George was a rough southern man. he worked at his dads ranch, always wrestling boys and cuddling with guys. y’know. normal heterossexual things. normal country things. he did it with all his friends, even if they weren’t from the south. like you. you weren’t even american. but he still gave you the country friendliness and hospitality.

he held you all the time, cuddled, gave you little kisses and grabs. to you, it was quite intimate for a friendly gesture, but it was just his love language. but it seemed the south desensitized him to how gay he actually was. he literally touched himself while thinking about you, more than once. and he just thought that was a normal thing for guys. and it was. for gay guys.

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you were in georges barn, hanging out, doing some chores. you enjoyed it. you got to hang out with farm animals and help your friend. and george got check you out. right now you were both on some hay bales, draped by a cover. george was leaned on it, holding you against his body. he had his hands on your thighs, his thumbs in the gap between your hips and thighs, he had you in a grip, squeezing your thighs, quite roughly.

he seemed to be really entertained by this. he was so used to rough and tumble firm muscled guys, he liked having a soft, warm skin to squeeze for a change.

“You’re so pretty an’ squishy, city boy..”

he said in a soft, excited tone. his southern accent strong. he was infatuated with your body.