Date: Mon, 5 Jan 2009 11:55:29 -0800 (PST)
From: Ian Tucker <plexadonn@yahoo.com>
Subject: Within the Valley part 2

WITHIN THE VALLEY part 2: The Sanctuary, written by Plexadonn

..,,;;:: /{1}\ ::;;,,..

The majority of the dust across the sky had settled, forming circular
patterns of yellow powder across the mountains, brought from the warm
winds.  The clouds shined as burnt orange, the trees as mahogany, entwining
the wilderness, giving a faint glow among the forest, the Aspens shivering
in the wind and dusting it with a new kind of pattern.

Within the valley flowed the whistling: the subtle and wildly eerie melody
of those trees, the sound of the wilderness chattering happily with all
those around it, singing to the creatures of the Earth.  In the habitat of
such abundant spirit, today the sun refused to burst with its shining, thus
leaving the air and the terrestrial atmosphere more pleasant and temperate
than usual.  It filled the valleys lightly, spilling outward its heat and
yellow light in such a soft degree there could be no conflagration of
spirit simply from the call of the wilderness.

As this had been the case of the day previous, where the heat enveloping
the Earth infused all its occupants, pure or ambivalent, with wondrous
delight and energy.

Now, in the afternoon, George's mind had traversed the heat and splendid
recollections of both morning and the sunlight.  A swarm of insects darted
through the air close to their campsite, slowly bringing a different kind
of music from their wings, and additional warmth and heat.  The swarm, and
the dusted terrain, further brought the smell of the forest and the soils
filling the mountains that enclosed the two males scavenging the brush.

Neither could hear the sound of the water, the sound of its kinetic chaos
and energy, but both could most certainly feel it calling to them.  The
stream desired to feel the two humans wash themselves in it, the water
wanted to be bathed in - its current used - and to have the males enjoy its
existence.

Towards the middle afternoon, downward from the sky came gentle waves of
warmth, dusted beautifully and colorful with dry pollen and residue from
the Colorado scrub.  It brought the color of gold: gold of the dust and
bright red from the blossoms scattered around the steppe climate, reflected
in the shining green chitin of the bugs in their swarm.

The heat would forever give energy, and revitalized both George and Stan
after the passionate and spontaneous intimacy in their greenhouse tent.

Both of them felt polluted though, and in a very minor way the adventure
was now tainted.  Polluted, yes, faintly though, not unlike the air
polluted with dust and bugs.  Their minds were polluted with each other -
or rather occupied, as the pollution did not cause `poison' or `illness'.
Where the brunt of the excitement had originally been experiencing the
Colorado wilderness, both males now withstood a barrage of daydreams, both
fantasizing about the other with endless ideas of wonder.

The males had experienced and witnessed each other, exchanged a mutual,
heated exhilaration and passion of touching.  But the nature of this kind
of sex had been foreign to them as to only further stimulate intrigue and
intensify the lust that had been latent.  The environment that which housed
this new adventure – adventure of the mind – gave a tremendously
different and delightful perspective of the wilderness.  It became, in
effect, a Sanctuary.

Through the eyes of Gerorge, from the Eagle's view during his spirit
flight, the forest now seemed different, changed.  It reminded him of Stan,
and everything was infused with his masculine essence.  The appearance of
the ground, the rocks and soil, the brush, trees and the yearning, wild
river now meant so much more to him.  It interested and invigorated him
more poignantly, to an ecstatic level, for it held the soul of his uncle,
the soul of his new passion and experience.

The sky, opening brightly with each hour - along with his blooming soul
– gave a fire to his Heart that seemed to fuel him forever.  It would
seemingly never run out of steam and heat.

Something grew there, deep under the topsoil, just beyond the mountains and
high, high above the wind – where George could not yet soar – and
just under his skin.  Something was opening, an eye of truth and unknown
insight widening ever so slowly.  An eye of wonder and Light, it was
growing.  There was something in the country that he did not wish to leave,
could not leave.

Stanley did not see this in his nephew, but he most certainly did see the
Eye opening in the sky, he could feel its presence and feel the influence
growing in the wilderness.  He would help it grow; he wanted to aid in the
experience and feel it more for himself as well as for George.  This
passion in the man's heart was just as strong, but much quieter and less
likely to burst into rage; and though he did not yet know of his nephew's
increasing fever, he could see the interest growing there.  It was a
distraction, a newly-formed desire.  Stan knew that he had initiated this
growth, but was unaware of how the crop would thrive there, how immense and
insane it could be.  The adult did not see the omen that came with his
planted seed.

George loved the act of waking to his uncle, to tasting and feeling him so
warmly, and enjoyed the breakfast they shared afterwards.  The boy loved
the surrounding nature, the dust and sunlight showering them softly –
and so there was no obvious reason to feel stress.

But oddly, neither could fully relax again; those seeds that the adult had
helped sow, although small now, would now always be strong to George, and
he could eternally feel them entwining his soul like an enriched vine,
wrapping around his brain and adolescence.  In George's mind, his uncle was
forever tied to the wilderness, albeit not completely intrinsically, but
very passionately.

This was not worry, but more of a feeling akin to wonderment.  It was
commensurate with intense desire, and complex thought process.  The
connection of the Wilderness and the male sex, heated romances, the land
here – barely touched by human hands – and the masculinity of
Stanley, the beast greatly defined by nature.  Stan was a magnificent
essence of a man, and George loved him for it.

..,,;;:: /{2}\ ::;;,,..

Whichever thought, any thought, that Stan initiated - whether it was a
slick, sexual innuendo or an idea he would wish to pursue later - it never
failed to break George of his reveries.  During the hike towards their
diminutive cavern of lime-scented, pillow-soft Earth, Stanley did this many
times; he was a fantastic distraction from destroying one's spirit.

George's spirit was fully engulfed, eternally it seemed, with a plague of
wild notions and fantasies that affected him – irritatingly –
physically.

Those minor bursts of sound, the speech from Stan, helped the boy with his
new obsession.  For a while, he felt awkward and agitated by his desires
for additional experience with the uncle; they did bring a warm sensation
both in his groin and his soul.  It burned, ever so badly, and all he could
do was to stand there, in the infernal core of the vortex of thought, only
begging the Universe to give him the chance again.

However, this passionate thrill of spirit was simply a single side to this
adventure.  Being mortal, human and flawed, his corporeality burned equally
as his soul.

George's body craved his uncle.  He wanted the adult's enveloping soul to
wrap around him – just as much as he wanted those powerful arms to do
the same.  The boy romanticized the concept of the man taking him again,
taking him into the serene gentility of his masculine nature, and the
aggression of his dominant sex.

The strength of Stan, the passionate, kinetic force therein, the gentle
touch of the fuzz along his body, all cooling and satisfying, the deepest
cravings of a learning youth; George was eager to learn more and more, and
incredibly patient.

These were all concepts; the boy would not damage his soul or the adventure
in attempts to play the Fates into offering him their passion again.  No,
of course not.  The wait would be pleasant, and most certainly cleanse his
soul, purify it with the heat of the day, the look on Stan's face and his
laughter, and the twirling abundance of joy filling him, spreading upwards
from the planet and cascading downward from the skies.

Yes, he would wait for the perfect moment for Stan to take the drink from
his nephew's soul again.  George anticipated it with a quivering hand,
engorged genitals and a wonderment inundating every synapse within his
brain.

They ventured along the tallest wall of the valley, their valley, where
George's heart was born.  Along the jagged surface, among the harsh
tanglement of scrub and far from the river – still calling – their
goal lie in wait in only a short amount of time now.

The adult, feeling revitalized from his slumber and breakfast, and
amazingly energized in spirit from sharing the essence of his nephew's
aura, was quite up to the challenge of traversing this place.  Bringing
along plenty of water in a couple of containers and some trail-mix to munch
on, they both were ready to leave the quasi-comforts of the campsite for
the remainder of the day.

During their trek, Stan knew he might need to halt for a moment to rest his
season-tainted bones, but George was plenty full of strength and
enthusiasm.  Sharing in the sparkling spirit energy from his uncle, George
felt he could go for miles, simply sustained on the psionic nutrition that
flowed outward from the adult.

However, George could not seem to cease his fantasy.  He craved for Stan to
feast on him as well.  The boy wanted to feel that mentality again, feel
the radiant aura shining brightly against him, absorbing his being and
allow himself to let go within.  He wanted his climactic presence again,
the orgasm of living.

This notion, all those within the boy's head, Stan was willing to do.  But
he was also in no hurry to play the boy as a ventriloquist, pushing his own
fantasies through the youth's head – for this would destroy his soul and
render him subhuman and thus, his life would be sullied forever – he had
desires defined simply be George's existence.

The boy was life unrefined and so utterly beautiful in his purity.  George
shone brilliantly to Stan, as the purest and whitest light, the highest
intensity burning his eyes, in the spiritual realm.

George had spread himself open to Stanley, uplifted those marvelous wings,
on which he could take to the high country, and to rocky cathedrals that
reached to the sky.  Having been taken on that flight, where his wings were
still wet with the dew dripped from the astral planes, the adult was
willing to allow the boy to take him on that journey again.  As many times
as the boy liked, truthfully.  Stanley would take his nephew along, guide
and also follow, to the limits of the human experience, to the last
boundary of tangible perception.

In his attempts to do such a thing, Stan had brought the boy here to the
spot of his choosing, so show George a place of antiquity and history.
They rested in the cave of soft, sweet, downy sand, the males sweating and
thirsty for water, reposing for a few minutes for clean breath to come.

Both gulped down water.  The crystalline fluid of the Earth healed the dry
bodies well, and in many moments they were feeling stronger.  Then, at the
suggestion of Stan, the males began to nuzzle into the dirt, scavenging
leisurely in the soil.

This was incredibly entertaining, and the substance was cool to the touch,
almost as refreshing as the cold water.  Into the deep soil the males
submerged their hands, scooping thick fists of the white, powdered stone
upwards, letting it sift through their thick, clumsy fingers.  They
searched for anything worth keeping, worth mentioning to the other.  Stan
believed this was a good place to search for folklore of the Native
Americans, hoping to find arrowheads or trinkets of some sort.  George
liked the idea.

In relative silence they remained nestled in the shade, the rock face
obscuring the direct rays of the sun from their bodies, ensconced in the
cool and subtle scent of this part of the Earth. Hidden from the intensity
of the sun, they could breathe freely again and feel their muscles
rejuvenate ever so slowly.

George let his mind relax for the first time in hours, let his genitals
rest and the blood flow break free of them. He let his mind wander, and he
was distracted, thinking about some old memory of the sandbox back in
another period of his childhood or the beach on the coast in Florida.  He
let simplicity control him, focused on nothing but immaterial joy and
honesty: his memory.

Next, he was pulled directly back to his fantasy, that of the powerful
Stanley and his engrossing masculinity: the glorious male that he was. It
was from the touch of his uncle, Stan having taken it upon himself to start
rubbing at George's knee and a bit of his thigh, in an attempt to get his
attention.

"How you feelin'?" He asked the boy.

George focused his eyes on Stan's hand, his thick fingers working at the
boy's quadriceps now, rubbing softly and upward towards his groin.

"Ah... I'm really relaxed now. This feels really good." He referred to the
situation mostly, the environment of the sweet-smelling cave and the gentle
touch of the shadow and breezes. But he focused on Stan's hand the most
prominently.

"The cave or what I'm doing?" Stan asked with a smile.

"Both. I really like it when you touch me." George replied, looking at
Stan's toothy grin. Stanley then wriggled in the dirt and situated himself
closer to his nephew, moving his other hand up to touch the boy's shoulder.

The adult watched the boy's reaction, looking to his face where he was
flushed red again, as he was in the presence of the over-glowing sunlight
outside of the cave, and the involuntary reaction of his genitals to the
sensual caressing at his legs. Stan clearly saw the boy's reaction there
within his jeans, the growing length of his phallus, so utterly inviting
and appetizing, and he craved it desperately.

"You mind if I suck your dick again?" Stan asked his nephew.

"Yeah, go ahead." George said with a sigh and grin; yet he wanted to tell
Stan how desperate he was, and how badly he craved the attention.  He
wanted to say "dear god yes, uncle, I want to make love to you right here,
all day long!" This, of course, he could not judge as a proper path to
take.

In his mind, the ideas that came to corporeality were best left to
spontaneity and causality; he would not jump to force them into his
life. If his uncle wanted to make love to him, so passionately as the boy
was imagining, then perhaps they could. However, at this moment, their
souls would be best left to this lighter tangibility.

"Yeah," Stan whispered as he undid the boy's jeans, "sounds good." His
mouth salivated, and his hand quickly found its natural place gripped
around his nephew's engorged member, stiff and hot on his fingers, the
length and width of the appealing shaft calling to the very deep recesses
of his sexual pleasure.

Before he went to work with his mouth, Stan spent a few moments to gauge
the strength, one could say, of the boy's stiff member. He pumped at the
shaft, jerking him off a bit, simply enjoying the feel of the soft flesh
and hearing the soft breathy moans coming from George's mouth.

George felt himself submit to his uncle completely; he lie there and felt
the touch bring him upwards again towards the sky on his wings, and there
he could soar softly on the wind. Stan's hand wrapped around him, virtually
hiding the pulsing shaft entirely. A powerful grip from a mighty fist, yet
the adult was easy with the boy, and applied only the slightest effort to
pleasure George, showing how docile and empathetic his love truly was, and
how he controlled his wild fantasy.

Stan then descended his head down and slipped the boy into his mouth,
gently sucking on his erection as he had done that morning, only now left
to his own energy, where previously, the males had the energy of the heat
of sunlight and humidity to help them. In their tent, they both had the
kinetic pulses accumulated from sleep, the moist air wet with their sweat
and pheromones to encourage their lust and actions.

Here there was nothing but clean air, the wind upon which their spirits
soared unhindered by and independent of the convoluted mechanisms of human
psychology. George could feel his uncle's slobbering mouth working at him
veraciously, Stan being much more than eager to taste his nephew again, and
the man's scent was much more subtle now.

It was as if now, when they wanted to behave as per their spirits would
desire them to, the trappings of that morning were gone in order to allow
them this practice much more naturally. Here they were not helped by the
miasma of sex suffocating them with its wonderful effects. It was merely
nothing more than the warmth of two male bodies, the aura of such a
powerful and masculine adult entrapping the boy.

The smog of lust, however heavenly it really was, was gone now, and the
Earthly truth of natural beauty was all they had. Stanley was an amazing
lover to the boy, and his body and soul were gorgeous to him, regardless of
how much lust had been built up, how much tantric heat and sweat and
passion had been there previously.

Stan fumbled with his hands as he continued to caress George's member with
his lips, licking at it happily, trying to get the boy's pants down to his
ankles.

t was a strange sensation, feeling the cold soil under his now bare
buttocks, and how Stanley had bent the boy's legs at the knee in order to
get his free hand underneath to capture those buttocks.

The adult took one side of George's rump into his wide palms and gripped,
letting his thick fingers absorb the warmth and softness of the flesh,
moaning with the sensation. George quivered at his uncle's touch, arching
upward in order to let the adult better access to his underparts. They were
then entwined; to the males, they now soared again, together, coupled in
spirit on the Wind as they were here in the physical realm.

Stanley let his throat embrace the boy's shaft, wanting the entire length
inside the warmth of his maw, pushing it in as deep as his anatomy would
let him, slurping heavily at it, making those erotic, wet sounds of
pleasure and excitement that George loved so much.

As before, the physical attention was flattering and gratifying in and of
itself; Stanley's performance showed his lack of experience. If an equation
was to be made of physical pleasure: Stan was enjoying himself more than
George. For while George did enjoy the act of his uncle sucking on him, it
could easily have been more pragmatically effective.

Yet this trivial distraction was nothing but prejudicial and excessive
objectivity on George's part.  The balance of rapture came as the notion of
how much Stan was loving it. That Stan was getting off simply on suckling
and nibbling on his nephew's hard shaft was an enjoyment to the boy,
regardless of how lack-luster the fellatio really was. The adult was having
fun with his nephew, giving the boy pleasure by sucking his cock for him,
and he was invigorated by the taste and smell of the boy.

George played with his uncle's head. With his fingers, he explored the
texture of the adult's scalp, his hair and his cranium. All the attributes
of his mortal temple were a pleasure to all of the boy's senses. Stanley
felt wonderful; his muscles and warmth were powerful and
comforting. Stanley smelt wonderful; his musk was stronger now, by each
second, and was a raw, elderly male scent. Stanley was beautiful as well;
his entire body was shaped to fit the mold of the perfect male, but was
close to idea of a piece of uncarved wood.

That his uncle was wiser and older had no impact on the man's spirit. For
though he was aged now and conditioned by his life and experiences, the
man's essence was unaltered. Stanley was a freedom that few people could
ever know about after childhood had passed along. The adult held this
spiritual significance in common with the boy, both raw and unmolested by
the distractions that modern Earth could give. Both were more akin to the
Valley wherein they lie than to most other human beings.

Stanley's groping hand manipulated itself across the split of the boy's
buttocks, keeping them apart enough to allow the adult to use one of his
fingers to push at George's anus. Playfully, he prodded at the hidden
entrance, teasing the boy until he was crooning and whimpering with
pleasure. The sensation was reminiscent of being penetrated, as he often
was by one of his fellow gay friends, and it was much like the sorts of
things they would do to him in order to prepare him for such an adventure.

The adult giggled, the boy's soaking wet shaft still completely hard and
quivering in Stan's mouth. For only a moment, the uncle removed George's
phallus from his mouth and replaced it with an index finger, then replaced
the boy's cock and continued to suck him.

With that newly-wet finger, Stan returned to the warm area between the
boy's legs, to his anus, where he prodded again with more force to allow
entrance. The act of his uncle pushing up inside of him with that thick,
round digit made George whimper even louder, the boy breathing softly words
of acceptance "Oh yeah..."

For several minutes, George allowed his mind to cease any thoughts save for
the biological processes which gave him pleasure. He focused on nothing,
but simply felt the physical sensations, and there he found himself in the
lust and sex of what was happening. The utmost joy rushed into him, as if
the wind on which he sailed burst upward and pushed him into Heaven.

Stanley fingered his nephew slowly, sliding his moist finger through the
clenching muscle of the boy's rectum, doing this while continuing to gently
suckle on him, flicking his warm tongue along George's phallus.

The adult, too, had let himself shed distracting thoughts, letting only his
breath occupy his mind, the taste of George's sex in his mouth, and the
warm innards of the boy. Thus, each occupied the terrain of the other, and
in doing so found total harmony in life, exchanging the experience and
spiritual energies. George felt pleasure from what he -received- and also
how much his uncle was enjoying it. Stanley felt the same.

Suddenly the adult began to finger the boy harder, sliding that digit in
fiercely, letting the member drop from his mouth to replace it with the
boy's testicles, fuzz-covered and warm. He wrapped his mouth around them
and attacked them with his tongue, slurping at the organs heavily, still
prodding into George's backside.

"Oh fuck..." the boy breathed, "rub my prostate..."

Stanley did so, curling his finger against the firm texture of the
invisible spot within the boy. He assaulted it with the tip, flicking and
prodding at it ferociously, causing the boy to cry out. George cried in
pleasure and agony, feeling the adult ravage such a tender area so quickly,
and of course it was incredible.

They stared at each other, George's eyes on his uncle's powerful,
dark-skinned arms molesting him, holding him in lust and passion. Stanley
watched the boy's face, and watched the wet erection quiver as the boy
clenched and pushed outward with all his pelvic muscles.

Stanley then took hold of the boy's cock, gripping it with a strong hand,
and began pumping at it, placing the head into his mouth in order to
receive the climactic ejaculation what was inevitable. From this, George
was soon to come.

Each and every sensation in the place elevated him: the feel of the sand
against his hands and buttocks, the scent of his uncle sweating so close to
him and of the sand upon which they reposed, the surrounding forest; he
absorbed the visual pleasure of being ensconced in the cave, surrounded by
the wilderness which promoted their joyful adventure in Life... and of
course his beautiful uncle. The man was panting, pumping the boy's member
and sucking on the head as much as he could, still pounding at George's
prostate with his fingers.

The boy came, grunting and breathing heavily, cringing as he sprayed his
load into Stan's mouth, the adult slurping zealously at it. The adult felt
it gush along his tongue, and he swirled it into his mouth, tasting it as
much as he could before it began to leak, then he gulped and consumed it.

Like before, when he had made his nephew come, the boy went limp very soon
after, and he collapsed then, breathing heavily with a grin, his hands
loose in the dirt, sweating and covered with spit and his own come. Stanley
did the boy a favor in cleaning up the remains with his tongue, licking
George's member clean, likewise his hand and lips.

Stan watched his nephew panting in the dirt, smiling and very pleased –
both of them – to have shared in this romance once again. The residue of
lust played heavy on their wings, and they embraced the exhaustion as a
reward, alighting with each other as if tired birds resting upon the Aspen
trees, landing on each other's spirits, embracing.

They did embrace, the adult bringing his arms around the boy's legs and
nuzzling at his waist once, with his nose tickling at the skin there with
his moustache.

"Your come tastes pretty good." Stan notified him.

"I've tasted it a few times," George replied, "I kinda like it."  He was
still a bit breathless, not yet back into reality.

The adult smiled at him and crawled to be closer to the boy's face.

"Don't you wanna come to?" George asked.

"Nah," Stan said, "I was thinking to save it until later tonight."

Then Stanley performed the act that had not even occurred to George,
something that drowned him in a strange joy. Their lips touched as the
adult kissed him once, putting a bit of moisture on the boy. George went
red, his ears grew hot, and he knew that such a thing was of quite a
different breed of romance. It felt wonderful to know how his uncle felt
about him, how the man had wished to express it.

Their faces were close, Stan's musk penetrating the boy's senses and
delighting him, George wanted more of everything. He took Stan's head in
his hands, feeling the warmth of his skin and the dampness of his sweaty
hair, and pulled him close, kissing him in return.

He felt his uncle's tongue in his mouth, upon his own, and they kissed
deeply. Their lips became wet with each other and they embraced tightly in
the soil, moaning in harmony with their voices, tonguing at each other's
mouths passionately.

The boy felt his uncle's powerful hands wrap around him, picking him off
the soil and hugging him close, radiating with heat and the smell of sex,
his masculinity.  Here he could finally feel how robust the adult was, and
the boy squeezed tightly as they hugged each other, George gripping at
Stan's thick back muscles with both hands.

George could feel himself orgasm in his mind, his spirit in intercourse
with the adult. It could have been love or lust, but truly, they were one
in the same.

-To be continued...

~Apprehensively dedicated to my uncle, Steve, who may or may not
tremendously hate this piece of writing, and who has no idea how I feel
about him. And to all who have at any point in time, ever felt the same for
someone.