Date: Wed, 18 Aug 1999 22:36:58 PDT
From: Wishus Teglin <teglin@excite.com>
Subject: 'Three Weeks To Heaven'
Three Weeks to Heaven, A Boylove Romance (M/b)
Book Two
by Teglin
teglin@excite.com
FOREWORD:
As with Book One of this story, I am indebted to Ganymede for my
inspiration to write. His stories remain the best in the boylove
genre, mixing eroticism with romance.
And again, this is dedicated to the boy, wherever he may be, who needs
love and care. In short, dedicated to all boys, anywhere and everywhere.
Copyright 1999 by Teglin. You may freely copy this boylove romance
and distribute it. Please have the courtesy not to alter it in any
way.
WARNING:
This boylove romance contains descriptions
of sexual acts between men and minor boys. Their sexual relationships
are very important to the story, as part of their love-making, but it is
their spiritual relationship that I wanted to explore even more, as the
very essence of boylove.
If you are under age 18, or the concept of a man/boy relationship offends
you, don't read further.
Chapter 1
Two days had passed since Wishus and I parted. Two days of hard riding up
out of his valley, across Black Mountain, and back down into the foothills
leading to the Rio Grande Valley. Every step my horse took seemed to pull
more taut at my heart, as if I were physically tied to my dearest Wishus,
and that tie was near to breaking.
Yet I would not let myself or my mount rest. Even the few hours each night
that we had to stop to eat and get some sleep, were fitfull for me. Images
of Wishus swirled through my dreams. He standing god-like, in golden
splendor in his luscious green meadow, fishing at the bank of the creek,
bare-chested, the sun bleaching his blonde hair into the infinite hues of
light. His tresses playing about his thin shoulders. Or me nuzzing in
that hair that first night of our meeting, when I had all-too-briefly
gotten him to lay down in my arms - that night when I began to care for
him, to show him that he was loved and cherished.... The sweet kisses that
he gave me so freely the next day as we toured his beautiful lost city up
in the canyon, the fleshy taste of his little dick and balls in my mouth
when we finally made love that night. And our last moments together, when
even through tears at our parting, he had dropped to his knees there in the
forest, at the trailhead, and taken my own swaying dick into his little
mouth and made me hard, and drank my seed, to make us `One'.
I could swear that through those two long days of riding I still felt the
moistness of Wishus' lips on my shaft. And the glorious warmth and
tightness of his sucking. Just as when I had been with him in his valley,
now that I was alone again I was suffering from a constant cycle of arousal
and flaccid weakness. Memories of our love-making made me hard with
desire. The simple joy at finally having found the love of my life, made
me hard. But I would grow soft and weak every time I remembered the mile
after mile of distance I had to put between us, before we could once again
be together. Not just the distance, but the worry about him, about the
lack of attention and care that his Aunt and Uncle gave him.
But I had a task to complete. I had to finish what I had started, answer
the call of my long-time friend to help rescue his own son from renegade
Indians - no, there would be no rest for me or my horse. I had to fulfill
my promise to Wishus to return to his side within three weeks. And I had
to be true to my friend and his son Joey.
"Oh Wishus, what are you doing right now!!" That desperate, helpless
thought stalked me practically every moment, fighting with my need to pay
attention to the trail, plan the days ahead, and get the job done.
-------------------------
Two days and nights had passed, and now on the morning of the third day,
Wishus stumbled almost dazed, for the third time, up to his aerie in the
ancient ruins. Tears dropped to darken the rocks beneath his feet. He
still could think of little else. Would Teg return? Why did they have to
be separated? Would he lose the only person who had loved him
unconditionally?
He was having a hard time sleeping at night. Teg alone had brought him
moments of security and comfort, dispelling the loneliness he had felt
since coming to live here. Now without Teg, it seemed like his every fear
loomed larger than before, weighed heavier on his mind. As if without Teg,
there was no hope.
When he reached his hidden city, tucked inside the gigantic canyon wall
cavern, his heart quickened. They had agreed, upon parting, that he would
come here to feel renewed. To feel his lover's presence. To reaffirm that
they would be together again ... and to listen ... to listen in the wind,
for whispered words from his man.
He wiped the tears from his eyes once more, and climbed the terraces to his
Shaman's Tower, and sat down on the doorstep, facing the wide-expanse of
the forested canyon floor, and far in the distance the yawning canyon
mouth, where it opened out into the valley.
He could hear the wind in the tree-tops below. Faint, far away, and he
strained to hear something more ....
Minutes passed, then an hour, but the boy did not stir. He wanted to delay
his return to the valley floor below. His uncle and aunt wouldn't miss
him, probably wouldn't notice he was gone until suppertime.
The sun beat down through clear skies, but here in his secluded and
sheltered city, the afternoon shade was cool, the breeze soft against his
skin. He leaned his small frame back against the cool adobe wall of the
tower, and closed his eyes briefly ... just briefly ....
-------------------------
Now on my third day without my boy, I grimly rode into Miranda, a little
ranching and farming town, concentrating as much on my thoughts of Wishus
as on refreshing my supplies. I needed at least one more blanket, to
replace the two that Wishus and I had put up in his secret haven, his
little fort up in the ancient Indian city he had found. It had been colder
each night than I had thought it would be, and I really needed another
blanket. Some oats for my horse too, since I was riding him so hard.
It was a dead town. Perhaps most everyone was taking an afternoon siesta.
Not much activity going on. What dust my horse threw up as he plodded down
the dirt streets went unnoticed. A couple of men were leaning against
posts in front of the saloon. A wagon was pulled up to the open doors of a
stable, where a big man was loading feed. Looked like a little boy sitting
there on the seat. I couldn't see his face, just some black hair hanging
down raggedly around his head, lustrous dark, dark black hair. A light
brown complexion on his neck, and on his arms, where he had rolled up his
sleeves. A Mexican, I guessed. His slight figure suggested he might be
around six or seven years old. But he was a boy, and even though I was in
love, even though I had been pining away for two straight days now over
Wishus - perhaps because of that - the predictable happened.
I can't help it, it's always been a part of me. I see a boy, something
happens to me. My blood quickens, I search unobtrusively to see if the boy
is pretty, and how old he is. It's strange. Practically every boy is a
sexual object for me. It's my first reaction upon seeing one. But there
is also something more - a real love for boys, just the desire to be around
them, to partake of their beauty, yes, but also to give of myself in return
- to love and be loved. They're kind of like works of art, each one, and
my eyes are drawn to them. Of course I got hard. But I had been aroused
so often in the last few days over Wishus, that I was already a mass of
tingling, aching tissue, so this one boy didn't change the way I was
feeling all that much. I didn't have time to angle for a better look,
however. So I forced myself back to the task at hand, and stopped before a
general store across from the wagon.
When I came back out of the store I saw the wagon was still there. Looked
like the man had finished loading the grain, because he was taking the
reigns from the boy. "So long, little boy," I thought to myself. "Go with
God. Have a good life. Thanks for gracing my presence for these few
minutes." That's the way I was, always whispering silently to the boys I
encountered in life. Until Wishus, that's about all I could ever do - wish
them well, and watch them go their way out of my life. Now I smiled,
knowing that there was my special boy waiting for me.
I hurried to my horse at the hitching rail and started packing.
Suddenly the big man across the street yelled out, as if angry. Something
in Spanish. Now, I don't know any Spanish really, so I had no idea what
the guy was angry about, and didn't much care. I had other things to worry
about. But in the mid-afternoon silence that had settled about this town,
the man's rantings were hard to ignore, and I suddenly remembered the boy.
No one else had been about, so he must be yelling at the boy. I looked up
in worry at the very instant that the kid screamed, and I saw him cowering
back in the wagon seat, trying to get as far away from the man as he could.
The man just reached farther over and I saw him brutally slap the kid, as
he barked at him. The man's back was to me, and I could just barely see
the little boy's terror- stricken face as he had turned half-towards me,
sideways against the far edge of the wagon seat. The kid went silent, and
drew back tensed, as if knowing that there were more blows to come.
Well, I'm ashamed to admit that I stood there stunned for a moment. I
looked around bewildered, and saw the two men who had been standing in
front of the saloon, a couple of doors down from the wagon. Now they were
standing at attention, sure enough, watching what was going on.
Dumbfounded, I saw that one of the men had a badge on his vest. Must be
the town Marshall. Damnit, I thought, what's he just standing there for!
And then, damnit, why am I just standing here?!
Yes, I'm ashamed to admit it took me that long, but at least when I did
come to my senses, I didn't hesitate any longer. I simply dropped the
supplies I had bought and took off running across the dirt street.
The man certainly did not see me coming, and if he heard me, he didn't seem
to care, because he just continued to stand there slapping the kid about
his head. As I got closer, I thought to myself, now this is one big man!
I'm 6'3", tall and rather slim. This man had to be three inches taller,
and big! I mean he was a brute. Looked like one of his arms was as big as
my leg.
I'm no coward, but I'm not stupid either. One, I had to stop this brute
from hurting the boy anymore. Two, I didn't care to get hurt myself, and I
figured if it came to blows, this guy was going to make short work of me.
So when I finally got close enough, without saying a word, I just clasped
my fists together, rose up on the balls of my feet, then threw my whole
body towards the man, using the combined weight of my arms like a
sledge-hammer on the back of the guy's neck.
He never knew what hit him. Just crumpled to the ground, knocked out. I
kind of ricotched off him and smacked my side and shoulder into the wagon.
The little boy was sharp. Before the horses could react to me jolting the
wagon, he grabbed the reins and held firm, all the while looking at me in
awe, in disbelief. I looked down at the man, to make sure he was out, then
up at the boy. I felt sick all of a sudden. What a sight he was! The
cheek below his right eye was swelling, and there was blood trickling from
his nose and a split lip. The blood mixed with his tears, both forming
dirty trails down his dark skin. I choked up then, but struggled to give
him a little questioning smile, and held out my arms to him. He sat there
for a minute, fiddling with the reins nervously, and using his sleeves to
brush the remaining tears, from his cheeks, and sniffling all the while,
gasping for short breaths, his little chest heaving. I could see the
struggle going on in his eyes. Coal-black eyes, wide-open in wonder. He
leaned forward tentatively, warily, and glanced down at his tormentor, as
if to make sure that he was definitely unconscious, then back to me again.
Well, once he made up his mind that I was no threat, I guess, he didn't
hesitate any longer. He literally launched himself at my open arms, and
let out a pitiful little wail, and started crying again. I just gathered
him up and wrapped my arms about him, and hugged him tight. I closed my
eyes briefly, feeling faint, when I felt the little boy's head rest in the
crook of my neck. You see, he had wrapped himself around me just like
Wishus had done so often, locking his legs around my waist, his arms around
my neck, and practically marrying his body to mine. For an instant I felt
Wishus against me and wanted to cry myself.
All boy! My Wishus, embracing me, letting me breathe in the scent of his
hair, feeling his hardening little cocklet starting to rub wantonly against
my belly .
I took a deep breath, and opened my eyes. I had to force myself back to
the present. I could feel the lines of this little boy's body beneath his
dirty shirt, I cupped the soft flesh of his little butt with one hand, I
caressed his dark hair, and held his head closer onto my shoulder. A boy
in need. But not Wishus. I breathed in, smelling this boy's own unique
unwashed scent. An odor, others would have called it. Not me. He was a
boy, and his scent was heavenly, the feel of his silken black hair rubbing
my cheek was heavenly, the feel of his ribs under the caress of my hand was
heavenly. I suddenly realized I was hard as a rock, and my cock was
standing straight up inside my pants, my dick-head squashed beneath the
boy's crotch.
I flushed then. No, not because I was afraid of being noticed. I flushed
in shame. Because of Wishus.
I had been a boylover as long as I could remember, and this was the way I
was. Any boy, any reasonably attractive boy, would do this to me. To be
truthful, I revelled in my arousal, and held this little boy closer. This
feeling was what I lived for. But I loved Wishus! Wasn't my body
betraying my love? And was it really right for me to become aroused
holding this boy when he was in terror?
That taut band about my heart grew even tighter. I almost cried out in
agony. A boy in my arms, that wonderful joy I felt having a boy in my
arms, the wonderful rightness of being aroused by this boy, of wanting him
near me - yet, wasn't that like forgetting that my heart belonged with
Wishus? "Wishus, dear Wishus, forgive me," I pleaded silently. "I love
you so much, Wishus Allouitious Knight!"
Time to think all that through later. I affirmed my love for my boy, back
in his valley, and felt better about it. Because I knew I meant it. If
only he could hear me!
Right now, I had to deal with this situation.
The kid was still snivelling, and wiping his tears and running nose with
the backs of his hands, still not unclasping them from around my neck. I
felt the wetness on my neck and shoulder, but didn't mind. Stains from a
boy in need. Like badges of honor, in this case.
I looked about, and noticed that several other people had stepped out onto
the sidewalks to see what was going on. The stable hostler stood closest.
He was standing there worriedly, rubbing his hands nervously on a cloth
hanging from his belt. When I looked his way, he drawled, "If I was you,
mister, I'd drop that little greaser and high-tail it out of here. Big
John there ain't going to be out for long, and you'll be mince-meat when he
gets up."
My hackles rose at that. I could hear the disgust in the man's voice, and
his total lack of concern for the little boy in my arms. So I just ignored
him, and turned towards the Marshall, whom I saw approaching now.
"Marshall, I'm going to need some help here. This man needs to be in jail,
and we can't just leave this little boy alone here. You have someone here,
maybe a Lady's Society, who can take care of him?"
"It's Constable, mister. Not Marshall. And no, we don't have no Lady's
Society here to take care of no little greaser boys. You made a big
mistake there, interfering with Big John ."
"He was hitting the kid, god-damnit! What did you expect me to do?"
I expect you better get on out of town now, is what I expect," he drawled.
"Bill, here, is right. Big John's liable to kill you when he wakes u.."
"Not if he's in jail, where he belongs for hitting this kid, he won't," I
responded in disbelief at the apparent attitude of the man.
"Ain't no jail around here that's going to keep Big John Smalley locked up,
mister," the Constable laughed, and looked at those gathering around us,
for agreement. I looked around too, and saw nods of amused agreement, or
looks of fear in the eyes of some, like they expected something even worse
to happen soon.
"If I was you," the Constable continued, "I'd just put the little greaser
back in the wagon, turn around, and ."
"He's no greaser!" I cut him off with a gutteral snarl. "He's a little boy
who needed my help. Now he needs yours. Now who can I turn him over to,
who'll take care of him?" I looked around, but noticed that a few of those
gathered around started to shy away now, to shuffle off, not wanting to be
involved anymore.
"Nobody around here's going to take care of a Mexy kid, mister. And
especially one of Big John's kids. Now I'm telling you for the last time,
to git. I won't be responsible for what happens when he wakes up, if you
don't."
"I'll be responsible then," I said with finality. "Where's this boy's
home? His mama?"
"Far as I know, Big John's never been married. This kid and his big sister
work for John out at his place. Ain't never seen the sister, but I guess
she's takin care of the house out there."
"Work for Big John," I said mockingly, in disgust. "This boy couldn't be
more than six or seven years old. Alright, so where is this place, where
is the sister? I'll take him to her."
"You're on your own, mister," the constable said, as he started to turn
away back up the sidewalk. "I warned you, and I ain't interfering in Big
John's business, no way."
I looked around, and said, "Anyone else got the guts to tell me where this
boy lives?" No response, just blank-eyed dumb stares, or lowered eyes from
those who looked embarrassed but still afraid to answer.
Well, I'm not one to stand around waiting for someone else to help, so I
decided then and there to shuck myself of this town, and take care of the
situation myself. I couldn't speak Spanish, but maybe this little tyke
could speak English.
I nudged Big John with my boot, looking down around the still clinging form
of the little boy. No motion. He was still out cold. But I imagined he'd
wake up pretty soon. Now I had business to attend to, and more important
than that, I had to return to Wishus in less than three weeks. So I had to
get this boy back to his sister NOW, and hopefully figure some way to
convince her to leave her employment with this brute. Damn, what was I
going to do if she said no? Was I going to leave this little boy there,
knowing this monster would return home and probably beat him again?
First things first. I tried to lower the boy to the ground, but soon
discovered he had a vice grip around my neck.
"Uh ... kid ... uh, I need to let you down now," I tried to lower him
again, but he let out a plaintive cry, and tightened his hold on me.
"Look, I'm not leaving you here, I just need to ...." His grip got even
tighter.
He either didn't understand, or was just too afraid, so I gave up. He was
holding onto me so securely that I hardly had to hold onto him anyway! So I
could have at least one hand free. I went to the front of the wagon and
kicked out the trace pin, then quickly walked around both horses, loosening
the trace straps. A couple of the onlookers started to offer advice to me.
Like, "You're begging for trouble, mister." Or, "Better listen to the
marshall." I even overheard others talking about the girl Big John had out
at his place. How they had seen her once. She was young, but a looker.
Big John wasn't going to take it kindly if I went out there to find her. I
just ignored them all. If they weren't going to help with the boy, then
they could all go take a leap, for all I cared.
I slipped the harness over the horses' heads, and then yelled and slapped
each on the rump, until they took off up the street. No doubt they'd head
home, and I could simply follow them there.
Now to my own horse, across the street. And a closer look at the little
boy I had clinging to me for life. You could hardly call him pretty, just
then, although I could see that he would be without his injuries. I leaned
my head back and gently lifted his head away from my shoulder as I crossed
the street. Big John had struck him really hard at least twice. The kid's
swelling right eye was almost closed now. And the whole left side of his
mouth was worse than my first impression. His lip looked like pulp - a raw
wound, with blood trickling from it. No wonder he hadn't answered my
questions.
All this time my dick had been ramrod stiff in my pants - I guess the
combination of a boy in my arms, and the rush of emotion defending him, had
excited me to fever pitch. But now, seeing and sensing how hurt this boy
was, I started to soften. I blanched, and felt a little cold, and clammy,
all of a sudden. If I hadn't stepped in to help him, Big John might have
killed this little boy out of nothing more, apparently, than pure meanness.
Again I tried to loosen his grip on me, but now I noticed him flinching as
I put my hands on his sides. More gingerly, I felt his rib cage. He
winced. The bastard had hit him there too. Poor kid must be one big
bruise. Well, I wasn't going to force the kid to let go, for more than one
reason now. Both because it hurt him when I tried to force him away, and
because he no doubt sensed that he was secure in my arms. I wondered how
long he had been hammered by Big John.
I managed to get my purchases loaded on my horse, and then mount up, all
with this little boy in my arms. He held onto me - in a pinch, I could
even free both my hands, so it wasn't all that difficult. Then I trailed
off down the street with nary a glance back at Big John or any care at all
for this cursed town called Miranda. Any group of people who would ignore
the suffering of a boy, even a `greaser' boy, as they called him, could
just disappear from the Earth for all I cared.
"Son, you going to tell me where your sister is?" I said to him softly.
No answer, just a brief stiffening of his body against mine, as if he were
frightened again.
"It's alright, I'll track these horses. Now if you feel like it, you tell
me if we're headed the right way, ok?"
----------------------
Hours passed, while Wishus slept during that still, quiet, hot afternoon,
when it seemed the whole canyon and all it's inhabitants were taking a
siesta. Dreams came. Of Teg. Of their time together. And just like Teg
had promised, the memories did renew his spirit. Again he rested his small
hand in the strong palm of his love. Again they stole kisses, some
passionate, some light-hearted. Again they lay together in the night, with
his man showing him how to become one with him ...
... the boy awoke late, lazily brushed his wind-blown hair from his eyes,
and lifted himself up on one elbow. He was surprised to see that the
shadow of the canyon wall had stretched almost all the way across canyon
floor, and knew he had to return to the cabin now. He sighed softly, both
happy that he had dreamed so clearly of Teg, and a little sad that he had
to leave now, and go back down to the cabin. Another lonely night, pretty
much ignored by his aunt and uncle during the evening, and then totally
alone up in his bed in the loft through the long dark hours. Still, he
felt good. The memories lingered from his dreams . he wondered, coming out
of the dreamy haze. Had he heard it? Hadn't he really heard it in the
wind? "I love you so much, Wishus Allouitious Knight!"
He smiled wistfully, certain that he had heard it. That Teg had really
said it . wherever he was. Wishus felt comforted, ready to return to the
valley for another night alone. To wait. To wait for the return of his
man.
-------------------------
Tracking the horses was easy enough. I did it half unconsciously all the
way to the gate of Big John's ranch. Exhaustion was catching up with me, I
guess, and during the ride, with this little boy's silky hair brushing my
left cheek, I almost went into a trance. I imagined Wishus riding with me,
his sweet locks against my cheek, murmuring his love for me, accepting the
caress of my lips on the top of his head. Wishus parts his hair right down
the middle. Now I closed my eyes and and imagined tracing that line,
lightly kissing his scalp. He giggled, but actually pushed his head up
against my lips, signalling that he wanted me to nuzzle him. Well, if he
wanted more, I was not about to disappoint hi ....
My little friend brought me out of my trance, by lifting his head off my
shoulder for the first time, and half-twisting in the saddle. He pointed
to a shed over under some trees, and kept repeating something like
"Rolanda, Rolanda", which I took to be his sister's name. The road through
the gate led straight up to the ranch house, but I figured this little boy
knew what he was doing. He strained in the saddle, his legs still clamped
about my middle, with his torso undulating as if he were going to propel my
horse over towards the shed. Whatever was there, he was excited. I heard
the anxiety in his voice, the breathlessness. He wanted me to hurry. So I
did.
I spurred the horse a bit, and he trotted on over at an angle from the road
towards the shed. Gigantic cottonwoods shaded the whole ranch house area,
and out beyond I could see cattle grazing in the fields. With a practiced
eye, I noted that Big John had himself a nice spread. Idyllic here under
the whispering wind in the cottonwoods, in the cool shade. Too bad this
place was owned by a child-beater. Dampened my enthusiasm some, I can tell
you. He had no right to anything good, if he could lift a finger to this
little boy in my arms.
No one was about. The place seemed deserted. Not even a chicken plucking
at the ground. The only sounds were this little boy's repeated entreaties
to me, as if he were hurrying me on, the creak of saddle leather, and that
swooshing sound that seemed always present up in a tall cottonwood. I had
always loved that sound, but now it seemed kind of mournful, for some
reason. Damn this Big John, he knew how to ruin a day. I spat down into
the dirt of his ranch house compound.
My companion almost flung himself out of my embrace, when we drew up to the
shed. He would have fallen the six feet to the ground if I hadn't grabbed
him bodily around his waist, then lowered him on down gently. He ran to
the door and tried to open it. As I got down I saw that it was latched and
locked with a bar. Well, now I was starting to wonder. If Rolanda were in
this shed, she was obviously locked in there by Big John.
"Take it easy, kid," I held out one hand, palm forward, as I lowered myself
from the saddle, trying to calm the little boy. He was rattling the door,
trying to jerk the bar out. It wouldn't budge for him. He called out to
whoever was within. "Rolan, Rolan," he yelled, almost whining. I heard a
weak voice answer back, a feathery-light, weak voice, a sweet, sweet voice.
Oh god, for a minute my heart skipped a beat. That was Wishus I heard.
Calling to me from the doorstep of his aerie up in his lost city. It was
his soft, sing-song voice, whispering plaintively to me to return to him
... but no, it couldn't be ....
"Metrio," I thought I heard the voice say, then something more in Spanish.
So that was the little boy's name. Metrio. Metrio? Rolanda sounded far
away, as if she were calling with her last breath. Or perhaps she was ill.
Knowing Big John as little as I did, I already imagined the worst, and
roughly shifted the latch bar up, and jerked open the door.
Sensations hit me then with stunning force, one right after another, or all
mixed in together. First the smell, as my eyes tried to adjust to the
gloom within the shed. On warm draughts of air, flowing from the opened
door into the cooler air of the shaded ground outside, a scent, not an
unpleasant scent at all, swept over me. But it was unusual and strong, a
mixture of body odors, I could tell immediately, a wisp of ... well, to be
crude about it, if you've ever run your hand down inside your pants,
between your cheeks, then smelt it, you'll know what I mean. Not a fecal
odor, at all, not even necessarily dirty, but in a way sensual. Very basic
and so very very intimate to one's self. Another, equally intimate image
struck me as the scent registered on me - how it smelled when, just three
nights ago, I had sucked my dear Wishus, and run my finger tips over and
over his little anus, mixing my saliva with his own bodily mucus and
fluids. That memory alone was almost hynotic - enough to draw me into that
shed. Added to that, was that unmistakable, oh so familiar chlorinated
scent that I always smelt when I jacked off, and my semen came spurting
out.
My dick sprang to attention then and there, at the doorway to the shed,
knowing almost unconsciously, just from the smells, that someone had been
involved there very recently in sex acts. Big John was obviously screwing
his little maid here, then. And had locked her in here afterwards.
It was rather dark inside, and there was a partition wall extending part
way out from one side, blocking my view to the back. It was from there,
from beyond the partition, that I heard the voice again. "No banga in
aqui, Metrio!" the soft voice seemed to plead. "Metrio, detras. Detras."
I understood `aqui', meaning `here'. And `no', and saw that Metrio was
shifting uncertainly back to the doorway, obeying the orders of his sister.
She didn't want him to see something here, I supposed, and it wasn't hard
to imagine what. Big John must have left her naked, swimming in his cum.
Now that thought might have sickened me, had not that remembered scent of
Wishus, that physical reminder of him, kept me rock hard.
Beyond the partition, the shed was brighter than on this side. As I
stepped to the end of the partition, I saw that there was a window there on
the opposite wall. I looked to the left hesitantly, half-embarrassed for
the girl, that a stranger should see her here, in a condition that she
didn't even want her little brother to see her in.
How long did I stand there, breathless, my left hand on the partition edge,
my head bent forward to peer into the room? It was a moment lost in time,
that much I do know, for I was truly stunned, mind-numbed, by what I saw
just paces away. No, mind-numbed is not the word, because my mind was
racing, stimulated beyond clear thought. I smelt that aphrodisiac scent of
sex, I heard that beautiful, sensuous voice, and now I saw what should not
be possible - a boy! Half-reclining over a barrel, his naked rear pointing
directly up at me! Oh yes, an incredibly beautiful, completely naked boy,
with Metrio's own dark, coppery burnished skin tone, looking oiled. How
did I know he was beautiful? I didn't need to see his face to know that.
I just knew! His perfectly smooth buttocks shone honey-gold, reflecting
the light from the window. His thighs and legs were statuesque columns of
polished flesh, split apart, giving me a clear view of this boy's treasures
hanging down limply. His hooded, darker brown colored little cock, a
little less more two inches long, I reckoned, was half hidden by his
dangling little balls, loosely hanging in the sun-warmed air within the
shed. Above, arched over the barrel, his torso ... where Wishus' body was
alabaster, porcelain, ivory, the fairest and purest of complexions, this
boy's flesh was in tones of brown, mahogany, copper, bronze ... his
genitals were darkest, perhaps mahogony gold, I could see the soles of his
feet were much lighter, bleached bronze, his legs fine sun-darkened copper
below his knees, and a lighter hue above. His thighs, buttocks and his
torso, which he evidently did not bare to the sun, where golden tan, slick
and so smooth looking. He was apparently a bit older than Wishus, judging
from the size of his dick and balls, and while there was not an ounce of
excess flesh on this boy, he was more `filled-out' than Wishus, his ribs
less plain, the cleft along his backbone muscled perfectly. Wishus was all
boy, but oh so delicate looking, like fine china. This boy before me was
certainly all boy too, and exuding a sensuality that Wishus might have
someday, when he truly realized how beautiful he was . when he was less
innocent, I supposed.
I could not see this boy's face, for he lay over the barrel somwehat
awkwardly, with his head and arms down on the other side. I could see that
his hair was coal-black, like little Metrios, but much longer. I saw
shining tendrils of it hanging all the way to the floor, splayed across the
boy's left shoulder. I judged his hair to be at least waist-length.
I took all this in almost breathlessly, my heart racing. Here was a sight
so strange, so unexpected, and yet so incredibly lovely and alluring that I
was in awe. Yes, I noted all his features in an instant, my fevered glaze
roamed over his outstretched form, but my eyes kept returning to the very
center of this magical picture ... my hand trembled in it's grip on the
partition, as I struggled to accept what I saw ... sticking straight out
from between his butt cheeks, curving and arching out from this boy, was a
magnificently carved and polished phallus! A perfect replica of a long
cock shaft and balls. The cock head was buried inches deep inside the boy,
filling him, forcing his anus to stretch wide around it.
The ring of his anus, so tightly locked around the dildo shaft, was puffy
looking, dark colored, stretched smooth all around, not crinkly like I
imagined it must have been normally. Now I knew full-well the source of
that sex-charged aroma. This boy had been fucked by Big John, and then
left here, apparently tied across the barrel, and plugged with this fake
organ. Why, I had no idea. Was the man punishing this boy, this Rolanda?
Rolando. Was he trying to loosen the boy's hole?
I tore my eyes away long enough to look back, to see if Metrio were still
by the door. Sure of that, I gathered my senses again, and stepped to
Rolando's side. Yes, his hands were tied to posts, I could now see. And
so were his feet.
"My name's Teglin, son," I almost whispered to him. I don't know why I
whispered. I guess it was a mixture of awe at how incredibly beautiful his
form was, astonishment at seeing a fucked boy, not to mention one with a
man-sized phallus still penetrating him. And of course I did not want to
frighten him. "I'll ... I'll let you up now," I said nervously.
No answer.
An hour later, even minutes later, I wondered why I did what I did next,
before untying his limbs. Here he was bent and tied over this barrel, but
still perhaps in a kind of trance, instead of immediately cutting his
bindings, I instead gingerly grasped the carved wooden dick with my right
hand, and shaking as if from extreme exertion, started to pull it from his
lovely rear. With my left hand I lightly touched the ring of his anus,
needing to touch it, to prove to me that it was possible for such a massive
dick to enter a boy's hole!
He gasped! Not in pain, but letting out the kind of involuntary, surprised
sigh with which one might greet an unexpected pleasure. My heart skipped
another beat. I traced the ring of his anus with my index finger with a
feather touch, and he gasped again. It was so tight! The flesh stretched
so tight it was almost glassy smooth, yet moist! It stretched out, as if
not wanting to release the cock embedded within! Trembling, I moved my
left hand, letting my palm cup his left cheek, resting on his hot flesh, as
if I needed to push there, while pulling the dick from him. I thrilled at
the touch, so smooth and soft, so pliant. His cheek was hardly the size of
my outstretched palm, so small and delicate looking was he. So lithe and
elegant looking.
Did this boy feel pleasure in having his rear plugged with this cock! No
telling how long he had lain here, in a tortuosly uncomfortable position,
yet he gasped sensuously as I slowly withdrew the shaft. His fluids came
out with it, and that sex-filled aroma strengthened. The sides of the
slightly curved organ were streaked with the fluids. Not dirty with it! I
did not have that sense. I was enthralled by what I saw. As the
realistically carved glans of the fake penis plopped free of Rolando's
anus, the boy groaned again, louder, and a mixture of whitish-colored semen
and a yellowish, lightly brownish fluid streamed down his thighs. Was that
the reason Big John had plugged this boy? To keep his cum inside the boy?
Still holding the 10 inch long organ in my right hand, I regained my senses
at least partially, and looked around for something to clean the boy's
rear. A dress lay on the floor next to the barrel, a girl's dress, small,
just the size for Rolando. I wondered at this Big John, why he had kept
Rolando in a dress.
I stooped to retrieve it, which brought my eyes nearly on a level with the
boy's bottom. His hole was still stretched, but resuming a much reduced
girth - still open, still with fuck-fluids slowly dribbling from it. I saw
the pinkish red insides of his anus, and the dark brown outer skin, now
retracting, but still swollen.
How I wanted to run my hands up and down his legs, to stroke his anus, to
feel the flesh where he had been fucked, to cup his dangling little dick
and balls .. If ever a boy were a work of art, Rolando was it. His legs
were flexed taught, and the skin behind his knees were stretched tight,
uncreasing each wrinkle in his flesh. It looked so tender and vulnerable
that I wanted to kiss him there. His feet rested soles-flat on the floor,
no spring or bounce left in them, apparently. He was probably exhausted
from being tied there, and had lost the ability to support himself.
Instead of caressing him, I stole a deep breath of his nether scent, then
forced myself to rise halfway and gently dab and wipe the valley between
his cheeks, being ever so careful when Rolando gasped again, and jerked his
torso up involuntarily, when I touched his raw anus.
"I'm sorry, Ro ... Rolando," I stuttered, embarrassed now, both by my
insensitivity and my dulled reasoning. Astonished at myself, I dropped the
cock to the floor. It was a beautifully carved instrument, and I had to
admit that I was stimulated by just holding it, but had it been the
instrument of some insane cruelty rather than one of the pleasure that this
boy deserved?
I dropped the dress too, and quickly stooped to untie Rolando's hands and
ankles. At one point, my own cheek unintentionally brushed against his
bottom. I felt an electryfying mixture of his hot, pliant flesh against my
rough, bristly cheek, and the cold of the smeared leavings of his recent
fucking. I was still in a state of bewilderment, one of awe, I think.
This boy was so beautiful to behold, and that alone would make me tremble
to be able to touch him. But I was also rescuing him from this strange
. torture . that Big John had inflicted on him, and I felt a surge of
sympathy and concern for him. An overwhelming desire to be so tender and
gentle with Rolando, to show him by my every touch that he need not be
afraid.
He didn't move, after I untied him. So I gently, cautiously placed my
hands on either side of his torso, cupping his ribcage, and helped him to
stand upright. At first he was like a dead weight, but then he exerted
himself to regain balance. I felt him test his legs, bending his knees,
bouncing on them slightly. I half turned him towards me, and got my arms
up higher, under his arm-pits, and let him take his time in standing fully
upright. The top of his head came up to about the level of my breast, and
briefly he propped his forehead against the firm mass of my pectoral. I
looked down, and saw his hair was parted just like Wishus', right down the
middle. The difference was like that between dark and light, however.
Here were all tan and black tones, and Rolando's hair texture was thicker,
but just as silky. And obviously much, much longer than that of Wishus.
My lover's hair was finer, and stray wisps sometimes curled and hung in
silvery-gold waves about his beautiful head. With Rolando, his ebony
tresses hung perfectly straight, each follicle of hair perfectly aligned
with the rest, falling in one torrent.
He finally gathered enough strength to raise his head and look at me. No
wonder he had passed as a girl. His every feature was so utterly fine and
soft. Oriental-looking, almond-shaped eyes, under long black lashes. His
eyebrows were fine and thick, almost joined above his nose by a thinner,
wispy line of hair. His nose was thin, as was his face generally, and his
cheeks were prominent, as in most Indians. But this boy was not just a
native Mexican of Indian extraction, he must be what is referred to as
`mestizo', or mixed, with Spanish blood. His lips were full and
reddish-brown, highlighting the golden brown of his complexion. He held
them tightly closed, as if judging me, unsure of me. His chin was
relatively wide, just enough to give him a determined, rather than weak
look, although still so lovely and effeminate in line and curve. A chin
shaped for the cup of a man's hand, as he gently tilted Rolando's face up
for a kiss ....
By now I was one large tingling mass of tumescent flesh. A hardon
embodied, from head to toe, my every sense enraptured with the loveliness
of this boy. I looked down his body, seeing the soft lines of his chest
and tummy, his nipples hidden by the stream of his hair. Down, down to his
prominent, flaccid little dick, it's reddish glans just peeking from his
foreskin. Those columns of his dark honey-colored thighs ....
Again I felt myself enraptured by this boy. And again I had to shake
myself out of the trance.
"Rolando?" I said softly.
"Rolando? Is that your name?"
I saw a light burning in his black eyes, as he regained his composure and
full awareness, but he didn't answer. He didn't push me away forcefully,
but more gently I felt him turn away from me, and lower his eyes. He
didn't answer.
"Well, your ... brother called you that ... so ...."
I waited an awkward moment, but still he said nothing. Rather he just
stood there, half turned away. In shame? I wondered. Fear? Discomfort?
I had to do something. We had to get going. "Ok, son, whatever your name,
here's the deal. I took your brother, Metrio, away from Big John. And I
can't leave him here. And now, I ... I don't want to leave you here
either. If you understand me, here's what I'd like to do ... get you some
clothes, get a horse, and then head out of here. I guess ... I'll take you
to Santa Fe with me, and ... find someone there to take you in." I trailed
off, wondering if he were understanding any of that. I had noticed a
slight jerk of his head, when I said I had taken his brother away from that
brute.
"Come on ... Rolando," I gently placed my arm around his shoulder. "We
have to get out of here," I said, nudging him forward. He complied, then
hesitated, and started to reach down for the dress.
"No!" I surprised myself by the vehemence of my reaction. It just
overwhelmed me, a revulsion for seeing this incredible boy wrapped in a
girl's rags, ones that Big John had forced him to wear.
He looked up frightened, questioning, pausing in half-stoop.
"Sorry, son, it ... it's alright," I hastened to retract it. Wanted to
make him forget my vehemence.... "You can wear that if you wish, but
perhaps you have some other clothes up in the house?"
He seemed to understand, because he rose stiffly again, and shuffled out of
the room, slowly testing his legs, but seeming to gain strength with each
step. He saw his little brother, and let out a mournful kind of wail, upon
seeing the little tyke all bruised and swelling, then stooped to hug and
caress him. They hugged briefly, and then Rolando looked back at me. I
saw something like bewilderment, mixed with awe, mixed with a questioning
again, as if he were unsure of my motives or intentions. I'm afraid he saw
that I could not keep my eyes off his bare rear - as he stooped, his long
hair fell forward, and his outthrust bottom wiggled at me tantalizingly.
His little anus was still loosened, still a bit swollen around the rim, but
already closed completely and puckering inward.
I flushed, but whatever he felt upon seeing my stare, he must have decided
to ignore it, and accept me, because in the next five minutes, after I
forced myself to drag my eyes from his incredible naked form, he cooperated
fully with my plans. I went to the barn to get a horse and saddle, while
Rolando led Metrio slowly across to the house, still testing his legs. He
returned more steadily, now in another little girl dress. This one was not
frilly and girlish, like the one back in the shed, but more of a simple
shift, or sack-like garment, hanging from his shoulders. At least it was
clean. I could have sworn I saw embarrassment in his gaze, as he met my
look of wonder. I guessed he had no other clothes, that Big John had only
let him wear girl's clothing. He was also carrying a carpetbag full of
other items. I had no idea what, but guessed that he understood me well
enough. We were leaving this place, and never coming back.
I signalled to them to come on and get up on the horse, and he brought
Metrio over to me, then again looked up at me with a slightly embarrassed
look. But there was something more in those dark pits of his eyes than
embarrassment. There was that questioning again, and a glint, a fire of
something there. He suddenly let go of Metrio and turned and limped across
to the shed, and disappeared inside.
I went ahead and hoisted Metrio to the saddle, keeping half an eye on the
shed door, wondering what it could be that Rolando wanted there. Perhaps
he knew of Big John's money box or something. Well I didn't want anything
of Big John's. I wanted to be clear of that man, completely, and quickly.
I had just about convinced myself that I would have to tell Rolando to
leave whatever he had gone back to get, when he came out of the shed
walking towards us head up, staring boldly at me, almost defiantly, as if
he sensed I might object, and was determined to do as he wished. In his
hands he held two things. One of which stunned me - the phallus, that 10
inch long, perfectly carved and polished cock, still encrusted with his own
bodily juices. The sight of Rolando clutching it along the shaft, the cock
head held up tight to his chest, the balls hidden underneath his elbow, hit
me deep in my stomach. The feeling passed down to my groin, and I felt a
tingling there as my dick began to harden once again. For once, my mind
had returned to the requirements of our escape, and the journey on from
here to Santa Fe, on how I would deal with Big John if he showed up on our
trail. Now it was centered once again on the memory of this huge cock
buried in the anus of the little boy walking proudly, daringly, towards me.
He must have seen my astonishment, must have understood what I was feeling,
because his look of determination suddenly softened, his brow furrowed in a
question, as if he somehow knew that he had no reason to defy me, but was
not quite sure yet why.
The other object he carried looked like a container, a stoppered
green-glass jar, filled with some opaque, whitish colored paste or
ointment. Perhaps medicine, for all I knew. Whatever it was, it was
apparently important to him. He approached and held out the jar to me, as
I lifted the saddle bag cover. I placed the jar inside, and looked down at
him, and felt myself turning beet red in the face, as I hesitantly reached
for the phallus. He again noted my consternation, and stretched up
himself, to slip the tool into the bag.
He smiled ever so slightly, a kind of a sly, knowing smile. As if he were
in command of something that I knew nothing about. Well, I had to admit,
he did. He was a fucked boy. I was a man who had dreamed of making love
to a boy like him for years.
He just stood there waiting now, looking up at me. I paled, then flushed
red, I supppose, feeling the heat rush to my face. He was all boy.
Wearing a dress, with hair hanging below his waist, but with the power of
BOY over me.
I gathered my senses, and held out my cupped hands, to boost him into his
saddle. His soft garment brush across my cheek. I looked up to see his
lustruous inner thigh almost all the way up to the darkness of his crotch,
as his dress opened briefly. He sat astraddle just behind Metrio, so his
dress perforce scrunched all the way up his perfectly smooth, bronzed
thighs.
As we rode out of the ranch yard, I finally had time to catch my breath and
think, but it was impossible to take my eyes from the boys in front of me
on their horse. I guessed Rolando's age at about 12. Next to Wishus, I
had to admit he was just about the sexiest creature I had ever encountered.
But unlike Wishus, who was all innocent loveliness, this Rolando was like a
Siren, a walking, breathing, sex object, whether he consciously knew that
or not. He was a fucked boy, one who had been kept by Big John as a girl.
To be fucked. A boy who apparently liked being fucked, and who had safely
packed away an instrument which had only one purpose. I wondered whether
he was a loved boy, as was Wishus. And then I wondered, could any boy be
both?