Date: Tue, 01 Jan 2002 04:24:10 +0000
From: Java Biscuit <javabiscuit@hotmail.com>
Subject: vancouver island, chapter 7

This story involves teen/boy, teen/adult, male/male graphic
sex and is not intended for reading by minors. If you are
underage, or this type of material is illegal where you live,
please stop now, and go read something else! This is a
completely fantasized story meant only for the purpose
of pleasurable reading. Not real, not true, no way, no how.
It is not meant to encourage unsafe, unprotected sex.

Feedback to javabiscuit@hotmail.com


Vancouver Island ~ chapter seven

by Biscuit


Yves and I sat on a bench in Golden Gate park. It
was kind of cloudy, maybe more like a solid gray
fog, I guess. We had coffees and I had a newspaper.
Yves was rolling me a smoke from the battered
package of what remained of our stash of tobacco.
He'd put a sliver of apple in it to keep it moist and
every time I was sure the stuff must be gone, he'd
take it out and gather up of a good fingerful to
roll up in a fat cigarette. I kind of suspected he'd
nicked a few smokes from people along the line
and shredded the tailor-mades into his stash.

I'm not sure what I was looking for in the paper.
A cheap hotel, a hostel address. I honestly didn't
know what the fuck I was doing. I still had some
money hidden on me but was hoarding it. If I
could figure out a cheap place to stay, maybe I
could think of what the fuck to do next. A lot of
times other kids, drifters, will find you in a park
and have some advice about where to go. I think
I was half hoping for that.

Yves's feet were better than they'd been but Dave
had just about wrecked the kid's shoes trying to
make them stop hurting him. What had been a pair
of little hard hiking boots, now were more like
a pair of laced on sandals with ankle cuffs. Very
weird looking with his socks sticking out, but he
said they felt a lot better, so what the fuck.

He seemed more than content, drinking his milky
sweet coffee, watching people; unconcerned about
what I would decide to do.

I was getting restless, not seeing anything in the
paper that I'd hoped for. Maybe the bus station
should be our next move, I thought, feeling like
San Francisco was too big to start exploring on
foot. I wasn't sure how much walking those little
ones, swinging in the air next to me, could take.

I saw the orange color before anything else. It
was super bright in the grayness. A man and a
boy dressed in brilliant orange clothes, kind of
like the guys at the Krishna temple, but not
exactly. These two had orange shirts and pants
on under their wrapped up things. The boy was
about Yves's age, maybe a little older and had
really long hair, pulled back in a braid. He and
Yves were checking each other out. Weird. The
man was holding the kid's hand. He sort of smiled
at me as they went by. He had that bland Krishna
temple look on his face but his vibes struck me
more like Nathan Jones. Especially when I saw
his eyes take in Yves, even though it was quick.

They went past us a ways and then turned and
started walking back.

"That boy, Jamie," Yves said, "I think he likes
you pretty much. He be coming back to get you."

I had my own thoughts on the subject, more
along the line of the guy and what he was up to.
That they were heading back and that they were
checking us out, that, I didn't doubt. Maybe, I
thought, if they were from something like that
temple in Victoria, we could get a meal and if we
were lucky, a cheap room of some kind. Armand
never stayed at the Krishna temple but he'd told
me they would put you up if you were desperate
for a place to stay. He preferred to drink their
coffee, load up on their free food and sleep
somewhere else.

"Shanti, good morning children," the man said
when they were in front of us.

"Shanti," the kid said. That was their particular
brand of hello. Both of them were wearing long
beaded necklaces, with medallions hanging off
them. It looked like some guy's picture was on it.
Not Krishna though, that's for sure. Krishna's a
blue guy who plays a flute and this one looked
white.

"Right," I said, not wanting to say whatever it was
they'd said, and feeling funny about a straight
hello. "You guys know any cheap places to stay?
Have you got some kind of temple or something?"

I swear the two of them looked at each other like
I'd just confirmed their belief in the hereafter. The
boy beaming, all kinds of adoring at the guy, and
the guy nodding at him.

"Yes, indeed, child. You and your companion
would be most welcome to come with us. My
name is Swami Ganesha, and this is Ganesh."

"I'm Jamie, this is Yves." I got up, tossing my
coffee in the trash. I shouldered my pack but
saw Yves still sitting on the bench, looking at
them like he'd rather do just about anything in
the world than go with them. "It's okay," I told
him. Fool, that I was. "We don't have to stay
there, we can have a snack or something and go
someplace else."

"Most certainly," the swami said, but Yves got
up real slow. He shrugged and picked up his
pack. I knew he didn't want to do this, but was
going along with it since I'd said we wouldn't
have to stay. As soon as they were walking
ahead of us, he turned his little reproachful
face to me.

"Me," he whispered, "I don't be liking that boy."

I grinned at him, reaching over to tug his braid.

"I be liking you," I whispered back to him and
he did give me a begrudging smile.

Little Flower Templee was in the middle of a
neighborhood that once upon a time had been
called Haight-Ashbury, maybe it still was.

Except for the fact that I couldn't smoke, the
place really wasn't too bad. It was clean and
bright and it smelled awesome, like spices and
incense. It was kind of good too, that you had
to take your shoes off, since it was a break for
Yves's feet.

"It's not so bad," I said to him, especially not
with two trays full of food in front of us.

"There don't be no girls in this place," Yves
said, leaning across the cafeteria table where
they'd left us alone to eat.

Ganesh had put a tray on either side of the
table but now that he'd gone, Yves was sliding
his over next to mine and coming around to
sit next to me in a hard plastic chair. Orange
plastic, of course.

"No, there aren't."

"Aren't," he echoed. He kept trying to imitate
me, but as soon as he'd speak freely, he sounded
just like Armand again. If anything, I ended up
copying him half the time. The food was good.
I hadn't eaten fresh vegetables and soup, or good
bread in ages. I felt good seeing him eat food that
wasn't a Big Mac or hot-dogs, like it meant I was
taking care of him.

There were pictures on the walls of the same guy
whose picture was hanging off everybody's bead
necklaces. Definitely a white guy, with long black
hair, gray over his ears, a bushy gray beard and
real piercing dark eyes. He was Shree something,
something way too long to remember. The short
cut to his name, I found out, was Shree Devi.

There was a cut out in the wall at the end of the
room, looking into a big kitchen, and a guy kept
showing up there, looking out at us. He was maybe
about my age. All done up in orange, like the
others, but his hair was shaved real short and he
had an orange knit cap on his head.

"Are you finished eating, brothers?" he asked
when I guess he could see our bowls and plates
were empty.

"Yeah, thanks."

"You can bring me the trays and I'll show you
the room you may stay in."

Yves gave me a killer look.

"Just for a night, Yves," I said. "What can it
hurt?" God, a more sullen face would be hard to
imagine. But I kept thinking that I just wanted to
be able to park myself and think for a few days.

The kid's name was Ghandi, and he was an odd
one. Looking me over pretty good. I was starting
to think it was some kind of gay guy's temple and
I wasn't far wrong.

Ghandi showed us a bathroom across the hall
from our little room. It was for the whole floor,
I guess. Lots of shower heads along one wall and
some benches. A whole row of toilets with no
doors or anything along the other wall. These
guys were not into privacy, that's for sure. Still,
I was thinking that getting some of the road dirt
off might be a good thing.

The room was tiny. Two cot like beds and just
enough room for our packs at the ends of them.
Kind of creepy that there wasn't a window or
door.

We helped ourselves to a shower. I had one eye
on the door in the beginning but it was impossible
not to get distracted by a naked soapy Yves. He
was so young, still shooting blanks when he came,
but it seemed like he could do it a lot.

He was doing it on my leg when I looked up and
saw Ghandi watching us from the doorway. Yves
felt me being startled but he was so close he just
hung on to me and finished. Oh Jesus, I thought,
we're in for it now. The guy looked upset and
came striding over, shutting the water off.

He threw a towel at me.

"Cover yourself, brother," he said, glancing
pointedly down at my stiff dick. Then he brought
a towel and draped it around Yves's shoulders.
He ushered us to our room, swiftly. There were
orangey looking pajamas, like he was wearing,
laid out on the cots for us and our packs were
gone.

"Swamiji says you must put these on. Your others
clothes are disturbing the energy of the temple.
Go on," he said sharply. "Do it."

Suddenly the doorway filled with Swami Ganesha.
He was beaming at us.

"It's all right children. Your things are being kept
for you. Ghandi, Swami Ghandiji is waiting for
you upstairs. Shanti."

What the fuck. The nervous boy darted a look at
me, mumbled, "Shanti," and hurried out the door.

The swami turned to us, with his hands folded in
front of him.

"Don't be alarmed by Ghandi, children. He should
not have intruded on your privacy in the shower.
He doesn't understand that you are not bound to
follow our ways and was disturbed by your sex
play." Jesus, fucking, Christ.

I suddenly felt like I was back in the car with the
guy that wanted to hold my hand, but there was
nowhere to pull over and get out. What the fuck
was I going to do, run out of there barefoot,
wrapped in a towel? Believe me, I thought about
it. I reached for Yves, but he didn't come to me.
He was putting on the orange pajamas, figuring, I
guess, that if there was running to do, at least he
wouldn't be bareassed naked.

"I'd like to get our stuff now," I said. "Thanks for
the shower and all, but I think we have to go."

The swami looked pained.

"Child," he said. "Jamie, why don't you come with
me up to one of the classes that's in session. I think
you'd enjoy it very much. You're upset for nothing.
No one wants to hurt you here. No one will stop you
from loving your companion. Your clothes are in
the laundry just now. They'll be cleaned and packed
for you later. I promise. You have to admit that
your things were somewhat grimy. We are very
sensitive to scent and vibrations here. No one is
trying to steal your things, just to clean them."

Oh God. All my money, my drugs, my things. I
felt like I was having a nightmare I couldn't wake
up from. It was Yves who held the drawstring
pants up to me.

"Put on the pants, Jamie," he said. His big hazel
eyes were as serious as I'd ever seen them. I nodded,
choking up with panic, taking them from him. Then
the shirt, which was filmy and loose. God, I wanted
to throw myself at Yves's ravaged little feet and beg
him to forgive me for getting us into this mess. He
knew it and had already forgiven me.

"It's okay," he said, though I'd said nothing. He
tried a small smile on me. "You look not too too
bad in that, Jamie."

Armand had us dead to rights when he told Yves
to take care of me. God knows he was trying his
best, if I'd only pay attention to him.

The swami was smiling in a way I'm sure he meant
to be reassuring, but the only thing reassuring me
was the steadiness of Yves. He was keeping a grip
and that's all that stood between me and freaking
out completely.

We put on little cotton socks and followed the
bastard down the hall and upstairs where the smell
of incense was even stronger and there was music
playing.

The so-called class just about blew what was left of
my pitifully undrugged mind. The guy took us into
a room where there were six of these of swami
guys spread out with their feet pointed at the center
of the room, like some big-ass sunflower made up
of swamis.

Every one of them had a kid kneeling between his
legs, and was sporting full blown wood. I didn't
know whether to laugh, cry, or start jerking off.

The light was low but I saw the main swami was
there, the guy whose picture was plastered all over
everything. He was on a gold, pillowed platform
in the corner of the room, naked, with his legs
folded around a huge honking hard dick. It was
one of the biggest tools I ever saw in my life,
pointing straight up from his hairy crotch.

"Tabarnac," Yves muttered. That's tabernacle, for
sure. I saw little Ganesh, the kid we'd seen in the
park, kneeling in front of an empty space. He saw
us and smiled like we were about to get to do a
really great thing, that he already knew about. The
other kid, Ghandi, was there too, not smiling. He
was kneeling between the legs of another swami,
I guessed Ghandiji -- since they all seemed to be
named in pairs.

"This way," the swami said in a hushed tone. He
guided us to an empty space between his boy and
the Ghandis. "You will take the swami's part," he
whispered to me. Damn. That's when I saw my
old buddy Ghandi shoot me that look again and it
dawned on me that he was fucking jealous. Boys
weren't allowed to do it with other boys here,
and that's what was pissing him off.

I couldn't help it. Freaky as the whole thing was,
I sprung a boner as tight as an eggplant. It matched
all the rest of the orange tent poles rising around
the room.

When Swami Ganesha had taken his place beside
me, with a happy looking Ganesh planted between
his legs, the big swami, Shree Devi rose from his
cushion and started to speak.

"Shanti, my children. Shanti, my brothers. Join me
in welcoming two little flowers to the temple." The
guy was standing right over my head, he had a long
peacock feather in his hand, but it was hard to look
away from the upside down view of his giant balls
at the top of his hairy thighs. My God. He swirled
the peacock feather over me. "Brother Jamie,
welcome. You are a precious soul. Your spirit is
ancient, your karma to attain the state of swami at
an age that is still tender. Your spiritual name has
been revealed to me. Henceforth, you are blessed
to be called Swami Anandaji." I watched that feather
shimmy over my chest and down to my hard dick.
Then it skittered up to Yves's face. "And you, child.
Beautiful, beautiful. Your name is Ananda. Bliss."

It was the strangest thing I've ever been through
in my life.

Shree Devi retreated to his throne and from there,
in a voice that was bizarrely soothing and mellow,
he started putting all the little flowers through their
paces.

"The rising spirit of the swami is the flowers'
source of joy. Let the petals of your hands seek
the energy made flesh, the precious purse of
your swami." I watched Yves check out what his
little friend Ganesh was doing to Swami Ganesha.
I did too, and my dick started drooling, as I
anticipated Yves's hands on my balls. It seemed
to me like my own personal swami spirit was
going to be creaming my pants really soon. But
the big swami had his eye on things. "If the spirit
is too strong, withdraw your petal fingers. It is
vital to perform the ritual with patience."

Yves saw the spreading moisture over the head
of my dick. His big eyes moved up to my face,
and he betrayed only the tiniest smirk, taking his
hands off my way too eager balls, waiting a few
minutes for me to cool down before touching me
again.

The music and Shree Devi's voice droned on. I
don't think my dick ever felt that hard and
huge before in my life. Getting blown in slow
motion in a room full of guys all getting it at
the same time was almost enough to make me a
believer.

Our flowers opened our orange pajama pants
and started in on some naked dick work. By the
time Shree Devi instructed them to bathe our
purses with their tongues I think I hit a state of
consciousness I'd never been to before; Yves
washing my balls and breathing hard on my
dick for what felt an hour poised at the edge
of erupting.

Ananda, for sure. I was so blissed out by the
time I finally blew my load that it felt like tidal
waves rising from my balls. My little flower's
wet lips were dancing over and over the head
of my spurting swami stalk.


That's when Shree Devi collected his tribute.
With the swamis dead on the floor, he had
himself a parade of little flowers that he
sucked off, one by one, reclining on his big
gold pillow. He chose my personal flower to
suck his holy cock.

I saw murder in my flower's big eyes when
he was done and came back to me, his head
hanging down. Oh God, Yves. I had to get
him the fuck out of there.