Teglin

Three Weeks to Heaven

A Boylove Romance

Book Two

Chapter 1

Yet I would not let myself or my mount rest. Even the few hours each night that we had to stop to eat and get some sleep, were fitfull for me. Images of Wishus swirled through my dreams. He standing god-like, in golden splendor in his luscious green meadow, fishing at the bank of the creek, bare-chested, the sun bleaching his blonde hair into the infinite hues of light. His tresses playing about his thin shoulders. Or me nuzzing in that hair that first night of our meeting, when I had all-too-briefly gotten him to lay down in my arms – that night when I began to care for him, to show him that he was loved and cherished 3; The sweet kisses that he gave me so freely the next day as we toured his beautiful lost city up in the canyon, the fleshy taste of his little dick and balls in my mouth when we finally made love that night. And our last moments together, when even through tears at our parting, he had dropped to his knees there in the forest, at the trailhead, and taken my own swaying dick into his little mouth and made me hard, and drank my seed, to make us 'One'.

I could swear that through those two long days of riding I still felt the moistness of Wishus' lips on my shaft. And the glorious warmth and tightness of his sucking. Just as when I had been with him in his valley, now that I was alone again I was suffering from a constant cycle of arousal and flaccid weakness. Memories of our love-making made me hard with desire. The simple joy at finally having found the love of my life, made me hard. But I would grow soft and weak every time I remembered the mile after mile of distance I had to put between us, before we could once again be together. Not just the distance, but the worry about him, about the lack of attention and care that his Aunt and Uncle gave him.

But I had a task to complete. I had to finish what I had started, answer the call of my long-time friend to help rescue his own son from renegade Indians – no, there would be no rest for me or my horse. I had to fulfill my promise to Wishus to return to his side within three weeks. And I had to be true to my friend and his son Joey.

"Oh Wishus, what are you doing right now!!" That desperate, helpless thought stalked me practically every moment, fighting with my need to pay attention to the trail, plan the days ahead, and get the job done.

Two days and nights had passed, and now on the morning of the third day, Wishus stumbled almost dazed, for the third time, up to his aerie in the ancient ruins. Tears dropped to darken the rocks beneath his feet. He still could think of little else. Would Teg return? Why did they have to be separated? Would he lose the only person who had loved him unconditionally?

He was having a hard time sleeping at night. Teg alone had brought him moments of security and comfort, dispelling the loneliness he had felt since coming to live here. Now without Teg, it seemed like his every fear loomed larger than before, weighed heavier on his mind. As if without Teg, there was no hope.

When he reached his hidden city, tucked inside the gigantic canyon wall cavern, his heart quickened. They had agreed, upon parting, that he would come here to feel renewed. To feel his lover's presence. To reaffirm that they would be together again 3; and to listen 3; to listen in the wind, for whispered words from his man.

He wiped the tears from his eyes once more, and climbed the terraces to his Shaman's Tower, and sat down on the doorstep, facing the wide-expanse of the forested canyon floor, and far in the distance the yawning canyon mouth, where it opened out into the valley.

He could hear the wind in the tree-tops below. Faint, far away, and he strained to hear something more 3;

Minutes passed, then an hour, but the boy did not stir. He wanted to delay his return to the valley floor below. His uncle and aunt wouldn't miss him, probably wouldn't notice he was gone until suppertime.

The sun beat down through clear skies, but here in his secluded and sheltered city, the afternoon shade was cool, the breeze soft against his skin. He leaned his small frame back against the cool adobe wall of the tower, and closed his eyes briefly 3; just briefly 3;

Now on my third day without my boy, I grimly rode into Miranda, a little ranching and farming town, concentrating as much on my thoughts of Wishus as on refreshing my supplies. I needed at least one more blanket, to replace the two that Wishus and I had put up in his secret haven, his little fort up in the ancient Indian city he had found. It had been colder each night than I had thought it would be, and I really needed another blanket. Some oats for my horse too, since I was riding him so hard.

It was a dead town. Perhaps most everyone was taking an afternoon siesta. Not much activity going on. What dust my horse threw up as he plodded down the dirt streets went unnoticed. A couple of men were leaning against posts in front of the saloon. A wagon was pulled up to the open doors of a stable, where a big man was loading feed. Looked like a little boy sitting there on the seat. I couldn't see his face, just some black hair hanging down raggedly around his head, lustrous dark, dark black hair. A light brown complexion on his neck, and on his arms, where he had rolled up his sleeves. A Mexican, I guessed. His slight figure suggested he might be around six or seven years old. But he was a boy, and even though I was in love, even though I had been pining away for two straight days now over Wishus – perhaps because of that – the predictable happened.

I can't help it, it's always been a part of me. I see a boy, something happens to me. My blood quickens, I search unobtrusively to see if the boy is pretty, and how old he is. It's strange. Practically every boy is a sexual object for me. It's my first reaction upon seeing one. But there is also something more – a real love for boys, just the desire to be around them, to partake of their beauty, yes, but also to give of myself in return – to love and be loved. They're kind of like works of art, each one, and my eyes are drawn to them. Of course I got hard. But I had been aroused so often in the last few days over Wishus, that I was already a mass of tingling, aching tissue, so this one boy didn't change the way I was feeling all that much. I didn't have time to angle for a better look, however. So I forced myself back to the task at hand, and stopped before a general store across from the wagon.

When I came back out of the store I saw the wagon was still there. Looked like the man had finished loading the grain, because he was taking the reigns from the boy. "So long, little boy," I thought to myself. "Go with God. Have a good life. Thanks for gracing my presence for these few minutes." That's the way I was, always whispering silently to the boys I encountered in life. Until Wishus, that's about all I could ever do – wish them well, and watch them go their way out of my life. Now I smiled, knowing that there was my special boy waiting for me.

I hurried to my horse at the hitching rail and started packing.

Suddenly the big man across the street yelled out, as if angry. Something in Spanish. Now, I don't know any Spanish really, so I had no idea what the guy was angry about, and didn't much care. I had other things to worry about. But in the mid-afternoon silence that had settled about this town, the man's rantings were hard to ignore, and I suddenly remembered the boy. No one else had been about, so he must be yelling at the boy. I looked up in worry at the very instant that the kid screamed, and I saw him cowering back in the wagon seat, trying to get as far away from the man as he could.

The man just reached farther over and I saw him brutally slap the kid, as he barked at him. The man's back was to me, and I could just barely see the little boy's terror-stricken face as he had turned half-towards me, sideways against the far edge of the wagon seat. The kid went silent, and drew back tensed, as if knowing that there were more blows to come.

Well, I'm ashamed to admit that I stood there stunned for a moment. I looked around bewildered, and saw the two men who had been standing in front of the saloon, a couple of doors down from the wagon. Now they were standing at attention, sure enough, watching what was going on. Dumbfounded, I saw that one of the men had a badge on his vest. Must be the town Marshall. Damnit, I thought, what's he just standing there for! And then, damnit, why am I just standing here?!

Yes, I'm ashamed to admit it took me that long, but at least when I did come to my senses, I didn't hesitate any longer. I simply dropped the supplies I had bought and took off running across the dirt street.

The man certainly did not see me coming, and if he heard me, he didn't seem to care, because he just continued to stand there slapping the kid about his head. As I got closer, I thought to myself, now this is one big man! I'm 6'3" [1.90 m], tall and rather slim. This man had to be three inches [7½ cm] taller, and big! I mean he was a brute. Looked like one of his arms was as big as my leg.

I'm no coward, but I'm not stupid either. One, I had to stop this brute from hurting the boy anymore. Two, I didn't care to get hurt myself, and I figured if it came to blows, this guy was going to make short work of me. So when I finally got close enough, without saying a word, I just clasped my fists together, rose up on the balls of my feet, then threw my whole body towards the man, using the combined weight of my arms like a sledge-hammer on the back of the guy's neck.

He never knew what hit him. Just crumpled to the ground, knocked out. I kind of ricotched off him and smacked my side and shoulder into the wagon.

The little boy was sharp. Before the horses could react to me jolting the wagon, he grabbed the reins and held firm, all the while looking at me in awe, in disbelief. I looked down at the man, to make sure he was out, then up at the boy. I felt sick all of a sudden. What a sight he was! The cheek below his right eye was swelling, and there was blood trickling from his nose and a split lip. The blood mixed with his tears, both forming dirty trails down his dark skin. I choked up then, but struggled to give him a little questioning smile, and held out my arms to him. He sat there for a minute, fiddling with the reins nervously, and using his sleeves to brush the remaining tears, from his cheeks, and sniffling all the while, gasping for short breaths, his little chest heaving. I could see the struggle going on in his eyes. Coal-black eyes, wide-open in wonder. He leaned forward tentatively, warily, and glanced down at his tormentor, as if to make sure that he was definitely unconscious, then back to me again.

Well, once he made up his mind that I was no threat, I guess, he didn't hesitate any longer. He literally launched himself at my open arms, and let out a pitiful little wail, and started crying again. I just gathered him up and wrapped my arms about him, and hugged him tight. I closed my eyes briefly, feeling faint, when I felt the little boy's head rest in the crook of my neck. You see, he had wrapped himself around me just like Wishus had done so often, locking his legs around my waist, his arms around my neck, and practically marrying his body to mine. For an instant I felt Wishus against me and wanted to cry myself.

All boy! My Wishus, embracing me, letting me breathe in the scent of his hair, feeling his hardening little cocklet starting to rub wantonly against my belly .

I took a deep breath, and opened my eyes. I had to force myself back to the present. I could feel the lines of this little boy's body beneath his dirty shirt, I cupped the soft flesh of his little butt with one hand, I caressed his dark hair, and held his head closer onto my shoulder. A boy in need. But not Wishus. I breathed in, smelling this boy's own unique unwashed scent. An odor, others would have called it. Not me. He was a boy, and his scent was heavenly, the feel of his silken black hair rubbing my cheek was heavenly, the feel of his ribs under the caress of my hand was heavenly. I suddenly realized I was hard as a rock, and my cock was standing straight up inside my pants, my dick-head squashed beneath the boy's crotch.

I flushed then. No, not because I was afraid of being noticed. I flushed in shame. Because of Wishus.

I had been a boylover as long as I could remember, and this was the way I was. Any boy, any reasonably attractive boy, would do this to me. To be truthful, I revelled in my arousal, and held this little boy closer. This feeling was what I lived for. But I loved Wishus! Wasn't my body betraying my love? And was it really right for me to become aroused holding this boy when he was in terror?

That taut band about my heart grew even tighter. I almost cried out in agony. A boy in my arms, that wonderful joy I felt having a boy in my arms, the wonderful rightness of being aroused by this boy, of wanting him near me – yet, wasn't that like forgetting that my heart belonged with Wishus? "Wishus, dear Wishus, forgive me," I pleaded silently. "I love you so much, Wishus Allouitious Knight!"

Time to think all that through later. I affirmed my love for my boy, back in his valley, and felt better about it. Because I knew I meant it. If only he could hear me!

Right now, I had to deal with this situation.

The kid was still snivelling, and wiping his tears and running nose with the backs of his hands, still not unclasping them from around my neck. I felt the wetness on my neck and shoulder, but didn't mind. Stains from a boy in need. Like badges of honor, in this case.

I looked about, and noticed that several other people had stepped out onto the sidewalks to see what was going on. The stable hostler stood closest. He was standing there worriedly, rubbing his hands nervously on a cloth hanging from his belt. When I looked his way, he drawled, "If I was you, mister, I'd drop that little greaser and high-tail it out of here. Big John there ain't going to be out for long, and you'll be mince-meat when he gets up."

My hackles rose at that. I could hear the disgust in the man's voice, and his total lack of concern for the little boy in my arms. So I just ignored him, and turned towards the Marshall, whom I saw approaching now.

"Marshall, I'm going to need some help here. This man needs to be in jail, and we can't just leave this little boy alone here. You have someone here, maybe a Lady's Society, who can take care of him?"

"It's Constable, mister. Not Marshall. And no, we don't have no Lady's Society here to take care of no little greaser boys. You made a big mistake there, interfering with Big John."

"He was hitting the kid, god-damnit! What did you expect me to do?"

"I expect you better get on out of town now, is what I expect," he drawled.

"Bill, here, is right. Big John's liable to kill you when he wakes up."

"Not if he's in jail, where he belongs for hitting this kid, he won't," I responded in disbelief at the apparent attitude of the man.

"Ain't no jail around here that's going to keep Big John Smalley locked up, mister," the Constable laughed, and looked at those gathering around us, for agreement. I looked around too, and saw nods of amused agreement, or looks of fear in the eyes of some, like they expected something even worse to happen soon.

"If I was you," the Constable continued, "I'd just put the little greaser back in the wagon, turn around, and 3;"

"He's no greaser!" I cut him off with a gutteral snarl. "He's a little boy who needed my help. Now he needs yours. Now who can I turn him over to, who'll take care of him?" I looked around, but noticed that a few of those gathered around started to shy away now, to shuffle off, not wanting to be involved anymore.

"Nobody around here's going to take care of a Mexy kid, mister. And especially one of Big John's kids. Now I'm telling you for the last time, to git. I won't be responsible for what happens when he wakes up, if you don't."

"I'll be responsible then," I said with finality. "Where's this boy's home? His mama?"

"Far as I know, Big John's never been married. This kid and his big sister work for John out at his place. Ain't never seen the sister, but I guess she's takin care of the house out there."

"Work for Big John," I said mockingly, in disgust. "This boy couldn't be more than six or seven years old. Alright, so where is this place, where is the sister? I'll take him to her."

"You're on your own, mister," the constable said, as he started to turn away back up the sidewalk. "I warned you, and I ain't interfering in Big John's business, no way."

I looked around, and said, "Anyone else got the guts to tell me where this boy lives?" No response, just blank-eyed dumb stares, or lowered eyes from those who looked embarrassed but still afraid to answer.

Well, I'm not one to stand around waiting for someone else to help, so I decided then and there to shuck myself of this town, and take care of the situation myself. I couldn't speak Spanish, but maybe this little tyke could speak English.

I nudged Big John with my boot, looking down around the still clinging form of the little boy. No motion. He was still out cold. But I imagined he'd wake up pretty soon. Now I had business to attend to, and more important than that, I had to return to Wishus in less than three weeks. So I had to get this boy back to his sister NOW, and hopefully figure some way to convince her to leave her employment with this brute. Damn, what was I going to do if she said no? Was I going to leave this little boy there, knowing this monster would return home and probably beat him again?

First things first. I tried to lower the boy to the ground, but soon discovered he had a vice grip around my neck.

"Uh 3; kid 3; uh, I need to let you down now," I tried to lower him again, but he let out a plaintive cry, and tightened his hold on me. "Look, I'm not leaving you here, I just need to 3;" His grip got even tighter.

He either didn't understand, or was just too afraid, so I gave up. He was holding onto me so securely that I hardly had to hold onto him anyway! So I could have at least one hand free. I went to the front of the wagon and kicked out the trace pin, then quickly walked around both horses, loosening the trace straps. A couple of the onlookers started to offer advice to me. Like, "You're begging for trouble, mister." Or, "Better listen to the marshall." I even overheard others talking about the girl Big John had out at his place. How they had seen her once. She was young, but a looker. Big John wasn't going to take it kindly if I went out there to find her. I just ignored them all. If they weren't going to help with the boy, then they could all go take a leap, for all I cared.

I slipped the harness over the horses' heads, and then yelled and slapped each on the rump, until they took off up the street. No doubt they'd head home, and I could simply follow them there.

Now to my own horse, across the street. And a closer look at the little boy I had clinging to me for life. You could hardly call him pretty, just then, although I could see that he would be without his injuries. I leaned my head back and gently lifted his head away from my shoulder as I crossed the street. Big John had struck him really hard at least twice. The kid's swelling right eye was almost closed now. And the whole left side of his mouth was worse than my first impression. His lip looked like pulp – a raw wound, with blood trickling from it. No wonder he hadn't answered my questions.

All this time my dick had been ramrod stiff in my pants – I guess the combination of a boy in my arms, and the rush of emotion defending him, had excited me to fever pitch. But now, seeing and sensing how hurt this boy was, I started to soften. I blanched, and felt a little cold, and clammy, all of a sudden. If I hadn't stepped in to help him, Big John might have killed this little boy out of nothing more, apparently, than pure meanness.

Again I tried to loosen his grip on me, but now I noticed him flinching as I put my hands on his sides. More gingerly, I felt his rib cage. He winced. The bastard had hit him there too. Poor kid must be one big bruise. Well, I wasn't going to force the kid to let go, for more than one reason now. Both because it hurt him when I tried to force him away, and because he no doubt sensed that he was secure in my arms. I wondered how long he had been hammered by Big John.

I managed to get my purchases loaded on my horse, and then mount up, all with this little boy in my arms. He held onto me – in a pinch, I could even free both my hands, so it wasn't all that difficult. Then I trailed off down the street with nary a glance back at Big John or any care at all for this cursed town called Miranda. Any group of people who would ignore the suffering of a boy, even a 'greaser' boy, as they called him, could just disappear from the Earth for all I cared.

"Son, you going to tell me where your sister is?" I said to him softly.

No answer, just a brief stiffening of his body against mine, as if he were frightened again.

"It's alright, I'll track these horses. Now if you feel like it, you tell me if we're headed the right way, ok?"

Hours passed, while Wishus slept during that still, quiet, hot afternoon, when it seemed the whole canyon and all it's inhabitants were taking a siesta. Dreams came. Of Teg. Of their time together. And just like Teg had promised, the memories did renew his spirit. Again he rested his small hand in the strong palm of his love. Again they stole kisses, some passionate, some light-hearted. Again they lay together in the night, with his man showing him how to become one with him 3;

3; the boy awoke late, lazily brushed his wind-blown hair from his eyes, and lifted himself up on one elbow. He was surprised to see that the shadow of the canyon wall had stretched almost all the way across canyon floor, and knew he had to return to the cabin now. He sighed softly, both happy that he had dreamed so clearly of Teg, and a little sad that he had to leave now, and go back down to the cabin. Another lonely night, pretty much ignored by his aunt and uncle during the evening, and then totally alone up in his bed in the loft through the long dark hours. Still, he felt good. The memories lingered from his dreams, he wondered, coming out of the dreamy haze. Had he heard it? Hadn't he really heard it in the wind? "I love you so much, Wishus Allouitious Knight!"

He smiled wistfully, certain that he had heard it. That Teg had really said it . wherever he was. Wishus felt comforted, ready to return to the valley for another night alone. To wait. To wait for the return of his man.

Tracking the horses was easy enough. I did it half unconsciously all the way to the gate of Big John's ranch. Exhaustion was catching up with me, I guess, and during the ride, with this little boy's silky hair brushing my left cheek, I almost went into a trance. I imagined Wishus riding with me, his sweet locks against my cheek, murmuring his love for me, accepting the caress of my lips on the top of his head. Wishus parts his hair right down the middle. Now I closed my eyes and and imagined tracing that line, lightly kissing his scalp. He giggled, but actually pushed his head up against my lips, signalling that he wanted me to nuzzle him. Well, if he wanted more, I was not about to disappoint hi 3;

My little friend brought me out of my trance, by lifting his head off my shoulder for the first time, and half-twisting in the saddle. He pointed to a shed over under some trees, and kept repeating something like "Rolanda, Rolanda", which I took to be his sister's name. The road through the gate led straight up to the ranch house, but I figured this little boy knew what he was doing. He strained in the saddle, his legs still clamped about my middle, with his torso undulating as if he were going to propel my horse over towards the shed. Whatever was there, he was excited. I heard the anxiety in his voice, the breathlessness. He wanted me to hurry. So I did.

I spurred the horse a bit, and he trotted on over at an angle from the road towards the shed. Gigantic cottonwoods shaded the whole ranch house area, and out beyond I could see cattle grazing in the fields. With a practiced eye, I noted that Big John had himself a nice spread. Idyllic here under the whispering wind in the cottonwoods, in the cool shade. Too bad this place was owned by a child-beater. Dampened my enthusiasm some, I can tell you. He had no right to anything good, if he could lift a finger to this little boy in my arms.

No one was about. The place seemed deserted. Not even a chicken plucking at the ground. The only sounds were this little boy's repeated entreaties to me, as if he were hurrying me on, the creak of saddle leather, and that swooshing sound that seemed always present up in a tall cottonwood. I had always loved that sound, but now it seemed kind of mournful, for some reason. Damn this Big John, he knew how to ruin a day. I spat down into the dirt of his ranch house compound.

My companion almost flung himself out of my embrace, when we drew up to the shed. He would have fallen the six feet [1.8 m] to the ground if I hadn't grabbed him bodily around his waist, then lowered him on down gently. He ran to the door and tried to open it. As I got down I saw that it was latched and locked with a bar. Well, now I was starting to wonder. If Rolanda were in this shed, she was obviously locked in there by Big John.

"Take it easy, kid," I held out one hand, palm forward, as I lowered myself from the saddle, trying to calm the little boy. He was rattling the door, trying to jerk the bar out. It wouldn't budge for him. He called out to whoever was within. "Rolan, Rolan," he yelled, almost whining. I heard a weak voice answer back, a feathery-light, weak voice, a sweet, sweet voice.

Oh god, for a minute my heart skipped a beat. That was Wishus I heard. Calling to me from the doorstep of his aerie up in his lost city. It was his soft, sing-song voice, whispering plaintively to me to return to him 3; but no, it couldn't be 3;

"Metrio," I thought I heard the voice say, then something more in Spanish. So that was the little boy's name. Metrio. Metrio? Rolanda sounded far away, as if she were calling with her last breath. Or perhaps she was ill. Knowing Big John as little as I did, I already imagined the worst, and roughly shifted the latch bar up, and jerked open the door.

Sensations hit me then with stunning force, one right after another, or all mixed in together. First the smell, as my eyes tried to adjust to the gloom within the shed. On warm draughts of air, flowing from the opened door into the cooler air of the shaded ground outside, a scent, not an unpleasant scent at all, swept over me. But it was unusual and strong, a mixture of body odors, I could tell immediately, a wisp of 3; well, to be crude about it, if you've ever run your hand down inside your pants, between your cheeks, then smelt it, you'll know what I mean. Not a fecal odor, at all, not even necessarily dirty, but in a way sensual. Very basic and so very very intimate to one's self. Another, equally intimate image struck me as the scent registered on me – how it smelled when, just three nights ago, I had sucked my dear Wishus, and run my finger tips over and over his little anus, mixing my saliva with his own bodily mucus and fluids. That memory alone was almost hynotic – enough to draw me into that shed. Added to that, was that unmistakable, oh so familiar chlorinated scent that I always smelt when I jacked off, and my semen came spurting out.

My dick sprang to attention then and there, at the doorway to the shed, knowing almost unconsciously, just from the smells, that someone had been involved there very recently in sex acts. Big John was obviously screwing his little maid here, then. And had locked her in here afterwards.

It was rather dark inside, and there was a partition wall extending part way out from one side, blocking my view to the back. It was from there, from beyond the partition, that I heard the voice again. "No banga in aqui, Metrio!" the soft voice seemed to plead. "Metrio, detras. Detras."

I understood 'aqui', meaning 'here'. And 'no', and saw that Metrio was shifting uncertainly back to the doorway, obeying the orders of his sister. She didn't want him to see something here, I supposed, and it wasn't hard to imagine what. Big John must have left her naked, swimming in his cum. Now that thought might have sickened me, had not that remembered scent of Wishus, that physical reminder of him, kept me rock hard.

Beyond the partition, the shed was brighter than on this side. As I stepped to the end of the partition, I saw that there was a window there on the opposite wall. I looked to the left hesitantly, half-embarrassed for the girl, that a stranger should see her here, in a condition that she didn't even want her little brother to see her in.

How long did I stand there, breathless, my left hand on the partition edge, my head bent forward to peer into the room? It was a moment lost in time, that much I do know, for I was truly stunned, mind-numbed, by what I saw just paces away. No, mind-numbed is not the word, because my mind was racing, stimulated beyond clear thought. I smelt that aphrodisiac scent of sex, I heard that beautiful, sensuous voice, and now I saw what should not be possible – a boy! Half-reclining over a barrel, his naked rear pointing directly up at me! Oh yes, an incredibly beautiful, completely naked boy, with Metrio's own dark, coppery burnished skin tone, looking oiled. How did I know he was beautiful? I didn't need to see his face to know that. I just knew! His perfectly smooth buttocks shone honey-gold, reflecting the light from the window. His thighs and legs were statuesque columns of polished flesh, split apart, giving me a clear view of this boy's treasures hanging down limply. His hooded, darker brown colored little cock, a little less more two inches [5 cm] long, I reckoned, was half hidden by his dangling little balls, loosely hanging in the sun-warmed air within the shed. Above, arched over the barrel, his torso 3; where Wishus' body was alabaster, porcelain, ivory, the fairest and purest of complexions, this boy's flesh was in tones of brown, mahogany, copper, bronze 3; his genitals were darkest, perhaps mahogony gold, I could see the soles of his feet were much lighter, bleached bronze, his legs fine sun-darkened copper below his knees, and a lighter hue above. His thighs, buttocks and his torso, which he evidently did not bare to the sun, where golden tan, slick and so smooth looking. He was apparently a bit older than Wishus, judging from the size of his dick and balls, and while there was not an ounce of excess flesh on this boy, he was more 'filled-out' than Wishus, his ribs less plain, the cleft along his backbone muscled perfectly. Wishus was all boy, but oh so delicate looking, like fine china. This boy before me was certainly all boy too, and exuding a sensuality that Wishus might have someday, when he truly realized how beautiful he was . when he was less innocent, I supposed.

I could not see this boy's face, for he lay over the barrel somwehat awkwardly, with his head and arms down on the other side. I could see that his hair was coal-black, like little Metrio's, but much longer. I saw shining tendrils of it hanging all the way to the floor, splayed across the boy's left shoulder. I judged his hair to be at least waist-length.

I took all this in almost breathlessly, my heart racing. Here was a sight so strange, so unexpected, and yet so incredibly lovely and alluring that I was in awe. Yes, I noted all his features in an instant, my fevered glaze roamed over his outstretched form, but my eyes kept returning to the very center of this magical picture 3; my hand trembled in it's grip on the partition, as I struggled to accept what I saw 3; sticking straight out from between his butt cheeks, curving and arching out from this boy, was a magnificently carved and polished phallus! A perfect replica of a long cock shaft and balls. The cock head was buried inches deep inside the boy, filling him, forcing his anus to stretch wide around it.

The ring of his anus, so tightly locked around the dildo shaft, was puffy looking, dark colored, stretched smooth all around, not crinkly like I imagined it must have been normally. Now I knew full-well the source of that sex-charged aroma. This boy had been fucked by Big John, and then left here, apparently tied across the barrel, and plugged with this fake organ. Why, I had no idea. Was the man punishing this boy, this Rolanda? Rolando. Was he trying to loosen the boy's hole?

I tore my eyes away long enough to look back, to see if Metrio were still by the door. Sure of that, I gathered my senses again, and stepped to Rolando's side. Yes, his hands were tied to posts, I could now see. And so were his feet.

"My name's Teglin, son," I almost whispered to him. I don't know why I whispered. I guess it was a mixture of awe at how incredibly beautiful his form was, astonishment at seeing a fucked boy, not to mention one with a man-sized phallus still penetrating him. And of course I did not want to frighten him. "I'll 3; I'll let you up now," I said nervously.

No answer.

An hour later, even minutes later, I wondered why I did what I did next, before untying his limbs. Here he was bent and tied over this barrel, but still perhaps in a kind of trance, instead of immediately cutting his bindings, I instead gingerly grasped the carved wooden dick with my right hand, and shaking as if from extreme exertion, started to pull it from his lovely rear. With my left hand I lightly touched the ring of his anus, needing to touch it, to prove to me that it was possible for such a massive dick to enter a boy's hole!

He gasped! Not in pain, but letting out the kind of involuntary, surprised sigh with which one might greet an unexpected pleasure. My heart skipped another beat. I traced the ring of his anus with my index finger with a feather touch, and he gasped again. It was so tight! The flesh stretched so tight it was almost glassy smooth, yet moist! It stretched out, as if not wanting to release the cock embedded within! Trembling, I moved my left hand, letting my palm cup his left cheek, resting on his hot flesh, as if I needed to push there, while pulling the dick from him. I thrilled at the touch, so smooth and soft, so pliant. His cheek was hardly the size of my outstretched palm, so small and delicate looking was he. So lithe and elegant looking.

Did this boy feel pleasure in having his rear plugged with this cock! No telling how long he had lain here, in a tortuosly uncomfortable position, yet he gasped sensuously as I slowly withdrew the shaft. His fluids came out with it, and that sex-filled aroma strengthened. The sides of the slightly curved organ were streaked with the fluids. Not dirty with it! I did not have that sense. I was enthralled by what I saw. As the realistically carved glans of the fake penis plopped free of Rolando's anus, the boy groaned again, louder, and a mixture of whitish-colored semen and a yellowish, lightly brownish fluid streamed down his thighs. Was that the reason Big John had plugged this boy? To keep his cum inside the boy?

Still holding the 10 inch [25 cm] long organ in my right hand, I regained my senses at least partially, and looked around for something to clean the boy's rear. A dress lay on the floor next to the barrel, a girl's dress, small, just the size for Rolando. I wondered at this Big John, why he had kept Rolando in a dress.

I stooped to retrieve it, which brought my eyes nearly on a level with the boy's bottom. His hole was still stretched, but resuming a much reduced girth – still open, still with fuck-fluids slowly dribbling from it. I saw the pinkish red insides of his anus, and the dark brown outer skin, now retracting, but still swollen.

How I wanted to run my hands up and down his legs, to stroke his anus, to feel the flesh where he had been fucked, to cup his dangling little dick and balls 3; If ever a boy were a work of art, Rolando was it. His legs were flexed taught, and the skin behind his knees were stretched tight, uncreasing each wrinkle in his flesh. It looked so tender and vulnerable that I wanted to kiss him there. His feet rested soles-flat on the floor, no spring or bounce left in them, apparently. He was probably exhausted from being tied there, and had lost the ability to support himself.

Instead of caressing him, I stole a deep breath of his nether scent, then forced myself to rise halfway and gently dab and wipe the valley between his cheeks, being ever so careful when Rolando gasped again, and jerked his torso up involuntarily, when I touched his raw anus.

"I'm sorry, Ro 3; Rolando," I stuttered, embarrassed now, both by my insensitivity and my dulled reasoning. Astonished at myself, I dropped the cock to the floor. It was a beautifully carved instrument, and I had to admit that I was stimulated by just holding it, but had it been the instrument of some insane cruelty rather than one of the pleasure that this boy deserved?

I dropped the dress too, and quickly stooped to untie Rolando's hands and ankles. At one point, my own cheek unintentionally brushed against his bottom. I felt an electryfying mixture of his hot, pliant flesh against my rough, bristly cheek, and the cold of the smeared leavings of his recent fucking. I was still in a state of bewilderment, one of awe, I think. This boy was so beautiful to behold, and that alone would make me tremble to be able to touch him. But I was also rescuing him from this strange 'torture' that Big John had inflicted on him, and I felt a surge of sympathy and concern for him. An overwhelming desire to be so tender and gentle with Rolando, to show him by my every touch that he need not be afraid.

He didn't move, after I untied him. So I gently, cautiously placed my hands on either side of his torso, cupping his ribcage, and helped him to stand upright. At first he was like a dead weight, but then he exerted himself to regain balance. I felt him test his legs, bending his knees, bouncing on them slightly. I half turned him towards me, and got my arms up higher, under his arm-pits, and let him take his time in standing fully upright. The top of his head came up to about the level of my breast, and briefly he propped his forehead against the firm mass of my pectoral. I looked down, and saw his hair was parted just like Wishus', right down the middle. The difference was like that between dark and light, however. Here were all tan and black tones, and Rolando's hair texture was thicker, but just as silky. And obviously much, much longer than that of Wishus. My lover's hair was finer, and stray wisps sometimes curled and hung in silvery-gold waves about his beautiful head. With Rolando, his ebony tresses hung perfectly straight, each follicle of hair perfectly aligned with the rest, falling in one torrent.

He finally gathered enough strength to raise his head and look at me. No wonder he had passed as a girl. His every feature was so utterly fine and soft. Oriental-looking, almond-shaped eyes, under long black lashes. His eyebrows were fine and thick, almost joined above his nose by a thinner, wispy line of hair. His nose was thin, as was his face generally, and his cheeks were prominent, as in most Indians. But this boy was not just a native Mexican of Indian extraction, he must be what is referred to as 'mestizo', or mixed, with Spanish blood. His lips were full and reddish-brown, highlighting the golden brown of his complexion. He held them tightly closed, as if judging me, unsure of me. His chin was relatively wide, just enough to give him a determined, rather than weak look, although still so lovely and effeminate in line and curve. A chin shaped for the cup of a man's hand, as he gently tilted Rolando's face up for a kiss 3;

By now I was one large tingling mass of tumescent flesh. A hardon embodied, from head to toe, my every sense enraptured with the loveliness of this boy. I looked down his body, seeing the soft lines of his chest and tummy, his nipples hidden by the stream of his hair. Down, down to his prominent, flaccid little dick, it's reddish glans just peeking from his foreskin. Those columns of his dark honey-colored thighs 3;

Again I felt myself enraptured by this boy. And again I had to shake myself out of the trance.

"Rolando?" I said softly.

"Rolando? Is that your name?"

I saw a light burning in his black eyes, as he regained his composure and full awareness, but he didn't answer. He didn't push me away forcefully, but more gently I felt him turn away from me, and lower his eyes. He didn't answer.

"Well, your 3; brother called you that 3; so 3;"

I waited an awkward moment, but still he said nothing. Rather he just stood there, half turned away. In shame? I wondered. Fear? Discomfort?

I had to do something. We had to get going. "Ok, son, whatever your name, here's the deal. I took your brother, Metrio, away from Big John. And I can't leave him here. And now, I 3; I don't want to leave you here either. If you understand me, here's what I'd like to do 3; get you some clothes, get a horse, and then head out of here. I guess 3; I'll take you to Santa Fé with me, and 3; find someone there to take you in." I trailed off, wondering if he were understanding any of that. I had noticed a slight jerk of his head, when I said I had taken his brother away from that brute.

"Come on 3; Rolando," I gently placed my arm around his shoulder. "We have to get out of here," I said, nudging him forward. He complied, then hesitated, and started to reach down for the dress.

"No!" I surprised myself by the vehemence of my reaction. It just overwhelmed me, a revulsion for seeing this incredible boy wrapped in a girl's rags, ones that Big John had forced him to wear.

He looked up frightened, questioning, pausing in half-stoop.

"Sorry, son, it 3; it's alright," I hastened to retract it. Wanted to make him forget my vehemence 3; "You can wear that if you wish, but perhaps you have some other clothes up in the house?"

He seemed to understand, because he rose stiffly again, and shuffled out of the room, slowly testing his legs, but seeming to gain strength with each step. He saw his little brother, and let out a mournful kind of wail, upon seeing the little tyke all bruised and swelling, then stooped to hug and caress him. They hugged briefly, and then Rolando looked back at me. I saw something like bewilderment, mixed with awe, mixed with a questioning again, as if he were unsure of my motives or intentions. I'm afraid he saw that I could not keep my eyes off his bare rear – as he stooped, his long hair fell forward, and his outthrust bottom wiggled at me tantalizingly. His little anus was still loosened, still a bit swollen around the rim, but already closed completely and puckering inward.

I flushed, but whatever he felt upon seeing my stare, he must have decided to ignore it, and accept me, because in the next five minutes, after I forced myself to drag my eyes from his incredible naked form, he cooperated fully with my plans. I went to the barn to get a horse and saddle, while Rolando led Metrio slowly across to the house, still testing his legs. He returned more steadily, now in another little girl dress. This one was not frilly and girlish, like the one back in the shed, but more of a simple shift, or sack-like garment, hanging from his shoulders. At least it was clean. I could have sworn I saw embarrassment in his gaze, as he met my look of wonder. I guessed he had no other clothes, that Big John had only let him wear girl's clothing. He was also carrying a carpetbag full of other items. I had no idea what, but guessed that he understood me well enough. We were leaving this place, and never coming back.

I signalled to them to come on and get up on the horse, and he brought Metrio over to me, then again looked up at me with a slightly embarrassed look. But there was something more in those dark pits of his eyes than embarrassment. There was that questioning again, and a glint, a fire of something there. He suddenly let go of Metrio and turned and limped across to the shed, and disappeared inside.

I went ahead and hoisted Metrio to the saddle, keeping half an eye on the shed door, wondering what it could be that Rolando wanted there. Perhaps he knew of Big John's money box or something. Well I didn't want anything of Big John's. I wanted to be clear of that man, completely, and quickly. I had just about convinced myself that I would have to tell Rolando to leave whatever he had gone back to get, when he came out of the shed walking towards us head up, staring boldly at me, almost defiantly, as if he sensed I might object, and was determined to do as he wished. In his hands he held two things. One of which stunned me – the phallus, that 10 inch [25 cm] long, perfectly carved and polished cock, still encrusted with his own bodily juices. The sight of Rolando clutching it along the shaft, the cock head held up tight to his chest, the balls hidden underneath his elbow, hit me deep in my stomach. The feeling passed down to my groin, and I felt a tingling there as my dick began to harden once again. For once, my mind had returned to the requirements of our escape, and the journey on from here to Santa Fé, on how I would deal with Big John if he showed up on our trail. Now it was centered once again on the memory of this huge cock buried in the anus of the little boy walking proudly, daringly, towards me. He must have seen my astonishment, must have understood what I was feeling, because his look of determination suddenly softened, his brow furrowed in a question, as if he somehow knew that he had no reason to defy me, but was not quite sure yet why.

The other object he carried looked like a container, a stoppered green-glass jar, filled with some opaque, whitish colored paste or ointment. Perhaps medicine, for all I knew. Whatever it was, it was apparently important to him. He approached and held out the jar to me, as I lifted the saddle bag cover. I placed the jar inside, and looked down at him, and felt myself turning beet red in the face, as I hesitantly reached for the phallus. He again noted my consternation, and stretched up himself, to slip the tool into the bag.

He smiled ever so slightly, a kind of a sly, knowing smile. As if he were in command of something that I knew nothing about. Well, I had to admit, he did. He was a fucked boy. I was a man who had dreamed of making love to a boy like him for years.

He just stood there waiting now, looking up at me. I paled, then flushed red, I supppose, feeling the heat rush to my face. He was all boy. Wearing a dress, with hair hanging below his waist, but with the power of BOY over me.

I gathered my senses, and held out my cupped hands, to boost him into his saddle. His soft garment brush across my cheek. I looked up to see his lustruous inner thigh almost all the way up to the darkness of his crotch, as his dress opened briefly. He sat astraddle just behind Metrio, so his dress perforce scrunched all the way up his perfectly smooth, bronzed thighs.

As we rode out of the ranch yard, I finally had time to catch my breath and think, but it was impossible to take my eyes from the boys in front of me on their horse. I guessed Rolando's age at about 12. Next to Wishus, I had to admit he was just about the sexiest creature I had ever encountered. But unlike Wishus, who was all innocent loveliness, this Rolando was like a Siren, a walking, breathing, sex object, whether he consciously knew that or not. He was a fucked boy, one who had been kept by Big John as a girl. To be fucked. A boy who apparently liked being fucked, and who had safely packed away an instrument which had only one purpose. I wondered whether he was a loved boy, as was Wishus. And then I wondered, could any boy be both?

Chapter 2

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Then I strode out of the water, put on my longjohns and camp moccasins, and prepared to take care of little Demetrio. That's when Teg Junior woke up. Did you ever see a hard, seven inch [18 cm] dick tent out a pair of longjohns? That's what happened after I had some water heated, and a blanket spread by the fire, and I called the boy over to me. He came willingly, knowing by now he could trust me. I proceeded to strip him down for a bath. Something perhaps never before done with him, from the evidence of grime and dirt almost etched into the nooks and crannies of his body!

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

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

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

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

Metrio made no sign of resistance or shyness when I reached around in front and loosened his drawstring, and slowly tugged his little pants down. I realized then that even with Wishus I had never been this close, face to cheek, as it were, with a little boy's rear! Wishus and I had splashed around in the water, and I had grabbed his butt, and in the heat of my passion even caressed his anus from above as he lay prone and I sucked him, but here I was with my face just inches from Metrio's butt. I had been upright on my knees, washing him. Now I lowered – still on my knees behind him, but resting back on my haunches. That brought my face right on a level with his buttocks. What I wanted more than anything right then was to lean forward and plunge my face into his crack, breath deeply, and wash him with my tongue and lips 3;with trembling fingers, instead, I again very gently washed his pliable cheeks, then separated them and with a feather-like stroke at first, washed his crack. His little, untouched anus looked so delicate, the skin around it perfectly fashioned as a tiny funnel, leading inward to depths where I wished my tongue could follow. Instead I scrubbed him there, boldly, but gently, as if having my thumb on his hole, encased by his soft flesh, was nothing to me.

Satisfied that I had washed him cleaner than he had ever been before around his little butt-hole, having done everything except plant a kiss there to finish my ministrations off, I treated myself to his little cock. His little inch-long [2½ cm], half-soft stub, encased in his dark brown foreskin, bobbed into view just inches before my eyes, when I placed my hands on his hips and gently shifted him around. He turned willingly, oblivious to the very real hunger in my eyes. My own dick had been massaged by the soft fabric of my longjohns with my every movement, and I wasn't far from cumming like I had three times with Wishus, without him ever touching my dick, or even without ME touching my dick. The sight of Metrio's proud-standing dick nearly pushed me over the edge! He wasn't hard, but his little piece was half engorged, and sticking out at a slight angle from his pubic mound. His glans was plainly visible inside the sheath of his foreskin. A perfect-sized little angled head for a perfect little boy penis. I may have licked my lips, but was unaware if I did. This was only the third boy-dick I had seen, and I have to admit I was pretty much hypnotized by it. Now I would get to touch it. I know there was a little tremble in my hand, as I lovingly washed Metrio's tummy and just above his pubis, then lowered my fingers, playing tiny circles all across his soft mound. His pubis, and dick and balls, really stood out from his crotch, as if nature had intended them to draw the eye of anyone there. The phallus! Even soft, like this, and so small, yet it was just charged with power over me!

Nay, because it was so small! Yes, it's the phallus I love, a dick that I drool over, but it is a little boy that inflames me! I don't know what it is about me, although I've thought about it enough. I love cock, I can even become aroused contemplating my own cock, but I have never been remotely attracted to a man. Even a naked man. On the other hand, I don't have to see a boy nude to be aroused. There is a unique beauty in a boy, in his frail and delicate frame, yet so straight and sleek, not muscled like a man's, nor rounded like a girls, or woman's. A boy's frame, like his little dick, filled with the potential to stand hard and tall, yet still so soft and lovely. Like a work of art 3; Oh, I don't know how to explain it. And at that moment, seeing up close only the third boy cock in my life, I was enthralled.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He was sultry. His limbs flowed as he glided past me, so erect and tall. His thinness made all 5'2" [1.57 m] of him seem tall, and so did the long reach of his hair. He held himself perfectly erect, with his head high, and looking neither right nor left, but determinedly forward to the water.

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

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

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

I wondered why he seemed to disdain me? Was he disgusted? Was he angry, because I tore him away from his 3; lover? Angry because I grew so hard and so obviously desirous, when washing his little brother? His eyes had never left us, yet now he walked by as if I were beneath his contempt.

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

I tensed, and almost sat up, staring intensely, too intensely, as he reached the pebbled beach, set his saddle bags down, and started to lift his shift up off his body. Before I could prepare for the shock, he had the garment off and dropped it beside the bags, and was standing stark naked before me, just fifteen feet [4½ m] away, facing away. When he had raised both his hands to get the dress over his shoulders and head, as if in a dance he gracefully stood on his toes for the instant, causing his body to stretch, appearing to almost dive up! Up into the sky! His calves so sleek and taut, the outlines of his flexed muscles so clearly defined under his dark skin. His long, thin thighs like columns supporting the twin, rounded mounds of his buttocks. In stretching, the little crease below his buttocks, where they met his thighs, smoothed out – there was just the perfectly smooth rise of boy flesh, from his delicate ankles to all the way up and up and up, till hidden by his incredible hair.

Standing tippy-toed also caused his buttocks to separate just slightly at the bottom. I let out an involuntary little gasp as I glimpsed the dark little button of his love hole. So tiny it looked, and I was amazed, remembering touching it, feeling how tight it was, stretched around the massive 10" [25 cm] cock protruding from it. Now it looked virgin, untouched.

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

Rolando heard my gasp, and chose that moment to acknowledge me. Upon dropping the dress and falling back on his heels, he looked back at me, coyly dipping his head and glancing at me under lowered brow. His eyes flashed and seemed to pierce me. His expression was still 3; I didn't want to call it hateful, nor resentful, but he looked so stern 3; was it suspicion? Anger of some undefined kind?

I released my shaft like it had burned me, and indeed felt a hot flash, as embarrassment at being caught in such blatant expression of my arousal overwhelmed me. Why, I don't know. I knew he was flaunting himself before me. And I suspected he was angry at me in some way. I could have resented that, but didn't. I didn't yet understand Rolando's relationship with his former master. What was it like to be taken away from the man who had filled him, as only a man can? Or the man's ten inch [25 cm] wooden phallus. Had Big John been to Rolando what I wanted to be to Wishus?

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

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

From that moment on, I lay still, but every muscle in my body was tensed, my hands dropped to the blanket, resting by my hips. Well, I could refrain from touching it, but there was no way I could hide the tent made by my dick – my shaft raised my longjohns fully four inches [10 cm] off my belly, and I felt a dull ache building up in my balls.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

My tempter finally dropped the brush into the opened bag, and stepped forward into the water. I swear I could see every little goose-bump that rose on his flesh, from the fifteen feet [4½ m] that separated us. It sent chills through me as well.

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

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

It was suddenly dark. The nearly half, but waning, moon was not yet visible behind the trees to the East, and I had to peer sharply into the dusk to see Rolando rise from the waters, I listened as he stowed his brush, picked up his dress and put it on, and then started back across the camp to his former position by his saddle. He did not look my way as he passed before me, but walked like the mysterious, bronzed god that he was, stately, bigger than life, to his resting place. Only 5'2" [1.57 m] tall, just a boy 3; but a boy!!!

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

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

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

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

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

He sighed, and swore he would not cry this night, thinking about the one person who had given him unmeasured love. Wrapping his blankets about his delicate form, he imagined they were the strong arms of his man. The man who had sworn to return to him 3; in three weeks. Now two weeks, and four days.

The boy rolled over in his bed, still clasping his blanket, and finally drifted off to a fitful sleep. A dream-filled sleep, a remembering dream, of a time, just four nights ago, when he had awoken to the most frightening, yet deliciously painful feelings in his little cock and balls. He had awoken hard, and he felt like his balls were being scrunched by some unseen fingers. It did hurt, but at the same time it felt so good, and he just knew Teg would know the answer! So he had gotten up, and straddled his man, and leaned over to awaken him, allowing his little boner to press tightly into his man's belly. And then his man had shown him how to make love, how to become one, how to release that aching feeling within his balls 3; and how to show his love 3;

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

In the last of the dreams, everything was so hazy. But I remember thinking, "Wishus, you've come to me again! I feel your warmth pressing against my chest. Do you feel like your pee-pee needs to be sucked again, dearest? I want do that for you 3;" I started to rise, but felt his weight against my chest, and I did not want to dislodge him. I felt his little dick brushing my lips! I tried to take it in, but he withdrew it!

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

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

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

Through my stunned surprise, and with my senses of taste, touch, and smell overloaded, came his sweet voice. It was soft but heated in his passion, "take it, meester! I give you 3; my dick! Take it 3; Suck it!" He crooned between breaths, almost in rhythm with his wanton thrusts across my chin and lips.

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

"You are good 3; to Metrio, Meester 3; I give my dick 3; as a reward! I 3; know you want 3; me. Just like 3; Big John. But you are a 3; a good man. You want Metrio 3; too, but did not take him! Take me 3; Now!"

He leaned forward suddenly, angling his little three inch [7½ cm] finger of a hardon directly and more forcefully against my lips.

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

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

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

"Rolando!" I managed to whisper gutturally, feeling breathless. "You don't have to do this! You don't owe me anything! I 3; I'm not ever going to hurt you or Metrio. I don't 3;"

"But you want me, meester!" He moaned, starting to halfway struggle against my firm hold, trying to resume his humping motion. His hair flew all over my face, but I caught glimpses of the dark pools of his eyes, dark but glistening with his passion. "You want Metrio too 3; I could see 3; I never see anyone so hard 3; all the time! Even Big John had to rest, but you 3; I see you want me every minute today. I see your looks! And then you are hard for Metrio too, when you wash him 3;"

"Yes. Yes!!" I forced out a muffled bellow, struggling myself now, against my own passion. I wanted these boys so much! Was that so wrong, with Wishus waiting for me in his valley!? "But 3;"

He squirmed in my grasp, and freed himself, and I felt the underside of his hot little shaft slide across my chin again so quickly, and he leaned over me again, and I felt the soft head of his dick lodging between my lips. I just moaned, myself, opened my teeth, and pulled him into me, with my hands seeking his buttocks. His pubis pressed hard against my nose, and I breathed deeply, and sobbed, holding him in me, my tongue going mad lasciviously seeking every contour of his dick head and shaft! I started sucking hard on his shaft, hollowing my cheeks, and tightening my lips around his little cock. Then I let him resume his humping. With each stroke I let my tongue become a soft groove for his shaft. And on the outstroke I would feverishly wash his glans with the tip of my tongue, each taste bud sending electrifying signals to my groin 3; I released one hand and ripped open the flap over my rampant dick, and started stroking it.

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

"Not yet, meester!" He commanded, "You will 3; fuck me with that! Don't waste it!"

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

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

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

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

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

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

Most of all the taste and feel of his pistoning dick, so small and soft, yet so hard and virile and unyielding, demanding! Fully an inch [2½ cm] longer than Wishus' 10 year old dick. And a little bigger, filling my mouth a bit more. The taste was much the same, so 3; fleshy, earthy. I savored the taste – only the second taste of cock in my life!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Something else I understood all of a sudden, and I looked beyond Rolando's perfect form for the first time since he had straddled me. There indeed was Demetrio, sitting upright on his blankets. My eyes were fully accustomed to the dark, and the half-moon was very bright. I could see the intensity of Demetrio's gaze, his eyes on his big brother, listening intently to his request. He had his shirt on, but as he stood up to comply, I saw he had his pants off, and one hand wrapped around his little erect, one and a half inch [1½ cm] cocklet!

So he had been watching us, of course. Watching me swallow Rolando, listening to his brother's ecstasy, as well as my own groans – and he had sat at the end of my blankets when I tore open my longjohns and pulled out my hard 7 inches [18 cm]!

A hundred thoughts, fleeting thoughts, flew through my head then. This six year old boy knew all about love-making 3; no doubt he had often witnessed Big John together with Rolando. Did he take part too? A six year old, becoming aroused, jacking off? Could I taste his little dick too? My heart skipped a beat, with my next thought – would I fuck him too? Could I fuck him? Could a six year old take my dick inside him?

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

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

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

"Make me a lot of juice, cahones," he whispered gutturally, while cupping my balls together now, lifting and massaging them with his soft fingers. "And you!" he said playfully, still pumping on my dick, "you're not so big as Big John!" I could feel him trying to touch his thumb and middle finger together around my shaft, measuring it's girth. They didn't touch, so small and dainty were his boyish hands, but I felt him squeezing, trying to reach around, sizing me up. "Not so big," he continued, musing to himself, "but I think you are longer!" I could hear his excitement, his anticipation. Was he savoring the idea of my 7 inches [18 cm] up inside him, deeper than he had ever felt from Big John?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"I think you must have fuck lot of boys, meester," Rolando suddenly whispered gutturally to me, lifting his head and looking at me through the strands of his veil. I saw his face soften, knowing that he felt Demetrio's ministrations. "I see all day 3; how you like watching me 3; and Metrio. You love boys, don't you?"

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

"I 3;," I started to say, but felt my throat growing tight with emotion. Did I like boys?! I ate, slept, drank, and dreamed boys! And I was deeply in love with one boy, named Wishus! And yes, all day my eyes had been on these two boys before me, thrilling me, causing me doubt, enticing me, tempting me, filling me with desire.

"I 3; do love boys." I half-whispered back to him, as if he awaited my confession. "But no, I have never 3; fucked a boy." My voice trailed off to a barely audible whisper upon uttering that word. Fuck. To me it was more than mere penetration. It was 3; filling a boy with my love. That's what I wanted to do. Fill Wishus with my undying love! In the heat of my passion, I was insensible to the contradiction. I wanted to fill Wishus with my undying love, but I was being prepared to fill another boy.

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

My hands remained rigid by my sides. How I wanted to lift them and part his veil, touch his brow, pull him to me and smother him with kisses 3; and plunge into him. He was ravishing me!

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

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

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

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

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

A moan escaped his lips, when my bare glans finally pressed against his anus. It was a sound of 3; satisfaction, of anticipation finally rewarded.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Knight sat up in a flash and jerked down the covers from his wife's reclining form. She lay there still, on her side, in her nightgown. He could see the round protrusion where their baby lay in her womb. And at the base of that mound 3;

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

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

Nothing.

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

Nothing.

He fell over her form and grasped her, rolled her over onto her back, shook her by the shoulders 3; felt the coldness of her flesh.

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

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

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

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

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

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

I consciously let him torture me with this pleasure. I was a grown man, and could easily have tightened my grasp about his hips, and forced my cock deep up into his entrails. But I knew he was enjoying this, and that was part of my fascination. He was a boy being fucked, and I sensed that he was feeling the same delirious, almost unbounded pleasure that I was. I could hear it in his own moans. His own short breaths. And in the now almost spastic, irregular contractions of his anal ring about me. He was in control, yet he was losing control in the pleasure. He was a revelation to me. I had part of my answer – I COULD fuck my dearest Wishus, and bring him this ultimate joy too 3;

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

Wishus was my boy! I was his man! Yet here I was miles away, rutting away. Doing nothing to hasten my return to his side. Doing nothing to serve him 3; well, if I had learned of the pleasure that a boy could receive from his man, then it should be something I had learned with him!

"Now I 3; weel let you fuck me 3; HARD, meester!" Rolando grunted through his erratic breathing. But even as I felt him begin to push down on me, I knew that it would be impossible. I felt my shaft softening, almost instantaneously, the blood rushing from my penis in my shame.

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

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

He strained, but did not hear it again, and realized that it was but a dream. He felt a tightness in his throat, wanting so much for the dream to have been real. But there were still more than two weeks to go, before his man would return. If he returned 3;

Tears started to well again, as they did every night when he awoke to the silence of the night, alone. Alone again. Always alone 3;

No! Not alone. He would return! He had said he would, and therefore 3; he just would!

The loft was eerie tonight. Something was different. His heart skipped a beat, with a sudden terror. Wide-eyed now, and wide awake instantly, he peered around and twisted about frantically, grasping his blankets to his chest, searching for 3; whatever it was. Oh Teg, I'm scared now! Where are you?! An involuntary little squeal of fright escaped his throat. He needed his man here, now! Not three weeks from now.

Cold sweat broke out on his brow, plastering fine strands of his hair to his forehead. It was odd, he sensed. His natural keen intelligence for a moment victorious over his fright, he sat shivering, but aware that the air in the loft was unusually dry and warm. And instead of the familiar sounds of the wind mewling through the cracks in the roof, he heard a crackling kind of sound – like that a bonfire made, when the flames were licking furiously up the newly ignited dry bark of the logs. There was a weird, hellish cast to the night, too, as if the forest around the cabin were alight 3;

Fire!

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

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

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

He knew there would be no answer. No one would still be alive over there. But what if they had escaped! He pushed open the door again, but had to close it quickly against the searing heat. He had to get out beyond the cabin too. Surely they would be there waiting 3; but why hadn't they come to warn him!!

His tears started to flow then. They hadn't come. Either they didn't care enough to, or 3;

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

Think! Think. He calmed himself. Teg's not here. Uncle Ben and Auntie are 3; I have to get as much as I can and get out of here 3; and 3; get up to our city! That 3; that's what we fixed it up for!

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

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

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

"Teg 3;" he started sobbing, his whole body wracked with convulsions of desperation. "Teg, I need you! Now!!"

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