Christmas on the Range
a Gay Texas story
written by BRODERICK THOMPSON for Christmas.TyRain.com
November 15, 2002
PART THREEI rose to my feet, wiping a little drool of silvery cum from the side of my mouth. My new acquaintance still seemed slightly in shock. “I should have introduced myself,” I said. “I’m Steve. This is my place… and this here is Gus.”

“Chris,” said the fisherman, now actually shaking my hand instead of my cock, “Do you welcome every trespasser on your land the way you did me? You give great head, by the way. Thanks.”

I laughed. “Only those on Christmas Eve that are hot, naked, and male. So far, that means just you. I guess I was more desperate for cock than I realized. It’s been a few weeks.” My most recent and most heartbreaking breakup with a love relationship had been, as a matter of fact, more like a few months ago. It had been a painful parting, and I had been slow climbing back into the saddle.

“Chris, are you set on fishing all day, or would you like to play around down on the farm? I have another horse – a loft full of fresh hay – a cabin with a feather bed and a country breakfast – what’s your pleasure?”

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EUROPEAN GAY CHRISTMAS
written by CATHAL McCEALLACHAN for Christmas.TyRain.com
November 5, 2000

PART TWO
The story of Christian and Savvas continues
I was shocked out of my fond memories of Cees by the anxious voice of a young man, “Are you okay, Sir?” I nodded and wondered just how long I had been staring into this same shop window. “But are you not the Ballet Dancer, Christian?” I just smiled and nodded again.

“I’m glad you are well Mister Christian,” he said and walked away. I looked at my watch and decided it best that I rush back to Java Square No. 7, since the Baroness would be waiting on me for tea.

When I arrived, Tineke was in the lounge. There was a table sagging under the weight of all the cakes and goodies she knew I liked and a pot of steaming fresh tea. Such a beautiful room this was to me, she fondly calling it the Blue Salon. Lovely blue Delft porcelain all over, blue and white wallpaper, pale blue wall to wall carpeting with oriental rugs in complimenting hues of blue, red and many other colors. A huge Christmas tree with trimmings of gold, silver and red. In the hearth a fire roared, warm and cozy, framed by huge Ming vases filled with white, blue and red flowers. In one corner stood a baby grand piano, with photos of the whole family and all the friends arranged on top. I looked around me. Yes – such a warm, friendly and wonderful room.

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During this Gay Christmas holiday I am employed in the retail hospitality sector. Sure I smile, sometimes hum carols, make the wassil, and shake hands with amazingly handsome men – but I return home to TyRain – sharing the men.

Sometimes we get so caught up in the holiday season that we miss those simple special moments,
instead finding ourselves a defensive driver in the parking lot.

Take the time to sip the eggnog, smell the tree, and write a card of delayed greetings – an email wont count.

Enjoy this male MP3 solo of Cantique De Noel.

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Christmas on the Range
a Gay Texas story
written by BRODERICK THOMPSON for Christmas.TyRain.com
November 15, 2002
PART TWO
He stood about 5′ 10″, with broad, bronzed shoulders tapering muscularly to a very slim waist. His ass was just as brown and sensationally rounded. His legs were magnificent. I decided that Gus could use a drink of creek water, so we ambled down the bank.

When a rock rolled under Gus’s hoof, the fisherman jumped as if shot, his head jerking around toward us. I figured he was probably just some straight sporty type with a fine body that he liked sun on, but darn, I sure hadn’t intended to give him a heart attack, I only wanted to get a look at the front of him. For a second, I thought he was torn between jumping into the creek or the bushes. Then the sight of me on my horse and naked must have registered in his handsome brain.

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EUROPEAN GAY CHRISTMAS
written by CATHAL McCEALLACHAN for Christmas.TyRain.com
November 5, 2000

PART ONE
The story of Christian and Savvas continues
I arrived here a few days ago because I could not face a Christmas in Kimberley, South Africa, with my lovely Savvas away in Cyprus while he had to attend to family business. Therefore we decided that I would come to Holland, and he would join me later for Christmas.

Wishing to find some additional Christmas presents, I strolled through the shopping area, glancing every so often into certain store windows, to marvel at the beautiful displays of Christmas scenes and exotic gifts. So wonderful it felt to be back in my homeland, The Netherlands, after two years in Africa.As I walked, in the distance I could see the lofty spire of the St. Stevens Church, one of the landmarks of this ancient city of Nijmegen. I could hear lovely organ music in the distance. I stopped my walking to enjoy a particular window display with animated elves that interested me.

Strong memories suddenly overcame me, becoming once more that young and naïve boy, having come to study Ballet under Jenny Veldthuis. In my mind, I walked to St. Stevens, opened the massive door, and entered the dimly lit Church. It was a Protestant place of worship. With the organist playing hymn tunes that I knew from childhood, I felt at ease. There were a few people inside, scattered and self-absorbed. I sat down in one of the back pews.

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In the spirit of my old site Christmas.TyRain.com – time to dust off the old-style midi music and present some fresh random men that recently caught my eye.

In 2003 I presented this piano version of White Christmas

In 2000 I presented The Carol of the Bells

Merry Christmas from TyRain.

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Christmas on the Range
a Gay Texas story
written by BRODERICK THOMPSON for Christmas.TyRain.com
November 15, 2002

PART ONE

The air felt slightly chilly to my naked skin, but being Christmas Eve, it felt almost balmy at an unseasonable warm 72 degrees. I moved toward the stable along one of the wheel-tracks of the long access drive from farmhouse to barn. This was my farm, all 90 acres of it – tucked between the stream and the mountainside, well away from the county road on the far side of the creek bed. There were never any observers to my nudity. From May to October, I am almost always nude when I tend the horses and a large portion of the rest of the day as well.

I reached the stable and greeted the two eager horses as they strained their necks towards their food pail and me. I watched them chomp for a few seconds, then went to work pouring water from the hose, mucking stalls, and putting down fresh hay. The work warmed me up as nearness to the two friendly animals cheered my spirits, and I patted each affectionately.

I then turned and had to snicker to myself at the Christmas greenery I had loosely draped on an antique mirror I had recently installed. The image presented to me was pleasing; a lean strong-jawed face, with its masculine nose, neat mustache and expressive lips. Broad tanned shoulders and a brawny, finely chiseled chest. All in shades of brown and tan – skin, eyes, and hair. I then looked down at my cock. It is not one of those huge but misshapen things you occasionally see, no, but it is big enough for all natural purposes – just over eight inches, six inches flaccid – cut, big-headed, and thick. It is beautiful and manly, and it is my most faithful friend and constant companion. At regular intervals, my hands just naturally migrate towards it, petting, caressing, and seeking reassurance. It has never yet let me down, rising to every occasion, and has seen me through some tough and lonely times.

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THE ELFIN CHRONICLES
written by BILLYBOB for Christmas.TyRain.com
November 8, 1998

PART TWO

Chris had always been a hard working gay elf, enjoying some time in the workshop late at night to help make production deadlines. There was just something about the stillness of the shop after all of the other elves had left for the day that seemed to arouse him. Tonight something just seemed to be different – as hard as he tried Chris just couldn’t focus on making toys.

Lately, he had been having problems with getting sleep, as visions of muscular elves danced about his head. One elf in particular had always seemed overly friendly to him, and that very day, he had made it a point to work beside him in the workshop. Chris was not your average elf, he had always taken great pride in his body from the many years of swimming in the icy waters of the North Pole and all the heavy lifting he had done there in the workshop. Standing at nearly six feet in height, he was slightly taller than most elves. His body looked as if it had been sculpted out of marble, so tight and hard with muscles flowing at his every move. Beautiful blonde hair adorned his head sweeping neatly down the sides of his ravishing face, with a squared chin and full lips. When he smiled his face brought a light to the room that could warm any heart.

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SOUTH AFRICAN CHRISTMAS STORY
written by CATHAL McCEALLACHAN for Christmas.TyRain.com
October 8, 1999

PART TWO

Just after nine the telephone rang. My legs became like jelly – I could hardly speak. This is Savas I heard the husky voice say. “Your address please”, he said. My mouth was as dry as a bone. I told him. I quickly lit the candles, put off the electric lights except for the light on the stairs and a small reading lamp next to one of the chairs. The room was filled with soft lighting and the smell of burning candles. In a few minutes I heard a car stop – then the doorbell rang.

I opened the door and we both started laughing. He was wearing exactly the same outfit as I had on. I opened the door wider. My heart missed a beat; he was actually far sexier than I thought. As I ushered him in I smelt the heady musky fragrance I was to get to associate with Savas. I closed the door and started to walk towards the lounge. “Not so fast, pretty boy,” he said, pointing to the hanging Mistletoe that was spotlighted by the porch light. He took my hand and pulled me towards him. “Don’t you greet your guests properly?” he asked with a smile. I was quickly in his embrace – it felt so right, although I was blushing again. He had the most succulent lips I have ever encountered. He touched my lips ever so gently – then my neck – my eyes and forehead. “You are pretty,” he said against my ear, “I like you – you smell so good!” I put my arms around his neck, pulled him gently towards me and started kissing his face. “You are so handsome”, I breathed into his ear. In answer I felt his arms holding me even closer to him. This was really going to be an extraordinary Christmas I thought to myself.

We walked into the lounge and he sat down on the couch as if he had been there before. “Beautiful”, he said as he looked around the room. “You really have a lovely place.” I fetched some wine and some eats. I stood around – “Come sit with me, pretty boy!” he said. As I sat down he said, “what is your name?”

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SOUTH AFRICAN CHRISTMAS STORY
written by CATHAL McCEALLACHAN for Christmas.TyRain.com
October 8, 1999

PART ONE

Leaving Holland in order to escape the hard and tiresome way of life as a Ballet Dancer, I arrived in Kimberley, South Africa in October of 1998, to take up the post as Ballet Teacher at the newly established School of Music. After three months, I knew very few people except my colleagues and here it was, Christmas Eve, and I was alone and feeling extremely sorry for myself.

I was surprised when I first arrived in Kimberley to find a thriving modern city, with magnificent buildings both modern and many dating back to British Colonial times. Kimberley started out as a mining Camp way back in the 1870′s when diamonds were discovered. From those humble beginnings it grew into the City it is today, with beautiful parks and wide streets lined by Lemon and Indian Pride trees. One of the many beautiful preserved buildings is the City Hall in Roman Corinthian architectural style. The Diamond House is an example of the modern building style, 18 floors high in glass and concrete, facing south, which is the wrong way for this part of the world, but which allows the diamonds to be sorted in the soft natural light flowing through the high windows.

It amazes one that this beautiful city of just over 100 years can survive in the harsh and hostile surroundings in which it is situated. Hot and dusty winds sweep and spiral across the semi-desert. Tumbleweed roll in never ending races to their end in barbed wire fences where they are tossed and broken up until they are re-integrated with the red soil of this earth. The animals search for refuge in the shade of the umbrella shaped Thorn Trees which are scattered across this land.

The weather was getting me down – for days it had been 38°C, much higher than the winter temperatures of Europe. It did not feel like Christmas at all. All the Christmas trimmings; The Christmas trees, both real and fake, with artificial snow and Santa Clause in a heavy Red coat and with a white beard looked quite out of place. No snow, only this terrible heat and dust. Could it really be Christmas Eve? I asked myself.

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