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These gents are what you call organic queers. That is to say, that rural men do what comes naturally. Hours spent alone tilling, plowing, mucking, plucking, shucking, sowing, fertilizing, irrigating and whatever else there is to do to keep a place going, invariably are broken by incidents of body self exploration and awareness. Jacking off in the middle of your newly plowed field while seated on the tractor, while no one is around to witness or tell is a time-honored tradition, and a rite of passage for many, especially when they encounter fellow community men in the act. Curiosity eventually fosters action. Out behind the barn, the farmhands are taking a break for a short masturbation session, learning that its a lot more fun to do with a buddy what up until now was reserved for a farm animal with a nice face. And things are always made more interesting when there's a new hand who's brought into the fold. What goes on out behind the barn is a thing.
The man in the middle is a little more experienced and gets the Loveless Motel Circular that comes every month with news, gossip, pictures, and ads for special deals. He's convinced the other two to book a 3 day weekend and take the 4 hour drive over where he promises he'll act as a tour guide to fellow sodbusters Goober and Bill-Don who are wide-eyed at the prospect of seeing a place where what they do isolated on a tractor or out behind the barn is not the exception, but the norm. They've been told a little but not too much; their mentor has them booked into the Bunkhouse. Pouring over the circular ads, they can't wait to see some of the fancy duds shown in the spreads for Suit Up and Packaged Goods! Land o' Goshen!, are there people who actually buy store-bought skivvies instead of making them out of feed sacks?
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