Date: Fri, 5 Nov 2004 05:35:44 -0800 (PST)
From: niftystoryteller <niftystoryteller@yahoo.com>
Subject: Southern Nights, chapter 8

Warning: the following story contains graphic descriptions of sex between
consenting adult males. If you are underage or do not wish to read such
materials, or if reading this sort of material is illegal in your
jurisdiction, then read no further.  If you have any feedback or
encouragement, feel free to drop me a line at niftystoryteller@yahoo.com.

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That night, sleep was a stranger.  Beau and I talked until late, trying to
see a way out for him, a young man searching and suffering under the weight
of family and heritage and bigotry and small-town claustrophobia.  There
were no easy answers.  No one should ever give up his family lightly, even
if that family is threatening to suffocate the very life out of him.  No
matter what we do, where we go, who we become, they are in our blood.  At
the same time, no one should give himself up, give up his identity, give up
his destiny, to an illusion of a happy clan that barely exists in fantasy.
There is just too much in the world that is both good and real to turn
away.

Beau finally dropped off, but I tossed and turned and only occasionally
dozed.  It was well past midnight when I reluctantly pulled myself out of
bed and went to forage among the provisions that I had brought with me to
the cabin.  Sandwich in hand, I circled around the living room, touching
random objects and feeling the worn floorboards beneath my bare feet.  Ever
the author, I paused in front of the bookcase.  It was crammed floor to
ceiling, full of tattered paperback romances, old National Geographics,
maybe a dozen volumes of "Reader's Digest Condensed Books" (which, to an
author, are truly an abomination), and the inevitable jumble of
miscellaneous castoffs that find their way to a vacation house.  On the
bottom shelf I spied a forlorn old Gideon's Bible.  I don't know why, but I
instinctively picked it up.

This dusty old book had not comforted a wayward traveler in a good long
while.  Flipping through the dry pages, I drifted over prophets and psalms,
kings and miracles.  I don't know if I was looking for some sort of answer,
but a sign did appear.  Whether luck or divinity produced it, I cannot say.
I suppose that Kodak had a claim that was at least as strong as God's.  At
least that is what I thought when I reached down to pick up the slightly
curled snapshot that had fallen from one of the Gospels.

Even in the faded moonlight that shone through the window, I immediately
identified the face in the fifty-year-old keyhole to the past.  Head thrown
back, straw boater hanging on for dear life, lips stretched wide in a laugh
that you could almost hear, my dear departed uncle looked like he was no
more than twenty years old.  Turning the photo over in my hands, I saw that
a few words were scrawled on the back in an impatient script, which I
recognized to be a prehistoric ancestor to my uncle's.

"Coffee and cream, bourbon and ice, song and dance, biscuits and gravy,
thunder and lightning, shoes and socks, 'E' and 'F,' today and tomorrow.
Together forever."

I sat down on the couch and just stared at the picture, in no small measure
of disbelief.  How did this photograph and these words end up here, in this
place?  My eyes narrowed as I tried to see through the picture to the
truth.  Did this whisper from the past mean that there was some sort of
connection between my uncle and Beau's grandfather?  A connection that
perhaps had been hidden from public view?  Did Edward and Forrest, "E" and
"F," belong together in a way that no one else had ever seen?  Suddenly
weary, I stretched out my body on the worn cushions, eyes beginning to
droop, possibilities turning over in my mind.  Random thoughts drifted in
and out of focus, and lights danced in front of my eyes as my head lolled
to one side.  Gradually, the pictures in my mind's eye faded to black.

. . .

"Damn, Edward, that fried chicken's good.  You're never gonna leave home as
long as your mama keeps that cook around."

My uncle, once again a young man, looked up from the straw picnic hamper
that he was rifling through and grinned.  "Well, I can think of one thing
that would get me to leave.  And I can guarantee you that ugly old cook
ain't got it."  He resumed his search in the fading twilight.  "Now what
did I do with those damn things."

The sun had already set, extinguishing the long shadows cast by trees that
encircled the hidden clearing.  Just a fingernail of the almost full moon
had risen over a distant ridge, bearing the promise of the ghostly
illumination that would soon follow.  The sky was rapidly deepening from
the faded violet of twilight into the deep indigo of a night that was full
of promise and possibility.  The song of the cicadas mixed with the sound
of the waterfall that fed the nearby swimming hole, providing all of the
music that anyone, even these two young men, could need.  Taking it all in,
Forrest Hamilton lolled on the blanket that they had spread on the soft,
green grass, next to the remains of their picnic supper.  He took a long
swig of his beer before pressing the cold glass bottle against his
forehead.

"It sure is hot," he said, wriggling his bare toes through the grass.  "You
interested in taking a little swim?"

Smiling broadly, my uncle triumphantly produced a bundle of Fourth of July
sparklers.  "I knew I'd stuck these in here."  He extracted four from the
bundle and fished in his pocket for a lighter.  "You say you want to go
swim?  Oh, I definitely think so.  I sure do think so, on a hot night like
tonight.  But not just yet."

Forrest just smiled and shook his head as my uncle began to dance barefoot
around the blanket, illuminated by a shower of sparks from the burning
sticks that he held at arm's length.  He had rolled up his seersucker pants
to mid-calf, and his unbuttoned white shirt flapped open, revealing his
smooth, tanned chest.

"I'm Ali Baba," he said in a booming baritone, "here to grant you one wish.
Think carefully what it is you wish."  He planted himself in front of
Forrest.  "Speak, silent master, what is your wish?  Whatever you say will
be my command."

Forrest sat up and turned his face to my uncle's.  He reached out and ran
his hands up and down my uncle's strong thighs.  "I bet you know what my
wish is."  Pulling my uncle to him, he buried his face in the thin cottony
fabric of my uncle's trousers and nuzzled around.  "I just bet you know."

As darkness returned, my uncle let the sputtering, spent sticks drop to the
ground and reached down to run his fingers through his friend's thick,
wavy, chestnut hair.  "I know," he almost whispered.  "It's my wish too."

Forrest looked up at my uncle and smiled before reaching to pull down the
zipper that stared him in the face.  My uncle sucked in his breath just a
little and instinctively thrust out his hips.  The tent that had formed in
his crotch betrayed his excited state in a pretty obvious way.  He shrugged
his shirt off of his shoulders, exposing his lean and muscular frame to
view.  He was almost hairless, save for the tufts that sprouted from his
armpits and the dark trail that started at his navel.  His small,
dime-sized nipples were dark and engorged, and he lightly brushed the tips
of his fingers over them as Forrest slowly inserted his hand through the
opening he had created in my uncle's trousers.

Forrest let out a low whistle as his fingers immediately encountered a
thick mat of pubic hair and then the heat of my uncle's hard cock.  "It
feels like you forgot something this morning, Eddie boy, when you got
dressed.  But I'm liking it."

Carefully and deliberately, Forrest extracted my uncle's cock from the
confines of his trousers.  Curving prominently to the left, it was hard as
a rock and positively quivered with excitement.  Involuntarily licking his
lips with excitement, Forrest leaned in and breathed deeply, savoring the
hot aroma of my uncle's flesh.  He brushed his lips against the prow-like
head, causing the stiff organ to bounce from left to right.  My uncle let
out a low, growling groan before reaching down to unbutton his trousers.
They immediately slid down his strong legs, exposing the trail of dark
hairs that led from his navel to the dark triangle of hair that curled over
his heavy prick.  Forrest responded by reaching between my uncle's legs and
grasping the heavy sac that held a pair of weighty balls, which he gently
pulled down and began to tongue.

"Fuck, these nuts are hot," Forrest whispered hoarsely.  "I know they're
full of your hot cum.  I know they're full of sperm you're gonna shoot all
over me."

My uncle squatted slightly and spread his legs a little wider, offering the
greatest possible access to the erotic core of his body.  "I've been saving
it up for a coupla days now.  I've been waiting for you, cuz I know you
want my cum."  His words trailed off in a groan as Forrest began to nibble
and bite and lick at the sensitive flesh in the fold where my uncle's
ballsac hung from his groin.  "Unnnh, yeah.  Take off your clothes now.  I
wanna see your skin."

Still nuzzling around in my uncle's groin, Forrest quickly shed his shirt
and unzipped his pants.  He stood up and stepped out of them, leaving him
clad only in his white Jockey shorts, which contrasted sharply with his
tanned skin.  He pulled my uncle towards him and began to grind his lightly
furred chest against my uncle's smooth pecs, while pressing the bulge in
his underwear against my uncle's bobbing erection.

Forrest pressed his lips up against my uncle's ear.  "You like that skin on
skin feeling?"  he whispered.  "You want to feel even more?"

"What else have you got?" my uncle asked playfully.

"I think I've got something you're gonna like an awful lot.  Something nice
and big, something I bet I could make you beg for."

"You think so?"

"Oh, I think I know so."  Forrest ground the bulge in his briefs even more
insistently against my uncle's fat organ.  Judging from the size of its
outline, Forrest's cock must have been one of the biggest ones in the
county, easily besting my uncle's, which was no slouch in its own right.
"Come on, get down on your knees and ask for it."

My uncle slowly slid down his friend's body, his tongue leaving a
glistening trail across a lean torso.  Once on his knees, he placed his
open mouth over the bulge in Forrest's underwear and began to pulse his hot
breath through the white fabric, which was marked by a growing spot of damp
slickness.  As he blew, my uncle's hands roamed over his friend's muscular
legs, which were covered with the hair that had marked his passage into
manhood.  He reached around and kneaded Forrest's meaty butt before finally
hooking his fingers in the waistband of the tight briefs and pulling them
down.

Finally free, Forrest's long, thick cock bounced with excitement that was
equaled by my uncle's desire.  Letting out a long groan, he moved in to
snare the pulsing, leaking head between his lips.  Gasping slightly due to
its girth, my uncle slowly inhaled inch after inch, not stopping until his
nose was buried in his friend's pubic thatch.  When he pulled back off,
Forrest's stiff organ was clearly coated with shiny saliva, which offered
some lubrication as my uncle rocked back and forth, hungrily sucking.

As the moon rose higher in the sky, the two men, once again in the vital
ripe bloom of their youth, explored their bodies with lips and tongues and
fingers and toes.  Their cocks were both the objects of pleasure and the
tools by which it was created. Their passion was as intense as if this one
night together would be their last, as if they had met in a dreamworld that
would fade into nothingness at dawn.  Sitting face to face on the blanket,
legs crossed over and under, gripping their cocks together, tasting each
other's lips, breathing into each other's lungs, excitement building and
building, and then finally cumming in a paralyzing spasm, their sperm mixed
together as it rained down across their bodies, anointing their hidden
union.  Retreating into the sky high above them, I saw them hold each other
before they were lost from view.