Kansas Corncob(s) – Part 6 (Patreon)

Everyone in this story is 18+

The truck turned off the main road onto a long gravel driveway, and the farmhouse finally came into view. It was exactly what I’d pictured but somehow more real. White two-story house with a big wraparound porch, bright red barn off to the side, multiple silos, and tractors parked neatly near a equipment shed. Cornfields stretched out in every direction like a green ocean, rows so perfect they looked fake. The air smelled like dirt, hay, and something sweet I couldn’t name.

Kent killed the engine. “Home sweet home.”

I climbed out and just stared. “Where’s the Starbucks?”

Lori laughed warmly as she grabbed one of my bags. “There’s one about five minutes east of the second corncob field... Just kidding, honey. There are a few in downtown Manhattan.”

I snorted. The meaning of “downtown Manhattan” has changed a lot.

They led me inside. The house was clean and lived-in, wooden floors that creaked under my sneakers, family photos on the walls, and the faint smell of fresh bread. Lori took me upstairs and opened the door to a room at the end of the hallway.

“This is yours for the next few months.”

It was… decent. A double bed with a blue quilt, a small sofa, a wooden desk by the window overlooking the cornfields, a dresser, and a small closet. Nothing fancy, but it felt strangely cozy in a worn-in way.

“Shabby chic,” I said, looking around.

Lori cracked up, covering her mouth. “It’s very intentional, trust me. I worked with an interior decorator to get it just right.”

I raised an eyebrow. “Yeah, I’m sure you hired one from downtown Manhattan.”

She smiled, not even a little offended. “I know this is going to take some adjusting, but we’ve helped other kids. Sorry… young adults, like yourself from big cities before. Sometimes a real change in scenery can do more than people think.”

I just nodded. She was making it really hard to just straight up hate her.

She showed me the bathroom next, right across the hall. “You’ll share this one with Kansas. The door doesn’t lock, so just knock before you go in.”

I smirked. “I hope I share it with Kansas your son, and not the whole state.”

Lori laughed again. “Definitely just Kansas the son. Haha.”

Fuck. Why couldn’t she be a raving bitch? Two hours in and I was already half afraid of disappointing her. And all I ever do is disappoint people..

Lori left me to settle in. I closed the door, dropped my bag, and sat on the bed for a minute. The silence was loud. No sirens, no horns, no constant city hum. Just crickets and the occasional distant tractor.

I pulled out my phone and opened Grindr out of habit. The grid was depressing. Mostly blank profiles. A couple “Farmer Daddies” in their fifties. One guy with pink hair and a pink crop top, clearly the town’s gay.” A few cropped torso shots from Kansas State guys who were clearly miles away. Nothing like the endless options back in New York.

I closed the app fast and tossed my phone on the bed. Unpacked a few things. My cropped tanks looked ridiculous next to the plain wooden dresser. I flopped back on the bed, staring at the ceiling, hand drifting down toward the waistband of my shorts. Maybe a quick tug would help me reset—

“Jett?” Lori’s voice called up the stairs, warm and cheerful. “Dinner’s almost ready! Come on down whenever you’re settled.”

I let out a long breath and sat up.

Great. Saved by meatloaf or whatever they eat out here.

I headed downstairs, following the smell of spices that definitely didn’t match the farmhouse aesthetic. The table was already set in the dining room off the kitchen. Kent was sitting at the head, scrolling on his phone. Lori was bringing out a big steaming dish.

I stopped in the doorway. “Is that… biryani?”

Lori smiled brightly as she set the dish down. “Beef biryani. We can’t have fried chicken every day, even if it’s Kansas’ favorite.”

Before I could respond, the front door opened. Heavy boots scraped on the mat, followed by the sound of a backpack hitting the floor.

“That must be Kansas now,” Lori said, voice warm.

I turned, hoping for at least a hot farm boy. Someone rugged, sweaty from work, maybe in a tight T-shirt clinging to real muscle. Instead, a tall guy stepped into the hallway. He was big, yeah, with broad shoulders from actual farm labor, but soft around the middle, with no real definition. His posture was terrible, like he was trying to take up as little space as possible. He wore a varsity jacket over a plain T-shirt, and had a dorky bowl cut that looked like his mom had given it to him with a cereal bowl and scissors two weeks ago.

He shrugged off the varsity jacket, revealing a classic farmer’s tan — pale arms above the elbow, burnt red from the shoulders down. He folded the jacket carefully over his arm.

“Hi ma. Hi pops,” he said quietly. His voice was low, a little scratchy, like he didn’t use it much, then he took out a lunch box from the backpack he was wearing. “Thanks for making lunch today. The sandwich was real good.”

Then his eyes landed on me. He froze for half a second, ears already turning pink.

“Uh… hi,” he mumbled, giving me an awkward little wave. “You must be Jett. I’m Kansas. Nice to meet you.”

He was painfully polite, like someone had drilled manners into him since birth. His handshake was limp and quick, like he was scared he’d break me if he squeezed too hard.

“Nice to meet you too, Kansas,” I said, trying not to sound too sarcastic.

We sat down for dinner. The biryani was actually really good, spiced rice, tender beef, all of it warm and comforting. But the conversation…

Kansas mostly kept his eyes on his plate, taking big careful bites. When he did speak, it was about farm stuff.

“We got the north field fully sprayed today,” he told his dad between mouthfuls. “The new nozzle on the sprayer worked a lot better. Should help with the aphids. Also saw a couple deer by the tree line again. Might need to move the salt lick.”

Kent nodded along, asking questions about irrigation and fertilizer. Lori would gently try to pull me into the conversation, asking about New York or what I liked to eat, but Kansas just kept quietly adding facts about corn growth stages and soybean prices.

I kept sneaking glances at him. He was tall. He was… big. But that shy, hunched posture and the tragic bowl cut made him look like the human version of a beige wall. Zero swagger.

This is the guy I’m stuck living with for three months?

He caught me looking once and immediately dropped his eyes back to his plate, cheeks flushing red.

“More biryani, Jett?” Lori asked, already reaching for the spoon.

“Yeah… sure,” I said, holding out my plate. “Thanks.”

Kansas mumbled something about needing to check the tractors after dinner and went back to eating in near silence.

I poked at my rice, already feeling the weight of the flat fields pressing in around me.

This was going to be a long three months...

Wanna see a visual of Kansas? VIP members can see him here.