Date: Sun, 04 Nov 2012 22:14:27 -0500
From: Steve Snow <snow.steve22 (at) yahoo (dot) com>
Subject: I Wish You Love -- Part 8

"Okay, we've debated this thing long enough... Let's get on the road."
It's been weeks now and we have been talking this thing to death.  We've
been back-and-forth about the dates; we've been waiting to find out if
Grant and Morris can take the time off.  After all, their schedules are so
much more chaotic than either mine or Phil's.  After all, Morris is a
private-duty Licensed Practical Nurse (and an occasional actor) and his
schedule is often dictated by sick people, not a very predictable lot.
Grant is equally stressed by his job as an Assistant Director for
television shows.  Often they aren't exactly clear-cut and productions can
be delayed or postponed.  For these two to decide on a date together is a
minor miracle.  They have finally picked the date and it's now up to Phil
and me to match them.  We both put in for the time off and within days of
one another, we are told that the vacation time has been granted.  We can
finally get underway.  (You see, Grant had started this whole thing by
suggesting that we four would have a great time together driving out to
Flagstaff to meet with Morris' parents.  We all instantly agreed that it
sounded like the trip of a lifetime.)

In all our discussions about our road trip, one thing was certain: we were
determined to 'take the old route' not necessarily in the 'Blue Highways'
sense but more in the nostalgic vein of a trip down Memory Lane.  When
Morris and Grant had taken the trip before, they had only gone there via
I-40 and the trip was at best 7 or 8 hours with a piss stop and a meal or
two.  We were planning something much more demanding.  We expected it to
take the better part of two days.

Once we decided we would pay homage to the Mother Road, Grant did his usual
balls-to-the-wall job organizing our trip.  He spent days researching the
best routes and decided that if we were going to do it right, we would just
have to drive down to Santa Monica Pier and follow the route east from
there.  Route 66 is obscured in many places and there are some debates
about where exactly it was located at what time in the past but there are
some pretty commonly agreed upon standard routings and we tried to follow
the best of them.  They included the National Trails Highway to Needles in
California, Oatman Highway, Andy Devine Boulevard (I really liked the
thought of that one... I do watch too much TV...) and Arizona State Route
66.

We took off at noon and arrived at Needles at dinnertime.  We've seen many
historic sights and heard many oohs and aahs from we, the collected
vacationers along the way while traveling east in California.  As a group,
we're bushed.  We've stopped at a little diner here and met Janice, our
waitress (and a talented craftsperson in her off-hours) who is no slouch in
the gaydar department and must have seen "the signs" and from then on was
our sweetheart love and became friends with us immediately.  She confided
to us that she had been a transgendered man back east and once she had the
operation, she moved to LA for a short while but the life there made her
crazy in so many ways we were all familiar with and she settled in Needles
just because she liked the name and the relaxed attitude and connectedness
she found to people here.  Desert life had grown to be a part of her.  She
told us she just knew we were kindred spirits immediately and she gave us
great local recommendations for see and do ahead including a referral to a
venerable, friendly old motel we should stay at in Kingman.  Grant
instantly canceled the reservation he had made at an up-scale chain place
and made one where she suggested.  Janice was another lover of all kinds of
strays and told us of her human and animal companions over the years.  She
and Morris had an instant affinity and he was captivated by her stories.
She would eventually decorate our homes with her crafts and be our spirit
mother forever, but I'm getting ahead of myself...

Once we arrived at the motel in Kingman, I went off to gather ice twice
because of the ridiculously small container they provided and each time I
would dump it into the sink to cool down the beer and soft drinks we would
need through the night.  I returned to the bedroom from the bathroom and
heard someone shout: Dogpile!  Suddenly I was at the bottom of a squirming
mass of giggling humanity and seemingly in an instant I was completely
naked and had what I thought was way too many penises (penii?) in too many
orifices keeping me busy and happy to think about who owned what appendage.
I sucked and stroked and was in turn fucked by what seemed to be a dozen
busy bodies when I knew in my mind it was only us four.  Everybody decided
it was fun to ejaculate on Tyke.  They coated my belly and chest with their
juices but I noticed that something strange was afoot.  Nobody was
stopping.  The three of them were just stroking away like nothing had
happened.  Well, I thought, who am I to worry!  I do notice, however, that
in particular Grant is having a hard time of it, not because he can't keep
it up (keeping it hard is not one of Grant's problems) but that he's
adopted a strange stroke - he's jacking on his dick only on the outward
stroke and he's avoiding touching the head at all.  He's also avoiding
moving his foreskin over the head.  He's grimacing as well when he gets too
vigorous with his stroke.  I reach out to fondle and tickle his balls in
appreciation and think back to the day I discovered his "problem".

I was giving him head as I would do as often as I could and I have this
habit when giving head of lingering a while once my partner comes and
giving him that little bit of extra attention; tonguing the slit and
drinking down the last dribbles and prolonging the experience.  Some guys
love it, some guys mock-protest, some object a bit, but this time was
different: Grant said a couple of times "Hey, stop" then he became silent
and started to breathe in sharp breaths.  Finally he gave a yank to my hair
and I figured I better come up for some air and I discovered his face was
just bathed in tears and he was clearly being tortured by my actions.

I said "Oh, Grant - I didn't mean to hurt you..."

He finally was able to control his breathing and said "It's just that the
head gets so hyper-sensitive after I come that I can't stand to touch it
for a while."

I've come back to reality now and I can see that Phil is just about ready
to pop (He's always ahead of the pack when it comes to that...) and Morris
is showing the signs as well.  Everybody will be ready when Grant is ready
and soon it's time.  I figure they are going to contribute to the mess on
my belly again but I am surprised when they all start moving as if
pre-arranged and start to crowd around my head.  They take their free arms
and wrap them around each other's shoulders and press inward so that I'm
facing three red, angry dickheads about to burst.  Finally when they do
spurt, my face is covered, I get cum up my nose and even in both ears and
over my eyes.  I'm a virtual prisoner.  I have my eyes screwed shut because
cum burns when you get it in your eyes (believe me, I know that).  I wait a
while for everybody to get their breathing under control and finally say
"Guys - how about a little help here?"  As usual, Morris comes (pardon the
expression) to my rescue and just picks me up off the bed and carries me
toward the bathroom and after almost dropping me along the way because I'm
so slimy, he gently deposits me on my feet in the shower.  He adjusts the
water just right and steps into the shower with me to help me wash up.
Most of the time he's using his tongue to squeegee off the cum from my body
and face (my dream job...) but eventually starts to use a washcloth.  He's
got me so that I can probably finish up by myself but he's having too much
fun to leave.  Finally he starts to pay some attention to my privates.  He
tongues around my pubes and over my balls and eventually gets to my dick.
He laps at the head and finally takes it into his mouth.  I'm instantly
hard again and I'm getting a great blow job at the end of a super
experience.  I realize that these three guys have done all this just to
show me how much they love me and I start to sob.  Morris must have
realized what I was thinking and pulls me closer, first with his hands on
the back of my thighs then later his hands wander up to cup my asscheeks
and finally he's split the globes and his fingers are doing a dance on my
hole as he's sucking me down hungrily.  I can't last too long at this pace
and soon I'm flying high and I come, gushing what seems to be gallons down
Morris' eager throat.  He finally releases my dick reluctantly and stands
up and lets the water cascade onto my crotch and now I am the one in agony
until I get used to the feeling.  I have another one of those involuntary
shudders and Morris steadies me by my shoulders, then hugging me until it
passes.  By the time we finish our shower, Grant and Phil have snuggled up
together in one bed and Morris takes me by the hand and we slip into the
other bed, thoroughly spent.  My last thought was of Janice and I bless her
for her good taste.  I owe her a big kiss on the way back home.

In the morning, I awaken to the sight of Morris watching me.

I ask him "Not sleeping well?"

He says: "I've been awake for a while watching you sleep and thinking how I
was going to talk to you once you did wake up.  I noticed something last
night in the shower and I want you to promise me that when you get back to
LA, you'll contact your Primary Care Doctor and tell him just what I'll
tell you.  Then I want him to call me and get the details of what I
observed and once he's satisfied that there is no problem, you can ignore
the whole thing.  If he wants to pursue it further, then I can get you a
referral to a great specialist who knows all there is to know about this
condition."

I'm starting to panic now not only from what he said but how serious he is
looking in the early morning light.  I ask him: "What's wrong with me?"

He tells me: "I don't want you to over-react to this so I'm only going to
tell you a little since this could be nothing.  Last night you were in the
shower and you shivered just a bit after I gave you head and I had to hold
you up for a while in case you fell over.  Do you remember that?"

I said: "Sure, I remember you holding me by the shoulders.  I did shudder a
bit there sort of like the shakes you get from a chill.  I didn't give it
much thought."

Morris asks: "Has this happened before recently?"

"Yes, I think I noticed it a couple of times before in the last couple of
months.  Phil was there for one of them, probably the first one and he
would remember it, too.  I think yesterday was because you stepped out of
the shower stream and it hit me square on the dick and on my abdomen and
the feeling was a bit overpowering."

"I see... well, I need you to describe all that you can remember about all
the experiences to your doctor and don't whitewash the fact about sex in
close proximity to each time.  Perhaps you should write down what you can
remember now because the memory of the details sometimes fades with time
and it will be a week until you are able to see your doc."

"Morris, I can't stand the mystery... what do you think it is?"

"It's not what I think that's important.  It's what a doctor thinks when he
has all the facts before him.  I'm not a doctor.  I'm only the eyes and
ears for a doctor but I can't make a diagnosis; I'm not trained for that.
Plus, I think you know that I'm more than a bit over-protective when it
comes to you.  I feel like you are the kid brother I never had.  Some of
that comes from internalizing the acting role I played with you when we
first met.  Certainly there is nothing weak or sickly about you as far as I
can see, but I don't act this way towards Grant or Phil, so I don't know
why I do with you.  It clouds my judgment some.  It makes me doubt what I'm
thinking.  I'd rather have an objective observer judge if I'm just making
up what's in my mind.  Just promise me you'll go see your doctor about
this."

"Morris, I trust you and your judgment is so sound - I promise."

"Thanks, little bro!  Now lets see if we can get a little more sleep before
the others wake up."

"I love my big bro so much!"

Next morning in Kingman we stop and get our Route 66 passports - (collect
all 10 stamps)...  We felt just like tourists.  And we dressed for it as
well.  Well, OK, a little on the gay side for just average tourists but
always in fashion (we wished!)  We stayed in Kingman for the morning just
wandering and then after lunch, we piled into the car and headed east.  The
attractions are more widely spaced here and we took the time to visit a few
that made us curious or nostalgic.  We were steadily moving toward
Flagstaff and Morris' family home.  After a long day gawking and laughing,
we finally arrive.

After all the traveling, we finally meet 'Chief' (Sakima) and Kate...
Katie was the tomboy and Margaret was the serious, studious sister.  Their
father was a 'Gentleman Farmer' in upstate New York just pre-war but needed
to move to New Jersey with his wife's family due to failure of the farm and
the war.  The entire extended family moved from New Jersey to Arizona in
1962 because Katie was somewhat sickly and Arizona was thought to be good
for her health (it turns out it was.)  Arizona was a great place to raise a
tomboy and Katie bloomed!

Chief was a hellion growing up on the reservation but knew enough to
realize how destructive the wild life was to his friends.  He quit drinking
and carousing and buckled down to work for the Santa Fe.  He started in as
a fireman at the end of the steam era but the 'extra board' life was too
crazy.  He was threatened with a layoff and he gravitated toward
maintenance-of-way.  Through recognition of his hard work, he rose through
the ranks to Section Chief eventually.  ('Chief' the section chief... had
to get that in...)  Kate got married to Chief in 1973.

Kate was a seamstress ever since she was a teen.  She loved the feel of the
work and made clothes for her family.  Once she was of age, she worked for
a number of work-from-home outfits doing dressmaking and did make some
money at it but once she was married, she drifted out of that work and
concentrated on making clothes for Chief and eventually, Morris.  She had
met Chief through Square Dancing and they stayed enthusiastic for it
through the ebb-and-flow of the years and still dance today.  She looked at
the dresses others wore and decided she could do a much better job with the
designs than the ones she saw on the dance floor or in catalogs.  She loved
the picky, fussy details of the clothes and got a special thrill matching
patterns perfectly from the background material to a pocket made from the
same material, for example, or the detail work matching the pattern on a
shirt or blouse left-to-right across a line of buttons so you couldn't find
the match point or seams without close examination.  The lesser
manufacturers couldn't be bothered with all that and it was somewhat more
wasteful of material than the slap-it-together factories could justify.
She tried to refine her art and became adept at wasting the least material
by squeezing the most usable parts from ever-smaller pieces of fabric
fitting them together somewhat like a jigsaw puzzle.

Kate had started by creating matching outfits for herself and Chief but
soon realized he was somewhat uncomfortable with them, though he wouldn't
come out and say so, and so she began to design outfits that were more
complementary with the man's outfit more a simple suit design with some
elements carried over from the woman's dress like the colored piping used
as decoration and sometimes decorative embroidery.  Chief was most
attracted to earth tones and colors of gray and she designed his outfits in
the western style using those colors and finding complementary colors in
more elaborate fabrics with Southwest Native craft themes for her blouses
and dresses.  After some experimentation, the outfits she created for them
became simply amazing and they looked great together and separately.  Chief
even started to wear his more conservative Square Dance suits when he
needed to have management meetings and at banquets.  Kate couldn't have
been prouder.

After her first few outfits were praised for their quality and imaginative
design, she decided she would start making Square Dance outfits for men and
women from home.  As the business matured, she realized she would need a
shop to sell from and a separate address to base her growing business from.
She also had discovered a few manufacturers who made good quality,
serviceable Square Dance outfits of which she approved who became her
partners and a source for her 'affordable' lines while her own work became
the 'premiere' line of hand-crafted outfits.  She also had met
similar-minded women at the local sewing shops and enlisted them to help
her either at the shop working flex-time for those with school-age children
or working from home with patterns she would design.  She weathered several
up-and-down cycles of the economy and also cycles of interest in Square
Dancing over decades but finally had to close the business in the early
years of the new millennium when it was no longer possible to make a profit
doing it.  One bright spot, though, was her close connection to other
dressmakers and crafters and their periodic requests for Kate to train
their young daughters and once-in-a-while their sons in the fabric arts.
These sessions continued to this day and the strongest proponents of these
ideas were the Native American women she knew who continued to sew even
when many of their Anglo counterparts had drifted off to buy clothing at
the big discount retailers that were becoming so popular in recent decades.
Chief was enormously proud seeing his wife training a new generation of
young women who appreciated these domestic skills and would soon become new
wives and mothers.

When the six of us would relax together and talk, Kate would break out the
photo albums and pass around the obligatory embarrassing photos of a young
Morris including several of him wearing Square Dance outfits.  They would
talk of their camping vacations together, often with the theme of traveling
to distant cities to visit other Square Dance groups there and represent
their local club to them and invite the members to visit Flagstaff in turn.
They would also travel to hear many legendary Square Dance callers and made
good friends among them and would invite them to Flagstaff as their guests.

I was able to question Morris later privately about the seeming
contradiction of a gay man in the very hetero Square Dance world and came
to understand that in the early years Morris wasn't sure of his orientation
yet and never paired off with any of the ladies he would dance with but
acted as the designated partner for any women who would come to the dances
unaccompanied and he told me he was sought out because of his stature and
increasing skill at dancing.  At first he was pretty uncoordinated and
thought he wouldn't be much good at it but came to realize he was learning
quickly and gaining valuable skill and getting pretty light on his feet for
someone of his size.  He particularly enjoyed dancing with his mother when
Chief would take a break.  He also told me that when he moved to LA in his
twenties he visited a gay Square Dance group at CalTech which was glad to
have him join and he had some really good times dancing with them until
years later when the administration changed the rules and required student
activities be restricted to only students there.

Once, when I was having some quiet one-on-one time with Kate, she confided
that she had secretly dreamed she would bear a younger sister for Morris, a
"living doll" as she described her and someone that she would be able to
dress in custom outfits that matched her own.  She pulled out her design
drawings for a mother-daughter dress line which she had sewn a few times
for customers on special request but once Morris became ten or so, she
realized that it was not very likely to happen.  She turned all her
attention to Chief and Morris.

Kate also regaled us with stories about her sister Margaret.  Margaret is 6
years older than her sister.  She started working in 1966.  One of her
early assignments was to join Howard Hughes at The Desert Inn in Las Vegas
and be his right-hand aide. (The management was desperate to please him and
Margaret was yet another sacrificial lamb; He had a well-deserved
reputation.)  She only stayed with him for 6 months in early 1967 but that
was 5 months more than any other person assigned to that position before or
after.  Eventually, the hotel and then his handlers (who came to be known
as the Mormon Mafia) hired his assistants directly.  Margaret returned to
LA with an established reputation as a steady, determined assistant of
great value to many top CEO's.  She continued to receive personal letters
from Hughes until his move to Nicaragua at the end of 1972.  Phil had met
Margaret once or twice at business lunches and receptions but hadn't made
the family connection until now...  he was impressed.

At one point the four of us were sitting and talking with Kate and Chief
and something set us off and three of us started giggling like schoolgirls
and Morris says to Kate: "Ma, see what I put up with... I'm surrounded by
Giggling Gerties" and Grant shoots back: "Hey, old man, when we get back to
Kingman, you're carrying the ice!" That sets us off once again and Morris
is looking sheepish.  Chief looks at Kate, Kate looks at Chief and they
shrug their shoulders and start laughing with the rest of us.  Later that
night, Kate and I are snuggled up together watching some old movie on TV
when Chief enters from the general direction of the kitchen and says "Hey
Tyke, you makin' time with my girl?"  I said "I guess so, sir."  He
responds: "That's okay; I forgive 'ya.  Sleep tight." and kisses me on the
top of my head on his way toward the bedroom.  After a while a commercial
comes on, Kate grabs the remote and pushes 'mute' and says: "Tyke, honey, I
don't want to pry, but are you boys practicing safe sex?"  I'm taken aback
just a bit but say: "Ma'am, so far, it's just us four; we're all healthy,
very much in love and yes, we still 'play safe'."  She says: "I'm glad.
You boys just keep it up."  She pauses a second, then says: "That didn't
come out the way I intended; oh, my!"  We both had to chuckle at that.  I
just know in my heart she's had this conversation three other times while
we've been visiting.

Soon the time comes and we need to leave.  We make our goodbyes with hugs
and kisses and we all are a little bit misty-eyed as we pile into the car.
It's back to Kingman and the adventure ahead of us.  We drive there and
stop at the motel to drop off our bags.  We do a little additional
sightseeing and when suppertime nears, we decide to take the trip back to
Needles and have dinner once again with Janice at her diner.  This time,
she greets us like long-lost relatives and I finally can kiss her and
whisper to her why I needed to do that.  She says to all of us: "You boys
have a good dinner and then when you are done, I think I can slip away and
take you back to my place for a night-cap.  You can finally meet my
menagerie."  We agree whole-heartedly and have the usual great dinner.
Once we are stuffed, Janice leaves with us and leads us to her place and
introduces us to her family of strays.  She has a good number of kitties
that stay with her, all of which are cats she has adopted from the local
area, most of them were found right on her own property just while passing
through.  She's also had a number of additional strays stop by for a while
but who made it clear they weren't housecats but appreciated the attention
she gave them and then moved on down the road, a little fatter and more
content for her care.  We sat and talked for hours, each of us with a cat
or two on our laps while we recounted our visit with Chief and Kate and
Janice told us of her adventures.  She also told us of how she came to be
in Needles in more detail and of the times back east when she was pre-op
and we asked her all the newbie questions about the life of a transsexual
and the operation.  During this time we were bantering about how she still
had a warranty on her pussy and how it was store-bought.  Finally, when we
had run out of steam, she said to us "I know that most gay boys don't want
to get too familiar with the particular equipment in question but since you
are all so curious, would you like to see the handiwork?"  We all said
"yeah" together and in a flash she had her jeans and undies off and was
showing off her privates to the curious masses.  One of us said "wow" and
another said "I think I can see a bar-code down there".  Morris was
observing with a clinical eye and said "That looks like a great job -
bravo!" and the last wag said "It looks so life-like."  She, kidding, takes
a towel and wraps it around her waist and says "You guys don't deserve to
look at my beauty!"  We all have a good laugh at that.  We all crowd around
Janice and give her a group hug.  Someone has pulled off her towel and we
are taking turns swatting or squeezing her ass and one or two of us have
copped a feel around front as well.  We decide out loud that next time we
come to town (and we think that will be soon) we will have to make an
exception to our guys-only policy and invite Janice over to Kingman and
make her our honorary ice-carrier and will ask her to pop our various
cherries if she wants.  She says: "Don't wait too long; I don't want the
warranty on this thing to run out in the meantime."  We all give her a
goodbye kiss and tell her we will be back soon.  She gives us some of her
craft works we have been admiring all night, jokingly tries to give away a
kitty or two with no takers and sends us off back to Kingman to spend the
night.

We are all pretty wiped out by the late night and don't have the energy for
any group sex activity but we all engage in a little self-stimulation (with
and without help from our bed-mates) and a number of us are thinking of
Janice while we do.  She's an interesting amalgam of boy and girl, male and
female and we all have found that mix stimulating.  I know I did.  The
sounds in the night (and the motion of the ocean beside me) lead me to
believe I am not alone in that, either.

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