereotype. He eventually made a choice, grabbed a matching one for Ted, paid what he thought was a ridiculous amount of money, and then made the impromptu decision to skip the rest of the day's work and head back to his Soho loft bought and paid for by his parents one night in a fit of guilt. He'd blamed his homosexuality on their lack of love and attention, and before they headed off on a three-month world cruise they gave their real estate agent the go-ahead on the purchase. That had been six years ago, just after his college graduation. How ironic that he now shared the place with his gay lover. Take that Mom and Dad.
He arrived at the building on Mercer Street, taking the elevator up to the eighth and uppermost floor. He fished the cowboy hat out of the bag, placed it upon his head. For effect, he unbuttoned the first three buttons of his dress shirt, exposing a nice triangle of hair. He was surprisingly hairy for such a preppy guy, his chest and stomach with an enticing crop of brown hair. Ted, his body mostly smooth and silky, loved the touch of a hairy man. He'd take one look at Thrice in this get up, he'd probably bend over immediately. Thrice's cock jumped at such a thought, an unexpected afternoon quickie. He was definitely feeling horny. Must be the hat. Maybe it wasn't so bad after all. Just then the doors opened directly into the oversized loft, all exposed pipes and dark walls, decorated with furniture sleek and modern. Thrice stepped out, his cock hard against his pants. He was about to call out his lover's name when someone else did that for him.
"Oh, yes, yes, Ted, take it, take it all." The voice was like a growl, deep and angry.
Ted seemed more than willing to do as suggested, as he screamed out, "Fuck, fuck yeah. I want it all. Every inch...more...ooowww."
Thrice had just one thought: what the fuck?
The bedroom area was in the back of the loft, separated by a Japanese silk screen. The way the sun peeked through the windows, Thrice could see shapes, shadows--two of them--they were moving rhythmically, just gearing up for a sweaty exchange. He recognized Ted's favorite position, his legs jutting upwards toward the high ceiling. The man atop him was about to enter him. Thrice could see the outline of a sizable cock.
"God, you're so hard, yeah, just like a brick," Ted said.
A sudden, sad revelation hit Thrice like a...well, like a brick to the face. He knew just who was fucking his boyfriend. His name was Brick, and whether that was just some sort of Tennessee Williams affectation or just a way to describe his rock solid body, Thrice didn't all that much care right now. Because this guy was naked, and his thick cock was pushing its way into his boyfriend's waiting, willing ass. He knew Brick well enough, he was the intimidating looking bouncer at this sleazy lower East Side gay bar they liked to slum at. He was about six four, wore a full beard and mustache as thick as a bear, had thick muscles and hairy arms...actually, Thrice and Ted had often imagined Brick's whole body as being covered in a thick carpet of fur. Except, of course, on his head, where he was quite obviously bald. Guess Ted had decided to find out for himself just what was under all that leather.
"Yeah..." Ted said loudly. "Do me hard you furry beast, yeah, oh, I love how your body feels on top of mine. Make my big one shoot its load."
Through the screen, Brick grunted once, twice, pushed himself deep inside Ted.
Neither of them knew Thrice had arrived home, why else continue with such an obvious betrayal. Was their passion for one another that fierce and unstoppable? And just how familiar was Ted with Brick's furry body...his cock. Was this a first time, or had it been going on awhile? Ted worked at night, Thrice during the day. Their schedules conflicted. Sometimes sex dates had to be arranged. Apparently not just with him, Thrice thought with bitterness. Still, what should he do now? Announce himself? Stop them in mid-screw? And just what would happen? Would Ted try to apologize? Would Brick leave quickly? Would they invite him to join them in their urgent fuck?
Thrice backed away toward the elevator, which thankfully was still waiting for him. As if it knew he'd be retreating. He looked back at the elevator, then again at the shapes of the two men behind the screen. Their sounds intensified with the slap of skin against skin hard. For a second he moved forward, confrontation on his mind. Then he was distracted by the brochure from Capstone's Dude Ranch set out on the nearby coffee table. Instinctively he reached for it before hopping into the elevator. He pressed the button for the first floor, prayed for the doors to close. He'd seen enough, and he'd certainly heard enough.
Back outside, the cool spring day teased him. Beauty was all around him, Manhattan glistening in the afternoon sunshine. Tears hit his eyes, probably glistening against his skin. People walked past him and he turned toward the building. Hamilton Ford Montgomery III was a strong person and he would not show weakness, not to strangers and not to himself. Wiping away those tears of regret, of sadness, he quickly took out his cell phone. He dialed the number of the ranch printed on the back page of the brochure.
"Capstone's, how may I help you?" came a friendly voice. Thrice was surprised it belonged to a woman.
"Hi, I have a reservation, we were supposed to arrive in three days."
"Something's come up," Thrice said. "Is it too late to cancel?"
"Well, no...you can cancel anytime. But you'll be charged half the rate."
Half. Ted's half, Thrice thought.
"Actually, I only need to cancel one of the reservations, can I do that?" he asked impulsively. "Turns out I'll be going."
A fuzzy uncertainty hovering over him, Thrice finalized his new arrangements and then, hanging up the phone he let out a heavy sigh. Was he really intending to go to the dude ranch all on his own? To do what? Despite his country club existence, he'd never ridden a horse. He'd certainly never gone camping. But hell, why not? Even though the trip had been Ted's idea, he could just stay in New York and let Brick fuck him forever for all he cared. They were done. Two year anniversary, my ass.
As he tucked away his phone, the brochure slipped out of his hands and fluttered to the ground. Bending down to pick it up, Thrice noticed the pages had opened to the photograph of the ranch's owner, one Johnny Lee Capstone. Ted had been right, the guy was definitely hot and sexy. Scruffy beard, a red shirt that went well against his dark-toned skin, his dark hair, and a bright smile that appeared to be winking right at him. On his head, perfectly placed, was the required cowboy hat. Thrice felt his cock stir again, felt alive. He had this image flashing in his mind of Johnny Lee taking him to his bed, fucking him, still wearing the hat.
Revenge could be very satisfying.