Date: Fri, 14 Dec 2001 02:35:31 EST
From: Tommyhawk1@aol.com
Subject: Outcast of Lonely Rock, Chapter Two

		  THE OUTCAST OF LONELY ROCK, CHAPTER ONE
		   "Upon Finding a Stranger's Campfire"
			   By Tommyhawk1@AOL.COM
		      WWW.TOMMYHAWKSFANTASYWORLD.COM

     I walked for a long time, while the sun beat down upon my uncovered
head (cowboys wear those big-brimmed hats for a damned good reason!),
feeling all my energy draining out of me the longer I walked.  When the sun
finally dropped behind a particularly large hill on the horizon, I was
grateful and thanked that hill, for with the shadow came a blessed relief
from the heat and I was able to pretend that I wasn't as thirsty as I
actually was.
     But as the sun sank lower behind the hills and the sky darkened, a
strong wind began to blow with a stern chillness to it, and the temperature
dropped quickly, until far from being hot, I was cold and shivering.  I had
been warned about the extremes of temperature by my uncle's letter, but it
hadn't sunk into me that a day that had been so hot could turn so cold in
the space of only an hour or so.
     I heard a mouth-organ playing, and I turned my head, saw a dim glimmer
of light from not far away; someone had built a campfire in a depression in
the land.  Hiding their light from whom?  Indians?  But none were nearby,
all had been chased away by the United States Cavalry some years before.
Bandits, then?  But I had already encountered the local bandits, and if
they had ridden nearby, I would have heard or seen them.  Whoever it was,
he was a stranger.
     I would go to him and beg for his assistance.
     I walked up quietly, wanting to look him over before I spoke to him;
the day's events had made me cautious.  If it turned out to be those two
bandits, I would slip away and take my chances on finding somebody else
tomorrow.  There were ranches and settlements scattered liberally about
this area; I was not in a complete wilderness.
     I made it stealthily up to the edge of the depression, as much as I
dared for the land sloped inwards gently.  I saw then the campfire, blazing
away, using to my surprise real logs for its fuel (I had understood that
timber was so rare upon the plains that it was necessary to burn dried
animal dung for a fire, and that it was not as unpleasant a practice as one
might think, as it burned dry and with almost no odor.)  Some small,
skinned animal had been suspended over it to roast.  I saw the horse
tethered there to a small bush only a few inches high, and more bushes were
about.  I saw the saddle and other gear laid out by the fire.  And I
saw...I saw the water.  A fair-sized pool of water sparkled in the light of
the campfire, glistening red as the wind that had sprung up rippled the
otherwise still water.
     I didn't see the owner of the campfire, but seeing the water I nearly
forgot about caution, for I was thirsty and no longer able with the sight
of water to ignore that thirst, I looked about me and then walked down to
the water and when bent over, about to drink, I stopped.
     Some water is bad, especially on the plains with their high-alkali
content.  But was this water bad?  I had learned this much of use from the
dime-novels, I had first to watch for signs of life about free-standing
water.  Until I saw an insect or plants in the water, not just nearby, I
could not trust it would be safe to drink.
     I began to look about, the sky making the water a dark mirror, opaque
to my questing eyes.  Any sign of life within, however small, and I could
drink.
     "It's safe, go ahead and drink." came a voice behind me.
     I turned with a start, looked at a man who almost blended with the
night, all in black and with black hair and a mustache.  Only his face was
clear to me, and the glinting red shaft of the gun he pointed my way.
     "Go ahead and drink, young fellow. he said again.  "You look thirsty.
It's safe."
     I considered this; poisoning a person with tainted water was certainly
a way to remove a potential menace while your own hands stayed clean.  This
shows how much the day's events had taken my innocence from me, that I
could be suspicious of everyone and everything.
     Then a frog jumped out of the water and moved about, seeking the
insects of the night.  Life in the water; I could drink.  I laid down and
lapped from the pool like a dog; it was heavy with dirt and grit, but I
didn't care, it was wet and I could eat a little more sand to quench my
thirst.
     I finished and rose up, looked back.  The stranger had returned to his
campfire, his gun back in his holster, and he was lounging, relaxed and at
ease.  A big man wearing black clothing that was barely lit by the campfire
light, so that he was shadow more than shape.  But his body was big,
strong, masculine, him leaned back against his saddle like a pillow, his
near leg stretched out and the far leg with the foot flat on the ground,
his arm resting on his knee while the other propped him up, he looked
strong, comfortable, resting in the manner of a panther after a kill, his
body shining in lines redly from the flickering campfire.
     "You got any food with you?" the stranger queried.
     "No, sir." I said.  And my situation clear in my mind, I didn't
hesitate to beg.  "Do you have any you would share?  I'm hungry; I've been
walking most of the day."
     "Can you pay me for it?"
     "No, sir." I admitted.  "Not right away.  When I get to Lonely Rock, I
could get you some money, though."
     "Not going to Lonely Rock.  I'm heading north." the stranger said.
Then he looked at me.  "But come on over and squat, I'll split this rabbit
with you.  Just killed it an hour ago."
     "I didn't hear a shot." I said suspiciously, but going over to the
campfire just the same; I was cold.
     "Don't waste ammunition on a rabbit." the stranger said.  "Sit still
and they'll come up to you.  Close enough for you to chunk them with a
rock.  Good aim with a rock and a man can eat pretty well out here.  Want
to pick up a rock and go try it?"  He grinned at me.
     I had to smile back.  "Not just now." I admitted.  "Not if you'll
share."
     "Come on over.  Why are you out here walking?  You're heading the
wrong way for Lonely Rock, it's that way." He pointed.
     He was feeding me; I told him the story of who I was and where I was
heading, and the bandit attack on my stagecoach.  I left out only the
aftermath of that attack.  "So I just set out walking while they searched
the stagecoach.  They didn't try to stop me." I concluded.
     "They'd've done you a favor if they had." the man said.
     "No, they wouldn't have." I said dourly.
     He saw, I guess, that this was a touchy subject and fell silent.
After a time, I said, "I'm forgetting my manners.  My name is Benjamin
Mott."  He nodded an acknowledgment and I waited, then said, "What's your
name?"
     He stood up lazily, picked the rabbit up.  "Rabbit ought to be done by
now.  Hope you don't mind eating with your fingers."
     "I don't mind.  Right now, I could eat it raw." I said.  "But what's
your name?"
     He looked at me.  "Son, out here, you learn not to ask a person's
name.  He'll tell you what he wants you to call him when he's ready."  He
took out a large knife from his belt and whacked the rabbit into rough
halves, handing me the front part and keeping the hind part for himself.  I
had more bulk but with less meat on that bulk; he'd divided it fair.  "Fact
is," He said.  "Right now I'm in between names I care to use."
     "Oh.  So, what do I do until then?" I said.  "Just say 'Hey, you?'"
     "You can make up a nickname for a person, if you think you can make it
stick." he said.  "And if he won't get riled up enough by it to shoot you
for it.  So pick what you want to call me, but remember who's got the gun."
     This was an unusual situation!  I thought about it while I tore at the
rabbit with my teeth, and said, "I could call you Rabbit."
     "No you couldn't." he said laconically.
     "I'm sorry." I said.  "I'm new at this.  Then how about Hunter?"
     He thought about it, nodded.  "That'll do."
     "Okay, I'll call you Hunter." I said.  "You can call me Ben."
     Something nearby yipped, and it wasn't very far away.  Almost a dog
bark, but there was something foreign in that sound, higher and more
savage.  Then I heard more, and I shivered.  "Those wolves sound close." I
said.
     "Coyotes." he judged.  "And I reckon they are."
     "So what do we do?"
     "Stay next to the fire and sleep with one eye open." he said.  "That's
what I'm going to do.  Usually they know to leave humans alone."
     "Okay." I said.  I followed his example and chunked the bones of the
rabbit into the pool.
     He pulled out his harmonica again and began to play it.  I didn't
recognize the tunes, but that was my ignorance and not his playing, he was
good with that little mouth-organ.
     The coyotes yipped again and they were closer than ever.  The horse
smelled them and began to whinny nervously.
     "Hunter?" I said.
     He stopped his tune in mid-note and said, "What?"
     "Could I sleep next to you?" I said.  "I haven't been out in the
wilderness before, and...."
     A howl ripped the air, and snarls nearby, the horse whinnied again and
Hunter shouted, "Ho, there, steady down."  And the horse obeyed, shuddering
and whuffling with its nostrils.
     I was blind to dignity, I got up on all fours and skittered over to
next to Hunter.  He let me get right up beside him and I pressed myself
against his strong side.
     "I thought you came out here to be a rough and tough cowboy." was his
only observation of my behavior.
     "I did." I said.  Then smiled, embarrassed.  "Okay if I learn how a
little at a time, though?"  He chuckled, a small soft sound within his
chest.
     Another series of snarls; the coyotes were fighting.  I clutched at
him and again, he let me. "What are they doing?" I asked in a whisper.
     "Probably found the guts and hide of that rabbit." he said in a normal
voice.  "Sounds like they're out where I skinned and cleaned it.  Never
clean your kill too close to your campsite, that just invites the
scavengers like coyotes right into your camp."
     "They'll leave when they finish it?"
     "Probably." he said.
     "Is that why we threw our bones into the water?" I said.
     "Yep." he replied.
     Another loud series of snarls and I clutched him again.  Then I was
ashamed, for they moved away soon after.  "I'm sorry." I said.  "I'm acting
like a baby."
     "You're in a strange place, all alone." he allowed generously.  "It
can make a fellow nervous."
     "I'm glad I found you." I said.
     His hand moved and came up to encircle me, clutch my outside arm.  I
looked at him, and his eyes were somehow both obscuring and revealing at
the same time and somehow that combination told me what was on his mind.
     He wanted me.  He wasn't going to insist or force or try anything
other than things like his arm around me, a little at a time, see if I was
willing.  If I wasn't, he was going to back off.
     And seeing that...well, the emotion I had was a pretty simple feeling,
but explaining why I had it is pretty complex.  I had been forcibly
violated some hours before, you'd think that sexual contact would be the
last thing on my mind.  And it would have been, maybe, except for
everything else.
     I was alone in a strange place, and he knew all about how to live in
this land.  I was afraid, and he was my protector.  He had safeguarded me
while the coyotes came and went, taking my fear of him with them as they
departed.  I was safe with him.
     More than that, his actions were noble and clean.  Whatever his past,
he wasn't going to do anything to me I wasn't willing to.  You have to have
been taken down, used, to understand how precious this self-control is, the
permission to give yourself at your own pace and in your own way.  He was
letting me choose.
     Finally, I had been violated, dirtied by the two bandits.  He could
wash them away, renew me, make me whole again.  With him, I would no longer
have to look back just at the bandit's violation, I would have also the
memories of a pair of strong arms around me, a gentle touch, a giving as
well as taking.  It would balance out the pain with pleasure, the
degradation with dignity.  He would give me my soul back again.
     As I said, a simple emotion with a complex reason; I saw the desire in
his eyes and they sparked my own, and I was reaching up for him, offering
my lips to his, if he wanted them.
     He did; he kissed me, and his mustache tickled my nose and upper lip,
thrilling my skin as his arms reached to encircle me, pulling me onto him,
my chest pressed against his larger one, my legs falling to either side of
his body so that our crotches intermeshed, his face uplifted by the saddle
he reclined against, so that his face was easily, eminently kissable.
     His hand stroked down my back and found the top of my pants, snaffled
inside the waistband and suddenly my pants were too tight about my body, I
wanted them off!  And his hand, rough from prairie work, cupped one of my
buttocks and palped the cheek, almost a massaging squeeze and the pain of
my earlier violation awakened only to slumber once more, this time forever.
I sighed in happiness at my feeling confirmed; this man could cleanse me,
wash away all the pain, now and forever.
     I snuffled into his mouth as his tongue snaked out and tasted mine, my
fingers working at my fly pressed between us, trying to get the
thrice-cursed clothing off from my body, I had to be bare to be washed, I
needed my body open and available to him, so that he could purify me.
     Hunter shifted, found a place where his cloth-covered cock could rub
against my body and began to hunch upwards, small, soft sounds escaping his
lips, like the sigh of the wind.
     I hated to tear myself away from Hunter's lips, from his arms, but the
demands of love had to be satisfied; I pressed myself downwards, feeling
his erection pressing now against my stomach, against my chest, and I let
my cheek touch his firm hard body, so warm, so strong, so safe, and after
that brief pause of reassurance to myself (he's real, he wants me, I need
him), I scooted down and found my face at the juncture of his thighs.
     The buttons on his fly were stiff, the clothing Hunter wore was new
and strong-fibered, but I managed to undo them though my fingers trembled
at the effort of dexterity, I managed at last to free the cloth from
itself, and opened the pants to a palpable whoosh of warmth and male scent
that danced on my face and entered my nostrils, an intoxicating stimulus
and I snaked out the tall, strong, dark prick from its hiding place along
one jeans leg and swivelled around like a pole on a grinding wheel, long
and stiff, it pivoted and, freeing thus from the trousers' cloth, it sprang
upwards to its full glory with a new burst of deep, intensely male aroma,
this now-more-powerful bouquet of manhood making my mouth water, so that I
had an abundance of my saliva to lavish upon it as I bent over and pressed
my lips against the luxurious head and opened my mouth, letting my moisture
flow around the strong, purple bulb, feeling its soft-velvet texture as it
caressed my lips and tongue and roof of my mouth, and I groaned at the
sheer power it exuded, the rich uxorious silk of it as the head slid down
to my throat and I was filled with his prong, it was like I nursed courage
from its salty presence and now the night was no longer cold, the wind was
no longer harsh, the sounds of the plains were no longer foreign, for now
it beat within my very temples and comforted my soul, for this was the
primal sounds of life itself.
     And now I serviced this dark warrior of the night, this lone kindly
stranger, feeding upon him while I granted him pleasure; he still kept his
sounds of joy small, as if he felt furtive and secretive even in our lonely
camp, but the sounds that did successfully flee from his lips were
heartfelt and sincere blessings of gratitude.
     His cock was so strong, so firm, it felt so much alive and vibrant
within my lips that I nursed it some time in blissful enjoyment, loving the
sounds of joy he made as I suckled him, feeling a very part of this wide
new land, and then the sounds of his pleasure turned to a gentle sucker.
     "Here, now, not much more of that." Hunter said to me.  "I wouldn't
want to end this so soon.  Come, shuck those pants and let me have a chance
at those smooth round buttocks of yours.  I've wanted them since I saw you
bending over to drink."
     I was loathe to release his body, but could not doubt the sincerity of
his request.  I released him, stood up, looking down at his body, still a
black figure against the woolen blanket, that danced with orange highlights
from the fire, but his cock, which was coated with my saliva, was a
flickering burning pillar in that light, it was an orange tower of fiery
manhood that beckoned to me.
     I shuffled down my trousers, found myself balked at my boots which I
had neglected to remove, and fumbled with the mess for at time.
     "Here, let me." Hunter said and I put up one of my legs to him,
awkwardly, expecting him to help me off with my boots.  Instead, he grasped
the bottom of my trousers and gave a tug, I nearly tumbled, but held
upright by hopping, and he got the leg down and then the rest of it
followed easily enough.
     "Now give me the other." He said.
     I obeyed and this leg against yielded to him, and soon I was standing,
bare from my waist to my calves, but still wearing my new boots.
     "Now you're ready." Hunter observed.
     I was.  I straddled him and sat down upon his stomach, reached behind
and guided his heavy dong to my buttocks.  I wanted to be on top, I wanted
to be in control, for only in this way would I separate this event from the
morning's violence, and somehow he picked up that part from me, for he
relinquished his aborted effort to rise up himself, lay back and let me
control.
     His cockhead was larger than the one which had inserted itself in me
that morning, and my body winced from the thick plum-shaped invader, but I
was not to be denied and it found a purchase within the tucker of the
muscles of my sphincter and once it had that hold, it was easy enough for
me to press myself back upon it and it went in with a felt-but-unheard pop,
of a sudden it was inside me.
     "Ah, there's the head of it." Hunter told me unnecessarily.  "Take
your time, kid, I know it's a whopper."
     "The bigger they are, the harder they fall." I quoted at him from my
textbook.
     He laughed.  "Well, it's hard all right, but I don't know about the
falling part of it."
     My body had relaxed after a few convulsive clutches, I then pushed
down again and now the wide globe of his glans was plowing its way into my
body.  He gave a real groan then, the very first one, and his tongue
briefly darted out unbidden before curling back inside.  And I pushed again
and his tongue again revealed itself.
     I threw my head up and let out my own groan of satisfaction; I had him
now and I would take him all within me!  I began to force this massive pud
deeper into my body; I felt it washing me clean as it passed into me, so I
had to take all of it; I grunted and rutted like a common farm animal in my
lust.
     "Whoa, now, steady down, kid." Hunter warned me.  "Don't bust yourself
up; you're taking it too fast!"
     His kindness was a laving soap upon my spirit, though I did not heed
them, I was now pressing with his balls up against my buttocks, I had him
all, all of him!
     "All of you." I sighed out.  "I got all of you!"
     "Yep, I reckon you do." Hunter allowed.  "Now what are you going to
do?"
     I relished this moment a little longer, but the hot pud inside of me
would not be denied; when Hunter wearied of my stillness and ventured a few
tentative thrusts up with his buttocks, I galvanized into action and began
to move myself upon him, bouncing up and down the way a novice rider
bounces in the saddle of a galloping mare; I bounced upon this stallion
stranger, and he groaned, rubbed his hands on the insides of my thighs, and
his cock heated rapidly up inside my buttocks.
     And now our groans were the howls of animals in the wilderness, he and
I were the beasts that others should fear, for we vented our passion
vocally now, our groans and yelps of joy feeding on each other, and when he
grabbed my cock in a panting, lust-fluttering grip and began to yank it
back and forth with his hard, calloused hands, all horned with rustic
labor, I immediately felt my climax seize me, and this time I welcomed it
for the longtime friend once more, the familiar sense of unreality, the
sense of oneness with the entire universe, the tingling tremor throughout
my limbs and digits, the way my toes would always curl up against the ball
of my foot and clench there in a near-painful manner, all this was old and
accustomed sensations, and I was shriven, I climbed the height with
practiced ease and once there, I rode the avalanche of my ejaculation down
from the crest once more, flying with the jets of my sperm that landed upon
Hunter's black shirt, soaking his dark chest, and he grunted, his eyes
became almost comically wide, and he flushed a deep scarlet beneath his
tanned face, and roared, and I felt his sperm pumping into me the way water
fills a pail, a splashing about, curling wave that settled down only to be
redisturbed by the next jet so that it rippled and collided into interior
jets of desire that washed through me, seeking equilibrium deep within my
bowels.
     My climax wrung me dry and dropped me and I fell onto my dark-clad
lover's chest while he still grunted with the last dregs of his own passion
and upon that rippling, strong chest I rode as if in a cradle, safe,
protected, loved and I let my lassitude steal over me.  I barely felt him
gently pull his flaccid cock out from my buttocks (that cockhead of his
wanted to remain within me, and I would have enjoyed having it there
despite the awkward position for sleeping, but then he shifted me to beside
him yet still within his embrace, and pulling covers up over us, I felt the
warmth of his body and the warmth of the coverings replacing the warmth of
the now-dying fire.
     We arose the next morning very early, breakfasted upon some hard
biscuits he carried in his saddle-bags, hard with their age of nearly a
week since baking but better than nothing, and he saddled his horse,
brought me up behind him and we rode back the way I had come.
     I clung to him for safety upon the moving horse and for fear.  If the
men were still there...but they were not.  Instead the stagecoach was still
sitting there, and in the distance down the road, more a cloud of dust than
a form, I could see a group of riders from the direction of Lonely Rock.
      "That'll be the stagecoach hands from the Lonely Rock way-station."
opined Hunter.  "You just stand there like you've been waiting here all
along."
     "Will I be seeing you again?" I asked him, feeling timid now that we
were parting.
     He cocked his head.  "Reckon we might.  We'll see where the wind takes
me."
     And he turned his horse, dug in with his heels and rode back across
the trackless wasteland, but I had no fears for his safety.
     I spent the time waiting for the riders in finding my clothing and my
bag which had been strewn about liberally.  My money had not been found,
all three dollars of it was still inside its hiding place.  I gathered up
my other belongings (nothing had been taken from it though the pockets of
the clothes had been turned out by the bandits) and waited for the riders.
     I would be in Lonely Rock by noon, and at my uncle's ranch by the same
nightfall.

			    END OF CHAPTER TWO
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