Date: Sun, 22 Aug 1999 14:51:25 PDT
From: Wishus Teglin <teglin@excite.com>
Subject: Three Weeks to Heaven 2.2

Three Weeks to Heaven, A Boylove Romance (M/b)

Book Two
Chapter 2

by Teglin


FOREWORD:

As with Book One of this story, I want to thank Ganymede for the
wonderful boylove stories he has given us.  I write in part to give just
a little back to him.

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 2.


My little companions said not a word the entire rest of the day.  We rode
on and on, their horse in front of mine.  Metrio seemed to doze much of the
time, while Rolando kept the horse moving expertly.  Occasionally he would
glance back at me, his expression wooden, unchanging, hiding his feelings.
I sensed he was weighing me, assaying me, trying to analyze my intentions.
At first I had no sense that he was at all angry, or resentful at what I
was doing, taking them away from their `home'.  Yet his expression was
always stern, his lips compressed, unsmiling, his eyes open but half
squinting, as if peering into me.

Every time he turned my gut tightened.  How could such sultry, dark, yet
pure, beauty exist all wrapped up in one form?  Yet, I knew already, from
meeting Wishus, that pure, gorgeous, physical perfection was possible to
find in one boy.  Had I met the two most perfect embodiments of boyhood on
Earth in the span of one week?  Was this a dream?  Rolando's hair hung like
a black veil all the way below his waist, hiding him almost completely from
me, except when he turned his head, and I could see his sillouhette thinly
through the veil.  Every step the horse took made the boy rock forward at
his waist - rhythmically his little rounded buttocks, tight against the
fabric of his dress, would come into view, parting the veil of his hair. I
could see as clearly as ever could be that he was a boy.  Every line of his
body, his sleek arms, his small hands and fingers, the narrowness of his
hips, were all boy!  How could anyone ever have mistaken him for a girl?
He was wearing a dress even now, but I would never have mistaken him.  I
would have known immediately, even if I had never come upon him straddled
naked over that barrel, with his dick and balls displayed so plainly.

His shift was scrunched up underneath him, since he was riding astride,
with Metrio in front of him.  I knew the horse's hair must be rubbing his
inner thighs and legs raw.  But he made no complaint.

I didn't bother to watch the back trail.  If Big John were going to follow
us, we'd find out soon enough, but I did take some pains to hide our
tracks.  Going over rocky stretches, or through sand.  Nothing that would
fool a tracker, but I had no idea if Big John could track, or if he would
have help.

Approaching sundown we neared the junction of the Miranda with the larger
Rio Blanco, and I took the lead.  I took the reins from Rolando, feeling
the heat of his fierce eyes upon me.  He almost glared now.  I wondered at
the change.  I guessed he was suspicious, wondering what I was leading him
and his brother into, whether I could be trusted any more than his former
tormentor.  Or was it lover?

I figured if it were the latter, this Rolando wouldn't be here right now.
He had a mind of his own, I could tell, and would have refused to come
along with me.  I had made no effort to force anyone, so it had been his
choice in the end.

I felt more than the heat of his glare.  I felt something physical in my
whole body, just approaching him again.  After watching from behind for
hours, drawn like a magnet to his beautiful figure, coming close, almost
touching his hand, was unnerving.  There was a mystery about him that had
its hold on me, not to mention the physical attraction I felt for him.
Fucked boy?  Lover?  Slave?  Willing partner?  Innocent?  Aware of his very
real power over men like me?  Possessor, or possessed?

Fighting a wave of something akin to fear, upon sitting my horse so close
to him, I took the reins and spurred ahead into the Miranda.  I'm so
wrapped up in boys, that this feeling was not strange to me.  I worry about
what they're thinking.  I hope so much to please them.  It's a result of
long years of pining and loneliness.  That I still felt it, now that I had
Wishus, was testament to what kind of life a boylover must lead in today's
society.  Desperate longing, acceptance of the impossibility of ever
fulfilling my dreams, but just the same desperate will to please, to be
accepted, when around a boy.

For the next fifteen minutes we backtracked up that rock-bedded stream,
came out on the same side, crossed our own trail, where I got off and
dusted things up a bit, then rode across a gravelly stretch I had noted
earlier to the Blanco.

Again, not much of a ruse to fool a real tracker, but it would buy us long
minutes, perhaps hours, if the man were pursuing us.

We made camp in a glade on the east bank of the Blanco, where we had easy
access to the clear waters of the river.  I wanted to wash up, and at least
take care of Metrio.  Demetrio, as it turned out.  I heard Rolando call him
both names, at one time or another.

We cooked and ate, or rather Metrio and I cooked.  Rolando took up a wary,
watchful perch on his horse's tack, after I had stripped the mounts bare
and staked them for the night.  If a stare could pierce, then I would have
been wounded, because that boy never took his eyes off of me.  He was
watching me, and watching everything I did with Metrio.  He took the food I
proffered, but still ate alone, over on his perch.  Metrio kind of flitted
between us, or roamed rather.  He was a strong little tyke, and obviously
had a lot of energy, but he was visibly suffering from his beating of this
afternoon, and probably of others in the past. Whenever he forgot his
injuries, and started to prance about fawn-like, he was soon enough brought
up short by a stab of pain in his ribs, or an accidental brush against his
raw lips, or his swollen eye.  But oh how it was wonderful having a boy
with me.  Two boys, although one was a sultry, mysterious, creature always
on the edge, watching in.  At least Metrio's helpfulness and energy
reminded me of Wishus, and by keeping me busy, made it less difficult in
remembering my separation from my Dearest One.

Well, I was exhausted from the trail, from the events of the day, from
anxiety over Wishus, and wonderment over Rolando, and there came a point
where I just flopped.  I mean, we had finished up the supper, and cleaned
the pans.  I felt this irresistible need to shuck my clothes and get
cleaned up.  So notwithstanding Rolando's unnerving eye upon me, I stripped
and just walked into the river.  For once I was not in a state of arousal.
My dick could only take so much stress, it seemed!  Not to mention that in
my exhaustion I for once blocked out the images all wrapped up with
Rolando's presence.  He had his eyes on me, but I blocked that out for the
moment too.  I did have enough sense to keep my guns near the bank, where I
soaked and washed in the cold water.

Then I strode out of the water, put on my longjohns and camp moccasins, and
prepared to take care of little Demetrio.  That's when Teg Junior woke up.
Did you ever see a hard, seven inch dick tent out a pair of longjohns?
That's what happened after I had some water heated, and a blanket spread by
the fire, and I called the boy over to me.  He came willingly, knowing by
now he could trust me.  I proceeded to strip him down for a bath.
Something perhaps never before done with him, from the evidence of grime
and dirt almost etched into the nooks and crannies of his body!

I started with his facial wounds first.  And believe it or not, that's when
my erection started too.  Taking loving care of a boy was incredibly
arousing to me.  There's nothing sexy about washing blood from a scab on a
boy's lip, but when it comes right down to it, what are men for in Nature,
if not to minister to the needs of those they protect?  Taking care of
Metrio, touching him tenderly, intimately, was a rush!  When I gently
pulled his tunic up over his head, and revealed his perfect little boy
figure, suddenly my feelings went from protector to admirer.  He was only
six or seven, yes, but he was a boy.  His little chest was a miniature
version of Wishus', but darker in color.  His tiny little nipples stood out
in the cool evening air, ready for my ministrations.  I wanted to crush him
to me, and suck on them, as he stood so willingly letting me wash him.  But
I resisted.  Rolando was watching.  Wishus was watching.  And I was
watching, knowing that this little boy wasn't aware of my urges.  At least
I didn't think he was.  Wishus was old enough to understand how I felt
about him.  Little Demetrio was just accepting a bath.

Wishus understood what it meant to get hard like I was now.  Metrio didn't
even notice, I think.  I knew Rolando did, but I could do nothing about
that.

I lovingly washed Metrio's chest and little tummy, his arms, under his
arms.  His little pectorals were so firm, yet still so soft, defining his
chest, defining his sex!  Here was a boy in my hands!  What hung down
between his legs was certainly the true mark of his maleness, but as my
hands gently washed and scrubbed all over his front, I felt boyflesh!  I
think I must have started smiling, just reveling in the feel of a boy in my
hands.

Finally, I turned him around and did his back.  Again, the delicacy of a
little boy's frame, yet all the marks of his boyhood.  His back was sleek,
lightly muscled on each side of his backbone, and his little shoulder
blades were strangely exciting to me.  I wanted to lick along their raised
edges, but refrained, and washed there instead.

Metrio made no sign of resistance or shyness when I reached around in front
and loosened his drawstring, and slowly tugged his little pants down.  I
realized then that even with Wishus I had never been this close, face to
cheek, as it were, with a little boy's rear!  Wishus and I had splashed
around in the water, and I had grabbed his butt, and in the heat of my
passion even caressed his anus from above as he lay prone and I sucked him,
but here I was with my face just inches from Metrio's butt.  I had been
upright on my knees, washing him.  Now I lowered - still on my knees behind
him, but resting back on my haunches.  That brought my face right on a
level with his buttocks.  What I wanted more than anything right then was
to lean forward and plunge my face into his crack, breath deeply, and wash
him with my tongue and lips...with trembling fingers, instead, I again very
gently washed his pliable cheeks, then separated them and with a
feather-like stroke at first, washed his crack.  His little, untouched anus
looked so delicate, the skin around it perfectly fashioned as a tiny
funnel, leading inward to depths where I wished my tongue could follow.
Instead I scrubbed him there, boldly, but gently, as if having my thumb on
his hole, encased by his soft flesh, was nothing to me.

Satisfied that I had washed him cleaner than he had ever been before around
his little butt-hole, having done everything except plant a kiss there to
finish my ministrations off, I treated myself to his little cock.  His
little inch-long, half-soft stub, encased in his dark brown foreskin,
bobbed into view just inches before my eyes, when I placed my hands on his
hips and gently shifted him around.  He turned willingly, oblivious to the
very real hunger in my eyes.  My own dick had been massaged by the soft
fabric of my longjohns with my every movement, and I wasn't far from
cumming like I had three times with Wishus, without him ever touching my
dick, or even without ME touching my dick.  The sight of Metrio's
proud-standing dick nearly pushed me over the edge!  He wasn't hard, but
his little piece was half engorged, and sticking out at a slight angle from
his pubic mound.  His glans was plainly visible inside the sheath of his
foreskin.  A perfect-sized little angled head for a perfect little boy
penis.  I may have licked my lips, but was unaware if I did.  This was only
the third boy-dick I had seen, and I have to admit I was pretty much
hypnotized by it.  Now I would get to touch it.  I know there was a little
tremble in my hand, as I lovingly washed Metrio's tummy and just above his
pubis, then lowered my fingers, playing tiny circles all across his soft
mound.  His pubis, and dick and balls, really stood out from his crotch, as
if nature had intended them to draw the eye of anyone there.  The phallus!
Even soft, like this, and so small, yet it was just charged with power over
me!

Nay, because it was so small!  Yes, it's the phallus I love, a dick that I
drool over, but it is a little boy that inflames me!  I don't know what it
is about me, although I've thought about it enough.  I love cock, I can
even become aroused contemplating my own cock, but I have never been
remotely attracted to a man.  Even a naked man.  On the other hand, I don't
have to see a boy nude to be aroused.  There is a unique beauty in a boy,
in his frail and delicate frame, yet so straight and sleek, not muscled
like a man's, nor rounded like a girls, or woman's.  A boy's frame, like
his little dick, filled with the potential to stand hard and tall, yet
still so soft and lovely.  Like a work of art ....  Oh, I don't know how to
explain it.  And at that moment, seeing up close only the third boy cock in
my life, I was enthralled.

When I finally gave myself the pleasure of washing his little dick, I
blushed.  Turned a deep, crimson red.  I could feel it.  And I could feel
Rolando's eyes on me.  He was watching as I cupped Metrio's little seeds in
his loose scrotum, and so very gently washed them.  He had to see the
intensity of my gaze as, with a feather touch, I washed around the tiny,
fluted opening of Metrio's foreskin, and then up and down his half-hard
shaft.  He had to notice how I caused Metrio to thrust out his pelvis, in
reaction to my caress.  He was watching when I leaned forward, perforce, to
run rivulets of water and soap down Metrio's thighs, both front and back,
pushing my face to within an inch of his little dickhead.

I may not have breathed during all that, until I found my nose so close to
his dick.  Then I swear I engulfed the air around us, trying to breath in
the scent of his boyhood!  So clean smelling!  Yet still, even with my
washing, smelling fleshy and with just a trace of that tart, acidic scent
of a boy's, or a man's, crotch.

I washed his legs next, letting my hands caress his soft flesh up and down,
from his ankles all the way to his hips, lathering and rinsing lovingly,
all the while treating myself to the sight of his little dangling, wobbling
dick.

I even thrilled in washing Metrio's little feet.  They were such small and
delicate replica's of a man's feet.  Each of his little toes received my
attentions, as I attempted to draw out this magical chance to be so
intimately close to a boy.

It had to end.  I finally gave in and wrapped Metrio in a cloth, and patted
him dry, then put him into one of my clean tunics.  No sooner had I spread
a blanket for him by the fire, than he was fast asleep.  I intended to wash
his clothes later on, but for now, I just had to lay back and rest.  I had
to recover from the day's long ride, all it's excitement, it's unusual
twists and turns, and from the last few minutes of boy-heaven.

I was about to close my eyes, as I lay back with my head up on the saddle,
and my back supported by the folded saddle blanket, when suddenly Rolando
stood up.

I should say, he arose!  A creature like him doesn't just stand up, he
rises majestically, whether consciously or not, rising to command the eyes
of anyone in his presence.  Nor did he simply walk.  He glided.  Each
motion a composition, combining the grace that comes naturally to his
perfectly proportioned limbs, with the pure beauty of his form, propelling
his perfect body forward.  His long, glistening black hair, fell straight,
and waved and parted with his every motion.  Part of it fell forward of his
shoulder, and I could see the strands all the way down his belly to his
waist, as his arm would swing back and forth.  The rest fell loosely to the
very outthrust of his buttocks, some strands even lower.

Wishus had the adorable habit of flicking his head, to flip errant strands
of his golden hair out of his eyes.  Rolando instead would raise his hands
to the side of his face and pull his long locks back behind his ears.  They
didn't stay there for long, so he did that often.  For some reason this was
incredibly sexy to me.  To see a boy whose hair was so long and lustrous,
that it served no possible purpose other than to attract the glances of his
admirers.  And more, that it was an affectation that required his constant
attention, and that he seemed to do it willingly, knowing how beautiful his
hair was, knowing what effect it would have on others.  My poor dick!  It
was at full cock-stand almost instantly, just contemplating Rolando's hands
pulling his hair back from his eyes.

It was dusk now, with the sun just escaping beneath the crest of the ridge
to the West, leaving the sky a slate gray, a clear but darkening sky which
made the even darker green of the pines near the river seem cold.  The
water too looked even colder, running over dark coppery-colored, rounded
and polished rocks near the bank.  There was a shelf of smooth pebbles
leading all the way into the water.  That's where Rolando was headed, I
could see.

He carried his saddle bags with him, and as he strode just ten paces in
front of me, across the clearing to the edge of the water, I imagined the
heat of his body.  In the approaching darkness, everything else seemed to
be colored cold.

He was sultry.  His limbs flowed as he glided past me, so erect and tall.
His thinness made all 5'2" of him seem tall, and so did the long reach of
his hair.  He held himself perfectly erect, with his head high, and looking
neither right nor left, but determinedly forward to the water.

Proud.  I felt his pride. He was proud of his bearing, of his looks, of his
statuesque grace.  And conscious of it.

I knew at that moment that the long, hard phallus I had found sticking out
of his rear was no punishment.  I knew it was a statement.  Big John's
statement of possession, in the face of this boy's pride.  But also,
Rolando's statement of acceptance - that he took the massive rod within him
willingly, and gasped with pleasure when I moved it inside him.  Surely he
had resented, hated, being tied and left impaled with that phallus - but
surely also he was proud of his beauty and the need he created in Big John
to own him!

Was he proud too of his power over me?  Surely he had sensed his power over
me.  Knowing by the reverent touch of my hand on his buttocks as I pulled
the phallus free, knowing by my hushed and strained tone of voice, knowing
by my breathless shock when he retrieved the fake cock and stored it away
in the saddlebags.  And he had to know by my repeated, strained glances his
way.  And my arousal when I cleansed and cared for Metrio.  Oh, he knew of
his power over me.  Even now he flaunted himself before me.

I wondered why he seemed to disdain me?  Was he disgusted?  Was he angry,
because I tore him away from his ... lover?  Angry because I grew so hard
and so obviously desirous, when washing his little brother?  His eyes had
never left us, yet now he walked by as if I were beneath his contempt.

If he did hate me, why did he put on a show for me, one calculated to fire
every nerve in my body?

I tensed, and almost sat up, staring intensely, too intensely, as he
reached the pebbled beach, set his saddle bags down, and started to lift
his shift up off his body.  Before I could prepare for the shock, he had
the garment off and dropped it beside the bags, and was standing stark
naked before me, just fifteen feet away, facing away.  When he had raised
both his hands to get the dress over his shoulders and head, as if in a
dance he gracefully stood on his toes for the instant, causing his body to
stretch, appearing to almost dive up!  Up into the sky!  His calves so
sleek and taut, the outlines of his flexed muscles so clearly defined under
his dark skin.  His long, thin thighs like columns supporting the twin,
rounded mounds of his buttocks.  In stretching, the little crease below his
buttocks, where they met his thighs, smoothed out - there was just the
perfectly smooth rise of boy flesh, from his delicate ankles to all the way
up and up and up, till hidden by his incredible hair.

Standing tippy-toed also caused his buttocks to separate just slightly at
the bottom.  I let out an involuntary little gasp as I glimpsed the dark
little button of his love hole.  So tiny it looked, and I was amazed,
remembering touching it, feeling how tight it was, stretched around the
massive 10" cock protruding from it.  Now it looked virgin, untouched.

I moaned, knowing his anus was certainly not untouched!  Without realizing
it, my hand had sought out the hard ridge of my cock underneath the soft
fabric of my longjohns.  When my eyes sought and found Rolando's little
pucker, I squeezed my dick-head and grasped my shaft, attempting to flex
it, as if by brute force I could bend it.  I think I wanted to wrench it
out and jam it up Rolando's hole!

Rolando heard my gasp, and chose that moment to acknowledge me.  Upon
dropping the dress and falling back on his heels, he looked back at me,
coyly dipping his head and glancing at me under lowered brow.  His eyes
flashed and seemed to pierce me.  His expression was still ... I didn't
want to call it hateful, nor resentful, but he looked so stern
... was it suspicion?  Anger of some undefined kind?

I released my shaft like it had burned me, and indeed felt a hot flash, as
embarrassment at being caught in such blatant expression of my arousal
overwhelmed me.  Why, I don't know.  I knew he was flaunting himself before
me.  And I suspected he was angry at me in some way.  I could have resented
that, but didn't.  I didn't yet understand Rolando's relationship with his
former master.  What was it like to be taken away from the man who had
filled him, as only a man can?  Or the man's ten inch wooden phallus.  Had
Big John been to Rolando what I wanted to be to Wishus?

No!  I didn't, I couldn't believe that!  The brute was vicious, cruel.  But
did Rolando love him?

I just could not resent the way Rolando was toying with me.  But I didn't
understand it.  In my confusion, I flushed deeply at being caught stroking
myself in reaction to his body.

From that moment on, I lay still, but every muscle in my body was tensed,
my hands dropped to the blanket, resting by my hips.  Well, I could refrain
from touching it, but there was no way I could hide the tent made by my
dick - my shaft raised my longjohns fully four inches off my belly, and I
felt a dull ache building up in my balls.

Rolando might have smiled, as he turned away.  To my consternation, I saw
his lips curl up at the corner of his mouth just before he looked away.  I
really hadn't a clue what he was thinking.  I just knew I could not have
averted my gaze for anything, or anyone, on Earth.  Oh God!  What a
betrayal of Wishus, that thought was!

The bronzed god standing before me shook his head, once more straightening
the long hair that had become mussed when he took off his dress.  His
little bubble-butt jiggled slightly as the tips of his hair danced just
above the outward thrust of his cheeks.  The veil almost totally covered
his smooth, arched back, allowing just glimpses of the burnished,
golden-brown curve of his sides, and just the ridges of his shoulder
blades.

Rolando's long, long hair was such an allure for me - I so much wanted to
get up and rush to him, and gently, lovingly, painstakingly, brush his
tresses free of every tangle.  I imagined the feel of his hot flesh as my
fingers would accidentally touch his back, when I bunched his hair for
combing.

He might have read my mind, because he next squatted down beside his saddle
bags and started rummaging through them.  He didn't bend at the waist, but
squatted onto his ankles, causing his buttocks to separate widely, but his
little anus was just out of view beneath him!  Still, the flare of his
flesh at his hips when he squatted was so appealing.  I wanted to wrap my
hands around his waist, and just let them slide down and out around his
hips, to his thighs, and then reach under and touch his little hole, which
would be stretched so tight underneath him.

Every position this boy took was a temptation to me!  I wanted him!  And
I'm ashamed to admit that for a while I forgot about plighting my love to
Wishus.  At this moment I was a man lusting after a vision of boy
loveliness that I really had never imagined.  He was different than Wishus,
my darling Wishus, who was all golden white light, and the epitome of
innocence.  Rolando was golden, yes.  But so sleek, so polished, and AWARE!
Here was a boy aware of his beauty and allure!  He was flaunting his body
and beauty before me, and the thought could not escape me that perhaps I
might have him!

Rolando fished a brush out of his bags and stood again.  Still with his
back to me, he now leaned towards me, sweeping his head back, causing his
hair to wave around his shoulders so that he could gather it all together
to be brushed.  As he held it in a mass off to his side, he revealed one
narrow, yet so softly rounded shoulder, and an expanse of his back all the
way down to his rear.  He brushed his hair thoroughly, alternating long
fluid strokes, with short, abrupt ones, to clean out little kinks.  The
motions made his butt jiggle even more, and he again, more than once,
seemingly without reason, stood up on his tiptoes.

But there was reason in everything this boy did.  His every motion was part
of a little dance.  The music played in my heart and soul - I was a
boylover and here was my muse!

God how I wanted, how I strained, to grasp my hardened dick!  I wanted to
open the buttoned panel and release my dick and balls, so that I might pump
myself furiously, all the while watching Rolando.  But I would not.  His
glance back at me had frozen my hands to the blanket.  I could hardly
endure both the exquisite pain I felt in my balls, and the embarrassment
that would wash over me if he caught me again stroking myself.  Or the
guilt.

My tempter finally dropped the brush into the opened bag, and stepped
forward into the water.  I swear I could see every little goose-bump that
rose on his flesh, from the fifteen feet that separated us.  It sent chills
through me as well.

He did not step back, nor did he seem shocked by the cold.  Instead he
again squatted down, this time right over the water, and proceeded to scoop
handfuls of the cold water over his arms, his chest, legs, face.

Then he did something that I took as a statement.  No, this boy was not
angry at me for taking him away from the brute, Big John.  He was glad to
be away from that man.  Why else would he proceed to so thoroughly wash his
anus, and to probe deep within himself, using first one finger then two,
then three - at one point almost feverishly scooping up water, and plunging
it with his fingers into his love chute!  It was the only moment, in this
long day, in which I felt that Rolando had somehow lost control.  It was as
if he were suddenly possessed to cleanse himself of Big John's seed.  I
could see that he was also, just as feverishly washing his penis and balls.
For once, he forgot me, else he would have turned and displayed his boyhood
to me, just as he had flaunted his nether regions to me already.  I saw his
head bent forward, his hair hanging into the water just at the ends, as he
looked down at himself and scrubbed and scrubbed.  Was he washing away the
memory of Big John's mouth on his dick, or the feel of the giant's huge,
fumbling fingers?

It was suddenly dark.  The nearly half, but waning, moon was not yet
visible behind the trees to the East, and I had to peer sharply into the
dusk to see Rolando rise from the waters, I listened as he stowed his
brush, picked up his dress and put it on, and then started back across the
camp to his former position by his saddle.  He did not look my way as he
passed before me, but walked like the mysterious, bronzed god that he was,
stately, bigger than life, to his resting place.  Only 5'2" tall, just a
boy ... but a boy!!!

Yes, it was dark, and I could no longer hold back.  I nearly tore open the
buttons over my pulsing penis, and it was my turn to feverishly wash my
precum all round my glans and shaft, and then to start stroking up and down
- not like I usually did, starting slow, and building to a slow climax
dreaming of some boy, but now with ham-fisted, brutal, glans-
and-ball-stretching pounding!  I came in an instant, great globs of my
sperm flying up onto my chest, and on the blanket around me.  I moaned so
loud that Metrio stirred in his blanket near my feet, and in shock, coming
to my senses, I looked across to Rolando.

There he was, sitting stoically again, staring at me.  Through the gloom I
could just make out his features.  No expression, no smile, just that
steady, studying stare with which he had appraised me all day long.

"Good night, Rolando," I uttered heroically, raspingly, embarrassed again,
feeling almost foolish.  I could barely hear myself, through the sound of
blood pounding in my ears.

He did not respond.  Or maybe he did.  He lay back and I could see him pull
his blankets about his perfect form.  Blessed blankets, to warm the second
boy-god I had met in this one blessed week of my life.


----------------------


Wishus lay in his bed in the loft above the day room.  His aunt and uncle
had already exited to the other part of the cabin, separated from his by
the roofed veranda.  So far away, for an alone little boy, in the dark of
the night.  Leaving him feeling so physically alone, as they always left
him alone in spirit.

He sighed, and swore he would not cry this night, thinking about the one
person who had given him unmeasured love.  Wrapping his blankets about his
delicate form, he imagined they were the strong arms of his man.  The man
who had sworn to return to him ... in three weeks.  Now two weeks, and four
days.

The boy rolled over in his bed, still clasping his blanket, and finally
drifted off to a fitful sleep.  A dream-filled sleep, a remembering dream,
of a time, just four nights ago, when he had awoken to the most
frightening, yet deliciously painful feelings in his little cock and balls.
He had awoken hard, and he felt like his balls were being scrunched by some
unseen fingers.  It did hurt, but at the same time it felt so good, and he
just knew Teg would know the answer!  So he had gotten up, and straddled
his man, and leaned over to awaken him, allowing his little boner to press
tightly into his man's belly.  And then his man had shown him how to make
love, how to become one, how to release that aching feeling within his
balls ... and how to show his love ....


----------------------


Having just cum in an explosion of my pent-up lust for Rolando did nothing
to quieten my dreams.  I must have slept fitfully, for a couple of hours,
judging from the rise of the moon when I was awakened.  I remember flashes
of images, as if I were having multiple wet dreams simultaneously, with
Wishus all mixed up with Rolando and Metrio.

In the last of the dreams, everything was so hazy.  But I remember
thinking, "Wishus, you've come to me again!  I feel your warmth pressing
against my chest.  Do you feel like your pee-pee needs to be sucked again,
dearest?  I want do that for you ...."  I started to rise, but felt his
weight against my chest, and I did not want to dislodge him. I felt his
little dick brushing my lips!  I tried to take it in, but he withdrew it!

I opened my eyes to the moonlit campsite, much brighter than it was when I
fell asleep.  But it wasn't the moon that I saw, nor the dark silhouette of
the ridge to the west.  It was something a trillion time more beautiful
than Artemis, goddess of the moon, could ever have been.  For when I opened
my eyes it was Rolando's statuesque form I saw rising over me, his black
hair blending with the black of the night, and sprayed just above me, the
tips brushing my face with the back and forth movement of his body over me.
I felt his soft buttocks pressing my upper chest!  I felt the heat of his
thighs encasing my head, and rubbing my ears.  He was naked!  I felt his
hot flesh against me everywhere, his dangling, marble-sized balls sliding
over my chin in their silken sac!  I glimpsed the narrow expanse of his
bare chest rising above me, veiled by the curtain of his shimmering hair.

It was what I felt and tasted on my lips, and sliding across my chin, that
made my heart stop beating momentarily.  I smelt it, I tasted it, in
tantalizingly brief thrusts of his hips.  He was sliding his little dick,
so soft, yet oh so hard, across my lips, his half-hooded glans poking
between my lips with each forward stroke!  Oh God, I could smell boy!  So
sweet and musty, yet clean.  And I tasted his dick head and his foreskin -
that indescribable, slightly salty, yet sweet and earthy taste.

He was leaning over me, propped on either side of my head with his hands
resting on the rolled up clothing I had been using as a pillow.  That kept
my head slightly tilted forward.  All I needed to do was tilt forward a
little bit more, and let this boy's cocklet find it's desired sheath in my
mouth.

Through my stunned surprise, and with my senses of taste, touch, and smell
overloaded, came his sweet voice.  It was soft but heated in his passion,
"take it, meester!  I give you ... my dick!  Take it ... Suck it!" He
crooned between breaths, almost in rhythm with his wanton thrusts across my
chin and lips.

Right off that answered one question.  He certainly spoke and understood
English!

"You are good ... to Metrio, Meester ... I give my dick ... as a reward!  I
... know you want ... me.  Just like ... Big John. But you are a ... a good
man. You want Metrio
... too, but did not take him!  Take me .... Now!

He leaned forward suddenly, angling his little three inch finger of a
hardon directly and more forcefully against my lips.

In my shock, I had held my lips lax, not accepting his offering, but
certainly not refusing!  Now I either had to clench my teeth against the
invasion of his probing glans, or open my mouth and take him in, just as he
commanded me to.

I resisted!  How I wanted to swallow this ravishing boy whole!  But I was
disturbed by what he had said.  I couldn't make love with a boy who felt he
had to repay me.  Who felt that if he didn't, I might take what I wanted
anyway.  From him or Metrio.

My roaming hands stopped on his slim hips and I firmly stopped his thrusts.

"Rolando!" I managed to whisper gutturally, feeling breathless.  "You don't
have to do this!  You don't owe me anything!  I ... I'm not ever going to
hurt you or Metrio.  I don't
...."

"But you want me, meester!"  He moaned, starting to halfway struggle
against my firm hold, trying to resume his humping motion.  His hair flew
all over my face, but I caught glimpses of the dark pools of his eyes, dark
but glistening with his passion.  "You want Metrio too ... I could see
... I never see anyone so hard ... all the time!  Even Big John had to
rest, but you ... I see you want me every minute today.  I see your looks!
And then you are hard for Metrio too, when you wash him ...."

"Yes. Yes!!" I forced out a muffled bellow, struggling myself now, against
my own passion.  I wanted these boys so much!  Was that so wrong, with
Wishus waiting for me in his valley!?  "But ...."

He squirmed in my grasp, and freed himself, and I felt the underside of his
hot little shaft slide across my chin again so quickly, and he leaned over
me again, and I felt the soft head of his dick lodging between my lips.  I
just moaned, myself, opened my teeth, and pulled him into me, with my hands
seeking his buttocks.  His pubis pressed hard against my nose, and I
breathed deeply, and sobbed, holding him in me, my tongue going mad
lasciviously seeking every contour of his dick head and shaft!  I started
sucking hard on his shaft, hollowing my cheeks, and tightening my lips
around his little cock.  Then I let him resume his humping.  With each
stroke I let my tongue become a soft groove for his shaft.  And on the
outstroke I would feverishly wash his glans with the tip of my tongue, each
taste bud sending electrifying signals to my groin ....  I released one
hand and ripped open the flap over my rampant dick, and started stroking
it.

He sensed what I was doing to myself, and reached back and grabbed me by
the wrist, as tightly as he could with his delicate little hands.  They
were hands made for gentle caresses, not for grasping against brute force,
but I let him stop me.

"Not yet, meester!" He commanded, "You will ... fuck me with that!  Don't
waste it!"

I just groaned and resumed my sucking.  He eased off on his humping and
kind of poised in mid-air over me, allowing me to slurrup and lave his dick
to my heart's content.  I could feel his muscles all tensed, as he began a
slow rise towards orgasm.  I started servicing this boy, determined to give
him that climax.  I wanted to give, not take.  And I wanted him to know
that.  I NEEDED to give him pleasure.  Every muscle in my own body, even my
rock hard dick, pointing like a gun at his back, was focussed on serving a
boy again!  I'm a boylover!  I need to serve a boy!

I locked my lips in a tight ring around his shaft and started moving them
up and down his full length.  With each up stoke, my lips pressed against
his pubis.  I knew the lower part of his shaft had less sensation, but I
also knew that I was stretching his foreskin this way, and could feel it
retract all the way over the rim of his glans.  Then on the down stroke
with my head, my lips pulled his skin back over his glans, and I gave him a
soft massage directly on the most sensitive part of his body.  To increase
his pleasure, I made a trough of my tongue, and could sense that its rough
surface was sending ripples and waves of pleasure through his loins.

Rolando was loveliness personified, but I closed my eyes and just
concentrated on the tastes and feels.

The feel of his hair, cool and silky, brushing so lightly across my face,
and on each upstroke resting in pools upon my forehead, my nose, my closed
eyes.  The smell of it, clean but tinged with his personal scent.

The feel of his firm flesh gliding under my hands, as I let them caress
from his back, down his buttocks, to the length of his thighs.

The feel of his lightly dangling balls when they jiggled on my chin with
each upward movement of my mouth on his tool.  I literally felt each of his
balls, as they first touched my chin, then slid over the precipice to flop
towards my throat.

Most of all the taste and feel of his pistoning dick, so small and soft,
yet so hard and virile and unyielding, demanding!  Fully an inch longer
than Wishus' 10 year old dick.  And a little bigger, filling my mouth a bit
more.  The taste was much the same, so ...  fleshy, earthy.  I savored the
taste - only the second taste of cock in my life!

Wishus' foreskin was not ready to retract fully, and I had only tasted the
tip of his glans, where the frenular band of his prepuce was stretched taut
by his erection.  Rolando's foreskin pulled back smoothly and completely
with each thrust, and I went mad laving his bare glans, feeling his shivers
each time.

His reaction made me more bold and forceful, and I moved my hands to his
stalk, reducing the length of my stroke.  I gently pulled his skin back,
baring his cock head fully and permanently, and started concentrating
mercilessly on his glans.

He cried out again and again, weak, breathless moans, as if I were
inflicting exquisite torture on him.  Of course, that only inflamed my own
frenzy.  I suctioned harder, used my tongue more forcefully all over his
glans, stabbing into the tiny slit of his pee hole.

His moans became almost continuous, and he started writhing uncontrollably,
the nerve endings in his cock sending shocks to all parts of his body at
random.

Finally he shrieked, and grabbed my hair, and I felt quite joyous as his
thighs clenched against the sides of my head.  I knew he was cumming.  I
felt quite joyously like I was a bronco he was riding, with my hair as his
reins!  Although he was doing all the bucking!

Rolando ended by practically collapsing onto me, crushing his body flat
over me, smothering me with his pubis.  I just held him tighter, digging my
fingers into his fleshy butt cheeks, kneading them.  I loved the feel of
boy against me, this boy - his soft, hot body so tight against me.

His dick softened just a bit, but was still stiff.  I stopped my rough
treatment of it with my tongue, and loosened my lips slightly, but kept up
a very slight suction, sensing that that would make him feel cherished and
secure as he came down off his high.

Soon Rolando lifted himself slowly from off me, and I took a deep breath of
his private scent.  His penis plopped free from my lips, but I gave it up
reluctantly.  At the last instant, knowing I would no longer have his
precious little tool in my mouth, I tightened my lips slightly, and briefly
tried to pull back with my hands on his butt.  I quickly licked and licked
the underside of his retreating shaft and glans, and concentrated on his
super- sensitive frenulum, where his unhooded glans was attached to his
foreskin.  It was like an instinctual reaction - a boylover acting without
thought, doing whatever my nature intended me to do, to keep this boy
inside me!

He pulled out, nevertheless.  But I could feel him grow harder almost
instantaneously.  Having not released any seed, he was apparently still
feeling lusty.  Tired, but getting ready for more!

I suddenly remembered his statement, just moments before, that I had to
save my own sperm for him, that I was to fuck him!

Fuck a boy?!  The ultimate sexual act of boylove, in my estimation.
Something I had dreamed of all my adult life. At least since reading the
classic literature.  Reading it, living those ancient times, in my dreams.

Now, here and now, a 12 year old boy-god had declared that I must fuck him!
And now he grew harder.  He was not just giving his body to me in payment
for my kindnesses towards Demetrio.  He wanted to be fucked.  He grew hard
again, in anticipation of my penetration of his hole.

He called out to Demetrio as he rose from me.  Something in Spanish, a
request, ending in `por favor' - `please'.  That much I understood.

Something else I understood all of a sudden, and I looked beyond Rolando's
perfect form for the first time since he had straddled me.  There indeed
was Demetrio, sitting upright on his blankets.  My eyes were fully
accustomed to the dark, and the half-moon was very bright.  I could see the
intensity of Demetrio's gaze, his eyes on his big brother, listening
intently to his request. He had his shirt on, but as he stood up to comply,
I saw he had his pants off, and one hand wrapped around his little erect,
one and a half inch cocklet!

So he had been watching us, of course.  Watching me swallow Rolando,
listening to his brother's ecstasy, as well as my own groans - and he had
sat at the end of my blankets when I tore open my longjohns and pulled out
my hard 7 inches!

A hundred thoughts, fleeting thoughts, flew through my head then.  This six
year old boy knew all about love-making ... no doubt he had often witnessed
Big John together with Rolando.  Did he take part too?  A six year old,
becoming aroused, jacking off?  Could I taste his little dick too?  My
heart skipped a beat, with my next thought - would I fuck him too?  Could I
fuck him?  Could a six year old take my dick inside him?

My mind was feverish with desire now.  I wanted to fuck Rolando!  I wanted
to take Demetrio in my arms and cover him with kisses on every part of his
little boy body!

Rolando climbed off me, and through my crazed, wide-open eyes, I saw him
squat at my side, while Demetrio ran to where their saddle-bags rested.

I didn't immediately see what it was that Demetrio went to get, because
Rolando shocked me by inserting both his little hands into the fly of my
longjohns.  He was hot.  His hands were hot, as if fevered.  I could see it
in his eyes too, as he gazed down at my dick.  Then he leaned over closer,
and his hair swung forward, veiling most of his face from me.  As he leaned
forward, across my body, he shifted so that he could rest on his haunches,
instead of squatting on the balls of his feet.  First I felt his right hand
slip inside and encircle my engorged and pulsing penis, his palm resting
against the top of the shaft, his fingers wrapping around, kneading my
turgid flesh.  He pulled my dick free of the fabric, and started slowly
pumping up and down on it.  Simultaneously I felt his left hand snake down
lower inside my longjohns, till with an oh so gentle, tender touch, he had
my balls cupped in his palm.  Or I should say ball.  Rolando might be 12,
but he still had little boy hands, and with his fingers outstretched, he
could cup both my balls, but his little palm could only cushion one.  I
felt him encircle one, still being careful and gentle, and then he tugged
it free of the confining fabric.  I felt safe in his expert hands.  And
anyone who's had his balls handled knows how important that is!  Even in
the heat of passion.  With Wishus I was so aroused and se deeply in love,
that he could have pulled and tugged on my balls at will.  With Rolando, I
sensed that he knew from experience exactly what he was doing.  Soon, he
reached back in and likewise pulled my other testicle up, letting them both
rest now on top of the woolen fabric.

"Make me a lot of juice, cahones," he whispered gutturally, while cupping
my balls together now, lifting and massaging them with his soft fingers.
"And you!"  he said playfully, still pumping on my dick, "you're not so big
as Big John!"  I could feel him trying to touch his thumb and middle finger
together around my shaft, measuring it's girth.  They didn't touch, so
small and dainty were his boyish hands, but I felt him squeezing, trying to
reach around, sizing me up.  "Not so big," he continued, musing to himself,
"but I think you are longer!"  I could hear his excitement, his
anticipation.  Was he savoring the idea of my 7 inches up inside him,
deeper than he had ever felt from Big John?

What about the fake cock, I wondered.  It was much longer than mine.  How
much of it had he taken inside him?  Did its cold, lifeless, polished shaft
feel so good to a boy as having a real man's dick inside him?

From the way Rolando was caressing and nearly slavering over me, I guessed
the answer was that he definitely preferred the real thing.

He was partially shielded from my view, by his long, long black hair, but I
could hear the way he felt in his words.

I had just cum, but with him rhythmically fisting my shaft up and down,
pulling my foreskin up all the way over my glans, then back down, pulling
it tightly down so it stretched my glans down like a squashed plum, I could
feel another orgasm approaching.  His maddeningly slow rhythm was driving
me crazy!  I started lifting my butt off the ground, to meet his downward
motion, as if I could hurry him.

He felt my rising tension, and seemed to suddenly come to his own senses.
"Not yet, meester!" he turned his dark gaze on me.  He stopped his pumping,
withdrawing his hands, withdrawing those excruciating, building sensations
in my groin.  But he replaced it with something almost priceless - a smile!
A half-smile, it was, a sly, knowing smile, jolting me with a sense of
reward.  "Save your juice for me!  I want it inside me!"  he crooned.  I
could have melted, hearing his sweet voice say that, seeing him smile - no
more disdain, or anger, or whatever it was before.

"Demetrio!" he called, turning to look for his brother, who was just
returning.  They exchanged a few more brief words, quickly, while I saw him
take the green-glass jar from Demetrio's hands - the one he had retrieved
from the shed, where Big John had fucked him.  Demetrio seemed to want to
join in.  His little voice was pleading, and he reached out for my dick,
but Rolando commanded him away.  He wasn't mean about it, I could tell from
his tone, just definitely in total control.  Whatever he said seemed to
satisfy the little one, because Demetrio knelt back down on his blankets at
my feet, facing us, his eyes still wide open.  Again I saw his hand reach
down to his still stiff little rod.

The dark of night softened the appearance of his ugly wounds, and what I
saw instead was a lovely little boy, thin, naked, his skin paler in the
brilliance of the moonlight, but the shadows, and his own coal black hair,
making him a vision of dark lines and soft, highlighted curves and edges -
all boy in the slimness of his flat belly and chest, the delicacy of his
arms, the eagerness in his eyes mirroring what he was doing to his own
little dick.

I returned my attention to what Rolando was doing, because he suddenly
straddled me again, this time much lower, below my balls.  I felt his hot
buttocks now against my thighs, and could easily see his little dickie
pointing stiffly at me from his hairless pubic mound.  He had the stopper
out of the jar already, and with a plunge of three fingers into it, brought
out a dollop of the thick white creamy substance.

A lubricant!  I suddenly understood, with some trepidation, as he started
painting my dick all over with the cream.  He concentrated on my glans,
making sure some of the cream stayed there, and then down below my
uncovered glans, where my shaft was thickest.  I had to take a deep breath.
He was readying me to penetrate him!  Would it hurt him?  Was that why he
wanted the cream?  To ease the pain?

"This make you slide in so easy, meester," he said suddenly, as if reading
my mind.  "Or maybe you know that, huh?  How many boys have you fuck,
meester?"

I remained mute with astonishment, and some trepidation, I'll admit.  I
think I would have gone soft, if not for his hands sliding up and down and
all around the top part of my dick, making me squirm as his clenched, but
smooth-sliding hand massaged me.  I could only look into his eyes, and back
down at what he was doing.  Back and forth, wondering at what he would do
next.

Simple enough! He reached back and handed the jar to Demetrio, who quickly
got up from his position on his blankets.  They exchanged more words, and
then Rolando leaned forward, lifting his butt up in the air over me,
forcing his head forward.  He was totally shielded now by the thick veil of
black hair that hung down across my belly, but I could see Demetrio quickly
put his own fingers into the jar.  He scooped out large dollop, and his
hand disappeared behind Rolando.

The elder boy suddenly lurched forward a bit, and sighed, and I knew
without seeing, exactly what Demetrio was doing.  He was applying the
lubricant to Rolando's little anus.  Touching that same sweet, sensitive
flesh that I had touched earlier in the day, just before I pulled the
wooden rod from it's grip.

"I think you must have fuck lot of boys, meester," Rolando suddenly
whispered gutturally to me, lifting his head and looking at me through the
strands of his veil.  I saw his face soften, knowing that he felt
Demetrio's ministrations.  "I see all day ... how you like watching me
... and Metrio.  You love boys, don't you?"

I imagined that each of his pauses was caused by Demetrio's exploring
fingers, pushing the slick cream inside his elder brother.

"I ...," I started to say, but felt my throat growing tight with emotion.
Did I like boys?!  I ate, slept, drank, and dreamed boys!  And I was deeply
in love with one boy, named Wishus!  And yes, all day my eyes had been on
these two boys before me, thrilling me, causing me doubt, enticing me,
tempting me, filling me with desire.

"I ... do love boys."  I half-whispered back to him, as if he awaited my
confession.  "But no, I have never ... fucked a boy."  My voice trailed off
to a barely audible whisper upon uttering that word.  Fuck.  To me it was
more than mere penetration.  It was ... filling a boy with my love.  That's
what I wanted to do.  Fill Wishus with my undying love!  In the heat of my
passion, I was insensible to the contradiction.  I wanted to fill Wishus
with my undying love, but I was being prepared to fill another boy.

 "But I know you want to, meester."  Rolando responded back immediately,
showing a little surprise in his reaction.  "Don't you."  It was a
declaration, not a question.

My hands remained rigid by my sides.  How I wanted to lift them and part
his veil, touch his brow, pull him to me and smother him with kisses
... and plunge into him.  He was ravishing me!

"Don't you!" He demanded so forcefully, yet still uttering it in a near
whisper.  It was the force of his being, drawn from his knowledge of his
power over me, that I felt.  He was well aware of how beautiful and
enticing he was.  And he was quite well aware of my desire.

"Yessssss.!" I gave in to him.  And suddenly I could hold back no longer.
I raised both my arms and reached forward, to grasp his shoulders, and
pulled him forward.  He let me pull him forward, yielding to my sudden
passion.  Smiling.  Glorying in my passion.  I saw triumph in his eyes!  My
hands slipped down further, along his smooth ribcage.  The heat of his
flesh in my palms was life-giving!  I felt his hair in my face again, and
breathed deeply of his scent.  I pulled him forward more, till his cheek
rested against mine, and I started kissing him feverishly all around his
left ear, and taking the strands of his lovely hair between my lips,
tasting it, consuming his essence, his smell, his taste.

My palms slipped down further, till I held him on his hips, and I then
pushed down, gently now - knowing that he would let me, but through the
fire of my passion still wanting it to be his choice.  He was not going to
give me this out of some sense of gratitude!  The muscles of his thighs
yielded, and he started to lower his rear towards my enraged dick.  I swear
my dick strained upwards, and must have grown an inch in that instant,
practically exploding in power upward, seeking his hole.

I felt my dickhead against his crack now, and he suddenly took command
again, lifting his head away from my devouring lips, raising his torso,
giving himself a better angle to lower himself onto me.  He said something
quickly, to Demetrio - giving orders again - commanding, but in his sweet,
boyish voice, not harsh.  To my astonishment I felt Demetrio's tiny little
fingers on my shaft, guiding it to his brother's love hole.

Rolando wanted me inside, and quickly.  It was a revelation to me.  Here
was a boy who had been fucked, and apparently often, and by a man with a
dick bigger than mine.  And this boy wanted it again.  He acted like he
needed a cock up in his rear.  Surely this answered one of my questions
about union with a boy - could he derive pleasure from it?  Surely Rolando
would not be so eager to have me inside him, if not.

A moan escaped his lips, when my bare glans finally pressed against his
anus.  It was a sound of ... satisfaction, of anticipation finally
rewarded.

I was too stunned to utter any sound.  My cock, MY COCK, was resting at the
entrance to a boy's love canal, and I was about to enter him.  I was about
to fuck a boy!  I was about to perform a man's role, for his boy, and fill
him with my seed!  With my love!

His whole crack, and the head of my dick, had been lubricated by the cream
from the jar, and the sensations of my soft glans slipping smoothly into
his crack, and into the natural indentation where it would soon enter
Rolando's body, was just delicious with warmth.  Demetrio started pushing
my shaft against his brother's hole, in little back and forth, and rotating
motions, as if he were trying to center the tip of my dick right at
Rolando's anus.

Rolando pushed down, and I felt his ring of flesh slip easily down over my
glans.  It was hot, and tight, constricting my dickhead.  I lost my breath
momentarily, feeling his anus pulse around my soft flesh, sending flashes
of unspeakable pleasure throughout my groin.  I knew he had been fucked
often, and no doubt his anus was loosened somewhat, thus the entry was so
apparently easy for him.  But I had not expected him to be able to
literally grasp my dickhead with his powerful ring of muscle!

Have you ever tortured your glans, when jacking off, driving yourself
insensible with the pleasure, but refusing to grasp your entire shaft and
pump feverishly, holding the pleasure at the peak, not allowing yourself to
go over the edge to orgasm?  That's the way I felt now, in the grip of
Rolando's anus.  I had allowed him to take control again, and now I could
either endure the mind-shattering desire to feel him push further down, or
let him continue to tantalize me.  He was an expert at this, and he knew
what he was doing to me, but from his own moans, I could tell he too was
feeling the pleasure of having his sensitive anus stretched by my dickhead.

For all I knew, given my lack of experience, this was a technique he was
using to loosen himself up, before accepting me fully inside him.  He
certainly seemed to know what he was doing.  I wondered if this were the
way he and Big John had made love, starting slow, letting the boy get used
to his man's penis invading his body.  I imagined it was not always like
that.  That Big John had no doubt often been more brutal.  I wondered too
if Rolando, feeling more control over me than he had with Big John, sensing
my inexperience, was showing me how he preferred to make love.  How a boy
could most enjoy taking a man inside him.

He kept at it, tightening and loosening, moving up and down on my dickhead
in almost imperceptible measure.  Jerky motions, that he controlled with
the powerful muscles of his thighs.  Driving me crazy!  The sensitive skin
of my shaft, just below my glans, was stretched and pulled, but never given
the satisfaction of feeling the boy's flesh descend upon it.  I almost
started to cry in desperation, wanting to feel his hot flesh just one more
inch, one more half-inch down on my shaft, below my glans!  His own
tortured breath and his moans of pleasure added to the overflow of
sensations.  I tried to push up just a bit, almost involuntarily, still
holding him firmly on his hips He pulled away expertly, continuing the
teasing knowingly.

My first fuck.  With a boy!  And with a very expert and practiced boy!
Here we were in the dark of the night, our united forms lit only by the
silvery glow of the moon, the cool, crisp air of the mountains enveloping
our fevered, white-hot bodies, and through the fevered passion I suddenly
had a thought - this was what a lifetime of boylove had prepared me for!
It was finally happening!


----------------------


Ben Knight awoke to complete silence.  He and his wife had gotten into bed
early, immediately upon finishing supper.  She hadn't eaten much.  Seemed
like she was still exhausted from the trip into town.  It had been four
days now, but she hadn't felt good since their return.  Knight was torn up
with worry, and knew he was drinking too much because of it.  But, damnit,
he couldn't get anything done around the ranch with his wife in this
condition!

Damned Teglin.  If he hadn't been in such a hurry to get back on the trail,
he could have helped out now when they most needed it.  The boy, up in his
loft on the other side of the cabin, just couldn't hack it.  He was no help
at all.

Complete silence.  Something nagged at Knight's consciousness.  Something
was wrong.  It was nighttime, dark outside.  Should be quiet outside.  No?

Complete silence.  Not even the whisper of his wife's breath, laying next
to him..

He felt wetness under his hands.  It felt sticky, gooey, slick between his
fingers, thick, cold.

Knight sat up in a flash and jerked down the covers from his wife's
reclining form.  She lay there still, on her side, in her nightgown.  He
could see the round protrusion where their baby lay in her womb.  And at
the base of that mound ...

In the dark of the night, it was just a splotch of darker blackness.  But
he knew what it was.  He knew.

And now he knew why he couldn't hear her breathing.  He nudged her shoulder
gently.

Nothing.

He called her name.  Softly, then louder, and louder!

Nothing.

He fell over her form and grasped her, rolled her over onto her back, shook
her by the shoulders ... felt the coldness of her flesh.

He screamed in agony, and roughly cradled her head in his arms.  Calling
out to her, yelling now, trying to wake her from a sleep he knew she would
never awaken from.

He stopped.  It was futile.  He knew it was futile.  He just sat there for
long minutes, with one thought going through and through his head.
Everything was lost, now.  He had nothing, now.  Without her, there was
nothing.

He sat there like that, holding his wife's rigid and cold body, for more
than an hour.  Then suddenly, he realized that for once he knew exactly
what to do.  He lay her head back down upon the bed, and rose.  He went to
the lantern sitting by the bed, and pulled off the lamp and jerked out the
wick, then splashed the kerosene around the room and on the bed.  He didn't
care that it splashed on his own nightclothes too.  Then without even a
second's hesitation, he picked up the matches, and lit one.  Calmly he lit
the sheets of the bed, the curtain over the window, then he dropped the
match to the floor and laid down beside his wife.

Flames licked up the curtains to the roof, and the bed sheets were soon
engulfed too.  In the rising roar of the flames, Ben Knights screams of
agony went unheard.

Across the covered porch, in the other section of the Texas cabin, Wishus
slept soundly still.  The flames licked closer and closer to him, beginning
to cross the roof of the porch.


----------------------


Rolando continued to tantalize me with the suctioning grip of his anal
muscle on the head of my dick.  My breath was coming in short gasps now,
and I felt that I would soon shoot up inside the boy.  I started to groan.
Short, pitiful sounding wails of need.  I wanted so much to push deeper
inside this boy, but he was in charge.  Everytime I pushed up deeper, he
was quick to lift up, denying me.  He was tantalizing me, yes, but at the
same time expertly giving me sensations in my dick that I had never
imagined possible.  I felt like there were hundreds, thousands of different
points of excruciating pleasure in my dickhead - each one tingling,
itching, demanding the touch of Rolandos massaging sphincter.

I consciously let him torture me with this pleasure.  I was a grown man,
and could easily have tightened my grasp about his hips, and forced my cock
deep up into his entrails.  But I knew he was enjoying this, and that was
part of my fascination.  He was a boy being fucked, and I sensed that he
was feeling the same delirious, almost unbounded pleasure that I was.  I
could hear it in his own moans.  His own short breaths.  And in the now
almost spastic, irregular contractions of his anal ring about me.  He was
in control, yet he was losing control in the pleasure.  He was a revelation
to me.  I had part of my answer - I COULD fuck my dearest Wishus, and bring
him this ultimate joy too ....

It hit me with the force of a sledge hammer.  I felt a hot flash burn
through my already fevered brain, and felt my rigid body tense suddenly in
agony, instead of passion.  The hot flash swept my body.  The shame of it,
that I was here fucking this beautiful boy, fucking his body.  I was not
making love to him.  I could only make love with Wishus.  I was using
Rolando, and even worse, betraying Wishus.

Wishus was my boy!  I was his man!  Yet here I was miles away, rutting
away.  Doing nothing to hasten my return to his side.  Doing nothing to
serve him ... well, if I had learned of the pleasure that a boy could
receive from his man, then it should be something I had learned with him!

"Now I ... weel let you fuck me ... HARD, meester!"  Rolando grunted
through his erratic breathing.  But even as I felt him begin to push down
on me, I knew that it would be impossible.  I felt my shaft softening,
almost instantaneously, the blood rushing from my penis in my shame.

"Wishus!"  I called out through tears, wishing that the hot flesh still in
my grasp was his, wishing that it was his body I had entered.  "Wishus!"


----------------------


Wishus awoke in a start, as if he had heard someone call out his name.  He
listened.  Wanting to hear it again.  Had it been his man?  Had it been his
voice, calling to him?

He strained, but did not hear it again, and realized that it was but a
dream.  He felt a tightness in his throat, wanting so much for the dream to
have been real.  But there were still more than two weeks to go, before his
man would return.  If he returned ....

Tears started to well again, as they did every night when he awoke to the
silence of the night, alone.  Alone again.  Always alone ....

No!  Not alone.  He would return!  He had said he would, and therefore
... he just would!

The loft was eerie tonight.  Something was different.  His heart skipped a
beat, with a sudden terror.  Wide-eyed now, and wide awake instantly, he
peered around and twisted about frantically, grasping his blankets to his
chest, searching for ... whatever it was.  Oh Teg, I'm scared now!  Where
are you?!  An involuntary little squeal of fright escaped his throat.  He
needed his man here, now!  Not three weeks from now.

Cold sweat broke out on his brow, plastering fine strands of his hair to
his forehead.  It was odd, he sensed.  His natural keen intelligence for a
moment victorious over his fright, he sat shivering, but aware that the air
in the loft was unusually dry and warm.  And instead of the familiar sounds
of the wind mewling through the cracks in the roof, he heard a crackling
kind of sound - like that a bonfire made, when the flames were licking
furiously up the newly ignited dry bark of the logs.  There was a weird,
hellish cast to the night, too, as if the forest around the cabin were
alight ...

Fire!

Without a moment wasted in wonder, he leapt from the bed, dragging his
blankets with him, and rushed to the opening where the ladder rested.  He
peered down, but saw nothing but pitch black there.  He stuffed the
blankets through the opening and let them drop to the floor below, and
quickly followed, not even bothering to turn to face the rungs of the
ladder.  He almost slid down, barely letting his heels touch the rungs in
passing.  His nightgown flew up around his face and he felt the cool air
from below suddenly chill his bare buttocks and his little cock and balls.
If only his man were here too see that!.  even in this moment of terror,
his thoughts returned to his man, to the thrill that came from pleasing
him, from knowing that in his man's eyes, he was beautiful and beloved.

No time for that!  Knowing every inch of the small cabin, he had no trouble
in making his way quickly the few steps through the darkness to the door.
He flung up the latch and pushed the door open on its leather hinges,
expecting to see the forest ablaze beyond the covered porch.  Instead he
stared directly into the flames coming from the other half of the cabin.
It was totally engulfed!

"Uncle Ben!" he screamed.  "Auntie!!"  The heat from across the way forced
him to pull back the door.  He consciously drew a deep breath, trying to
still his futile gulping and gasping for air.

He knew there would be no answer.  No one would still be alive over there.
But what if they had escaped!  He pushed open the door again, but had to
close it quickly against the searing heat.  He had to get out beyond the
cabin too.  Surely they would be there waiting
... but why hadn't they come to warn him!!

His tears started to flow then.  They hadn't come.  Either they didn't care
enough to, or
....

"Teg!  I need you," he whispered into the night, latching the door again
unconsciously, as if the barred door could keep out the flames.  It was
only a moment of self-pity, however.  He had no time for more.  Soon, he
knew, this part of the cabin would go up in flames too.  Furiously he wiped
the tears away, smearing the smudge of the smoke that was seeping into the
room across his cheeks.  His face felt prickly, as it did when he had been
too long in the sun, and it had burnt.

Think! Think.  He calmed himself.  Teg's not here.  Uncle Ben and Auntie
are ....  I have to get as much as I can and get out of here ... and
... get up to our city!  That ...  that's what we fixed it up for!

He rushed to the cupboard, nearly stumbling over the blankets he had
dropped on the floor.  Gathering them, he quickly pulled off cans and pots
and spoons - whatever his hands could reach, and dumped them into the
blankets.  Then grasping the corners, he quickly slung the heavy bag over a
shoulder and stumbled towards the oilskin window.  He punched through that
quickly, and tore it from the window, then proceeded to stuff his treasures
outside.  Halfway out the whole thing came apart, and he heard all the
items tumbling to the ground outside, or inside at his feet.  Quickly he
retrieved them, and threw them out, then levered himself through the
window.

He fell awkwardly, failing to release his hold on the sill quickly enough,
and felt a stinging pain as his right arm was wrenched at the shoulder.
The bed of cans and utensils yielded nothing, either, and he knew he would
be bruised from his back down to his feet.  On this side of the cabin, it
was still relatively cool, so he took his time now, not panicking.
Frantically he gathered all the items back into the blankets and dragged
them out into the grass away from the cabin.

He looked up, and the forest around him was indeed alight, but only with
the reflected glow from the burning cabin.  Uncle Ben and Auntie were no
where to be seen.  He started shivering again, his frail frame not yet
inured to the cold nighttime air of the mountain valley.  But more, he
shivered from the loss.  The shock.  He stared wide-eyed at the now visible
flames licking across the roof of his own side of the cabin, and realized
that he was truly, truly alone now.  As alone as any little ten year old
boy could ever be.

"Teg ..." he started sobbing, his whole body wracked with convulsions of
desperation.  "Teg, I need you!  Now!!"