Date: Thu, 4 Dec 2008 22:38:32 -0700
From: Dream Spinner <authorsix@hotmail.com>
Subject: "The Brewsters Celebrate Mardi Gras - Part 2/2" (t/t, m/m)

Caution/Welcome.  This is a story involving four brothers between the ages
of thirteen and seventeen, their forty-five-year-old father and a fortysome
married gay couple, their gay twenty- one-year-old nephew and his
boyfriend, sundry hot and spicy Cajun and dark and sexy Creole boys, some
Voodoo and a lot of sex in the Big Easy during Mardi Gras.  It is posted at
free gay adult story sites for adult entertainment only.  Permission is not
given to copy electronically nor in any other form for the purpose of
redistribution or posting at sites other than those just described.  This
is the forty-ninth story in the Brewster Adventures special events and
myths series.  Chronologically it follows the forty-eighth story in the
series, "The Brewsters Celebrate Boy Scout Day", but like the other stories
in this series it is a stand alone story that can be read totally on its
own.  Comments, Mardi Gras beads and all expense paid invites to future
Mardi Gras celebrations can be sent to the author J.O. Dickingson at
authorsix@hotmail.com

	       THE BREWSTERS CELEBRATE MARDI GRAS - PART 2/2

     While their brothers and father were getting it on at the masked ball,
Bobby and Benny were getting it on back at the French row house on
Iberville Street.  Bobby was laying flat on his back with his legs spread
and his knees pulled back against his smooth, rounded chest and his ass
propped up on a pile of pillows.  Benny, stark naked like his brother, was
kneeling between his outspread legs, his elbows on either side of his
brother, and his stiff dick, just an eighth of an inch short of six inches,
shoved up his kid brother's hot, moist asshole.  Over the years the two
brothers had fucked each other in every position imaginable, and Benny
being an expert on all matters sexual, had searched the Internet and knew
positions that even the wisest gurus from India had not thought of.  Of
them all, they preferred the one they were in, face to face, so, as Benny
put it, they could gaze into each other's eyes at that ultimate moment when
they orgasmed and became one.  Besides being a horny little bugger,
fifteen-year-old Benny was a bit of romantic.  The two boys having thick,
dark-brown hair which both had grown out in the same style and streaked
with the same copper highlights, the same hazel eyes and their father's
dark, handsome looks, it was like they were looking into a mirror except
with thirteen-year-old Bobby at four-foot-ten and ninety-five pounds, Benny
was two years older and six inches taller and twenty pounds heavier, and at
fifteen had started to grow fine peach fuzz on his upper lip.
     While Benny was screwing his kid brother, his father was screwing
also, enthusiastically working his hips to and fro, driving his cock in and
out of Philippe's hot, moist chute as he sucked hungrily on Henri's cock.
He had not felt this hot in a long time and despite being a married man
with seven children he felt no guilt making out with the two men.  He would
never cheat on his wife with another woman, but what he was doing with the
two men was something he could never do with his wife.  Besides, it was not
as if they were complete strangers.  They had been exceptional hosts and in
the short time he'd known them he knew they were an honest, trustworthy
couple.  Of course being friends with his younger brother that came as no
surprise to him, nor that they had full-heartedly included him in their
weekend festivities.  He knew this was a particularly special weekend, and
that they'd so openly and willingly accommodated him and his sons spoke
highly of their friendship with his brother and of their openness and
generosity.
     Speaking of his sons, as he slid his lips up Henri's cock and
swallowed his dick-flavoured saliva, he noticed out of the corner of his
eye the blond boys and their partners that he'd noticed earlier now engaged
in a hot foursome across the dark, shadowy room.  The one blond was
whomping the ass of one of the older boys while the other blond, who had to
be a twin, was getting his ass screwed by the other dark-haired boy while
he, and the other boy being screwed, were gyrating against each other.
They had stripped naked except for the leather bands around the blond boys'
arms and the masks they continued to wear, the masks of the two
blond-haired boys he suddenly realized being identical to those his sons
had purchased in the French Quarter when they'd arrived on Friday.  Of
course there were hundreds, perhaps even thousands, of such masks sold in
the city that weekend, though that they were being worn by two lithesome
young boys with gorgeous, blond hair cascading down their backs almost to
their waist just like his sons made the possibility that it was a
coincidence highly unlikely.
     That he was watching his two teenage sons getting off with two young
men, likely the nephew of the man he fucking, was particularly erotic.  Of
course he'd known for a year now that his two oldest sons were gay, and he
had himself messed around with them and their younger brothers this past
year, but seeing them there, naked and writhing and gasping with two other
youths, the one with his cock buried up his partner's ass and the other
with a cock buried up his, hit home to him the raw sexuality and gayness of
his two boys.  While many men would have found such a sight at least a
shock, and for most repugnant and even horrifying, Barry found it arousing.
He had no qualms about his bisexuality, and he was delighted to see his
sons so openly and enthusiastically accepting and engaging in that which
brought them such great pleasure.
     He closed his eyes and concentrated on his own pleasure, the pleasure
throbbing through his own blood-engorged cock and causing his dickhead to
itch madly, the pleasure of having his long, thick cock surrounded by hot,
moist, pulsating assflesh, the pleasure of having a hard, throbbing cock
pulsating in his mouth, and the pleasure that comes from knowing the
pleasure he was feeling was being felt by his two partners.  He sucked
eagerly on the blood-engorged knob in his mouth, delighting in its flavour
and trembling as he felt the first dollop of pre-cum ooze out of the
piss-slit.  He grasped Philippe's hips more tightly as he began to plow his
ass, his aching cock demanding satisfaction that he knew was only seconds
away.  Philippe and Henri were close to their own climaxes, and from
Barry's increased intensity they knew he had to be about to pop also.
Philippe could not believe the size of the monster cock reaming out his
ass, stretching his anus wider than it had ever been stretched before and
probing his rectum deeper than anything had ever done, even the longest
dildo he'd ever had shoved up his ass.  As he sighed with the awesome
pleasure so did Henri as Barry worked his lips up and down his cock and
sucked on his tumescent organ and as he felt the tension building in his
groin.  James's brother had proven to be as hot and skilled a cocksucker as
James himself, which he hadn't ever doubted.
     The three men shot simultaneously, Barry sending a hot enema of thick
cum up Philippe's rectum, Henri sending a flood of hot, creamy cum down
Barry's throat, and Philippe blasting out a load of cum to spatter the
tiled floor beneath him.  They shuddered and gasped with the pleasure of
their ejaculations, and the pleasure of having made another man cum.  Never
had Philippe felt such a hot blast up his rectum and he was sure he could
feel Barry's sperm swimming even further up his chute.  Henri was sure he'd
never blasted so hard either and he quivered as Barry drank his hot, creamy
cum eagerly and continued to work his lips up and down his now numb shaft,
sucking the hot marrow out of his throbbing bone.  Barry had inhaled deeply
as he felt his first spurt erupt from his cock, and as he swallowed the
flood of cum spurting out of Henri's bone the overwhelming pleasure, his
and that of his two partners, caused him to momentarily forget his sons and
to think only of the awesome pleasure he was experiencing.
     Across the room the hot, sweating foursomes were cumming also, Brent
and Marcel trembling with delight as their hairy nuts constricted and
they're hot, thick cum spurted out of their burning pee-slits and up the
hot, tightly gripping ass they had been fucking.  Squirt after squirt
erupted out of their throbbing, burning dicks and spurted up into the dank
depths of their two partners.  Andre and Brett quivered with delight as
they felt the hot flood of a man juice spurt up their rectums and the
thick, hard bones buried deep up their assholes quiver and throb out their
juices.  They quivered too with delight as they ejaculated themselves,
their stiff, aching cocks penned between their bodies throbbing out their
juices, they're thick, white cum spurting up out of the swollen,
blood-engorged knobs like geysers.  Their cum shot up over their smooth,
muscular chests, Brett's and Andre's, and flowed back down over their
burning, hard teats and on down over their six-pac abs and over their
swollen cocks, clotting in their thick hairs and flowing on down over their
tightly drawn-up balls and down their thighs.  Despite having cum the
previous night, they were young and healthy and had an endless supply of
hot jism.  Wrapping their arms about each other and kissing, they were hot
and sticky, and so happily gay.
     Back at the neat little house in the French Quarter, Benny and Bobby
were gasping and twisting with their orgasms also.  Benny smiled down at
Bobby as he lunged forward and his cock began spurting out his cum, filling
his kid brother's rectum with his ooze.  He never ceased to delight in the
awesome feeling of popping a nut, nor of seeing the look of sheer delight
in his kid brother's eyes as he felt his rectum being filled.  Spurt after
spurt erupted out of the fifteen-year- old's hot, flushed body and he
delighted in the burning of his dickhead and the powerful release of his
seed.  Bobby threw his head back and cried out with ecstasy as he felt his
rectum being flooded with his brother's stuff, and he trembled as his own
powerful, dry orgasm hit him, his little cocklet throbbing and aching with
such painful pleasure, his little nuts constricted to the size of peas.
"Oh Marie, Marie, Marie," he sighed deliriously as his entire body shook
and he opened and closed his peehole, his stiff, throbbing dicklet feeling
like it was on fire and his rectum filling with his brother's juice.
     After another filling breakfast, they began Lundi Gras, Fat Monday,
with a visit to the Mardi Gras museum.  At noon King and Queen Zulu and
King and Queen Argus arrived at the museum and led a mini parade with a
regal jazz and brass band and Casa Samba from the exhibition hall to
LaSalle's Landing where they boarded a boat and crossed the river.  While
Barry headed off to the Hilton nearby for another meeting with the
entrepreneur from France, his sons and their two hosts strolled along the
Riverwalk.  Upon Barry's exuberant return, a contract to begin a franchise
of WeCare Pet Supplies stores in France in his hand, the rest of the
afternoon was spent eating po'boys and lazily wandering downtown enjoying
the street festival of live music, mimes, jugglers, stilt walkers, and
Dwaino the Clown along with thousands of other revellers.  It was like
living in another world.  King and Queen Zulu returned by boat at five and
six o'clock marked the arrival of Rex with all the royal fanfare and
formality befitting the King of Carnival, followed by a colourful display
of fireworks over the Mississippi at six-thirty.
     Wandering up to Jackson Square, they were entertained by street
performers of all ages, all with their caps, cups or instrument cases in
front of them for donations.  A pair of young Creole trombone players in
black slacks and white shirts with bow ties and their hair done in corn
rows who looked to be close to the twins age and twins themselves caught
their attention, and especially that of the twins, not just because of
their superb skill on the trombone, but because of their handsome dark
looks.
     "Not bad," Brent said appreciatively, tossing a dollar into the
trombone case on the street.
     "Not bad?  Just not bad?" said one of the players indignantly in a
high-pitched voice, his eyes widening.  "You think you can do better?" he
asked with a sly grin, sensing a challenge and being an expert at hustling
the crowd.
     "Well, actually I'm more of a trumpet player."
     "Oh yeah?" he said with a broader grin.  Reaching behind them, he
pulled out a trumpet case and opened it up. "Let's see what you can do,
white boy," he challenged.
     With the encouragement of his father and his brothers, Brent took the
instrument and adjusting the taps, he played one of the jazz pieces he'd
learned in the Crestview Heights High School Band.  Already in the mood of
Carnival, he swung and swayed with the music, and several passerbys tossed
coins into the open case.  When he was done, the boy who had challenged him
played another selection, clearly trying to outdo Brent's performance,
again with people stopping and tossing coins into his case.  Brent needless
to say followed with another selection, putting even more into it.  As they
began to gather a crowd and more coins began to be tossed, the other boy
joined in to form a threesome.
     Nearby a pair of fourteen-year-old black boys with their coarse,
shoulder-long hair held back with brightly coloured head bands and wearing
tattered, sleeveless white T-shirts and shiny nylon shorts and taps on
their tennis shoes had caught the attention of Benny and Bobby, for the
same reasons the two trombone players had caught the attention of their
older brothers.  The two boys looked like twins, right down to the thin
wisps of hair on their upper lips, and they were good.  Bobby, normally
hyper and especially so with all the junk candy he'd been eating and soda
pop he'd been drinking, could not help but dance along as he watched.
Caught up in the mood of the day, he and Benny ended up putting on a hip
hop performance which caught the attention of the crowd passing by, and
like with Brent, some because of their skill and others because of the
young boys' good looks.  Benny's cap having fallen off during their
performance, several tossed coins in it assuming he was a busker.
     "Not bad.  Not bad at all," the trombone player said to Brent with a
wide grin as they finished their next tune.  "For a honkey."
     "Not bad?  Just not bad?" Brent said, widening his eyes in mock
affront, causing the other boy to laugh.  He handed back the trumpet.
     "Why don't you stay and play a while?  We'll split what we make.  I'm
thinking between the three of us we could make a nice pile of coin."
     The three had gathered an appreciative audience, and like with Bobby
and Benny, not all of them were music lovers.  Brent looked at his father
hopefully.  Having a jam session in the French Quarter would be wicked, and
with two hot, black boys, and of course with the possibility of doing more
than just play music afterward, it would be an experience of a life time.
     "I don't know," Barry replied, knowing it would disappoint his son,
but this was the Big Easy, and it was Lundi Gras.  Not everyone was a
tourist or out for a good time and he knew the French Quarter was not the
safest place at the best of times.  Still, it had been an awesome day and
he was in high spirits what with the successful conclusion of his business
in New Orleans and still riding a high from the hot time he'd had the night
before.
     "Can we stay too, just for a while, Dad, please?" Bobby asked, looking
up at his father with his large, hazel eyes and a look he knew his father
was a sucker for.
     "We'll all stick together, promise," Brent said.  "We'll watch out for
each other, and we'll go straight home afterward."
     "I'm sorry boys, it's just not safe," Barry replied regretfully.
     "Your father's right," a gravely-voiced man said behind him.  "It's
not safe down here at night, and there's a lot of strangers in town who
aren't here to enjoy the Mardi Gras."
     They turned to see a large, beefy man wearing the uniform of the New
Orleans City Police.
     "Uncle Elie," said one of the seventeen-year-old trombone players,
breaking into a smile, which seemed to come naturally and frequently.  The
two high-fived.
     "This pair in particular I would not trust as far as I could throw
them," the man said with a broad grin himself.  "Nor those two scalawags,"
he added, nodding to the two tap dancers.  "You're wise not to let your
boys wander on their own, particularly this weekend," he continued, looking
at Barry and turning serious again.  "Along with the good, Mardi Gras
attracts more than the usual number of pickpockets and petty thieves, and,"
he said, glancing at the four Brewster brothers, "some people let down
their inhibitions, if you know what I mean.  You're not from New Orleans
are you?"
     "No.  We're guests," Barry said, glancing at Philippe and Henri.
     "Philippe Dumont and Henri Duhamell," the men introduced, shaking
hands.
     "Where are you gentlemen living?"
     "980 Iberville Street.  Just below Burgundy."
     "That's not far from us," said the trombone player.  "We're on South
Robertson, near the Superdome.  We could see they got home safe.  Or they
could sleep over with us, and Domingue and Leon can join us," he added,
nodding to the two younger black boys, "and we could see them home in the
daylight."
     "Now that's real New Orleans hospitality, but don't you think you
should check with your momma and poppa first before you start inviting
people home overnight?" their uncle asked with a smile.
     "They wouldn't mind.  Sides, it's Mardi Gras."
     "I'm sure they wouldn't, but we'd best check," he replied, taking out
his phone.  "If that sounds all right to you," he said, looking back at
Barry.
     To the boys' delight, Barry nodded.  And so it was arranged.  The
Brewster brothers would go with the two trombone players, who were twins,
Jean-Paul and Jean-Claude Fontenot, and their cousins, leaving the evening
free for Barry.  That fit perfectly, his two hosts having already decided
to take him to the Phoenix in the historic Fauborg Marigny neighbourhood on
the outskirts of the French Quarter to celebrate the successful conclusion
of his negotiations.  The Phoenix, one of the largest bars in New Orleans,
had been serving the gay leather/Levi and SM community of New Orleans for
twenty years and was well known by the international gay crowd.
Comfortable they were leaving the boys in safe hands, they headed directly
for the bar and after a few drinks and pleasant conversation Barry,
Philippe and Henri headed upstairs to the Eagle's Nest which catered to the
cruise crowd and was known for its music, videos, pool table, and anything
goes atmosphere, encouraged by dark corners and a twisted staff.  They were
not there for the music, videos nor to play pool.
     By then the Fontenots had enough busking for the night, and with the
anticipation of some fun with the four very hot brothers they'd met that
night, they'd begun heading for their home.  With the narrow, dark streets
and unfamiliar street names and the jostling, sometimes frightening crowd
of merrymakers, the four brothers were secretly very glad they had guides
who knew where they were heading.
     "Is 1020 St. Ann Street anywhere near here?" Bobby asked.
     "Not far.  Two blocks over and five blocks north, why you asking
that?" asked one of the older twins, Jean-Claude.
     "I thought we could maybe just stop there for a minute."
     "What the heck for?" asked Benny.
     "That's where Marie Laveau lived, remember?"
     "Oh yeah.  So?"
     "So I thought maybe, you know, we might see her."
     "Who is Marie Laveau?" asked Brent.
     "The Voodoo queen of New Orleans," Bobby replied.
     "You said she lived there, like in past tense," Brett pointed out.
     "Yeah."
     "So why would you think you might see here there?"
     "Her ghost is still there."
     "Her ghost?"
     "She's dead."
     "And you want to see her?"
     "Yeah."
     "Why?"
     Bobby shrugged.
     "Com'on, Bobby, what's up?"
     "I just thought, well, you know, we might see her, and, well, I could
ask if she got the things I left for her."
     "What things?  And left for her where?" Brent asked, wrinkling up his
nose.  Sometimes his kid brother was very weird.  Well, most times
actually.
     "Just some stuff I left at her grave."
     "At her grave?" the twins chorused together.
     "Yeah."
     "And what did you ask for in return?" Benny asked.  "Ah, never mind.
I think I got a good idea."
     "Jeez, Bobby, you don't really believe all that Voodoo mumbo jumbo
crap, do you?" Brett asked.
     "Voodoo isn't mumbo jumbo crap," Jean-Claude and Jean-Paul said
together, and from the sharp tone of their voice, it didn't take a genius
to know they were offended.
     "Hey, I'm sorry," Brett said quickly, not wanting them to be angry.
"It's just hard to believe all that stuff you see on TV about witches and
putting curses on people and zombies and stuff, you know?"
     "Yeah, well, I find it hard to believe some of your Christian crap
like ministers putting their hands on a cripple and him throwing away his
crutches and walking, or Jesus coming back from the dead and talking to his
disciples and stuff too," responded Jean-Claude coldly.
     "Besides, Voodoo isn't at all like what you see on TV and it's a hell
of a lot more than just spells and curses.  It is a religion," added
Jean-Paul.
     "Fuckin' right," agreed his brother.
     "Hey, I was just going on what you see on those old horror movies.
I'm sorry.  If you want to stop at that St. Ann place, that's fine," Brett
apologized.  "It's not too far out of the way, is it?"
     "Not really."
     The walk to the address was in silence and the joking and comradery
that had characterized their earlier conversation was noticeably missing.
Brett was sorry he'd made the comment, especially from what he knew about
his twin brother's religion and from some of the wild otherworldly
experiences they'd had, but what he did know made him start to worry just
what sorts of guys these were that they'd met up with.  He did not want to
suddenly find himself surrounded by some rotting, zombies who wanted him to
become one of them.  The house and yard they stopped at didn't look that
much different from all the other houses and yards in the French Quarter.
They stood there in silence staring at the dark grounds and unlit building.
     "There, did you see that," Bobby said suddenly.
     "What?  Where?"
     "There, by those bushes.  It looked sort of silvery, and, well
shimmery."
     "Like a ghost," observed Benny.
     "Yeah!  Did you see it too?"
     "No, I didn't see anything."
     There was a sudden noise in the vicinity Bobby had indicated, sort of
a low moan.  The branches of the bush seemed to sway.
     "Did you hear that?" Domingue whispered.
     "Yeah."
     "Look, there's something moving over there," Jean-Paul whispered as
the boys crouched down.
     "Looks like mist or something."
     "Or Marie Laveau's ghost."
     "Or her followers."
     "It's like they're moving in a circle."
     "Where?"
     "I don't see it anymore.  But I saw something."
     "Whatever or whoever or whatever, I think they're gone."
     "You satisfied?" Benny asked, his voice quavering as he looked at his
kid brother.
     "Yeah."
     "I thought you were going to ask her about the stuff you left?" Brent
asked.
     "Yeah, well, I didn't want to bother her," Bobby bluffed.  "She had to
have found it."
     The boys turned on North Rampart and headed for the Fontenots.  As
they walked, Jean- Paul and Jean-Claude talked about what they knew of
Marie Laveau, and of other tales they'd heard about local vampires and
ghosts.
     "My gramma said New Orleans is one of the most haunted cities in the
world," observed Leon.
     "Figures, with all the pirates and killings and everything, and the
people not really being able to bury the dead in the ground and stuff."
     The Brewsters recalled the comments by their guide that because most
of New Orleans was below sea level they could not bury the dead so they'd
built the large mausoleums and above ground tombs instead.  All eight of
them thought about the house and yard at 1020 St. Ann Street, each of them
convinced now they'd seen a ghost or at least a swirling mist in the
bushes.  Something flew overhead, a bat or owl or something, causing them
to duck and to peer about nervously.  At the next block, a cat jumped out
of the bushes surrounding one of the rundown properties, scaring the life
out of the eight of them, the boys having done a good job of frightening
themselves with their stories and imaginations.  The night suddenly took on
strange and eerie shadows everywhere.  They walked faster, next to a run.
It was only sixteen blocks from where they were to their destination and
they covered the distance in minutes though to them it seemed like hours.
     Their parents had gone out for the evening but their mother had left
them out snacks and a note as to where they'd gone.  Turning on every light
in the house, they pretended they hadn't been frightened and made a point
of telling the others so.  When the phone rang every one of them jumped and
those who'd tried to cover their fright by stretching or reaching to
scratch themselves weren't fooling anyone.  It was the boys' mother phoning
to make sure they'd gotten home and telling them they'd likely be later
than they'd anticipated.  Gathering around in a circle in the twin's
bedroom, not just because that was where the boys usually entertained their
guests but also they all felt safer sitting close together in the confines
of the small room, the two older boys explained that the word Creole
referred to the first generation born in New Orleans from immigrants from
France, Spain or Haiti and their descendants.  In their case their
great-something grandmother was an important Voodoo priestess, a mambo,
descended from slaves brought from Nigeria to Haiti and her son had married
a native Indian woman.  In 1804 when the whites were kicked out of Haiti
they were brought by their masters to New Orleans where her son had his
first child, who became a mambo like her grandmother.
     "So, you said Voodoo is a religion?" Brett ventured, hoping to make
amends.
     "That's right."
     "That your religion?"
     "Yeah."
     "So, do you believe in God?" asked Brent.
     "Sure.  We believe in one God, Bondye.  He is very much like the God
of Christians and of Judaism and Islam," Jean-Paul explained.  "There is
much similarity between Roman Catholicism and Voodoo actually.  Many early
slaves were baptised as Catholics, and since Voodoo was outlawed, many
disguised their worship by merging their gods and practices with Catholic
saints and beliefs.  There are many Creoles who attend Catholic church but
practice Voodoo privately and in their homes."
     "We also believe in spiritual beings to whom we pray," added
Jean-Claude. "Just like Christians believe in saints and angels, we believe
in the lwa, spirits of family members and of major forces of the universe
that affect all aspects of our life, like our health and love and sex and
stuff.  The lwa can give messages and cause good or bad things to happen to
a person.  We also believe in the twins, who are contradictory forces like
good and evil or happiness and sadness who will help a person if a person
honours them, and in the dead, the souls of family ancestors who have not
yet been honoured and become lwa."
     The Brewster brothers immediately thought back to their celebration of
the Day of the Dead in Mexico.  Given their experiences there and Brent's
Wiccan beliefs, they could easily accept the beliefs of the Fontenots.
     "The lwa determine our lives and our fate which is why it is important
to pray to them and honour them.  There are times, like during religious
festivals or when a mambo is doing work, they can even mount people,"
Jean-Claude continued.
     "Mount people?" Benny asked, his ears perking up, Jean-Claude having
immediately caught back his and his brothers' full attention.
     "Mounting is what we call it when a lwa takes over a person's body,"
he explained.  The Brewster brothers had imagined a totally different
picture.  "Exactly where a person goes when their body is possessed even
the priests don't know for sure.  Possession can be good or bad, good like
when a family spirit takes over your body to help you fight an illness, or
bad like in black magic voodoo, which is the Voodoo you see on TV with
zombies and having wild sexual orgies."
     "Well, I don't want nothing to do with zombies, but wild sexual orgies
would be okay," observed Bobby to everyone's amusement.
     "The biggest part of Voodoo is healing people using herbs and by
praying to the spirits, and by creating protections and potions and by
casting spells," Jean-Paul said.  "In black magic Voodoo, mambo and
houngan, the male priests, do the same but to harm people instead of heal
them."
     "So leaving stuff with Marie Laveau and asking her to help me was good
Voodoo, not black?" Bobby asked hesitantly, worried he'd done something
wrong.
     "I don't know.  She was rumoured to help her friends, but to curse her
enemies," replied Jean-Paul.  "It would depend on what sort of help you
were asking her for."
     "I was asking her to help me start squirting," Bobby replied with a
flush of embarrassment.  "You know," he said, jerking his hips when the
Fontenots looked at him blankly.  To his relief none of them laughed at him
or made fun of his idea, not even his brothers.
     "Oh, well, in that case since you were asking for yourself, I suppose
it would probably be Rada Voodoo, good Voodoo, as opposed to Petro Voodoo
or black magic."
     "What you need is a Legba, a virility doll," Domingue advised.
     "What is that?"
     "It's a Voodoo doll with a humongous pecker," he replied with a grin
and they all giggled.  "Really.  You should make one."
     "You know how?"
     "Do I know how?  Do I know how to tap dance?" Domingue asked.
     "Guess he doesn't," observed Jean-Paul with a shrug, resulting in
giggles and a playful poke in the arm from Domingue.
     "First we gotta get two dead branches."
     "There looked like there was a dead bush in Marie Laveau's yard."
     "I ain't going back there no how!" observed Leon, a sentiment they all
agreed with.
     "I think there's some dry branches in Mister Lefarbre's yard."
     "You go get two, and I'll get Momma's Spanish moss," said Jean-Paul.
     Gathering up their materials, Domingue instructed Bobby in the making
of the Legba, tying the two dead sticks together in a cross with some black
yarn and then wrapping it with the moss, which Jean-Paul explained their
mother kept for making crafts which she sold at the French market.  Cutting
his briefs, which everyone thought appropriate, into two inch-wide strips
he wrapped them about the figure, adding in and tying into place the end
he'd broken off one of the branches that even had a knoblike knot at the
end and wrapping strips of cloth about it also, all the while giggling
about the doll's "woodie" while suffering the comments from his brother's
that the doll's woodie was larger than their kid brother's.  Domingue cut
off snippets of Bobby's hair and he glued it to the top of the doll and
added two large button eyes and sewed a puckered mouth with red thread.
     "That's great.  It looks just like Bobby," observed Brent.
     "Especially the eyes," said Benny with a twinkle in his.  "That's just
how they pop out when he's having an orgasm!"
     "And how he twists up his mouth just like that too," added Brett.
     Bobby rewarded their comments with playful punches in the arm as he
made a face.
     "Except I still think the doll's woodie is bigger than Bobby's,"
observed Brent, resulting in another face and punch.
     "Now we gotta dress him.  It's best if we can use something personal
of yours."
     Bobby thought for a moment.  "We could use my sock."
     "Ewwww."
     "Hey, they're clean.  My feet don't stink like Brent's!"
     "If we used one of Brent's socks, we'd have enough material for a
dozen Legbas!"  observed Benny and they all giggled.
     "Oh yeah, well you know what they say about guys with big feet,"
retorted Brent.
     "Don't get too close to them on the dance floor?" asked Benny,
resulting in another playful punch and another face.
     "Actually it'll probably take a whole sock just to cover the woodie we
made for the Legba," Domingue observed, causing them all to giggle again.
     "Actually, getting a woodie isn't the problem," observed Bobby.
"Shouldn't we be giving him some balls or something so he can cum?"
     Domingue thought for a moment and then reaching into his pocket pulled
out a couple peanuts from the throws from the previous day's parades.
     "Hey, just Bobby's size," Benny giggled.
     "Hey, I got just the thing," Jean-Paul said.  Fishing around in his
drawer he pulled out a cologne sample bottle one of the stores had been
handing out.  Attaching the peanuts to the plunger and working a straw
through the cloth strips wrapping the woodie and attaching it to the
opening of the sample bottle, they fastened it upside down to the back of
the doll with more strips of Bobby's underwear.  They decided instead of
trousers and shirt, they'd make him a loin cloth out of the top of one of
Bobby's socks.
     "Now comes the most important part.  You have to ask Papa Legba to
animate the image you made."
     "Who is Papa Legba?"
     "He is the gatekeeper between this world and the world of spirits, and
the origin of life."
     "We should ask help from Papa Ghede too.  He is the lwa of death and
resurrection and the Lord of Eroticism," added Leon.
     "Okay.  So how do I do that?"
     "Repeat after me," Domingue said, picking up the incense candle in the
pile of things he'd had his cousins collect and lighting it.  "Open the
door, Papa Legba, your children await, open the door Papa Legba, when we
return we will thank the lwa.  Breathe your life into the image we have
made, Papa Legba, so it may fulfill its purpose.  Work your magic, Papa
Ghede, so the one who this image is made of will have his wish.  Work your
magic, Papa Legba and Papa Ghede, and we will thank you."
     "So, how does this work?" asked Bobby when they finished.
     "It's image magic.  The idea behind Voodoo dolls is that what you do
to the doll will happen to the real person."
     "Hey, that's sortta like that time we was playing Barbie and Ken dolls
with Betty Rosland when we was little, and we punched a hole between
Barbie's legs and glued a straw between Ken's and showed her how babies
were made and tried to get her to try it with us."
     "How young were you?" Domingue asked with amusement.
     "She was six, same age as Bobby, so Benny was eight and Brent and I
had to be ten."
     "That was back before we found out guys were a lot more willing and a
lot more fun to mess around with."
     "Did it work?" asked Leon with a giggle.
     "No," Benny said with a sigh.  "And when her mom found out what we'd
done to the dolls she got real mad."
     "She really didn't like it when Benny said we was just making them
anatomically correct either," Brent said with a grin.
     "Well, your Legba is anatomically correct," Domingue said with a grin.
"So now what you gotta do is concentrate on it and on you and do to it do
what you want to happen to you.  Like if you rub its nuts it should feel
like someone is rubbing yours, and if you push in the cologne plunger and
make it squirt, the same should happen to you."
     "Fucking awesome!  When can we try it?" Bobby asked eagerly.
     The boys glanced at each other.  The talk of sex and woodies and
cumming had gotten their minds off Marie Laveau and the fright they'd had
and back to the thoughts and feelings they'd had back in Jackson Square
when they'd first met.
     "Did I understand right that you've messed around with guys?"
Jean-Paul asked cautiously.
     "We sure have," Brett responded for the four, "but never with four
Creole boys."
     "Well, I guess that makes us equal," Jean-Paul said with a
grin. "We've never messed around with four honkey brothers."
     "Hey it's working already.  I have a feeling someone's gonna be
rubbing my nuts real soon," Bobby pronounced as he rubbed the peanuts on
his Legba, and they all laughed.
     While the boys were talking and making Bobby's Voodoo doll, Barry
Brewster had succumbed to the magic of his two hosts and the sexually
charged atmosphere of the Eagle's Nest.  Its reputation of being a bar
where anything goes was well deserved, especially during Mardi Gras.  After
a few more beers and finding himself surrounded by uninhibited kissing,
necking, and mutual jerking and open and unabashed cruising, Barry found
himself totally naked and flat on his back on a table near the back of the
bar, his legs raised and drawn up to his chest in the same position as
Bobby had taken the night before.  Pulling his ass so it was on the edge of
the table, Henri stood behind him and spreading apart his ass cheeks,
buried his stiff, lubed cock up his hot, moist rectum.  Standing beside the
table, Philippe presented his stiff cock and as Barry eagerly slipped his
mouth over the knob Philippe twisted around and bent over to slip his lips
around Barry's towering cock, which was not a difficult feat considering
the length of the monster.  Most of the bar's patrons totally ignored them
as if what they were doing was a common occurrence, which it often was, and
the rest watched as they raised their glasses and continued their
conversations as if the threesome was the dinner show.
     The three men had come to know each other very well over the past four
days.  Barry could understand how Philippe and Henri had become his
brother's close friends and why he'd been so insistent that he take a
weekend break in New Orleans and stay with them.  He owed James big time
and wasn't sure how he was ever going to be able to repay him for this
weekend.  Philippe and Henri had meanwhile realized why James had been so
emphatic about them entertaining his brother and had come to better
understand and appreciate what life was like for a bisexual man with
children.  That the man they were having sex with was just as comfortable
getting screwed as he was screwing his wife, and that he had four boys who
were evidently aware and unconcerned about their father's orientation just
as he was accepting of theirs was particularly amazing.  In a world where
there was so much discrimination, intolerance and fear of those who were
different, it was refreshing to find a man and his sons who were so content
and comfortable with whom they were.
     Barry was very content with whom he was as he lay there on the table
sucking on the cock of the man whom he'd fucked the day before while the
cock that he'd sucked off the day before was now buried up his ass.  No
matter how much a man loved a woman or how open a couple was about their
sexual needs, no man and woman could have the understanding and
appreciation that two men could.  While a woman could relate to what it
felt like to have one's ass penetrated, she could never fully understand
what it felt like to penetrate another person.  No matter how much a woman
tried, she could not fully understand what it felt like for a man to have a
penis or to climax, or appreciate how it felt to ejaculate.  Only another
man could really understand those things.  As Henri pumped his cock in and
out of his ass, Henri knew what it was like to have his ass screwed by a
man, and Barry knew what it was like to have his cock up a man's dank
chute.  As he lay there on his back sucking Philippe's cock, he knew
exactly what it felt like to have one's cock sucked, just as Philippe knew
what it was like to suck another man's cock.  Only a person who also had a
cock could really appreciate the taste and smell of penis or what it felt
like to have a mouth engulfing it.  Only a person who had a cock could
appreciate how it felt to have a cock rammed up your ass, or the difference
between having your cock buried up a pussy or another man's rectum.
     His sons could certainly attest to that, as could their hosts.  Having
admitted that they'd all messed around with guys before, the eight had
gotten down to doing what they'd all hoped they'd be doing when they'd
first met in the French Quarter.  Being horny, comfortable getting it on
with other guys in the presence of other guys, and being well hung and
unashamed of what dangled between their legs, they had eagerly and
unabashedly chucked their clothes and zeroed in on each other's crotch.
     Though not as well endowed as Brent and Brett, Jean-Paul and
Jean-Claude were better hung than the average teenager, or the average man
for that matter.  Their nuts were deep black and fuller and rounder than
the Brewster twins, resembling large plums, and Brett and Brent attacked
them hungrily, sucking on the orbs in their wrinkled sacs and running their
tongues over them.  The two Creole brothers swung around to similarly suck
on the large, pendulous eggs of the two older Brewsters, the four
seventeen-year-old boys ending up in a daisy chain with Brent sucking
Jean-Paul's sac, Jean-Paul sucking Brett, Brett sucking Jean-Claude, and
Jean-Claude completing the circle and sucking Brent.  Feeling the hot
breaths and wet tongues of their two hosts on their balls, Brent and Brett
began to swell and the two black boys slipped their lips about their
growing pink sausages and delighted in feeling them grow hard between their
lips.  Jean-Paul and Jean-Claude were rapidly swelling also and Brent and
Brett ran their tongues up the shafts of the two black sausages and swirled
them around the boys' exposed, bulbous knobs.  The two boys were identical
right down to their huge plum-like balls and rock-hard, cut cocks, now six
and three-quarter inches long and throbbing with desire.  As Brent and
Brett sucked on the purplish- black knobs and slipped their lips down the
thick, dark shafts, they inhaled deeply, relishing the unique taste of the
Creole sausages and the sharp, musky fragrance of the black boys' crotches.
Jean-Paul and Jean-Claude were pleasantly surprised at the size of the
monstrous seven-and-a-half inch Brewster wieners, and they pealed back
their skins and ran their hot, wet tongues along the rims of their knobs
and along the sensitive skin below their knobs and inhaled the erotic
chestnut fragrance of their pendulous balls.
     Meanwhile Benny and Domingue had begun by kissing and caressing each
other, Domingue finding the peach fuzz on Benny's upper lip particularly
erotic as they kissed, and Benny delighting in the feel of the silky hairs
on Domingue's upper lip as the black boy brushed his lips against his
nipples.  He was even more delighted as his lips skipped on down over his
flat stomach to his crotch.  The two boys readily formed a sixty-nine, the
fourteen-year-old and fifteen-year-old being of similar personality and
having been attracted to each other.  Although he was closer to Bobby's
height and weight, at five and three-quarter inches Domingue's dick was
almost as long as Benny's.  The two boys were skilled cock suckers and
horny and soon had the other hard and squirming with pleasure.  Closing his
eyes, Domingue slipped his lips down to Benny's curly, dark brown hairs as
Benny slipped his down to Domingue's curly black ones and the two sucked
deeply on the swollen flesh in their mouths as they began to slip their
lips back up the rigid shafts.
     While Benny and Domingue had been kissing and caressing, their
brothers had done likewise, delighting in each other's warm, moist lips as
their mouths pressed together and they wrapped their arms about each other
and caressed each other's firm backs and compact butts.  Bobby loved
kissing, especially on the lips, and found Leon's breath sweetened by the
caramel corn and the cinnamon from the King Cake that had been left out for
them delicious, and the feathery touch of the soft hairs on the corners of
his mouth erotic.  He instantly popped a boner.  Leon also enjoyed kissing
and found Bobby's fresh breath and soft boy lips just as delightful and his
cock wagged its appreciation.  As the two young boys kissed, they reached
behind each other and slipping an index finger along each other's crack,
they fingered each other's butthole, both boys also clearly enjoying
fucking ass.  Glancing over at their brothers, the two boys glanced back at
each other, the same thought causing their lips to curl.
     As Benny and Domingue lay there on their sides sucking each other's
dick, Leon snuggled up behind Benny in the same direction as his twin
brother and pulling apart his asscheeks he began to rim him.  Following
suit, Bobby similarly lay down behind Domingue and pulling apart his
smooth, black cheeks, the horny thirteen-year-old stuck out his tongue and
ran it up along Domingue's sweaty crack to his black pucker.  Licking the
Creole boy's dank asshole and worming his tongue inside and knowing his
twin was doing the same to his older brother soon had Bobby stiff.  Working
up a mouth of spittle, he blew it into the fourteen-year-old's hole,
causing him to squirm, and working up a second and drooling it over his
stiff, aching pecker, he reversed positions so he was laying in the same
direction as Domingue.  Grasping his hips and placing the tip of his young,
slender cock against the black boy's spit-slick hole, Bobby slowly pushed
forward, and was delighted to feel the Creole boy open up to him.  Ever so
slowly he pushed forward until his smooth pubes were pressed against
Domingue's smooth cheeks.  Similarly on the other side of the two now madly
sucking pair, Leon had lubed his stiff pecker and Benny's asshole with his
spittle and had twisted around and was now sinking his long, black cock up
Benny's smooth, pink ass.
     Back at the Eagle's Nest, the boys' father was on his back and
squirming with ecstasy, a hard, hot cock pumping in and out of his burning
asshole, sinking deep up his rectum and drawing back out to his tightly
clenched pucker, a hot, moist mouth hungrily sucking on his monstrous
nine-inch cock, and he himself eagerly sucking on a hot, throbbing prick as
he slipped his lips up and down its length, deep-throating it with as much
skill and ease and enjoyment as the horniest, most perverted fag as had
ever sucked cock in the gay cruise bar.  Barry inhaled and exhaled deeply
through his nose as Henri pumped his cock in and out of his ass, probing
his rectum as far as his stiff cock could reach and sending burning thrills
of stimulation through his sphincter and up his stiff cock each time the
knob brushed his prostate.  The room was filled with the manly fragrance of
beer and smoke and grass, and of sweat and cock and balls.  He was
perspiring profusely in the humid Louisiana night, his body flushed with
arousal as he felt himself approaching his climax, the temperature of the
room increased by several degrees by the crowd of hot, leather-clad men
filling it.
     As it became evident the three men were about to climax, the noise
lulled as the men in the bar watched in anticipation, all of them aroused,
many with their cocks sticking out of their trousers and being stroked by
their partner or by themselves.  Henri's breathing was laboured as he rode
Barry rhythmically and forcefully, causing the bar table to rock as he
thrust his hips to and fro, driving his aching cock in and out of the man's
hot, moist rectum.  Panting and snorting, he raised Barry's ass higher in
the air and clamoured up on the table, his cock still buried up Barry's
ass.  Kneeling there on the table with Barry raised up on his shoulders, he
rammed his hips to and fro, openly and unabashedly snorting with his
pleasure as was Barry.  His lips parted and his eyes glazed, he finally
threw his head back and lunged forward and withdrew rapidly and lunged
again in a series of rabbit thrusts as he felt his cum surge up the core of
his swollen cock and gush up Barry's rectum.  Feeling the hot, thick enema
spurting up his asshole, Barry sucked Philippe's cock all the more
furiously and seconds later Philippe threw his head back as he began to
spurt his thick cum down Barry's throat.  Laying there on his upper back
with hot, thick cum spurting up his ass and down his throat, Barry trembled
as his own cum began to gush up the core of his swollen cock.  Feeling the
telltale tremor, Philippe drew his lips off the nine-inch monster while at
the same time pulling his prick out of Barry's mouth, and as Barry began
spurting Philippe aimed the long, thick cock at Barry's mouth only inches
away from his lips and Barry shot his load into his own mouth.  Spurt after
thick spurt shot into his mouth and leaning in closer Philippe milked the
remainder of his thick cum from his balls and added it to Barry's creamy
load and Barry eagerly and hungrily swallowed both his and Philippe's cum
as Henri finished filling his ass.
     Barry's four sons were ready to climax also, as were their four hosts.
Their breathing was laboured and their bodies hot and flushed with lust and
from their strenuous workout, sweat glistening on their smooth, naked
chests and dampening their armpits.  The four seventeen-year- old boys
caressed and squeezed each other's smooth backsides as they bobbed their
heads up and down each other's stiff cock and squirmed with their
approaching climaxes.  Brent and Brett peered out from half-closed slits,
their deep blue eyes glistening with arousal, their long, silky blond hair
plastered to their foreheads with sweat and swept over the crotches of the
two black boys whose cocks they were sucking, the silky golden tufts in
their underarms matted together with perspiration.  The two
seventeen-year-old Creole boys were similarly panting with their arousal as
they stared out from heavy-lidded eyes, their thick, black lips just as
skilled at blowing the air from their lungs into trombone mouthpieces as
sucking the air out of a much different bone.  Sweat dampened their curly
black armpit hairs and beaded on their foreheads, their corn rows still
neatly and tightly curled as they slipped their lips up and down the
throbbing, thick shafts of the Brewster twins.  The balls of all four boys
were swollen and drawn up beneath their throbbing cocks and with each bob
of the head they were brought closer to shooting.
     Beside them Benny and Domingue were madly sucking on each other's cock
also, their arms tightly wrapped about each other and caressing and
squeezing each other's firm butt, their smooth chests pressed tight against
flat stomachs, black on white.  Behind them Leon and Bobby thrust their
hips to and fro, driving their hot, throbbing, young cocks in and out of
tightly clasping assholes, thrusting their aching flesh in and out of the
hot, moist rectal chambers and delighting in the pleasure they were feeling
and in the pleasure they knew they were bringing the boys they were
fucking.  Their bodies were flushed and they were all sweating too, Bobby's
smooth armpits damp with perspiration as he pumped his hips to and fro, and
sweat trickling down Domingue's side from his curly black pit hairs as he
felt Bobby's smooth pubes pressing against his butt.  Domingue's and Leon's
long, coarse hair bounced about their shoulders, their sweat bands having
fallen off in their lust.
     The air, heavy with the fragrance of teenage sweat and young balls and
teenage cock, was sucked deep into the lungs of the eight boys as each
came, and the erotic fragrance of fresh, teenage cum was added to the
already thick, humid air.  Benny, Brett and Brent shivered as their orgasms
hit them, their hot, thick boy cum gushing up their swollen cocks and into
the mouths of the eagerly awaiting Creole boys.  Their thick, black lips
clamped down even tighter on the throbbing, gushing fountains and the three
black boys hungrily drank the creamy offering of the three white boys.  At
the same time Domingue, Jean-Claude and Jean-Paul shot off their loads and
the three Brewster brothers were rewarded with the first taste of teenage
Creole cum, thick, slimy and tasting of raw oysters, their unique fragrance
filling their nostrils and their lungs as spurt after spurt erupted from
their throbbing, black sausages.  The three Brewsters eagerly swallowed the
delicious, erotic cream as they pumped out their own copious load.  Leon
shot off also, grasping Benny tightly as he thrust his throbbing, black
cock up the fifteen-year-old's asshole, filling his rectum with his thick,
slimy load, the fourteen-year-old having just a copious load as the older
boys.  Bobby came also, the thirteen-year-old trembling with his dry orgasm
as his nuts contracted and wave after wave of pleasure pulsated through his
groin and caused his cock to throb and burn just as pleasantly as the cocks
of the other boys, and Domingue trembled with the knowledge the young white
boy was climaxing.
     Despite having an almost sleepless night, the Fontenots not arriving
home until the wee hours of the morning, the boys were all up early and
after a hearty breakfast of grits, sausages, and shrimp omelette, the boys
joined their father, who in the absence of his sons, also had a sleepless
night.  Along with their hosts, Philippe and Henri and the four Fontenot
boys, they found themselves back downtown for a morning of parades,
beginning with several marching clubs and local jazz bands in their
uniforms followed by the Zulu Krewe Parade at eight-thirty, which in turn
was followed by the Rex Krewe, the Elks-Ori Krewe, and the Crescent City
Krewe parades.  The streets were crowded with people wearing their feather
masks, draped in beads, and dressed up in a variety of costumes.
     Munching on caramel corn, peanuts, potato chips, cookies and miniature
moon pies that had been thrown from the floats, the Brewsters headed over
to the French Quarter.  Arranging to meet up with the boys at Jackson
Square later, Barry was taken over to Bourbon Street for a gay tradition,
the sixteenth annual official gay Mardi Gras bead toss lead by King Cake
Queen Teryl- Lynn Foxx.  Bourbon Street was well known to be the centre
attraction for the gay crowd and its exceptional lewd antics on Mardi Gras
and to a large part was avoided by families and those with children, and
those who did blunder into the area were quickly steered away.  The
Fontenot boys of course knew that and they knew the back streets and
shortcuts to the heart of the action, and they had no intention of waiting
in Jackson Square.
     The eight boys and Barry were soon swept up with the crowd and caught
up in the ribald revelry and excitement, and they eagerly and willingly
responded to the calls of "show me something, mister" and the "you show and
we throw" signs on the balconies urging those milling in the street to
"show me your whatever" and "show your dick."  Barry and his sons were
shocked by the open nudity, and the boys in particular were amazed at the
signs actually spelling out the words dick and cock.  They were even more
amazed at the number of people responding, and were agog at the sight of
men and women flashing their naked butts and at the sight of naked boobs
and flashed dicks and balls wherever they looked.  Needless to say Barry
was very popular and a big attraction given his good looks and his size
even when soft, as were the four attractive and hung Creole boys and their
exceptionally handsome white friends, who seemed to know where the
youth-friendly hangouts were and how to avoid the city police patrolling
the street and the more prudish revellers who would restrict the
festivities to adults only.  All of them were soon draped in beads of every
imaginable colour and their pockets were stuffed with doubloons and plastic
toys.
     Rejoining again at Jackson Square, the Brewster brothers and the
Fontenots promised to keep in touch, and heading back to their hosts' home
on Iberville Street, the Brewsters packed their bags, Bobby taking special
care in packing his Legba after giving its nuts a quick rub and the plunger
a couple squirts, undaunted by the failure of the doll the night before and
always the optimist.  Having managed to get a public flight back home, they
settled down in their seats and dropped off to sleep almost immediately
after their exhausting weekend.  From the smiles on their faces, and the
bulges in their trousers, they were clearly reliving every moment of the
past five days as their balls recharged and Bobby came another day closer
to having his first wet orgasm.