Kansas Corncob(s) – Part 31 (Patreon)

Everyone in this story is 18+

The next morning the house is quiet except for the distant sound of Kent’s truck already heading out toward the fields. I sit on the edge of my bed still naked from the night before and scroll to Lola’s name. She picks up on the second ring like she has been waiting for it.

“Tell me everything,” she says instead of hello.

I do. The meeting, Daniel revealing he is the dean, the late admission possibility, the essay, Lori already planning to fix up the apartment above the barn. I tell her about Kansas too, about the way he looked when he talked about me staying, about how the word love almost came out of his mouth even though he tried to soft-pedal it with the whole we’re-young-things-can-happen speech.

Lola is quiet for a few seconds after I finish. Then she lets out a long breath that turns into a laugh.

“Jett. Babe. Go for Kansas. Both of them. The state and the ridiculous farm boy with the perfect dick and the heart eyes. You sound different. Like someone finally turned the volume down on all the chaos in your head. NYU was never going to save you the way you thought it would. This might. And if you stay I am one hundred percent coming to visit. I need to meet the corncob boyfriend and the goats that pissed on Dil’s doughnut. Non-negotiable.”

I smile at the wall. “You really think I should do it?”

“I think you already know you should. You’re just calling me so someone else says it out loud first. Now go write the damn essay and stop spiraling.”

We talk a little longer about nothing important, then hang up. I sit there for another minute letting her words settle before I pull up Professor Ramirez’s email and dial the number listed for office hours.

She answers on the fourth ring, voice already tired.

“Ramirez.”

“Hi, Professor. It’s Jett Russo. From the summer communications class. Dean Hale suggested I reach out about a late admission essay.”

There is a pause long enough that I start to wonder if she hung up. Then she sighs.

“Of course it is. I thought I was done with you after the final presentation. Apparently not.” Another beat. “Fine. If Daniel is putting his name behind it then the least I can do is listen. What do you need?”

“Guidance, I guess. On what to write.”

She softens a fraction. “Make it personal. Not the polished version you think admissions wants. Write about how you actually ended up in Kansas. Be honest about the mess that brought you here and whatever has kept you from running straight back to New York. If you can make the reader feel the shift instead of just telling them about it, you might actually have a shot. Send me a draft when you have one. I’ll tell you if it’s garbage.”

“Thank you.”

“Don’t thank me yet. Just don’t waste both our time.”

She hangs up. I open a blank document on my laptop and stare at the cursor for a long time before the first sentence finally comes. I write until my shoulders ache and the sun sits higher in the sky, then close the laptop and go find Kansas.

He is out behind the barn checking something on one of the smaller tractors. When he sees me he wipes his hands on his jeans and smiles that soft private smile that still does stupid things to my chest.

“Walk with me?” I ask.

We head out into the rows without talking much at first. The corn is tall enough now that once we are a few dozen yards in the rest of the world disappears. Green stalks rise on every side, leaves brushing our arms, the air thick with the sweet dusty smell of growing things and warm earth. Kansas walks close enough that our shoulders keep touching. Every so often his fingers graze the back of my hand like he is checking I am still real.

I tell him about the call with Lola and the conversation with Ramirez. His face lights up the same way it did last night in the truck, quiet and open and hopeful all at once. He listens more than he talks, but when he does speak his voice is warm.

“I keep picturing it,” he admits. “You living in the apartment above the barn. Coming down for breakfast some mornings. Walking through these same rows in the fall when everything turns gold. I know it’s a lot to ask of you. Leaving the city for this.”

“It’s not just this,” I say, and gesture at the endless green around us. “It’s you in the middle of it.”

Something shifts in the air between us. The heat of the day, all of the corn, the way his eyes keep dropping to my mouth. I stop walking. Kansas stops too. For a second we just look at each other while a light breeze moves the leaves overhead.

I reach for the front of his jeans. He does not stop me. His breath catches when I palm the growing thickness behind the denim, already half hard just from the proximity and the quiet. I pop the button and ease the zipper down. Kansas glances around once even though there is no one for acres, then shoves his jeans and boxers low enough on his hips that his heavy cock springs free, flushed and thick and already leaking at the tip.

I wrap my fingers around his gigantic hardness and stroke slow from base to head, feeling every ridge and the way he throbs under my palm. Kansas makes a low sound and reaches for me in return, pushing my shorts down just far enough to free my cock. His big rough hand closes around me and starts working in the same unhurried rhythm I am using on him.

We stand there in the middle of the corn row trading long steady strokes, foreheads pressed together, mouths brushing with every shared breath. His hand is warmer than the air and a little dry from work until the clear fluid beading at my tip eases the slide. I twist my wrists on the upstroke the way I know unravels him and watch his eyes flutter half shut. He does the same to me, broad thumb dragging over the sensitive head on every pass until my thighs start to shake.

The corn leaves rustle around us with every small shift of our bodies. I can smell the green of the stalks and the clean sweat on Kansas’s neck and the sharper scent of both of us getting closer. He leans in and kisses me deep and open, tongue sliding against mine while our hands keep moving faster, the wet friction of skin on skin soft and filthy in the quiet field. My free hand finds his hip and holds on. His free hand slides around to grip my ass and pull me closer so our knuckles brush with every stroke.

After a while the standing becomes too much. I tug him down with me into the narrow space between the rows. Soft earth and crushed leaves meet my back for only a second before I push Kansas flat and climb over him, straddling his thick thighs so I can look down at all of him. His massive erection stands heavy between us, the head dark and wet, the shaft so thick my fingers still do not fully meet when I wrap them around it again. I settle my own cock against the side of his and take both of us in my hands as best I can, stroking the undersides together while Kansas reaches up and finishes what I cannot cover.

We keep kissing the whole time, messy and continuous, breaking only to breathe against each other’s mouths. His big hands stroke us both in long firm pulls while I rock my hips and grind the sensitive undersides together. The size of him against me is overwhelming in the best way, hot and solid and so much bigger that every stroke makes me feel small and wanted at the same time. Pleasure builds low and relentless in my gut. Kansas’s breathing turns ragged under me. His hips lift in small helpless thrusts into the tight channel of our joined hands.

I feel him swell even thicker against my palm and shaft, the heavy head growing darker and wetter until clear fluid runs down over my fingers. My own cock leaks steadily between us. The pressure climbs until I have to break the kiss just to drag in air. Kansas is right there with me, eyes locked on mine, soft desperate sounds escaping against my lips as his hips lose their rhythm.

We finish almost together. I come first, painting thick stripes across his stomach and the base of that massive cock while my whole body shudders above him. The sight and feel of it pulls him over the edge a few seconds later. Powerful bursts in long powerful ribbons that stripe my hands and his own abs and the dirt beside us while he pulls me down hard against his chest and holds on like the ground might disappear.

We stay tangled like that for a long moment after, my smaller body draped over his much larger one, hands still loosely wrapped around the spent heat of him, breathing hard in the middle of the green. Eventually Kansas lifts his head and gives me a dazed happy little smile that makes my chest do that stupid warm thing again.

“Don’t you have an essay to write?” he chuckles, voice still rough.

I look at the mess on both our hands and the endless rows of corn stretching out in every direction and the boy who somehow made all of this feel like home.

“Yeah,” I say. “I think I might.”