Date: Thu, 17 Mar 2005 07:12:30 -0500
From: carl5de@netscape.net
Subject: HIGH PLAINS DOCTOR - 1

HIGH PLAINS DOCTOR - 1

Copyright 2005 by Carl Mason and Ed Collins

All rights reserved.  Other than downloading one copy for strictly personal
enjoyment, no part of this story may be reproduced or transmitted in any
form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, except for reviews, without
the written permission of the authors.  However based on real events and
places, "High Plains Doctor" is strictly fictional.  Any resemblance to
actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely
coincidental.  As in real life, however, the sexual themes unfold
gradually.  If you would like to read other Mason-Collins stories, you
might turn to "Out of the Rubble," "Castle Margarethen," and "The Priest
and the Pauper" which are archived in Nifty's "Historical" section.
Comments on the story are appreciated and may be addressed to the authors
at carl5de@netscape.net

This story contains descriptions of sexual contact between males, both
adults and teenagers.  As such, it is homoerotic fiction designed for the
personal enjoyment of legal, hopefully mature, adults.  If you are not of
legal age to read such material, if those in power and/or those whom you
trust treat it as illegal, or if it would create unresolvable moral
dilemmas in your life, please leave.  Finally, remember that maturity
generally demands that anything other than safe sex is sheer insanity!


CHAPTER 1

(Opulence)

>From his vantage point in the great porcelain tub - one of the first to be
lifted into a Boston mansion by crane during construction - Ben surveyed a
bathroom of utter opulence and high Victorian taste. As much as anything in
the great house, it spoke to the economic and social standing of the
Cabots, patriarchs of Boston society.  Silently, he leaned slightly forward
and allowed his naked young manservant, Charles, to wash his back.
"Humm-m...  Not too bad for a 32 year-old medical doctor," he muttered to
himself as his eyes passed over his still-solid, fair- skinned body,
perhaps 5 feet 11 inches in height, with average musculature, weight, and
male equipment.  Reaching around to the back of his neck, he held his
straight, collar-length dirty blond hair out of the way so that Charles
could wash his upper back and neck.  The rest of his body was covered with
the same blond hair, albeit curly and lighter in color, heavier on the arms
and legs, less so on his torso.  Turning over in the spacious tub, he
raised up on his knees and allowed Charles' soapy hands to cleanse his
buttocks and the back of his strong legs.  Ben fingered a light blond
mustache as he turned over and leaned back in order that Charles might wash
the front of his body.  Kneeling beside the tub, his manservant performed
his duties thoroughly and with quiet competence.

"Were you able to purchase that French oil?" Ben inquired.  "Indeed I was,
sir. It's warming as we speak," the young man replied.  "Ah, very good,
Charles, Ben responded, standing, and allowing his servant to help him out
of the massive tub and onto a thick bath mat.  Charles immediately began to
dry his master's body with a bulky, wondrously soft and warmed towel.
Shortly thereafter, lying on a covered bed, he groaned in appreciation as
Charles' experienced fingers massaged his body with the rich and fragrant
oil.  Even at 20, the young man was already a master of that which today
we'd call "erotic massage" - although, for Charles, the eroticism of the
evening depended strictly on master's needs and mood.  After relaxing Ben's
body - smoothly working the oil into the back of his legs and his feet; his
chest, arms, and hands; and gliding down his legs, occasionally gliding up
to lightly tease his genitals - the handsome youngster began to concentrate
on his master's equipment.  Every now and again - when the pressure
threatened to lead to an immediate orgasm - Ben would slightly raise his
right hand. The boy would pause, allow passions to drop a bit and then,
perhaps, move on to another stroke.  With the man's penis resting on his
stomach, for instance, Charles would cup his balls in one hand while the
heel of the other hand rubbed firmly up and down the hard pole.  When Ben's
penis was rock hard, he would allow one oily hand to engulf it and move
from the top to the very bottom.  Meanwhile, he would bring the other hand
to the top of the penis and repeat the stroke in an alternating manner.
Occasionally, a boyish grin showing faintly on his face, he would playfully
tug on the curly hairs covering Ben's testicles and, depending on his
master's mood, cheerfully allow how handsome he was.  Depending on the day
and the responsiveness of his master's body, he might also rub the perineum
with his oily fingers or even insert a finger to gently stroke the
prostrate.  Somehow, they always got around to that one stroke that was
guaranteed to bring Ben to the very summit of the mountain.  Namely,
Charles would pull the skin of Ben's penis towards its base with one hand
while lightly cupping the erect penis with his other hand and twisting it,
first in one direction, then in the other.

"May I, Charles?" Ben breathed when he could stand no more.  "Of course,
sir," his servant said quietly and stretched out lithely on his side.  With
that, Ben lay down on his side in back of the young lad who had raised his
upper leg and skillfully entered him.  Resting one hand on the boy's raised
thigh while reaching under him to stroke his engorged cock with the other,
he pushed into the youth with increasing force.  "Ah, Charles, you are as
deliciously tight as you were when you first came here as a youth of 16,"
he murmured.  "What would I have done without you when I returned wounded
from Gettysburg?  You were the very first, you know, to encourage me to
become a medical doctor - and I am eternally grateful."  "Thank you, sir,"
the boy gasped, "even though the suggestion was my Da's.  We have always
been proud to be in your family's service.  Ah-h-h-h," he moaned as the
doctor's hard cock passed over his prostrate.

(Catastrophe)

As the action (and the sounds of mutual passion) mounted towards a climax,
Ben's mother used a passkey and suddenly entered the room.  Surveying the
scene for a moment, an absolutely impassive expression on her face, she
summarily dismissed Charles (and his father) from her employ.  "You may
tell your father that neither of you will ever hold another position among
the decent people of Boston!" she said in an utterly calm voice.  "And,
you, Benjamin..."  she added in the same expressionless tone, "You will
come to the library - once you are properly dressed."

Sarah Winthrop Cabot - rich, religious, and one of the three absolute
matriarchs of Boston High Society - sat in the library, her small, delicate
hands folded primly in her lap.  When Ben knocked lightly on the door, she
bade him enter.  How BITTERLY she had resented the many- sided relationship
that her late husband and Ben had enjoyed.  He hadn't been hers since he
was so painfully expelled from her womb - and she had never permitted her
husband another invasion of her body.  She looked coldly at the man who
stood respectfully before her as if he were still clad in knee pants.

"You've been a constant embarrassment to me ever since you turned thirteen
and became willful, Benjamin," the dark clad figure intoned.  "You, more
than any other single agent, ruined my marriage to your dear father.  I
thought the War might make a man of you, but, clearly, it didn't.  Neither
did your father's supporting your medical education or wasting thousands to
set up your practice among the finest people.  Tonight, when I had guests,
the noise from your perverted affair caused Mrs. Ambrose to faint.  Her
husband and servants had to carry her to their carriage.  It ends...now.
You are no longer my son.  Indeed, you are no longer a member of this
family - nor will you ever receive a penny."  Seeing Ben about to make a
comment, she rose, turned her back on him, and said simply, "Go.  As you
know, I rise promptly at ten o'clock.  I do not wish to see your face ever
again."

Before going to bed, Ben packed his valise and collected his medical
bag. After breakfast, he made his way to a particularly poor section of
South Boston where Charles and his family lived in two rat and
cockroach-infested rooms.  When he arrived, he found Charles' father stone
drunk, his mother weeping, and five (or was it six?) children clamoring for
breakfast.  Ben offered to take Charles with him "on a grand adventure,"
but the lad tearfully refused, citing his responsibility for what had
happened and his obligations to the family.  Though Ben almost had to force
it on him, he did accept a "loan" of twenty dollars ($285.00 in today's
money) to the family, swearing that he'd pay it back.  Ben spontaneously
turned to embrace the youngster, but pulled back at the last moment,
feeling that it would only embarrass him.  Before heading to the train
station, he stopped at the bank where he withdrew the relatively small
amounts of money in his personal and professional accounts before closing
them.  He was never again to return to the city of his birth.

(Journey to a New World)

Spending the night in New York City, Ben returned to Grand Central Station
in the morning to board his "express" train to Chicago.  Eagerly, he
scanned the schedule: Ah, yes.  "Wednesday, June 5, 1872.  The Chicago
Flyer, Track 7, D-9:00 a.m.," he read.  With growing excitement, he boarded
the train only to find that there were sleeping cars and even dining cars
where a very "civilized" meal might be purchased.  He remembered horror
stories told by Civil War buddies of wooden carriages with barely more than
shelves upon which to (attempt to) sleep the night.  He remembered stories
of stoves at the ends of the cars that often served as little more than
targets for the tobacco juice spat by the roughest types.  Obviously, train
travel had changed in a relatively few years.  As Mark Twin reported (in
Roughing It, 1872), "At night, the facing seats slid down to form a bed,
"not simply shelves where persons are crowded into to pass sleepless
nights, but elegant staterooms, luxuriously furnished with soft hair
mattresses, and amply large enough for two persons .  From a cabinet above
the seats another berth was lowered. Curtains enclosed the whole, ensuring
privacy. Many cars also included a compartment or 'drawing room,' walled
off from the body of the train and often containing its own toilet and
washbasin."

Staying the night in Chicago, he was able to make connections with a
Chicago and Northwest train that carried him comfortably to Omaha,
Nebraska, the eastern terminus of the new railroad that for three years had
linked the East Coast with the Pacific Ocean.  In the morning, he would
board a Union Pacific train that would speed him westward into the frontier
land of legend.  That night, however, he stayed at a new and quite adequate
hotel, "The Grand Union."  After a fine meal that would have done justice
to Delmonico's in New York City, he wandered into one of the hotel's
several bars.  (In fact, he had never had a steak quite that good at
Delmonicos!)  There he fell in with a fellow traveler, one Ezra Matthews,
the owner of a retail store called the "Emporium" in Shiloh, Nebraska, a
small town far to the west on the high plains.  A few years older than Ben,
Ezra recounted story after story about the glorious land through which they
would travel, stories of land eagerly awaiting the plough, of people now
able to settle the area due to the railroad, of cowboys and Indians, and of
the new frontier that one day would make America rich and powerful.  Had
the alcohol not proved so powerful after a long journey, the stories in
themselves would have proved intoxicating to the young Boston physician.
"Yes, Ezra," Ben vaguely remembered saying, "when I left Boston, I thought
it was a catastrophe.  I am only now beginning to fully realize that I am
on the verge of a new and grand adventure."  It wasn't long, of course,
before Matthews discovered that Ben was a physician, a physician trained at
one of the finest medical schools in the country.  "Only a few years back,"
he reported, "Shiloh had only been nothing more than a 'water and supply'
station on the Union Pacific west of Ogallala [pronounced
o-gol-LAH-lah]. Today, it was a small town that gave promise of becoming
the 'Gateway to the Northern Plains'.  They had a new school teacher, a
community church, and a sheriff - but they didn't have a doctor.  There was
great need. A growing number of townspeople, homesteaders attempting to
scratch out a living, soldiers at a nearby cavalry post, and cowboys
driving herds of Texas cattle to railheads for shipment constantly needed
medical services.  "Why don't you stop over at my home and take a good look
at the possibilities we offer?" the entrepreneur asked.  Ben was
interested.  He had never been able to summon much enthusiasm for a medical
practice restricted to the "finest people;" after all, that had been his
father's idea.  On the other hand, building a practice where there was real
need and where he could finally see a vanishing, almost mythical frontier
was something else again!  It had to be considered.  When the two men
finally helped each other to their rooms and fell drunkenly into the same
tub, he discovered even more benefits.  When he reached for a soft
washcloth, for instance, he suddenly found himself clutching a very hard
appendage that clearly didn't belong to him.  It seemed that Ezra was...one
of the family!  Grinning goofily, he did his duty - and received an
enthusiastic response.  True, the stocky, bespectacled store owner wasn't
his lithe young Charles...but it had been a long trip!

Not surprisingly, Ben found the last leg of his journey to be by far the
most exciting.  As the Union Pacific train passed through eastern Nebraska,
the overwhelming impression was that of tall, waving grass.  Yes, there
were signs of slowly growing civilization, but they tended to be around the
towns on the railroad.  He even saw one wagon train, though Ezra assured
him that before long, train travel would completely replace this hallowed
form of transportation.  As they began slowly to climb onto the high
plains, however, the land became more dry - a land that would someday be
devoted to alfalfa, corn, winter wheat, potatoes, and sugar beets.  In
1872, however, it was still dominated by wild grass, cattle being driven to
railheads and the native buffalo.  They even saw a few small Indian bands
and a couple of cavalry patrols.  The railroad towns were fewer now - and
much smaller - but the sheer beauty of the land absolutely brought their
hearts into their mouths.  Looking over at Ben, who was obviously as taken
by the land as he, Ezra smiled confidently.  Eventually, the conductor
called "Shiloh...next stop...Shiloh," and Ben realized that his journey of
nearly 1800 miles was nearing its end.


(To Be Continued)