Date: Sat, 24 Jun 2006 21:34:06 -0700
From: Joseph Farrin <bigblaise@hotmail.com>
Subject: THE REVEREND PETER BLAIR

	Carlton, Nebraska is in the northwest portion of the state and
our church is at the top of the small business district, just after Main
Street begins to level off.  It is an old church of dark red brick
except for the limestone corners, window and door trim.  The
stained glass windows are like you don't see many of in small town
churches anymore.  The parsonage, next door to the church, is of
the same brick and is a two story, square box residence with large
windows in all rooms, including the upstairs bedrooms.

	My name is Jason Richards, I'm eleven years old and I live
with my parents, John and Diane, next door to the parsonage, in a
frame, story and a half house (the second floor is one large room
with sloping ceilings like an attic would have).  I never close my
window blinds because the minister and his family always close
theirs all the way - that is until the minister moved and a new one
moved in.

	My parents and I both love the house.  It belonged to my
mother's grandparents.  The kitchen, bath, plumbing and electrical
has all been renewed, but the furnace, an old coal furnace was
converted to gas, instead of being replaced, and there were no
registers upstairs, just two large, grilled registers cut in the floor.  I
liked to look through them and eavesdrop on conversations down
stairs, especially when we had company.

	One night I was about to go to bed when my dad and
another elder of the church, came back from a meeting at the
church and were drinking beer at the kitchen table.  My mom was
already in bed and they were discussing the meeting and the
elder's agreement on who would be the new minister. Dad's visitor,
Mr. Allen Willard, owned a men's clothing store and was kind of a
prick (to be blunt -- a first class prick, to be even more blunt).  Dad
thought the new minister, Reverend Peter Blair, was a great choice,
but Allen said, "He's a fairy as far as I'm concerned."

	My dad told him he shouldn't say that, he didn't know and his
comment was out-of-line, besides Rev. Blair had been married,
which would indicate he was not gay.  Allen replied gays got
married and that was probably why his wife divorced him and
besides he looked gay and he sounded gay when he talked.  Dad
replied he had an Eastern accent, was highly educated and didn't
talk just like someone from western Nebraska but that didn't make
him gay.

	Rev. Blair had previously, the same as all the other
candidates, delivered a Sunday sermon, as part of the selection
process.  He dressed, as the previous one did, in a black robe with
a wide, blue velvet ribbon that draped over his shoulder and hung
to way below his waistline.  It signified that when he'd graduated
from the seminary he'd earned the degree of Doctor of Divinity.  He
was a tall, thin man with a fair complexion, blue eyes, black hair
and hard-on handsome even in his black robe. Later my dad said
he was twenty-four years old.  He had a warm, engaging smile and
was a good speaker, which was more than the old one was.  At the
reception afterwards, in the basement social hall, he seemed to put
everyone at ease as they reached the front of the line, introduced
themselves and visited a few minutes.  He was nice to me; he even
shook hands and asked my name, saying he'd remember it
because his roommate at Princeton was named Jason.

	I liked him, but decided I no longer liked Allen Willard -- the
prick.

	The next morning at breakfast my dad related Allen's
remarks to my mom.  She expressed the same opinion I had of him
but with different adjectives.  Dad added that in his interview, the
new minister had made it rather explicit that in the church he came
from and after his wife died, the women's group became a little
irritating, wanting to clean house for him, get their husbands to mow
the lawn -- that sort of thing, but he'd made it clear that he wanted
and needed his privacy and he'd expect the same thing in Carlton.
My mom said that was perfectly reasonably but some of the "old
biddies" in the congregation would try anyway.

	So, everything went well.  Maybe they went too well. Peter
never pulled down the shades.  I could see him working at his deck
in the first floor bedroom that he used for a study and one night,
after coming back from a movie with a friend, I walked in the room
but hadn't turned on the lights yet and saw movement in his
upstairs bedroom.  Holy shit, he just gotten out of a shower, had a
towel around his waist and was looking in a dresser drawer.  He
pulled out a T-shirt and some boxer shorts, dropped the towel and
proceeded to put them on, without even turning his back to the
window.

	Until then, I didn't know what I was.  In fact, I guess I was
nothing yet -- just an eleven year old boy.  But, I began entering the
room without turning the lights on when I came upstairs after
watching TV and never pulled the blinds down, unless I had a friend
with me.  I didn't want to share my new pastime.  I was spending a
lot of time watching, waiting for the lights in his study to go out and
for him to come upstairs.  I never saw him playing with his dick, or
anything like that but, now that it was summer, both of us even left
our windows open and he was climbing into bed naked and
sometimes reading before going to sleep. Because I kept my lights
off, I guess he assumed I wasn't in my room -- then there was the
possibility he didn't know it was my room or anybody's room.

Things got a hell of a lot more interesting when one
Saturday night he turned the bathroom light off, walked into his
room with a towel around his waist, as usual, but because he was
sleeping naked he didn't go to the dresser.  He just pulled back the
spread and top sheet on his bed; propped himself up with two
pillows and began reading, a magazine which was a switch; he
usually read a book when he read in bed. I watched, big eyed and
open-mouthed when, he held the magazine with one hand and with
the other began playing with his cock and got it hard.  By then I was
hard, too, and took it out of my pants.  It was the first time I'd even
seen a man's cock for more than a few seconds, let alone an erect
one that was being jacked.  I had my dry cum long before he
climaxed. He knew how to make it last, or it took men longer but
he'd jack a while, then stop, then start rubbing his balls and start
again.  His dick looked to be about six inches but it was a lot bigger
around than my boy cock. When, suddenly, he grabbed a Kleenex
and held it over his piss slit I knew he was shooting off. Some older
boys had told me about puberty and shooting juice and I was so
fucking hot from just watching him, I hopped into bed and jacked
off.  Thinking of what I'd just seen, I had the best jack off I'd ever
had or ever would have until I juiced the first time.  That time, I
thought I'd die.

The next morning, during the recessional, he established
eye contact with me.  He must have noted where I was sitting
during the service.  That evening, as usual I looked to see what
lights were on and off.  The study light was on downstairs and the
upstairs lights were all off.  I thought I'd wait then I realized he
wasn't sitting at his computer and there was no movement in the
study.  I didn't really think anything about it but then I got the
strangest feeling that he was standing in the dark checking out my
window.  Damn, I was always careful about turning out the light but
wondered if one night Id forgotten to close the door at the bottom of
the staircase and a downstairs light had thrown enough light
upstairs that he'd seen me.  I dismissed the thought but was still a
little worried.

Then the phone rang and my mom called upstairs and asked
me to pick up my extension saying, "It's Peter and he wants to talk
to you."

I wished at that moment that I could die before I picked up
the phone because I just knew he was going to tell my mom what
had been going on if I didn't stop looking at him though my window.
In a soft voice, I managed to say, "Hello."

"Hi Jason, could you come over for a few minutes, I've got to
be out of town a few days and I like you to water and mow my lawn
while I'm gone, if you're interested."

I told my mom where I was going and why and was out the
door in a flash.  Peter was sitting in a lawn type chair on his front
porch, waiting for me.

"Sit down and I'll go grab a couple of cokes out of the fridge."
When he returned he gave both cokes to me to hold while he
moved a second chair up close to mine.  "Jason, would you mind
taking in my mail and putting it on my desk and emptying the
garage, hosing it out and then putting everything back when it's
dry?"

"That would be fine, I have lots of time."

"I can imagine, there's not much to do in this town for young
people."

"You've got that right."

"Jason, can I call you Jase"?

"Sure, nobody does but I'd like it."

"Good, and you can call me Pete when we're along
together."

"OK, Pete."

"Jase, besides the lawn, I had something else I wanted to
talk to you about. (I thought -- Oh shit here it comes.)  In some ways
you remind me of myself when I was your age.  And I think we have
some of the same problems, well not problems, not attitudes, what
am I trying to say?" I knew why he was fumbling for the right word
and when he chose characteristics and said that wasn't it either, I
just said, "When you were a boy you liked men."

"That hits the nail on the head an you're very brave to say
what you just did."

"I hope you're not going to tell my parents."

"God no, Jase, your secret is as safe with me as it was with
you.  Let me dial your house on my cell phone and tell you're mom
were having cokes and sitting on the front porch cooling off and
you'll be a while."  He did and my mom said she'd expect me when
I came in the door.

He took me inside, locking the door, and on up to his
bedroom, where he'd already turned off the light and pulled down
the blinds. Before turning the lamp by the bed back on. He had his
clothes and mine off as he said he thought maybe I'd like to do it in
his bed, where I'd watched him do it before.  I assumed he mean
we'd jack off together.

With the light back on he kissed me on the mouth and we
were both hard.  He told me to feel it.  I did and it was so wonderful,
so big, so hard yet so warm and soft and his cockhead was hard,
yet rubbery to touch and his whole dick jerked as I played with it.
Even before we went any further, I knew I was now more than just
an eleven-year-old boy.  I knew I really liked cocks -- really, really
liked them, liked them more than anything else in the world.

	After he'd played with mine for a few minutes he told me he
really needed to cum but was worried if I climaxed first, I wouldn't
help him finish.  I told him not to worry.  He jacked me off and
I had a dry cum.  He knew I'd climaxed and said, "Suck it."  He
didn't need to explain; the two words were graphic enough to need
no explanation, what with his big hard cock sticking out between his
two legs.  He flopped over on his back, stuck his legs up and I took
it into my mouth.  It all happened so fast, I didn't realize what had
happened until I felt his warm semen pouring into my mouth as his
cock jerked up and down.  He pulled me up on top of his chest and
kissed me, open mouth this time.

	Getting dressed he said he'd give me his spare keys, the
mower was in the garage and he always left the hose and all the
nozzles on the walk right at the back door.

	"Jase, I really thank you.  I hope I didn't frighten you off.  It
just happened but things went a lot further than I'd planned for the
first time."

	"You didn't.  I hope you'll let me do it again."

	"There's no doubt about that. I just thought you'd be better
off doing it with me, knowing I was gay, than you would be with
somebody you weren't sure of."

	"I understand, and besides I've been wanting to do it with
you."  He kissed me again and said, "Me too."

	My mom's first words were, "Boy, you sure stayed a long time."

	"We had a coke and it took him a while to find his spare
keys.  Then I'm going to take his mail inside every day, too. And, he
wants me to clean out his garage, too."

	"You'll have to do a good job and maybe he'll have you do
other things for him.  (That was an idea.)

	In bed, I thought of nothing but Peter:  He'd asked me if he
could call me Jase. I remembered what he looked like naked,
close-up -- His lower legs were hairy but he had no hair on his body
except in the middle of his chest and around his cock.  (I didn't
know most men have hair on their balls, but I remembered his
didn't.) I thought how he flipped over on his back and raised his
legs to get sucked off and it dawned on me that was the position a
woman assumed to get fucked.  Holy shit!  Maybe he thought of me
sucking him as me fucking him - fucking his cock off with my mouth.
Then I remembered I could see his asshole between his butt
cheeks and that he did have a few curly hairs around it.

	I couldn't stop.  I just kept thinking of him, how much I loved
his cock and, after his cock, his buns.  They were so small, so cute,
especially how he could squeeze them together and make a
shallow depression in the sides of them.  My last thought was to
wonder if a man and a boy could do anything exciting with their ass
holes.

	By now I was so worked up thinking of him, and hoping that
he really would have sex with me again, that I knew I was going to
have to masturbate to relax.  In fact thinking of him had gotten me
so worked up with needing him again that I was shaking all over
and couldn't stop it.  It was frightening.  I jacked off with a
vengeance and when my mind focused on him shooting off in my
mouth I knew I was there -- I raised my butt off the bed and with
only my feet and shoulders touching the sheet I climaxed.  I would
have sprayed the ceiling if I'd been able to wet climax.

My last conscious thought was that I even liked his name.  When I
was small a lot of boys called their cocks their peters.  I wondered if
men called their cocks their peters sometimes.  If I remembered, I'd
ask him.

	One intimate experience with Peter and I was in agony until
he returned.  Somehow though it helped that I was in and out of his
house and that he'd left a note to move the sealed boxes in the
garage into the back porch and stack them in a corner then move
everything else out and hose the garage out "if you have time and
are interested in doing it." -- sure I was interested.  I wanted to
please him.

	He'd told me to stack each day's mail on his desk in the
basket labeled "IN".  In the study I noticed, too, a small 2' x 2' x 3'
high safe.  I wondered if that magazine he'd been holding with one
hand and looking at while he masturbated with the other one was a
dirty picture magazine and if it was in the safe.

	On his desktop was also a photograph album that had
pictures of Peter as a boy. They really confused me and I wished I
hadn't seen them and started thumbing through them. Some of the
backgrounds looked more like the prairies of northwestern
Nebraska than what I thought New England landscapes would look
like.  Peter, though, was as cute as a boy as he is handsome now. I
didn't erect looking at them and it made me realize I loved Peter in
more ways than just messing around with him.

	He came back mid afternoon Wednesday and phoned me on
his cell phone the minute he turned off the highway into town and
told me to meet him.  It couldn't have happened at a better time, my
mom was filling in for a clerk that called in sick at my dad's Farm
Supply Store.

	We went in through his back door, he left his travel bag in
the kitchen and we went directly upstairs to the bedroom on the
southwest corner of the house, which was filled with sunshine but
still comfortable because I'd had all the windows open.  He closed
the venation blinds part way until they reflected the sunshine up to
the ceiling and then it bounced back into the room.  He was as hot
as I was and we ripped our clothes off.  He said all the way home
he'd thought of where we could do it.  He wanted to do it where
there was lots of light to symbolize that we need not be ashamed,
need not find darkness to love each other because our love was
good.

	He knelt over me, ran his fingers through my hair, across my
eyebrows and eyelids and across my upper lip, then across my
bottom lip. He bit my earlobes; kissed me open mouthed and first
pinched then sucked my nipples.  All the time he stared into my
eyes.

	He told me that it was foreplay - the first step in making love.

	This time he didn't flip over on his back and raise his legs, he
just turned around and told me we'd suck each other at the same
time and said it was called the 69 position.  With his big cock just
inches from my face, I realized it was very slightly curved up and
then straightened itself out.

	After we'd both climaxed, he turned again, snuggled up to
my back, put an arm around me and kissed the back of my neck.

	"Did you like that Jase?"

	"I really did.  I've been missing you terribly."

	"I missed you, too and Jase, I think I better tell you
something.  Although you and I don't think what we did as wrong,
most people do."

	"I interrupted and told him I knew that and told him about
Allen Willard and what I'd heard him saying to my dad."

	He said, "I already had him pegged.  And that was what I
want to talk about. We were going to have to be very careful -- for
both our sakes. Three days apart and we were already missing,
needing each other and before long we will need each other more
and more. In fact our need will become a very powerful thing.  We
will have to limit our encounters to avoid suspicion but we will find
comfort in knowing the other wants it too."

	I interrupted again with a question, "Pete, do you love me."

	"Yes, I do, I know I shouldn't, but I do. I can't help it and I'm
not strong enough to stop."

	"That's all I need to know.  I feel the same way."

	He kept rubbing his hand over me and said this was called
after play.

	"Pete I can feel your cock poking me, you're hard again, can
I feel it again."

	"Jase, as I said, we can't do this too often, but when we can
you don't have to ask me -- just do what you want to do and do it
knowing whatever you want I want and whatever you do will excite
me."  It began with my fondling his cock and ended with him on his
back again and me fucking his cock with my mouth until he juiced
again in my boy mouth.

	For some reason that seemed to seal things.  I knew he
loved me.  I realized that his doing this with me was an expression
of his love.

	We had sex together every time we safely could.  Then
summer ended and I was back in school the day after Labor Day.
One Thursday, two weeks later, Pete came over and said he was
going away for the weekend, just over into Sheridan County to visit
a couple he knew who had a ranch by the Niobrara River and he
thought I might enjoy going with him, since there'd be no school
tomorrow due to teacher conferences.

	(Sheridan County was the next county and the Niobrara was
a beautiful river running though the prairie, which would be all tan
this time of the year yet dotted here and there by evergreen trees.)

	Pete told my mom it was about a thirty minute drive so  we'd
be there way before dark.

	I held my breath until my mom said, "I think he'd enjoy it, too.
John has been so busy at the store we didn't get a vacation this
year, when are you leaving?"

	"As soon as Jason can stuff a couple of pair of jeans, a few
shirts and a change of underwear in a gym bag."

	In ten minutes Pete honked the horn at the curb in front of
the house, I kissed my mom and ran out.  I'm sure I had the biggest
smile on my face that I'd ever had.  I smiled again when the
"couple" that he was visiting came out to meet us when they saw us
driving up to the house -- the "couple" was two men.  They put their
arms around Pete and patted his back; then they both shook hands
with me. Their names were Michael and Andrew.  They asked Pete
if he'd like his old room.

	Before dinner Michael gave Pete a beer and asked him if I
could have one, too.  Pete looked at me and said "Sure." After
another one we had steaks they'd prepared on the barbeque along
with potatoes and corn on the cob that they'd wrapped in aluminum
foil and also cooked on the barbeque.  We sat outside, under the
trees to eat and talked until it was time to go to bed.

	Pete's "old room" turned out to be almost a duplicate of
mine.

	That night in bed, in total darkness, as only it can be out on
the prairie, no light except that which the moon provided, which
wasn't enough to penetrate through the window blinds, Pete made
love to me.  It was a safe place, there was no hurry, the foreplay
lasted a long time; in fact it lasted until Pete's breathing was heavy
and he said, "I'm sorry Jase, I'm so aroused I think I'm going to cum
before I want to."

	I threw the covers back, Pete rolled over on his back, raised
his legs into the air and I went down on his hardness. Within
seconds he lowered his legs onto my back, locked his ankles
together and squeezed my head between his legs as his body
jerked and he ejaculated into my boy mouth.  He said, "I'm sorry."

	Before I had time to reply, he rolled over and started jacking
me off.  I'd already climaxed, but I thought of the first time I'd seen
him jack off while looking at that magazine and I climaxed again. As
he had the day we did it in his upstairs bedroom, he hugged me
and I said, "Pete, you told me never to ask you when I wanted to do
something, well you don't ever need to say you're sorry.

Before we went to sleep facing each other, I asked him why
Michael and Andrew called this his old room." Because this was my
room as a boy, I slept here until I left to go to Princeton University.
I jacked off in this bed long before I reached puberty and after, just
like you do now.  I never dreamed that I'd have a boy like you to
love in this bed."  I knew then why the pictures in his album had
prairie backgrounds.

	My parents and grandparents both lived in this house.
Michael and Andrew just lease the ranch.  I still own it.




	Later, I woke because he was playing with me and had me
hard again.  I raised my head, looked at the digital clock and saw
that it was 4 AM.  I reached down and he was hard too, really hard,
so I scooted down and took his swollen cock into my mouth and he
gave me an early breakfast of hot, sweet cum.  This time, I just held
it in my mouth without him having to squeeze my head between his
legs and left it there until he went soft.

	We woke up again at 7AM.  I had slept so soundly I wasn't
tired.  We showered together and went downstairs to the kitchen
table, already set for breakfast. We no sooner finished than a big
white, pickup truck pulled up to the house.  All of us went outside
and Pete introduced me to Conrad and I saw the truck had lettering
on the door that identified it as belonging to a contractor.

	Together we walked to another, smaller house, being
remodeled and added on to.  Pete explained it was originally a
house for a hired man -- three 16' x 12' rooms, all in a row, which
were being opened up with a small fireplace as the only distinction
between what would be the living room and bedroom and a large
opening into the kitchen.

			Pete explained a large walk-in closet and bath were being
added to the bedroom and a utility room to the kitchen so the house
would end up U-shaped with a trellised porch to fill in the U.

			Conrad said the new vinyl windows were already in place in
the original house, the fireplace was finished, the kitchen was
complete except for the new appliances and the additions were
framed, enclosed and ready for the interior work.  He added he had
no other job demanding his time, so with the crew he had and the
subcontractors all committed, he was going to be done in a month
and Pete could spend Thanksgiving here if he wanted.

			That afternoon, Pete asked Michael if he could borrow a six-
pack of beer.  We took off down two tire tracks and ended up at the
north bank of the Niobrara where there was a grove of trees, a
picnic table with attached benches.  It was a warm, autumn day, it
was beautiful and became even more beautiful after we'd had two
beers and tossed our clothes into Pete's car.

			"Want to walk along the river bank?"

			"Sure!"  I was surprised that out here on the prairie you could
even smell the river and it looked so clean.  Pete said he'd never
been to either place but the Niobrara started in Wyoming and
wandered through northern Nebraska until it emptied into the
Missouri just above a little town in Nebraska, also called Niobrara.

	Walking with him naked and seeing his dick moving around
as he walked I had a hard on the whole time.  After the walk we
spread the blanket on the table and sat on it with our feet on the
bench and opened a couple of beers.

	"Pete, I probably shouldn't ask you, but the rumor is that you
were married and divorced.  Is that true."

	"To an extent, the truth is I was married just before I was
chosen minister of a small town church in Vermont.  Then one day I
came home from an evening meeting that didn't last as long as I'd
thought it would and my wife was on the couch with the biggest,
black dick up her cunt that I'd ever seen.	 I turned around, walked
out, drove a hundred miles to another town, rented a motel room,
went to a bar and got drunk.  The next day when I went home she'd
packed up and left.  I've never seen or heard of her since. I told the
elders that I'd been married and divorced.  I altered the truth a little
because I've never gone through a legal divorce procedure."

	Pete got up, went to his car and returned with a pack of
cigarettes and we opened two more beers.

	"Can I have a cigarette, too?"

	"Have you ever smoked one before?"

	"Once, a senior in high school gave me one."

	"I shouldn't let you but I guess that's a minor corruption
compared to my having sex with you."

	"I don't think of our sex as being corrupt.  You've made me
happier than I've ever been in my life."

	When it came time to leave, he dressed me as if I was a little
boy and then put his own clothes on. Prior to each article of
clothing, he'd kiss me, my nipples, my stomach, my genitals and
say what a beautiful boy I was. By the time we got back to the
ranch house, Michael and Andrew had the patio table set, brought
out a six-pack and opened one for Pete and one for me.
Pete looked at me but didn't say anything.

	Michael asked if hamburgers would be OK with us.  We said
they sounded great.  He put eight on the grill and Andrew brought
out a big bowl of potato salad, a smaller one of pickled beets along
with a loaf of French bread and remarked he'd baked a frozen pie
for desert and we'd have it ala mode along with coffee, later.

	After dinner, Andrew asked if we'd had a good time down at
the river. Pete answered it had been years since he'd spent any
time down there but it turned out very special this afternoon with me
along.

	Michael picked up on that and said,  "It's none of my
business, but Andy and I are curious, are you two an item?"  I didn't
know what he meant. Pete said, "Yes we had our first time together
on Sunday evening, July the eighteenth and now we're lovers."

	I now knew what an item meant even before he reached
across the table and took my hand.  I about cried, even I hadn't
remembered the date.  I'd never need to ask him if he loved me
again.

	Andy asked if I was a member of his congregation. Pete
answered, "Yes and he lives next door and we can see each other
from our bedroom windows."

	Michael said that must be convenient at times and hell at
times. He added, you're always welcome to bring Jase with you out
here and I want you to be careful always."

	Pete said, "Thanks and we will be careful."

	Andy added, Pete, you're one lucky guy."

	I said, "I am, too."  Michael and Andy laughed.  Pete
squeezed my hand.

	When it came time to go to bed, Pete asked if we could
borrow some blankets, he had an air mattress in the car and he'd
like to spend the night sleeping on the floor in front of the new
fireplace.

	Michael came out with some blankets, two pillows and
another six-pack. Pete then asked if he could borrow some
matches as he didn't know if the propane was connected, so we
might have to scrounge around for some 2"x4"s and other lumber
scraps to light a fire. Michael came back out with a box of old-
fashioned, kitchen matches and some newspapers.  Michael had a
flashlight and wandered around finding wood, but he wouldn't let
me help him, so he gave me the air mattress to inflate by plugging it
into the cigar lighter in the car.

	With the fire lit, we sat cross-legged on the floor and each
had a can of beer.  Once in bed, naked, I got the giggles. Pete
asked, "What's wrong?"

	"Nothing, I was just thinking. We've been naked more than
we've worn clothing since we've been here."

	"Are you objecting?"

	"No way, I wish it could be that way all the time."

	"Me too and I hope some day it will be that way."

	"When will that be?"

	Too, I asked him for the umpteenth time if he'd fuck me.

	"Well, you're in the sixth grade, so you have six years left to
finish high school and four more at college.  So that's a total of 10
years, so you'll be 21 and I'll be 34; we'll live out here on the ranch
and go naked as much as we want to, except I'll be so old you wont
want to look at me with clothes on, let along naked."

	"Yeah, don't bet on it!"  Before I finished my reply I reached
over and grabbed his big, hard dick. He was every bit as ready for
some cock play as I was.

	"Lets do it standing up in front of the fire for a change, Jase."
I bent down at the waist and took just the head of his manhood into
my mouth and swirled my tongue around it, deep throated it a
couple of strokes and he pulled me up and went down on me.  He
did the same on me as I'd done on him when something didn't
seem right and I started hollering, oh God, oh God.  Before he had
time to reply he stopped sucking, started waving his arms and
going umm, umm. Then he took his mouth off my cock, looked up
at me and said, "You just shot some cum in my mouth!"

	"But I'm not 12."

	"When's your birthday?"

	"In December."

	"You're old enough, it would be a miracle if it happened
exactly on your birthday so don't worry about it and just enjoy it.
You're a big boy now and the best just got better. I'm going to blow
your nuts every time I get as much as half a chance. Now jack me
off.

	I stood in front of him but he told me to stand behind him,
reach around him and do it just like I was jacking myself off.  He
climaxed and his wad shot out two feet horizontally before it began
to arc down to the floor and land three feet in front of him.  He
tuned around, I licked what little remained on his piss slit.  He
pulled me up and he kissed me like I'd never been kissed before
and kept calling me his baby and telling me how much he loved me
and how much he loved my boy cock.  Again we slept cuddled
together.

	When the fire burned itself out, I had no idea.  I didn't wake
up until I heard Pete rush out the door and piss just outside. It was
daylight.

	We were home at exactly 6:30 in the evening and my dad
walked in the back door as we walked in the front.  My mom had
dinner ready, dad offered Pete a beer, Pete looked at me as much
to say, "and You're out of luck this time."

	I was so full of telling my parents about the ranch and the
small house that Pete was remodeling that my dad finally asked
Peter how he happened to know the people who owned it.  So,
Pete told him he didn't particularly want the elders to know, but he
owned the ranch and told them that his parents and grandparents
before him had owned it plus one of the reasons he'd made
application here was that he wanted to move back to the area.

	My dad asked what the ranch was named.  Pete said it really
didn't have a name and was referred to, as many ranches were, by
its brand X -- X, (which translates, word wise, into the X Bar X).  My
dad said it was a well-known place and he'd love to see it
sometime.  Pete said the house would be done by Thanksgiving
and he and the two men who leased the ranch, Michael and
Andrew, would all like to have them out Thanksgiving.

	My mom didn't pick up on the "couple" Pete had referred to
as being two men, and it never became an issue. But we did spend
thanksgiving there. My mom had asked Pete what she should bring
and he said Andrew, who was the cook of the two, said to bring two
Pumpkin Pies if she didn't mind. Two women, schoolteachers, from
a small town east of the ranch were there, it was an unusually
warm and beautiful day and we ate outside.  Everybody helped to a
degree.  I peeled potatoes, mom helped the two teachers set the
table and my dad wandered around the property with Michael and
then Michael and Pete walked him down to the Niobrara.

	I didn't know it but Pete had some furniture stored in a shed,
slowly had all of it refinished and reupholstered, bought only a new
king sized bed and box and mattress.  He'd been back once since I
visited and moved it into the cabin.  It was really nice.  Women are
always interested in houses and my mom couldn't seem to find
enough words to praise it.  Pete said, I'm glad you like it; the
teachers are leaving after dinner, you and John can sleep here and
Jase and I can sleep in the main house.   When Pete and I walked
them out to the cabin for the night, he had a fire going in the
fireplace along with two wine glasses and a bottle of champagne on
the coffee table.  My mom joked that she felt like she was on a
second honeymoon.

	The next morning, after breakfast, Michael took my mom and
dad on a horseback ride before we went home.  All the way home it
was my mom and dad that were so full of talking about the ranch.

	After that, my parents seemed to accept that Pete and I had
a special friendship but didn't seem aware as to how special. The
result was they never questioned me when I'd say I was going over
to Pete's for a few minutes, even though the minutes were more
like hours.

	One time, after sex, we stayed in bed and started talking.  I
told Pete I really loved his buns, they were so small and tight
looking and I loved it when he flexed them and made hollows in the
sides. It ended up, as it had several times before with my practically
begging him to fuck me. And his answer, too, was always the
same, "You're too young, later on."

	"Its just that I love you so much it sometimes hurts."

	"Its not supposed to hurt, but sometimes I feel the same
way."

	"I'll away love you even if you never fuck me, but sometimes
I fantasize what it would feel like to have you big dick inside me."

	"And sometime, I'll make your dream come true."

	It seemed that after Thanksgiving every day got shorter,
which it did, and colder, too."  Pete was busy preparing for a
centennial celebration of the church.  Not particularly of his
choosing but things grew out of proportion and the high school
offered their auditorium. Pete explained that after the ceremony,
people could come and tour the church.

	There was no organ at the high school but the choir was
singing to piano music and the entire front of the stage was lined
with huge bouquets of flowers.  On one side of the stage the elders
were seated and on the other side were the ministers from every
church in town. It was so crowded people were standing in the side
aisles.

	The choir stopped and the Lutheran Minister walked to the
podium and said they'd all been invited to speak but in the interest
of time they'd asked Father O'Brian from St. Joseph's to be their
spokesman.

	He began, "God has given us a grand and glorious day for
this grand and glorious occasion.  Reverend Blair has told me some
of the background of your church.  Before your present church was
built, there was a white, wood framed structure on the same site
and before that you met in homes.  Your presence in Chadron
actually dates back to the late 1800's."

	"At that time you must have truly been Our Lord's voice
crying out in the Nebraska wilderness.  After all these years, you
have given him a new voice, a new presence in the wilderness, the
Reverend Peter Blair. I'm going to tell you some things you may or
may not know about your minister.  When he joined the Ministerial
Alliance he was a young man in a group of old fogies and our
nickname for him quickly became "The Kid". At our next election for
a President, he was elected unanimously and I guess you know
what that means -- it means The Kid voted for himself."  Everyone
roared.  I looked at Pete and he was as red as a beet.

	"I am as sure as I stand here before you that Christ voted for
him, too.  I'm also sure you knows that every minister sitting over
there has, at the Kid's invitation, delivered a sermon at your Sunday
Service and he's delivered the sermon at every church in town,
including St. Josephs and, in so doing, became the first Protestant
Minister to speak from our pulpit. What you may not know is that
the custom has spread to several neighboring towns including
Rapid City, South Dakota.

	"Now for the not knows.  The kid visits every patient in our
hospital on his rounds.  Until then the ministers limited their
visitations to the members of their church -- now they follow Pete's
example."

	"Then, when Meals on Wheels have someone call in the last
minute and say they can't drive, the Kid can drive and he delivers
the meals."

	"Until the Sheriff told me, even I didn't know that the Kid
goes to the County Jail every Sunday morning at 7:30 and holds a
church service for the inmates."

	"And last I want to tell you about a Hispanic family,
Catholics, that had been visiting relatives in Rapid City and
returning home had an accident north of Chadron where the wife
and mother of two girls was killed.  St. Joseph's paid for the
cemetery plot and other ministers donated money for travel
expenses back to their home in Texas.  What no one was able to
solve was a car.  Peter bought them a used car and the man has
already made payments to pay him back."

	"I've talked too long, ministers tend to do that, so I'll close by
saying that I hope, despite the fact than no one present will be
living to witness it, that you will celebrate again in a hundred years
from now.  May God bless you all and, if you remember Rev.
Krause, the Lutheran Minister, said they'd chosen me for their
speaker.  I'm sure I speak for all of them when I say, "Thank you
Reverend Peter Blair for the example you've given us to follow -- an
example on how to truly be a minister of God."

	The ministers applauded and rose to their feet first, then the
elders and then the entire audience.  The Choir Master rose and
asked everyone to join the choir in singing the "Battle Hymn of the
Republic".

	Pete phoned me around 8:30 and the first thing he said to
me on opening the door was, "Don't you dare call me "The Kid."

	I replied I wouldn't, I liked Pete better.

	A couple of years later, I finally graduated from high school. I
received a number of presents from relatives and friend of my
family. It wasn't until we were alone, two days later, that Pete gave
me not one but two presents.

	The first one was a ring on a thin gold chain, so I could wear
it around my neck.  He slipped it over my head and tucked it in the
front of my shirt. It was his class ring from Princeton.

	The second was another ring that he slipped on my finger, a
plain gold band with raised edges, two raised Celtic crosses on
opposite sites and three raised, looped circles on the other two.  I
told him it looked like a wedding ring.  He said it wasn't but it was a
religious ring as the looped circles were a symbol of the Holy Trinity
and added if I would like to think of it as a wedding ring, he would
like to think of it the same way, then said, seriously, not in jest, said,
"Jason Richards, with this ring I thee wed."  He didn't kiss me but
he hugged me to his chest for ten minutes while I cried.

	Two weeks to the day, I rang his doorbell but he didn't show,
I rang it again and could have sworn I heard him call out "Just a
minute."  Still no Pete, so I looked in the living room window and he
was lying, face down, arms outstretched on the floor.  I pounded
frantically on the window and finally gave in to reality.  He was dead
or unconscious.  I ran home screaming, mom, mom, mom! My mom
was standing on the front porch before I reached it, as were two
neighbors across the street.  Mom held me and called to one of the
neighbors from across the street to dial 911.  In the distance we
could hear sirens even before the medical response vehicle and fire
truck arrived.  They broke the glass in the door and entered the
house.  A medic knelt over him and pronounced him dead.

	News travels fast in a small town and within two hours Pete's
attorney called my dad, who'd come home from work and told him
on the phone that I was Pete's sole heir.

	My mom wanted me to rest a while.  I couldn't.  I grabbed a
beer out of the fridge and drank it in front of my parents.  The
phone began ringing incessantly until my mom unplugged it from
the wall connection.  My dad told me being the sole heir put a lot of
responsibilities on me which he knew were painful for me to deal
with so soon, but I'd have to face them -- buying a cemetery plot,
arranging for a tombstone, arranging for a funeral. I told him I
agreed.  By nine o'clock all of us were totally wiped out and my
mom asked if I wanted to sleep downstairs in the guest room. I said
no, the parsonage has a broken window; I was going to go over
there and up end a lounge chair in front of it and sleep in Pete's
bed.

	My mom asked why I wanted to do that?  "Mom, there's no
worse time to tell you than right now, but here it is, I'm gay, Pete
was gay and we've been lovers, all the way lovers, since I was
eleven years old."

	Both my dad and my mom threw their arms around me and
my mom said, "We suspected that was the case, we first thought so
that Thanksgiving Day at the ranch, but we've just waited until you
were ready to tell us.  And I want you to know we still love you and
we loved Pete, too."

	Like the first night after I'd watched Pete reading a magazine
with one hand and jacking off with the other, I couldn't go to sleep.
I think I relived every minute Pete and I had been together.  At
some wee hour of the morning I must have dozed off because I
woke with a start, pulled on some pants and ran down stairs
because I heard someone at the door, pushing the lounge chair
away.  It was Allen Willard, the elder, the one I didn't like -- the
prick.

	"What are you doing in here, half naked?"

	"I slept here because the glass in the front door is broken
and the place could have been burglarized."

	"You have no business in here."

	"Neither do you for that matter.  This was Reverend Blair's
home and is his until I can remove his personal possessions."

	"By what right."

	"By the fact that I'm his sole heir."

	At that moment my dad walked in, and asked Willard the
same thing as Willard had asked me.

	"I'm questioning your son as to why he's here and his right to
be here."

	"Well, I know Ben Johnson's (the attorney) home phone, I'll
just call him and settle that right now."

	"Ben's on his way. Jason, would you make coffee?"

	Ben straightened things out, but good.  "Mr. Willard, Jason
Richards is the sole heir to Reverend Blair's estate.  This may be a
parsonage, but it was and is Revered Blair's legal residence for a
reasonable time to allow his personal possessions to be removed."

	"The kid's a minor.  The will's illegal."

	"Mr. Willard, if a minor couldn't be named in a will, parents
couldn't leave anything to their children."

	"He should have left everything to the church."

	"His will was signed in my office before me, two witnesses.
and notarized.  The will is perfectly legal.  Reverend Blair was of
sound mind and evidently he had ideas different than yours as to
who he wanted to be his heir."

	"I want to see in the safe, there might be church property in
it."

	"If there is any, it will be returned to the church.  Now, either
you leave, or I'll call the Sheriff and have you evicted."

	Willard stomped out, Mr. Johnson, my dad and I sat down in
the kitchen and had coffee along with a good laugh.  I said, I
thought Mr. Willard was a prick.  Mr. Johnson said "asshole" might
be more accurate.  He also handed me a copy of Peter's will and
said that even before I read it he wanted to tell me that Peter had
stipulated that he wanted Father O'Brien to officiate at his funeral.

	I called Fr. O'Brien and told him, then called Michael and
Andrew that he'd also stipulated that he wanted to be buried on the
ranch.  Michael said not to hire some one to dig a grave, they would
be honored to it and suggested they move the picnic table and
benches up to the house and bury him where the table was, as he
loved the trees there as well as the river.

	That afternoon the County Coroner called to say Peter had
died of a heart attack. They'd checked with his doctor who verified
that he had a minor heart ailment; it had given him no problems to
date but was one of those things that just waited to happen.

	That evening, when the newspaper gave an account of his
death Father O'Brien called again and told me the high school had
again offered their auditorium and he thought that would be a good
idea.

	It was a good idea.  Again the place was overflowed and
Father O'Brian started the service saying the Nebraska Highway
Patrol called and said they couldn't allow a funeral procession for
thirty miles on the highway and they had arranged with two school
districts for school busses.  When you leave they will be lined up in
front of the auditorium and pull up for loading.  The Highway Patrol
has also requested they leave at five-minute intervals.  The elderly
and handicapped may use their own cars but they, too, should
leave at five-minute intervals.  As you can see this will be a long
afternoon, so I will keep my remarks to a minimum.

	Father O'Brien's introduction began, "I have been a Priest for
a little over thirty years and number among my friends, many
Priests, Protestant Ministers and even a few Rabbi's.  All of them
are good men and truly Ministers of God.  In all my thirty-years,
Reverend Blair is the only man I can say exceeded his calling.  He
was more than a Minister, by his every act and every deed; he was
truly a modern day Apostle of Christ. True to his word he was brief.

	Peter has also requested but one song, not religious, be
sang by the choir as the people left the church. "The choir sang the
requested song, "Love is a Many Splendered Thing."

	Mom and dad rode with me in Father O'Brien's car and we
arrived before the busses.  Michael and Andrew greeted us and we
all had a good cry before accompanying Father O'Brien in walking
down to the bank of the Niobrara.

	The day after Peter died, I had called the monument
company and told them what I wanted. They made no promise but
said they try.  Michael said a helicopter had delivered the
monument to the gravesite and the monument company had
unloaded it with a forklift and placed it by the grave until permanent
placement could take place. It was not a standing monument but
one that would cover the gravesite.

	Father O'Brien read it aloud:  REVEREND PETER BLAIR.
Peter was born July 25, 1975 and will die when the last person who
knew him dies. He remarked that it was a very fitting monument.

	There wasn't a funeral tent and the earth dug from the grave
didn't have fake, plastic turf covering it.  It was just a burial, taking
place on the prairie, in the midst of a grove of trees by the bank of
the Niobrara River.  Michael and Andrew both commented that they
thought Peter would have approved.

	That autumn, I moved into the remodeled hired hands house
and enrolled in Carlton College, using Peter's car as transportation
and spending one day each weekend with my parents.  Every day I
walked down to the river and spent fifteen minutes or so sitting on
the picnic table, which had been returned to the grave area,
thinking of Pete and sometimes I even talked to him and cried. At
times I thought I'd never be able to let him go.  Finally, one cold,
winter night, I drove down with a load of firewood in the back of his
Car along with some newspapers and matches.  I lit a fire, talked to
Pete and told him I'd come down to keep him company for a while
and was finally able to tell him how much I loved him, how much his
love meant to me, how I would always love him and I'd come back
to visit him often, but tonight I wanted to say good bye, because I
never had a chance to say all this to him the day he died.

	There was a small, gay men's club on campus but I never
joined it.  I lost myself in my studies and it seemed to help or at
least kept me from thinking of Pete for a few hours at a time.  Then,
on Spring Break, my Junior Year, a student from Argentina, Jose
Martin, an extremely good looking young man but not especially
Spanish looking, asked me what I was going to do for vacation, was
I going anywhere?  I told him I'd probably spend a few days at my
parents and the rest of the time on my ranch.  He was surprised I
owned a ranch.  I asked him if he wanted to see it.  He couldn't
wait.  After two days, I took him home with me for a day and then
we went back to the ranch.  We rode horseback, I led him over to
Pete's grave and told him my story.  Every time I'd stop, he'd say,
"Tell me more."  More turned out to be more and more until he
leaned over and kissed me on the cheek.

	After dinner, more led to more and we made love together.
Jose was the opposite of Peter.  He was asking me to let him fuck
me so often I couldn't believe it and the way he pronounced it made
it sound really dirty and sinful.  I kept giving him Peter's answer --
"Some Day."  Some day came the night before we had to start back
to school.  Pete was right, it hurt, it hurt like hell and all the worse
because like a lot of Hispanic men, God's gift to Jose between his
legs was a large gift.  I'd had trouble sucking it the first time, let
alone taking it up my ass. He was patient, though, and I later began
to enjoy it.

	Of course, he moved in with me.

	In early May of next year and a month before graduation,
Jose asked me to spend a couple of months with him in Argentina
before he came back with me and we both went job hunting.

	It sounded so exciting, I told him I would.  He had become
an American Citizen and already had a passport, I had plenty of
time to get one and two days after graduation, mom and dad drove
us to Denver International to catch a plane.

	We ended up staying three months instead of two.  Jose
lived in a suburb of Buenos Aires and we tried but were never able
to do all that there was to do, including a few gay bars.  The major
event, however, was and always will be, his cousin Maria's
problems; she had a worthless husband and eight beautiful
children.  One night at Jose's parents house she out and out asked
Jose and me to take Carlos, the youngest, a six-year-old boy, home
with us.  We talked with her and Jose's parents and argued with
them, too. In the three months we'd been there, Carlos was
speaking English every bit as well as Jose and I.  Too he called us
Uncle Jose and Uncle Jase.  He'd done a first rate job of worming
his way into our affection. Maria's argument was that if we could
even feed him he'd have a better life than he would living in his
father's house and it was time he began school.

	We didn't give her a definite answer until we, along with
Maria and Carlos, met with a man in the office of the American
Ambassador and he arranged it, issuing Jose a new passport with
a new photo of him and Carlos together.

	When we walked out of the customs inspection area at
Denver International and saw my parents waiting for us, we walked
toward them.  Carlos asked, "Is that my new grandma and
grandpa?"  We told him it was and he ran right up to mom and said,
" My Uncle Jase says you make good cookies, do you have some
with you?"

	By that time Jose and I had reached them, found a place to
sit, and told them the story.  Carlos kept interrupting asking the
questions he must have saved up, questions like, "Grandma how
far is it to your house?" -- "Grandpa, do you like to play with kids?"
It took him three months to worm his was into Jose and my hearts.
It took him thirty minutes of occasional interruptions to worm his
way into mom and dads.

	We stayed overnight in a motel close to the airport before
starting back to Carlton.  Everyone was exhausted except Carlos.
He slept between Jose and me and we kept answering him with
yes, I guess, I don't know, and finally dropped off to sleep leaving
him answering question -- none of which were answered.

	It is now late June 2006, Jose and I both work for my dad.
Jose lives with his grandparents and spends one day of each
weekend with Jose and me. Sometimes I think my parents have
forgotten me, they dote on Jose and have him absolutely spoiled
rotten. He is an incessant talker and thinks he knows more about
his grandfather's business than Jose and I do, even though the two
of us work there eight hours every day. Jose took him back to
Argentina for a visit and will continue to do so.  Carlos likes to go
but likes to get home to Carlton again, too.

	This story began with Pete and I want it to end there.  Before
I committed myself to Jose I told him I would always love Pete, too,
and I really didn't know if I'd ever be able to love him to the extent
that I loved Pete.  He said he understood.

	Jose occasionally goes with me down to the Niobrara to visit
Pete.  I like it better when I go alone because then I can sit on the
picnic table, look down at Pete's grave and visit with him.
Sometimes, even yet, I cry.  I know Pete understands and
sometimes I think Jose does, too.

	THANKS FOR READING THIS.