Date: Mon, 8 May 2017 16:28:47 -0400
From: Orson Cadell <orson.cadell@gmail.com>
Subject: Off the Magic Carpet 10

Please see original story
(www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/military/off-the-magic-carpet/) for warnings and
copyright. Highlights: All fiction. All rights reserved. Includes sex
between young-adult and adult men. Go away if any of that is against your
local rules. Practice safer sex than my characters. Write if you like, but
flamers end up in the nasty bits of future stories. Donate to Nifty
**TODAY** at donate.nifty.org/donate.html to keep the cum coming.

*****

Where we left Sgt Reilley:

I considered for a while, looking at him. He was shorter than me, but not
by much, and a lot stockier. He had the build of a sailor with huge legs
and forearms and big shoulders, but the main thing that had caught my eye
since I got home (and, truth be told, before I ever left) was a luscious,
meaty ass and (as I knew from watching the shower) plenty of fur and a cock
like a fireplug. "Well, Gunnery Sergeant, I was just wondering if they
still sold Propert's..."


*****

Off the Magic Carpet 10: Goodbyes and Hellos

By Bear Pup

I was reaching toward Gunny and his eyes were blazing with shared lust when
the dinner bell rang. Both of us scowled a little. I wasn't near time for
the evening meal. But the bell kept ringing, signaling danger. Both of us
ran full-tilt to the Big House. As I approached, I saw Stu bending over the
chair where Beth had been sewing. I gathered her into my arms and Stu
stepped back and whispered to Gunny.

"Sergeant, Stu found her, slumped in the rocker. He couldn't wake her up."

I shushed him with gesture. "Beth, baby, can you hear me? Are you there?
Oh, God, baby, please say something!"

Her eyelids fluttered for a minute and she opened pain- and sleep-filled
eyes. "Sam, I am so, so sorry. Sam, it wasn't supposed to {gasp}... be like
this. Please Sam, PLEASE--!" and she slumped again. I lifted and she
weighed no more than a child. I ran, Gunny beside me, to the jalopy. He
leapt into the driver's seat and I cradled my wife's form in my lap on the
passenger side. Gunny threw the truck into gear almost before we were
settled. He sped toward Cedar Vale with its small hospital, our only hope.

Twenty minutes later, Gunny pulled to the Emergency Room entrance, trailing
no less than three sheriff's cars. I ran in while Gunny handled to the
cops; there would be no trouble. They put Beth on a rolling bed and whisked
her away and a pair of very large nurses (Brunhild and Hervor by attitude
of not by name) prevented me from following.

It would be easy to think, from the tone of this narrative, that I would be
relived or even happy to lose the woman who might interfere with my
man-on-man sexual desires. Nothing could be further from the truth. Beth
was my first and only real love. I fell hard for her, and that feeling
never left me. I had known since my return that I would lose her, and soon,
but knowing something and having it happen are two very different things.

Milt arrived an hour later. Apparently, Gunny had called him even as they
were first examining my wife. I'd been staring a hole through the door to
the hidden areas of the hospital into which Beth had vanished. He tapped me
on the shoulder and I jumped, surprised. I turned and literally collapsed
into Milt's strong arms. He dragged me over to a set of chairs as I bawled
like a child. Mrs Milt was there as well. When I quieted, she forced a
steel mug of thick black coffee-sludge into my hand and made me drink it.

I sat up and started to apologize to Milt and his hand immediately covered
my mouth. "Sam, we've had a year to grieve, son. She desperately wanted to
keep it from you, and I'm glad she did. But we knew she was holding on just
to touch you again, to kiss you home, to look at you. It is a brutal and
unfair burden, Sam, but it's what she wanted more than anything. She
l-l-l-loves you so much, Sam, as much as you love her."

We were all three crying again at that and it took a long time to come back
to the present. Gunny was gone, I never saw him leave, but Mrs Milt forced
more of the now-lukewarm coffee into us. Eventually, a doctor came out, one
who obviously knew Milt. He shook my father-in-law's hand and turned to me,
"You must be Sgt Reilley?" We shook and he had us come back to his office
and sat us down. I wanted to scream at him for news, but was mute with
terror at what he might say if I asked. It was as if his silence made it
possible that...

"Sergeant, Mr and Mrs Schwartz already know this," it took a moment for me
to recognize the name, as they'd always been Milt and Mrs Milt to me, "and
of course your wife has known since the beginning. Beth has cancer and it
had already spread before we understood what the problem was. That she has
lasted this long is nothing short of a miracle. Sergeant, that miracle,
well, that miracle was you. I am not betraying her confidence to tell you
that she refused to allow the sickness to win until, her words, she saw you
and your son together again."

I started to bawl and he let me cry it out as Milt and Mrs Milt patted one
shoulder apiece. "But there is only so much that willpower alone can do,
son, and your wife will leave us shortly." The door banged open and JoJo
was there, panting and fending off the two Valkyries that had defeated me
earlier. It was readily apparent that they were utterly unused to being
bested, and certainly not by a boy! It was equally obvious that JoJo would
have given the entire heavenly host a run for their money if they came
between him and this office.

I lunged for him -- we lunged for each other; it was unclear who was trying
to comfort whom -- and the doctor apparently used a special incantation to
dispel the warrior-nurses. I went back to my chair and curled the
adult-sized frame of my son onto my knee.

"Are you sure you want me to..." I was shocked and proud of the way JoJo's
scowl silenced the doctor instantly. He coughed and continued. "Alright,
then. As I was saying, Beth will leave us soon. I've given her something
for the pain, but there is no treatment gentlemen, Mrs Schwartz."

My voice was a cracked and brutalized thing. "What is 'soon', doctor? How
long do we have?"

He looked surprised and glanced to Beth's parents, "Uh, I'm sorry. I didn't
mean to be unclear. I thought you understood. She is going now, Sergeant,
certainly before the day is through." I sat, stunned speechless.

JoJo leant to my ear, "It's okay, Daddy. Mama and I knew this. She just
w-w-wanted..." he sobbed once, "w-w-wanted us to be tog-t-t-together when
she..."

I looked to the doctor and he could see the rage building. "Sgt Reilly, I
kept you here so the medication could take effect. B-- Your wife begged me
to, son. She wanted to be peaceful when you came to s--" He probably said
more. I wasn't there to hear. I was in the hall instantly with JoJo
fiercely held beside me. Apparently, this turn of events was not completely
unexpected. Brunhild was pointing down a side hall and, as I rounded the
corner at speed, Hervor was holding open a door to a hospital room.

Beth was there, an angel swathed in white clouds of sheets, smiling
serenely. In an instant, I was kneeling, clutching her hand in mine and
weeping inconsolably onto her arm. Her other hand petted and soothed
me. "Shh, Sam. Hush, darling." I looked up to see JoJo standing over her,
tears streaming but utterly composed. "Sam, dear, it's what has to
happen. I got everything I wanted in this life, everything any woman could
ever want. The love of the perfect man -- a brave, tender, loving hero --,
the privilege of watching our precious baby boy become a strong and
wonderful man, and now the joy of seeing you together again.

"Sam, God granted every prayer I ever had." She reached over and took
JoJo's hand while her other gripped my own. "Sam and Sammy, instead of
mourning me, just grant my one last wish: Take care of each other for me,
please? Because then I will be the happiest woman in Heaven. God has
smiled, has, has..." Her eyes were locked to mine, piercing straight to my
soul, as she sighed deeply and... was gone. JoJo turned and collapsed
against the bed, still clutching her hand and weeping silently, shoulders
wracked with his quiet sobs.

I just started at her peaceful, smiling face. "Beth? Beth! No, Beth! BETH!"

I woke slowly to a world of cloud and sunlight that resolved into
voluminous white sheets and yellowish walls, apparently a different room
from the one... the one...

I woke slowly to a world of cloud and sunlight, desperately trying to
prevent it from resolving into anything at all. If the room was real, so
was... I felt a hand grab mine, "Daddy? Daddy, please wake up. I'm s-s-s-so
worried."

I was instantly awake and dragged JoJo onto the bed with me, wrapping him
in a ferocious hug. "Oh, God, JoJo. Oh, Sammy. Oh, son, I'm so sorry."

"For what?"

"For, you know, for going away like that."

I could feel him smile into my chest, "Well, the only reason I didn't faint
is that you haven't taught me how, yet." I barked a laugh-sob and pulled
him closer.

Milt's deep voice floated over to us, "You gave us quite a scare, son. You
okay?" I thought about it.

"No, Milt, no. Not really." I let myself cry as I spoke, "I'll never be
okay, but as long as I have J--Sammy, we'll be fine. I am so sorry, Milt;
you lost a daughter today, too. It just... It just hurt so much and so
quickly."

Mrs Milt answers, "We know, child, we know. We've -- Beth and Milt and me
-- we've been talking about it for months and got a lot of the crying and
shock out of the way early. And Beth, well, don't worry
yourself. Everything is arranged and taken care of, Sam. You... you and
Sammy just give yourselves time to grieve, son. You deserve it and Beth,
well, Beth said she needed us to help the two of you move on. She,
sh-sh-she really l-l-loved you both so m-m--" my mother-in-law dissolved in
a crying jag as her husband held her.

Mrs Milt was right. Beth had planned everything to the nth detail. Every
new revelation about the funeral plan was like an icy wound, reminding me
not only of Beth herself, but the treasure that we'd lost. The funeral was
at St Mary's in Moline, and the graveside service in the consecrated
section of the Moline Cemetery. It was the only consecrated ground between
the store in Howard and our ranch, and was about halfway between us and her
parents.

We were not the only family to face tragedy. The McClellan-Argus ranch,
widely called the 501, shared in it as well. The house had caught fire two
nights before, no one knows why. Jack McClellan, his wife Bobbi, all three
daughters and one son died, as did the foreman and all four
ranch-hands. Only the third son, Kent, survived; he'd been camping at their
west fence-line that night. The boy, just turned 16, saw smoke in the
morning and returned to find the ruins still burning. The chief of the VFD
(Volunteer Fire Department) said it looked as if smoke had taken them all
in their sleep before they even knew a fire existed.

Kent, devastated and alone, was staying with Father Dawe while his brother
was being shipped home from Guam. The young man, around 22 if I recalled
correctly and named Glen or Glenn, was serving with what was about to
become (if the news could be believed) a brand-new branch of the
service. The Army Air Forces were going to be the United States Air Force
sometime this year. He was expected within a week and the funeral would be
held then. There were, sadly, few remains to inter, really.

Sammy -- I could suddenly really think of him as such, for reasons I could
not begin to fathom -- went from the graveside service with Father Dawe to
try and comfort his overwhelmed friend, and I nearly burst with pride. My
son was a man.

The ranch was quiet in mourning. The hands had adored Beth and her
suffering had hurt them all deeply. Stu seemed most effected, his
usually-stoic face often wet with unprecedented tears. Baxter was gone off
to the 501. Each of the surrounding ranches (except "Mister" Harrier, long
called Heartless Harrier for his greed and voracious acquisition of land
during the Depression) sent a hand to keep the 501 running. I nearly
sickened with rage when I heard Harrier had the unmitigated gall to send a
letter of "condolence" to Kent with (according to Sammy who read it after
it turned his friend into a sobbing ball) a single line about the death of
the boy's family and the rest of the page devoted to pressuring the kid to
sell him the ranch.

Tragedies famously comes in threes, and that week was no exception. A
Townie family in Moline lost father and son to an accident and the
distraught wife and two daughters had to be cared for by Father Dawes. We
immediately took Kent into our home and added his mourning to our own. It
was a not a happy place, the ranch, but it was overflowing with love and
support from all of us, to all of us.

Staff Sergeant Glen McClellan arrived by courier-car from Strother Field
(an air base between Ark City and Winfield), an exhausted, rumpled heap of
a man. He lunged to grab Kent into a hug that could have crushed the
boy. Glen was a big guy bordering on huge with thick, powerful arms and a
barrel chest. The AAF is not where you'd expect such an ox; he looked like
he'd be more at home on a tank... or *as* a tank. But the insignia on his
uniform made Gunny and I pause. He was a Flight Engineer as well as a Staff
Sgt, meaning he had more brains than even his self-evident brawn.

We left them to a private grief and sat on the porch, smoking in
silence. Sammy was petting and comforting Kent's shaggy mutt known,
adorably, as Flibbit. Kent had named him King as a pup, but Jack and Glen
had always called him Flea-Bite. Eventually, it was the only name he
answered to and it morphed to Flibbit. There was something almost spooky
about the dog's intelligent, mismatched eyes, the bright one seeming to see
a hidden world and the brown eye appraising the visible one.

We heard some coughing and then murmuring, followed by footsteps and Kent
and Glen came out. The big Staff Sergeant's face was soaked, eyes sunken in
dark pits but still bright and alive. "Thank you, sir, for..."

I cut him off. "Don't thank us, son. It's the least we could do. We are in
mourning as well and Kent is more than welcome here."

Glen nodded brusquely and sat heavily on the stoop. Kent followed and
Flibbit was at his side immediately. Staring out at the summer heat, Glen
said with a tight, husky voice, "Kent tells me that bast-- 'Mister' Harrier
is already on about the ranch."

"The word you didn't finish was more apt, son, and everyone here knows
that."

"Anyway, the problem is that the bastard is right. Even if I could come
back, Kent and I can't run the 501 alone. Dad had trouble managing with two
sons and five hands! But I swear to God, I'll raze every building to the
ground and give the cattle to Chilocco [Chilocco Indian School] to feed the
kids before I let that man have anything. But I just don't know how to keep
the land from him."

Gunny coughed and looked at me. My eyebrows went up in surprise but I
nodded. Gunny said, "I have a thought about that, Staff Sergeant. If Sam is
agreeable and you are, too, we share a quarter-mile of fence at our
northeast and your southwest corners. We've got the room to add some hands
and we could run both ranches from here."

"The important thing, Glen," I added, "is that unlike that bastard, we
don't want to take your ranch. We want you and Kent to keep it. We'll help
you run it, and every penny of profit over the expenses will be yours. Kent
can move in to the other boy's room next to Sammy." Sammy was staring at me
and smiled softly; I could tell he was more than pleased at what I was
offering his friend.

Kent stared at me and Glen just sputtered, 'B-b-b-but WHY?"

"I'd like to say Christian Charity and doing right but another member of
the parish, and it really is a little bit about that. But truth told, I'd
do a hell of a lot more just to spit in that wicked old bastard's eye. And
Kent is a good kid; thinking of him in a school someplace would kill me,
Glen." Kent started to leak tears as he snuggled closer to his older
brother.

Glen turned to look down as his brother, "Kent?" The boy, a miniature
version of the massive man, looked up and locked eyes for the longest time,
then nodded. Glen turned to me, then Sammy, then back to me. "Okay, I'm
amenable and with a big load of thanks. But you're going to take money for
Kent's staying here. No, don't argue. The kid eats like a starved wolf and
school things cost real money. Consider it part of the 501 expenses."

It was as we shook hands that the mountain of an airman crumpled and began
to sob. I held him as I'd held any number of war buddies when news of loss
and pain and tragedy came, knowing that soothing words would make it
worse. A man like SSgt McClellan just needed someone to prop him up as the
grief flowed out; after years of war, we both know that nothing, ever,
would 'make it right'.

So we buried eleven caskets, four of them empty except for effects as no
trace of remains could be found, not far from Beth's final resting
place. We said all the right words over the bodies and cried all the right
tears and held the two surviving -- barely surviving -- sons, one a
cub-like man-child and the other a bear of a man. In a strange way, I knew
Beth was more than just at peace; she was pleased that we were doing this
at least partly in her memory.

Gunny and I left the next day, first to Ark City and Winfield, then Wichita
and finally Newton. A long talk with Mr Voight yielded a half-dozen names,
four of whom we found needed work. With the four that we found elsewhere,
that gave us eight hands. We promised them a month's run after which we'd
keep four, privately hoping to keep six. All but one were recently off the
Magic Carpet like I'd been.

The most interesting pair were oddities in many ways. First, Archie and
Ollie were identical twins, but stranger still they had been assigned
together to the USS North Carolina just before the Battle of the Philippine
Sea. Two brothers, much less two twins, serving on the same ship was
unheard-of. They joined on their 18th birthdays. One had been a Seaman and
the other a Fireman. They were thin and rangy, but their arms and thighs
(and ash-blonde hair) screamed 'sailor-boy'. They'd been demobilized when
the NC was decommissioned in June. They were in Ark City looking for work
when we found them, but they were from Rosalia originally, from a farm that
no longer existed.

In Winfield, we found Wayne Wright, a large Marine Corporal with broad
shoulders and a booming voice. That and his (we found later) penchant for
Biblical pronouncements had earned him the nickname Preacher. We also found
Army Corporal Ray Smith. Luckily, since we already had a Ray, he'd gone by
Smitty his entire life. He looked barely old enough to ride a bike! He was
maybe 5' 7" in thick boots with unblemished skin and honest-to-God dimples
that were often on display -- Smitty smiled as much as Wayne frowned.

The four we tracked down thanks to Mr Voight started with Doug York, a
painfully-shy Army Corporal from Sedan. We found him seeking work in
Wichita even though he was born and raised less than a dozen miles from the
ranch. Gunny and I wracked our brains but neither could remember him or his
family. Next was Doug's polar opposite, a rowdy, rambunctious, randy teen
who'd joined the effort just months before VJ Day -- Pvt Gordon Eueing had
used an eraser to make '1928' look like '1926'. He'd not even been deployed
when peace came but he was damned sure not going back to his family's
Grouse Creek dirt-farm! He was down to his last dime when we recruited him.

Two more guys rounded out the new troop, one of which we had extremely high
hopes for. Army First Sergeant Slim Fawbush (real name Otis) had gotten his
nickname out of meanness. He was and apparently always had been pudgy with
a big, round, doughy and always-grinning face. He was, at a guess, close to
Gunny's age. Had we used military discipline, he would have outranked
everyone on the ranch! We were hoping he could become a second Gunny and
help lead the group.

Lastly was a Wichita native that I actually knew the name of before. He'd
been a minor rodeo star before the war, a couple years younger than
me. Since his last name was Nichols and he rode rodeo, it was inevitable
his nickname would be Buffalo. He went by Buff. Rumor had it, all the way
back then, that the only thing keeping him out of the national circuit were
a pair of enormous balls that got in the way. But he could ride and rope
with the best.

We got back on a Friday before midday dinner. We rode up in the jalopy
pulling a borrowed horse trailer (Buff and Doug had their own horses). Stu
poked his head out, eyeing the eight new hands clambering out of the truck
bed and just sighed. Luckily, dinner was something that didn't need a lot
of pre-work. Steaks and creamed corn with fried potatoes. Another four
slabs of beef onto the grill and a bit of stretching with the corn and
potatoes and we were ready.

Kent had settled himself well into the second boy's room and Glen had
returned to Guam. I moved Gunny, against his protests, into what had been
meant as the guest room. This gave him clear window-views of the bunkhouse,
washhouse and New Barn, He grumbled but agreed it was right. The bunkhouse
was meant for eight and we had eleven hands. Stu was also moved to the Big
House, into what had been built as a housekeeper's room next to the
kitchen. Since he slept there as often as the bunkhouse anyway, he didn't
mind.

We gave it a week for the men to settle in. The new hands quickly
adapted. Some better than others. Archie and Ollie were next to useless
individually, but put them together, especially herding, and it was like
you got four guys for the price of two. They moved and acted as one mind
with two bodies. Smitty soon proved himself the master mechanic, something
we sorely needed as we planned to increase the mechanization of the ranch.

It turned out that Doug and Smitty shared that same birthday in the same
year, so they became instant friends, the painfully-shy Doug and the boyish
Smitty made an odd and satisfying pair. Buff, as expected, was the cowboy's
cowboy, quiet and efficient, always willing to lend a hand. He also had
what we'd always called The Look. For some reasons, cows *wanted* to do
what he told them. A stern look and a head-flick and half the time he never
needed to use his rope.

Eueing and Wayne, though, were oil and water. The kid was a pistol, always
with a joke and with more energy than sense. Wayne was such a tightass we
wondered how he shit. You could bet that if you saw Eueing haring off
someplace, a ferocious scowl from Wayne would follow him. It came to a
head, so to speak, not two weeks in.

Supper long cleared, about half of us were smoking on the porch while Kent
and Sammy tossed a baseball around. School would start in a couple weeks
and they deserved a little summer fun. Suddenly a ruckus erupted from the
Old Barn, full-out shouting (Wayne) and swearing (Eueing). We all stood
speechless (Sammy getting a baseball in the crotch for his sudden
inattention) as Wayne dragged a half-nekkid Eueing from the barn. The boy
was frantically trying to get his pants closed, an effort hampered by the
shaking he was getting from the older man.

"Filth, Mister Reilley! FILTH! I caught this disgusting sinner abusing
himself -- ABUSING HIMSELF -- in the barn. I demand that you dismiss this
sickening creature immediately!" He went on in this vein for a couple
minutes, complete with chapter and verse, Eueing mortified beyond belief
and leaking shamed tears. I saw Gunny and Slim share a raised eyebrow and
Gunny nodded.

Slim spoke in his slow, kindly voice. "Wayne, first off, you'll be so kind
as to unhand that boy." Wayne did more than let go, he shoved the teen away
from him. "Now, lower your voice and without invective tell us what you
saw."

"I saw this--" A stern warning look and finger from Slim brought him up
short. "I saw Eueing go into the Old Barn and went to see what he was up
to. He had his pants open and was touching himself in a disgusting and
ungodly way, SINNING right there for the world to see! And he's got a tiny
little pecker, too, the pervert!" Wayne practically crowed in triumph as
the teen tried to shrink into the hard-baked ground.

Slim's voice never changed, still kindly and inquisitive. "Son, is that
true?" Eueing nodded miserably, terrified to look up and see our faces. I
glanced around and noted that the only looks he was getting were either
brief flashes of pity or small smiles. Wayne, though, was getting
everything from glares to scowls, not a hint of agreement on a single face.

"Son, Gordon," I'd almost forgotten the kid's given name, "Look at me son."
The boy's tear-stained face came up. As it cleared the brim of his hat you
could see the humiliation and fear there. "Just talk to me son. Did Wayne
find you in the barn?"

"Y-y-y-yessir."

"Did you ask him to come with you?"

"N-no!" I noticed that Wayne's triumphant face was showing a crack of
doubt.

"All your chores done? All your kit put away proper?" A befuddled Eueing
just nodded and stared.

"Okay, son, just a few more questions. Were there any livestock involved?
Did you ruin any tack? Anything like that?"

"GOD NO!" the boy almost fainted.

Slim turned to Wayne. "Did that boy invite you in to the very dark and
private barn?"

"No! I followed the monster, knowing that he was planning on some filthy
sin!"

"Okay then. Wayne, please be so kind as to gather your kit and meet me at
the Jalopy in five minutes." Wayne started to splutter. "One more word
outta you, Preacher, and you walk off this ranch. That young man was using
his free time, in the presumed privacy of a darkened barn, to do what every
man since Adam's sons had done.

"He's done twice the work you have, mainly cuz you spend day in and day out
trying to catch other folks out in something or preaching at them instead
doing your own work. And you had the gall to creep up and spy on him? I'd'a
thrown you out for that, but making a ruckus and humiliating this boy? You
are a viper and no mistake. Now GIT!"

Wayne, red with fury, spun to me, "You condone--!"

"No, Wayne, I don't. I don't like what Slim said at all." I cut across him,
cold and harsh with absolute menace in my low and level voice. "I'll bow to
this man's expertise as a leader of men, but if it had been me, you'd be
leaving with a bloody lip and my boot so far up your ass you wouldn't walk
right for a month. If I hear ONE MORE WORD, or you're not off my land in 10
minutes, I'm shooting your worthless, heartless, priggish, snobbish,
sanctimonious ASS as a trespasser. Now: Get. Off. My. Land."

His mouth gawped soundlessly and he looked around. Doug and Smitty had
nearly-identical looks of the deepest loathing and revulsion that anyone
would do what Wayne had done to their young friend. Buff was openly
fondling his ever-present rope with a keen eye at Wayne's neck. And those
were the NICE looks. The twins looked for the world like they wanted to rip
him to shreds and burn the pieces. Kent was literally hanging onto my son's
belt and dragging backwards to keep him off the creep.

The man spun and ran to the bunkhouse and was out minutes later. Slim told
him to ride in the back, "I'm not sharing a cab with something like
you. Get in back or walk." The horrified and stunned cowhand climbed into
the bed and Slim sped off.

I walked down and grabbed the shaking boy by the shoulder. "Walk with me,
son."

He did for a dozen paces until he started crying like a child half his
age. "You sending me off, boss? I'm sorry, I'm real, real sorry!"

"Shut up, son. Just hush. What that man did was unforgivable. What you did
was as normal as rain, Gordon." He fell into me and sobbed for a minute. I
smacked the side of his head. "Stop that! You're a man! Act like it. He
didn't hurt ya; he didn't scar ya; he didn't maim ya. He embarrassed you,
and in the worst possible way. But buck up, son.

"Right now, there are fourteen men and boys on my ranch. If there's a one
of them that hasn't yanked out a load in the last two weeks it cuz he's
found somebody to do it for him! And, yeah, that includes me." He gaped at
me in astonishment. "Now, here's what happens next, your choice. You can go
around bawling like a kid and get no sympathy or respect from the other
men, or you take a few minutes," we'd reached the door to the Old Barn, "in
here where it started and pull yourself together. If you want bonus points
with the guys, you'll finish what that bastard interrupted and come out
with a post-jerk smile on your face." He stared at me slowly shaking his
head in confusion.

"Now, you're gonna get razzed by the guys for about a week cuz we're guys
and you got busted and it's funny. Sorry, that's the truth. But if you act
ashamed and childish, that's how they'll treat you. If you take it in
stride, son, then you're not a boy but a stud, and man they can joke with
and every guy wants to be around somebody like that. Now, you make your
choice. I'm going back to my interrupted smoke."

I walked back just as Slim pulled back into the yard. Apparently, he'd
spotted a truck headed toward Sedan and negotiated a ride for 'the useless
fuck in the back a the truck' and came right back. I was thanking him with
a couple of back-slaps when I heard it. I might have mentioned that Eueing
was loud, rambunctious and never one to pass up on a joke.

From the barn erupted a bellow like an oversexed bull complete with the
uhn-uhn-uhn rhythm beloved by every man past puberty, ending in a YEEE-OWW!
that probably scared the livestock. A couple minutes later, Eueing
swaggered back out, literally tipped his hat to the stunned Kent and Sammy,
and got a full round of applause from the rest of us.

I thought he'd burst with pride when Gunny laughed, "Come on, Bull, have a
smoke. On me, stud." A dozen cowboys were rolling around in laughter a
minute later as a very green Bull tried desperately not to puke his guts
out after a long, ill-advised pull on one of Gunny's vile cheroots. Yeah,
this was a crew we could work with.

<eof>

As I normally ask after posting a chapter 10, please let me know if you
still like and are following this storyline: orson.cadell@gmail.com

*****

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Active storelines, all at www.nifty.org/nifty/gay...
Canvas Hell: 23 chapters .../camping/canvas-hell/
Beaux Thibodaux: 15 chapters .../adult-youth/beaux-thibodaux/
The Heathens: 16 chapters .../historical/the-heathens/
Off the Magic Carpet: 10 chapters .../military/off-the-magic-carpet/
Lake Desolation: 8 chapters .../rural/lake-desolation/
Dear John Letter: 3 chapter .../military/dear-john-letter/
Brother Bear: 2 chapter .../incest/brother-bear/
Shark Reef: 2 chapters .../adult-youth/shark-reef/

Special collaboration with Brad Borris: In God's Love .../incest/in-gods-love/