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High Country Ch. 01

By: zackjack



With a nudge and a yawn-smothering smirk Jeremy pokes me in the ribs and falsetto whimpers at me, "wake uuup..." as I ironically continue to drive and he awakens from traveler's daze. Always his way- deflect the obvious by that distracting charm. Even after 18 years I was not immune to it. The fact of which he remains well aware. 

Approaching the Animus River crossing in Durango, we had made a good way toward our destination: Telluride, up-mountain. "Tride" to the familiars, Olympus to the low-landers. Beautiful and rustic, hidden deep up in the southwestern mountains of Colorado, for all who know of it.

We had fallen in love with the place years before while visiting friends who kept a getaway lodge in the small community. It was Elysium. A mixture of old mining town, bucolic and unpolished, and a more recent skiers' colony bohemie. Excellent music venues with an ongoing upscale restoration of the historical texture in refined, urbane mountain style. New and old money had established their presence in the high mountain retreat that so captured sooo different many.

A plain and rough log home with a windowed loft master bedroom, rock fireplace, peaked roofs and wonderful views later, Jeremy and Luke had nestled our way into a quietly replete existence every bit of time we could manage between our two full lives most of the year. Not that we were complaining. Only calculating. 

He checked over his shoulder at our two better halves, Suture and Elvee. Both rescue canines lay contentedly sacked out on the back seat, good travelers that they were. Then, he nuzzled over to encircle my right arm in his, rasping in his best Mae West voice, "where the hell are we...honey?" His other hand reached down between my legs and groped my junk lewdly, making slurping sounds in accompaniment. His full lips enjoyed sucking dick as much as any two I had ever before witnessed or experienced.

I knew this by firsthand knowledge as well as second and even third hand evidence. His nomination to the Blowjob Hall of Fame was all but secured. I hardened at the thought of those close by, talented labia. On earlier trips they had swallowed my dick in lecherous similarity to this present driving pose. What he lacked in keeping promises of shared driving pledges was more than atoned for by the doling out of his primo blowjobs... I forgave the intermittent lapses and naps. Besides, he always woke up horny.

Just about my first recollection of him decades before was the revelation that he was one giant horndog every time his eyes opened from a sleep state. Nap, overnight, REM, any sleep type. Of course, wakening with a raging hard-on every time could account for some of the lasciviousness, yet I ever wondered at what was sifting through his subconscious right before waking up that made his big boners such a given. Again, not a complaint, said my smile.

But, I digress. His sensuous dark lips closed determinedly around the head of my cock, bringing me to attention in more than one way. The gas pedal got suddenly heavy beneath my foot. 

Knowing full well of his DWM (Driving While Milking) penchant, I still jolted involuntarily upon contact with the talented trio of his tongue and lips. He could bring me to a climax in less than a minute if need be, but preferred to prove his steel-trap control by slow, deep, throatful mouthstrokes. The muthafucka...

From my spot behind the wheel, his masterful head felt sweetly exhilarating and my big piece curved into the deep reaches of his throat, spasming every time my pubes got lipped. He always knew where a dick was on that scale of numb-to-cum and perpetuated the teetering feeling at the pinnacle of Mount Climax for about as long as he desired.

Cars and trucks passing us in the other direction surely must be able to see his dark, shaved head rising and rolling over my lap from their oncoming vantage point, though only in fractional snapshots. My erection was amplified by the thought. I rationalized that their short glimpses could leave them only perplexed, shocked...or jacked.

As we crested a hill and descended, Jeremy let me crest as well and I throbbed a high-country load down his waiting throat. Proof is in the puddin' as per the avowal. Mouthing of the phatted worm went for several minutes longer and I gradually sat back on the seat, slowly bending my knees. When toes couldn't curl in ecstasy, knees could still lock. The gas pedal got gradually lighter. 

No longer needing to stop for coffee to keep me alert, we continued the progressive upward slope as the snaking road ascended toward Tride. The boys in the backseat snored on, lulled by the motor and turning wheels. We made more good time onward to the awaiting nest.

True to form, with throat encoated and stomach satisfied, Jeremy regressed inward to contemplate the origins of sperm, or something, while I settled in for the sylvan riverside course inclining over the winding miles to 12,000 feet and our tucked away bower. I simmered reflectively upon hearkening back to the first sight of the man-of-my-life now nestled, introspecting beside me...

***

...Reaching for the just-now espied third volume of a long sought obscure anthology, the wooden ladder holding me abruptly jerked, twisting beneath my tip-toed feet. Losing my balance but still grasping the book, I began a slow-motion fall to the side of it as I glimpsed a little girl under the ladder, either by cause or effect, right in my line of descent. Futilely grabbing at the ladder to break the impact during the plummet, I next found myself jarringly cradled in the tensed, nutmeg-toned arms of the sexiest man I had ever laid eyes on. 

Jeremy stared back through smoky grey eyes, evincing conflicted emotions in that moment as he sized-up the present scene. The little girl had deftly skittered to the side out of harm's way, now feigning ignorance of any incident at all. Even the bumping of my wall ladder as she had bolted away from her father a few seconds before. Now, her rapt attention was bent toward a very interesting treatise by Sophocles... the tiny, pig-tailed figure did everything possible to blend with the wall.

The man's surety of his child's safety overrode any other feelings and he focused on her. After quietly reassuring the imp and firmly instructing her to stay put, he turned and for the first time ever, floored me by the wafting evanescence of his smile. Introducing himself awkwardly, he offered an apology as well as a concerned look for my own status after the near hard landing. The darkly sexy creature's breath enveloped me in a piney burst with pesto flashes. Totally mesmerized, I held motionless for fear he would put me down.

Hardened to a traditional male psyche, I had neither expected or hoped for such an occurrence. Nevertheless, this did happen and It will remain etched in my mind even as my dying moments someday flash past

The proximity of our faces persisted for long enough to want more and short enough to leave a craving. I sensed his reticence to let go, as well. He belatedly stood me on my feet after a lasting, searching pause and after chatting in clumsy relief for a few minutes we both dazedly went our own ways. Jeremy's daughter, Elle, and he, off to another part of the bookstore. Myself to the check-out counter. 

Other patrons gawked in our direction through the startling scenario and some picked up on the inelegant moment we had shared. Several apparently evangelistic witnesses to the quasi-accident traded brusque, supercilious comments. How condescendingly smug, I thought. Had a bad ending resulted from our near miss, then these people would have no doubt easily inferred 'God's Will for fags' from our 'meeting'. Since same-sex serendipity had happened, however, they found need to titter about the breakdown in societal mores. As things stood, mere mortals would need to ascribe judgement in God's absenteeism for this gay, interracial moment...go figure.

Heading to my neighborhood Starbucks on the way home, I entered the coffeehouse in a bemusedly euphoric state and was taken aback to see little Elle round the corner ahead, eyeing me shyly. Her hunky Dad emerged soon after and totally disarmed me by his affectation of another coincidence...he bent his neck deliberately up and around the room, making note of a 'no-ladder-present' factor...and, "oh, my gosh, do you like coffee, too? ...is this a common one for you to stop at?"

While grasping the transparent set-up, the smooth manner and drop-dead gorgeous smile weaseled its way past any defenses I could erect and the two of us laughed a bit more over the strange meeting shortly before. I could still feel the ghost of his touch on my arms and legs. Elle very maturely absorbed the charade. 

No one ever believes the truth of the aforetold story so we have since claimed meeting at the gay cult genre Erasure concert the following evening. I conveniently happened to have an extra ticket after a friend had cancelled on me at the last minute and I shyly offered it, hoping for his company. We offered the abridged alternative from then on. I still send an annual thank you note on that date to the friend who had fortuitously cancelled, providing Jeremy and me our first private joke.

In spending that concert evening together laughing over the wild sets, the erogenous music, the onstage antics, plus the excellently weird crowd, our undeniable attraction grew apace. Subsequent dinners grilled on my veranda, dining out at intimate bistros, theatre tickets or basketball games all became common threads for us. The elf, Elle, would announce her and Jeremy's arrival when we made plans for dinner at my place in all the rushed exuberance of a 7 year-old. She adored the dogs, and they her. Always curious of her Daddy's and my connection, the little girl visualized things before we two did. We were more than once surprised by her adept skills of observation. And her wry deductions.

Jeremy dourly informed me one day that Elle would soon be leaving for her mother's home in another state for the upcoming fall school semester. It was a better situation, he had explained. As he was still by himself and working full time, his ex-wife had remarried to a lawyer providing stability where Dad could not. It obviously affected him deeply, as good fathering fairly oozed from the handsome man. The bond between the two was unmistakable. 

After she had departed, Jeremy began showing up unannounced at my house more and more commonly as he covered his feelings of separation and inveigled his way into my emotions over that ensuing year. Much as we could both feel the vibe between us, it was months after that before either allowed another level of the puzzle to fall into place.

Over beer and oysters at a happy hour in Drydock Oyster House the month of the succeeding May, I slid another of the slippery delicacies past my tongue just as he leaned over to plant me with a male-on-male kiss. Right there amidst the boisterous atmosphere of straight world, testosterone-driven afterworkers. With classic Jeremy hubris, he proclaimed for all to hear that he wasn't shy and didn't stutter: this here, pointing at me, was the man for him. So there we were. . . the ensuing silence was deafening.

He moved his closet into mine that night.

We busted those 'born-again' cherries in multiples, brazenly breaking down the remaining wall in animalistic ritual. As only two seeking males may do, let alone understand. 

His dusky masculinity overwhelmed my senses and mutual melding took precedence in the silhouette forever emblazoned on my being. His creeping, cat-like approach, dimly back-lit in an engraved mental video of my legs rising by his muscular insistence, spreading and opening for a fell-swoop lubricated slide fuck. We were hooked, both tongue and dick...for life.

Only one twining figure writhed in ecstasy during that carnal introduction. We fit... 

***

...His boyish breaths pushed out muffled 'pfffings', as close to a snore as I have ever heard from him. A very endearing accessory virtue, this is a bounty by which I benefit every day. We neither one drive the other in search of silent refuge by such habits, thankfully. He slouched against me in repose, my arm resting down his chest and stomach, angelic as a nubian Botticelli.

Soon, I knew, his interest would pique as the mountain flowers and grasses would evoke rapturous repetitives of ooh's and ahhh's once the post-fellatious haze had fully lifted. The unfolding of the gateway into the mountain-ringed valley was one we have enjoyed as a couple since acquiring the hideaway six years ago. The mind's eye be very powerful and this shared pleasure marked us early on.

Winding our way through the shimmering aspen and spruce setting of late August imbued our mental spaces with easement and solace. It was amazing how the passage of time and the fullness of human bonding cure raw carnality into supple, familiar affection. We basked in common aspirations and goals, quite ably learning to let the chaff go. Some call it wisdom. We have dubbed it 'streamlining'. 

At the final turnoff from the avenue traversing town, we began the sawtooth ascent past the outlines of high-pitched roofs. Thinning to widely spaced massive mountain chateaus with exposure to panoramic vistas, we followed the cobbled way past a slow trickling of more and more remote log and rock edifices. Ours existed on a dead end lane higher up than most others, its quaint log cabin aura pervading the surrounds.

A large second floor triangle of plate glass dominated the rest of the log lodge, even with the lower floor fronted by floor-to-ceiling glass coverings as well. The rock chimney anchored it to the side and mature evergreens mixed with aspens and Japanese maples balanced the nestled effect. The entire place backed comfortably into the notched mountainside which terraced up to towering crags far past the treeline above.

The two loungers from the backseat rallied now and combined with J's infectious rambunctiousness. The three set to announcing our arrival by a vocal chorus of discordant noises which served to thin the wildlife in the doing. Soon to return, of course.

We opened up the many windows to air the place out, uncovering furniture and things protected during our absences, then unpacking both belongings and staples to improve our stay. The owl on the back declivity of the roof came down to check out the commotion, remembering us from previous invasions. 

J-man readied the over-sized fireplace for our ritual opening-night fire which both canine and human denizens gladly anticipated. He stacked 4-5 days worth of splits in the adjoining rough hewn shelves. The cool evenings were kept barely at bay, open-windowed, by the beloved fire source. All present lounged around the hearth to herald the coming idyll. 

Bolstered by our hot buttered rums, the evening unfolded harmoniously with firelight sex and conspiratorial banter. Afterwards, amidst entwined contentedness the night sounds once again gained sway... 

***

...Early on in our relationship Jeremy and I had established the daily pre-dawn physical pursuits that still anchors our routine. Entailing multi-mile runs over well-trodden loops and trails close by our Austin, Texas, home, we set in motion the basis for the conditioned lifestyle still enjoyed. Even in the rarified liberal enclave which we purposely chose to inhabit, our then rare jungle fever relationship created a stir amongst other morning exercise enthusiasts. Between the variety of hormone-infused university students and thriving local fauna inhabiting the area, subliminal renderings commonly conjure mental pictures depicting interesting past plots and story lines, and still do. Running shorts and Tiger trainers were and are our sole attire during the long warm seasons. To be certain, this has proved to be a double-edged sword depending on circumstances, but we preferred the state and perpetuate the style into the present...

...Continuing to laze in semi-somnolence on our first Tride mountain dawn, I reminisced on one particular morning Suture and Jeremy had darted ahead in chase of one another. When I rounded the turn behind them I viewed a cartoon image of the two, askew in confusion as they attempted avoidance of a charging guinea hen. Wings raised and spread, the monster had the two totally flummoxed. Though only spitting at them with rank-smelling saliva before disappearing into the underbrush, the 'attack' left us doubled over by the hilarious image of the diminutive, fluffed-up bird terrorizing grown man and dog. Their standard of courage under pressure had been established.

As running shorts provided the only source for cleaning off the viscous spittle, we ended up running al fresco. Between his notorious apres-sleep boner and my own morning sex drive, that state did not lend itself to platonics very well and we succumbed to fucking ravenously as the sky lightened. Other morning birds, pterodactyls and exercise enthusiasts be damned. Or maybe enthralled... 

...As I basked in the penile rigidity engendered by the dream memory, something in my inner defense mechanism clicked on my focus and the sexy 'le rive' interlude faded to black as I blinked open to the too close image of the realtime snuffling, glistening black nose attached to a long, black-furred bear snout presently arising outside the screen of the open window just beyond the smooth dark shoulder of Jeremy's sleeping form. My sudden jerk to wakefulness brought him to an abrupt sitting position, facing me, and I flashed to the just-relived scenario involving the spitting guinea as I measured it against the current one. The dubious history of his response under pressure involving riled stray chickens, and the like, did not bode well for the coming encounter.

Reacting rather than thinking, I clambered over my surprised horndog, slapping his face with my morning wood in the effort to slam shut the window, barely saving him from the man-eating beast. Upon grasping the situation, Jeremy only faked the heart attack he otherwise would have experienced should I not have intervened. 

In truth, black bears are notorious flakes and this one proved the adage as she scampered excitedly away upon the noisy interruption of her 0-dark-thirty ursine curiosity.

Ahem, the price we pay to exist with nature. Well worth the cost as Jeremy and I personify that concept through the ease with which this and similar disquieting episodes lead so often to excellent follow-up sex. After 18 years, it granted food for thought, but for now we simply sucked face and jacked off, viewing the faintly pinkening sky while contemplating nirvana. And Denver omelettes. 

Enduring embers, my ass.

To be continued...

High Country Ch. 03 Pt. 01



The Tale of the Mighty Tungsten Tuberosity

Part I

"OK, now I think I get it," I responded to Jeremy's detailed explanation about the idea for his Hallowe'en costume being 'assembled' for the coming weekend. I continued massaging the meaty, dark-skinned foot resting across my lap as we chillaxed intimately on the rich mahogany leather divan in the cozy low-beamed great room. The fire log was still radiating heat on the nippy early evening, as was borne out by the comatose dogs before the crackling fireplace on the sheepskin rug newly covering the hearth. Oh, we were butt-naked too, but not goose-pimpled. So, yes, it was still burning comfortably.

I dearly loved the stark contrast of my husband's big feet, the top surfaces almost matching the color of the couch while the white undersides were paler than my own skin. The dichotomy had always stoked my curiosity by the puzzling two-toned affect. While sexy as hell in my eyes, the color scheme just seemed upside down to me for some reason.

Jeremy tossed kernels of popcorn into his mouth by launching them in a high arc and catching them on the descent, a satisfied look permeating his face now that I seemed to grasp his concept. I couldn't help eyeing the thick sausage reclining in the crevice of his nearby groin as I watched his adept hand-to-mouth action. My fingers contemplated dropping the toes and upgrading to that master piece. 

Damn, I thought, this man still had me whipped even just lounging here, innocently smushing BaddDick. His nickname for my cock. While J-man feigned ignorance of it, the intermittent pressure exerted by the foot alerted me to his recognizance of my piece's taut posture.

"Ya'know I couldn't just use 'Gai's band's namesake, honey. It would feel sacrilegious or something. So, since tungsten carbide is the second hardest substance known to Man after diamonds, and the hardest metal," he accentuated the last word with a noticeable prod to my crotch, "it just seems right."

Jeremy had a funny way of rationalizing sometimes, I mused, kneading each toe methodically while mentally visualizing the intricate outfit gradually coming together for the upcoming ghoulish celebration Saturday night.

Different pieces of it lay spread around the house and porches. It had been plainly tough to understand when he had first described his intent, and I was still perplexed at the complexity of it but I wasn't letting on about my doubts at this point. He was approaching exasperation with me after three days of explanations, so I had decided the better part of valor was to simply claim comprehension and await the final product for its full effect. Pictures versus a thousand words, I had deduced...

Mighty Tungsten Tuberosity: why was my man naming a costume, anyway? The mixed metaphor and double entendre just didn't lend credence to a spooky factor for the Tride Mountain Monster Mash Bash scheduled to occur up in the old Pandora Mine this Saturday night. Wrapping my mind around it had left me a bit abashed...smile. Pun intended. I sniggled inwardly at my own wit. 

Jeremy glanced my way at that moment, a popped kernel bouncing off his wide nose. Supposing my smile indicated a completely different subject—and no doubt the same one on his mind- he wrenched the size 13 hoof from my hands, dug those toes at my midsection and in an athletic motion pivoted his sinewy body around until I was suddenly holding the sides of his smooth bowling ball head instead. He went to licking on my now freed hard-on. I certainly wasn't about to argue that decision.

His excessive hormonal displays were never really surprising to me at this stage of our relationship. I had received superb head in the confines of aloft jets beneath sleeping blankets, grocery store bathrooms, and tennis court bleachers at midday over the years. There had also been that time at a symphony performance when the electricity went out. The symphony had kept playing and I had cum during the cannon shots of the 1812 Overture. It had given a whole new meaning to the word cummerbund.

I never tired of the attention and felt gratified that my man was attached to my dick as much as he was to my ring finger. He had, after all, fitted both our fingers and our dickstaffs with matching—yup, indeed: size 10-1/2 and 12 finger rings and 2-1/2 and 3-1/2 inch diameter dick rings— 24 K gold-dipped sterling silver bands on our wedding night.

Very attached to both, I wore them now, and my man wrapped his hand around the precious metal cock ring as he commenced with his second favorite pastime. Swallowing turgid dick. Mine fortunately topped his list and I laid back now, feeling the hot mouth and tongue set to work riling me further up. Apparently Jeremy had additional ideas in mind, too, because the other hand's middle finger wriggled its way directly up my puckered asshole, edging my prostate and expanding things.

He gradually switched to swirling his fingers over my stomach in increasing arcs, ending up at my nipples, while inching his knees up under him and thereby narrowing the gap between his dick head and my holeway highway. The steady mouth strokes distracted me until the tip of his piece tentatively brushed against the ass ring he targeted. Those nipple tippling fingers erotically fucked his mouth, collecting enough spit to smear the engorged dickhead's entry into my warm and waiting chute. His favorite sexual pastime...fucking.

Jeremy was the only man I had ever known who was hung enough and limber enough to be able to suck my dick while sinking his long pole into me simultaneously and he pushed it now while continuing the oral action. The sensations were wonderful and my eyes rolled back in my head as he penetrated more deeply.

Upon bottoming out at the thick-rooted nine-inch mark, he held stock still all at once, letting my ass get used to the filled feeling. His pelvis arched back and upward while he pulled my globes along with the retrograde rotation. As I was still acclimating, the thought of his gentlemanly nature endeared me more to this indulgent action.

That is, until opening my eyes to the view of big Ambergai Gee, our houseguest, looking down at me from over Jeremy's shoulder. I realized then that the reggae man had snuck in without a sound, coming up on my man from the rear. That must've presented an alluring picture...Jeremy's high, round, curved melons were unignorably perfect.

He was now doing a bit of his own penetrating right up into the opposing buttface of the arched pelvis whose house anaconda was piercing my ass. The knowledge that that huge prick of 'Gai's was sliding up into my stud man completed the ménage-a-trois. We had been perfecting it since the temporary addition of the mature Rastafarian to our happy home. 

Jeremy continued bending his beautiful butt in acceptance of the familiar dick and upon seating itself completely, we three reveled in the state of things. The two of them began a slow, rhythmic, undulating pattern which progressed to a blasting three-way fuck. Damn, I was a lucky man, I thought, amidst the pounding and likely all of us were of similar mind as we enjoyed the conjoined intimacy.

"Gai's hands grasped my man's waist as he deeply stroked the ass that he had broken in as an adolescent so many years before. The tall, older man's dreads brushed his back. Jeremy's mouth rose up off my dick, meeting my lips and we sucked face amidst the double fuck. I could feel the spasms of J's dick pulse through my innards with each inward stroke by the dread-locked man. Both worked their way to climax until the heat of an erupting load suffused my gut and a cascading effect capped us, all three groaning in a collective cum of paroxysmal pleasure.

Mr. Ambergai fell forward against J's back, the long dreadlocks brushing up and down over my face now, in post-coital satisfaction. Jeremy tongued me deeply as the sensations ebbed. All three of us lay in flushed fulfillment during the regaining of our grip on reality. The two big dicks stayed right in their warm holes and mine wasn't wilting a bit. Jeremy fingered it possessively, gathering my creamy globules.

"Methinks ma'two pussy boys be vyin' for ma'ttentions by the way I keep a'findin' the buttcheeks a'tuggin' at ma' eyeballs on each o'ma turnarounds, now," Gai contentedly drawled. Jeremy turned and looked up at his mentor, noting that he didn't miss too many chances. We tended to find ourselves in this situation rather frequently nowadays.

Ambergai Gee had invaded our sanctuary since the autumnal equinox weeks before, inveigling himself into our routine, our music playlist, our diet and, of course, our big bed. We were both good with the company since variety was, indeed, our spice...and most assuredly made the most of the mind-bendingly beautiful ass-stretcher between the man's legs. Either one of us was likely to come upon the other sucking on the insatiable tool and each such discovery inevitably led to variations on the three-way such as had just finished... horn-doggery abounded. 

As we backed off and toweled each other, the subject of the Hallowe'en party re-emerged and we queried our friend about any intent regarding his attendance. He responded circumspectly once again as he had when we first told him of the annual bash. 

It seemed the Jamaican community did not view Hallowe'en, or All Hallows' Eve, in the same manner as we Americans did. He had informed me of the more solemn and macabre history it symbolized in the Caribbean nations. The religious as well as the pagan undertones of the day and night still took precedence over any light-heartedness. Even to the point of high anxiety for many. Morbidity and mortality were more commonly associated memes of their season. All Saints' Eve. Dia de los Muertos. Day of the Dead. Samhain. All were a part of the three day Allhallowtide observance of remembering the dead. And preceding that, the harvest festival. America had managed to divorce itself from the seriousness of it through the generations. Ahhh, the low expectations of laisse faire capitalism...

We hoped the man would commit to attending, even should we not know what way his presence might manifest itself. Hence, our enlivened curiosity. Settling back to the spacious sectional sofa with hot buttered rums, I nested into Jeremy's body while receiving one of his famous head rubs. Gai (we pronounced it: Jye) took his place at the opposing end, proffered a size 17 foot toward my lap in replacement of Jeremy's and we popped in a DVD to enjoy 'vegging' for a while: the old cult movie, Hocus Pocus, starring the divine Bette Midler.

I loved giving foot rubs, having been raised in a family of 'touchers' and massages had been a mainstay throughout my childhood. Besides, the huge appendages of both the men in my home provided exceedingly sexy ways for bonding...as evidenced by my almost constant half-hard state. The men seemed to enjoy both the attention and my sexual readiness. So we were all happy. 

Half an hour later, when replacing one huge foot for the other in my lap, we all jumped upon hearing a sudden rap on the front door.

Being dark, and the weather in flux due to a descending Norther, we had not expected company during the evening, but Gai retracted his leg, arose and nudely made his way over to our entranceway, big languid dick dangling and rocking as he did so. Our heads both bobbled with it as it bobbed back and forth... go figure.

Twisting the knob, he unashamedly opened the heavy wooden fixture and smiled seductively outward as we heard a soft, refined exclamation, "Well, now, Sir Ambergai. Don't you just look so...healthy?" We recognized the articulate manner to be no less than the personage of the Lady Carlotta Saxe-Coburg, a neighbor from one of the opulent chateaus down the mountain. Jeremy pushed me up in front of him, pulled on a pair of baggy boxers and threw a like set at my face as an unspoken instruction to match his action, then went to greet the unexpected guest. 

She stood under the Porte Cochere, still mesmerized by the au naturel state of Gai, perplexed as to what way to proceed. Jeremy rounded into the doorway, chesting Gai aside with a big hand and inviting the true Lady into our log home. I looked out through the wood shutters of the tall windows behind the couch to the pebbled drive, spotting the Pierce Arrow touring car Carlotta most commonly used for travel, discerning a barely visible driver through the gloom of the misty evening. The precision classic automobile idled almost noiselessly, answering the unheard nature of the neighbor lady's appearance.

I reached over and gathered up the three fluffy robes next to the fireplace where we had dropped them after the shower following the sexcapade earlier. The the dogs finally roused themselves to the intrusion, sleepily going to sniff the English peer now entering our domain. She acknowledged them each with a pat and I wondered if she might replicate the action toward we men should another nude male happen upon her.

Lady Carlotta did relax somewhat upon the breaking out of the robes, though noncommittally eyeing the fact of Gai's insistence at leaving his untied, the big piece still lolling visibly. Such a Jamaican, I thought. The human anatomy's visual presence seemed a granted state in his island mindset and I busied myself corralling the boys back to their hearth sites as cover for my grin at the candid display.

Carlotta wore an evening dress of all black silk, cut low over one shoulder, dark hair coiffed up and framing her attractive face, ringlets escaping, showing off her long, swanlike neck and simple pearl choker. Obviously coming from a dressy affair, her matching black high heels wrapped in crisscross fashion up around her slim ankles, complementing the understated outfit. The woman exuded great fashion sense. A faux fox silver stole hung low around her arms and no jewelry adorned her aristocratic long-fingered hands. The effect only accentuated the class dripping from her presence.

"Upon leaving the Devon's dinner party," she was saying, "I had Paecup drive up directly to see you boys." Ambergai extended a long arm and taking hers to his elbow, he led her into the warmth of our home, sitting her down in an overstuffed easy chair close by the fireplace. The man bowed, as did his proud island dreads and long island dick, then backed away.

The picture of the well-dressed lady and the dread-locked, partially robed, dick-dangling giant with humongous clodhopper feet waltzing through the room nearly had me bursting with laughter as I channeled Bilbo Baggins and the elven queen of Lothlorien. My man, seeing my look, stepped decidedly on my foot as warning to curb it...ahem, he signaled. So I bit a lip and behaved, snugly securing my own robe belt. Darn it. 

"Because of the disturbing subject of conversation over the digestif," Carlotta went on, "I wanted to check on you boys to assure myself that all was well with the three of you." Her look over at Gai made me think she might as easily have said, "the four of you." Curious, Jeremy questioned her concerns and she continued by informing us that there had been an alarming development from high up the mountain. As our secluded home was one of the most highly placed, she had worried over our well-being, she told us.

It seems that Adolpho, the wine sommelier, had been hiking the high ridge earlier in the day and had come across a dreadful scene. An apparent bear attack had left a tourist couple visiting the area sorely ripped to bloody pieces, the lady brokenly apprized us. The bodies had been so disfigured that the sheriff's department had only made an identification by dental records in the past hour and word was now spreading around the small, close knit mountain community.

Miss Carlotta had stopped first at her close confidants, the elderly Chastains, to make sure of their safety, before coming to see us. Hmm, I pictured the Lady popping in an hour earlier had she not stopped there...Gai's excitatory state then would have made her present discomfiture seem tame by comparison. I had to again curb myself at the image of Gai nonchalantly plopping the homunculus out of Jeremy's ass and opening the door in that moment... Slap that thought from my head, I warned myself. This was serious.

While relieved to hear none of our neighbors had been victimized, we were all three horrified at the prospect of death-wreaking bears marauding through the area. Gai, ever the gallant, disappeared for a moment, reappearing with a snifter of Drambuie for the Lady, which she accepted graciously. We discussed the ramifications of the development and decided it best to proceed carefully until the murdering beasts were tracked down and trapped.

It was extremely rare to have black bears act aggressively, unless cornered, so we were all taken aback by the violent episode so close to us all. Adolpho was apparently very shaken up, per the sheriff, Carlotta informed us, and Jeremy went to call the boy he was so fond of to ascertain his mental state. I called after him to invite the young Italian to come stay with us for the time being, what with the man's flimsy house a mile away from ours. The place was very remotely located. 

Carlotta settled herself by sipping the sweet liqueur and we gradually led the conversation away from the catastrophe, attempting to further calm her frayed sensibilities. Gai's protuberant dangling did seem to draw her attention periodically, I noticed. I asked the English woman if she had heard anything pertaining to the coming costume soiree set for the old mine up the heights on the other side of the mountain. She answered that the 'constabulary', as she referred to the law, was assessing the situation for the safety implications over the next days. Depending on what occurred, she surmised, would make the decision of the event going forward or not. But, of course, she would be attending.

Peering out again into the deepening darkness, I noticed the driver leaning on the long hood of the touring car smoking a cigarette and asked if Carlotta wouldn't prefer him to come inside under the circumstances. She concurred this was a good idea so I went to bring the man to join us.

The handsome young man appeared surprised at my invitation, usually being content to stay with the automobile that he babied and cooed over, keeping the pristine condition up to standards. Nevertheless, he acquiesced to my suggestion. After turning off the engine, we came into the warmth and Gai, again acted the bartender, brought the chauffer a balloon of Louis XIII cognac. 

Paecup was not immune to the haphazard dress of the tall man and couldn't avoid evaluating the startlingly large, fat piece the two of us were usually happy to see flop around. Even the Lady herself seemed OK with the uncovered beast by now, still glancing it's way periodically. The driver inadvertently licked his lips at its sighting and I wondered how long it would take for the RastaMon to acquaint himself better...a wallflower, the man was definitely not. And, his interest in the young Russian was palpable. The big dick waggled just a little more than normal when delivering the best cognac in the house, I observed.

We spent another half hour catching up on the news and getting details about the 'episode' up mountain, then decided it was time to call it a night. Jeremy wanted to accompany Lady Carlotta home but she informed us that Mr. Andropov was 'quite accomplished in the pugilistic arts'. She felt quite safe with him escorting her, thank you.

So we bid the two out to the Series 36 dual valve 1927 model icon of touring cars, delivering the Lady into the plushness of the embroidered Italian leather seating and the gold trimmed interior. Paecup secured her inside and took the driver's seat as they gracefully purred away down the mountain into the darkness. I flicked my nose as a large snowflake alighted on it, contemplating yet another of this high-born woman's peculiarities. Who else might have a handsome Russian chauffer named Paecup Andropov...? 




High Country Ch. 03 Pt. 01



***

The windows had all been secured and draped, the doors all double-locked and rechecked before we had retired to the polished cypress king bed we called our own and I now lay, my head on Jeremy's stomach, gazing into the dying embers of the bedroom fireplace listening to Gai's low breaths and feeling the slow rising and falling of J-man's familiarly slow, deep sleep breathing. Jeremy's warm palm covered my bare back and It was safely comforting as I brooded over the probable final minutes of the unknown tourist couple torn to shreds on the top of the majestic mountain I so loved. I didn't want to associate it that way from here on. 

It must be close to 3 AM now, a common time for me to awaken. I internalized things during that dark-of-night time: mountains from molehills were conjured in the sterile stillness of the hour and I worked at knowing that the conjured things would be reduced to nothing...mental ashes...by the breaking dawn. I missed the night sounds with all of the windows shut this night. The silence stifled me. My man put up with the weird need for openness and outdoor sounds, even in the dead of winter. Its susurrus hypnotized me to sleep and I wanted to hear those sounds now... 

Out of the stillness, I picked up on a light scuffling sound outside our French doors to the balcony. At first I thought it to be the lisping sound of overhanging tree branches. But the sound persisted in regular pattern and I quickly determined it was animal or human-made sound. A slow scrape accompanied the scuffling and I experienced a wave of gooseflesh as warning of something not right.

Raising up carefully so as to not waken my two Nubians, I separated myself and left the bed, tiptoeing to the double doors. Tipping back the blackout curtain so rarely used, I peered into the darkness outside. The sky was low. No moon or stars lit anything what with the weather system enveloping us. The first snowfall had magically changed the world out there. Everything was shades of silver and gray, shadows and dark spots pocked the several inch white blanketing.

The trees stood guard in stark contrast and I could make out a set of some kind of tracks just outside on the balcony. Unable to tell anything more, there suddenly came to my ears a muffled 'pfluffmph' and I conjectured something or someone had jumped down over the bannister around the corner of our wrap-around upstairs patio and landed in the snowy cushion a floor below. 

It was disturbing, especially with the marks in the snow just feet from me. They led around the corner to where the sound had arisen. My goose pimples multiplied. I went over to the side bay window where I liked to read in the window seat and as I pulled back the curtain, I was certain that I spotted a bent figure loping away into the woods surrounding the house. It moved with a limping shuffle and the figure seemed large...bulky. And dark. A bear, I ventured? Not something I wanted to see after the gruesome occurrence the afternoon before.

It occurred to me that the 'mountain' in the dead-of-night was no longer a molehill.

Unbeknownst to me, the Jamaican had quietly awakened, watching from the bed behind me as the ominous limping figure disappeared into the shadows. The wise man's eyes narrowed to slits at the sight and he shuddered silently before lowering himself, resuming a sleeping position, forcibly controlling his breathing. 

Not brave enough to venture outside under the circumstances, I scoped the perimeter for ten minutes or so before the chill to my skin subsided. Seeing nothing more, I purposefully went through the darkened house, the dogs dutifully following me as company, checking all of the doors and windows a third time.

The boys normally sounded off at anything unusual and as they were both quiet, I concluded that I must have seen some familiar (to the dogs) night creature out on its nocturnal curiosity trek. After all, bears were common visitors...at that moment, it hit me that the elk were nowhere to be seen and I had heard no night hootings from the owl, either. Both were uncommon events. The elk liked our property due to the salt licks I put out regularly. Over to the back side of our property, next to the protected cupping effect in the mountain rocks toward the pond, there was fresh hay during the winter. I had just put out two bales the day before. And the big elk were not there. Things that make you go, 'hmmm'. 

Well, I was 'hmmmmming' all the way back upstairs at these incidentals, slipping back to the warmth and safety of my lair. Weirdly, the dogs both climbed up and in, also. That was unsettling in itself. And eerie. Jeremy turned over on to me and covered me in a sleepy embrace. I fell into an uneasy slumber.

The amiable Rastafarian had proven mysterious in some ways during his weeks with us. The man would awaken at times in the night and pull one of us to him in a possessive bear hug. Never voicing a word, just seeking intimate proximity, we had figured. Other times he would perform a deep-of-the-night blowjob on one of us. Something that never occurred in the light of day. He was big on the macho thing.

Some mornings, the Jamaican would slip out of bed an hour before my 5 AM arising and we would find him deep in contemplative repose somewhere in or out of the house. Still other times, the swarthy gent would sleep far into the morning, arising in a dazed state of mind, seldom communicative at those times...No set routine seemed strange to both of us, as we were very habitual. Not in our pastimes, mind you, just our awakening and retiring habits. 

The next morning dawned dark and smotheringly quiet. No breezes, no animal sounds. No tittering birds. The snow deadened almost everything. I arose from under Jeremy's muscled arm and torso where he had protectively concealed me a few hours before. Whether consciously or not, I was unsure, but I had melted into his deep armpit smell and warmth. Now, I disliked leaving the cocoon. And the boner.

The Rastafarian was gone. Rumpled bed makings and an indented pillow were the only trace of him. I showered in cool water to jumpstart myself, and toweled off as my man entered to take a turn. He nuzzled me on the way in without a word. The quietude of the snow and the close atmosphere that I felt was apparently affecting him, as well. Pulling on clean jeans and my preferred choice of turtleneck sweaters, I descended to start coffee and put on an Enya CD to match the melancholic mood of the morning.

Ambergai Gee was not in the house from what I could tell and that was unusual as he had demanded dick attention from one of us every morning since his arrival. Hmmmm, again. Jeremy followed me down after a bit, looking for coffee and still sleepy-eyed. His warm up bottoms barely covered his crotch and the residual morning engorgement was sticking down the leg straining to be seen. And noticed. Nothing else covered him except the towel around his neck. He stopped short upon eyeing me and I marveled at the absolutely stunning sculpture of the man I called my own.

At 44 years old, not a strand of body hair except a trapezoid patch above his endowment inhabited his entire body, no crease or wrinkle indicating any aging. I teased him that he was a black Dorian Gray and kept an eye peeled for the hidden alter-ego painting that surely must be absorbing his years... seeing him like this every day was the most precious luxury I experienced. That he returned the affection made me feel I inhabited a novel—real life couldn't be this good. 

The AM horndog squinted across the room at me, pointed down at the now ascending tent inside the warm-ups and made plain his expectations. I listened to Enya plaintively lyricize as I pulled off my sweater and descended to knee level by the time I had reached him, by now adept at assuming my favored morning position. 

The coffee percolated on the counter as I rounded down on the now extruded boner, its hardness rising to just mouth level, foreskin inching back from his fine spongy crown. I settled into the awakening callisthenic which the black stud needed, either passively or actively, every single day. In eighteen years, I could count the number of times on my left hand that this man had not erupted in an ejaculative 'good morning' and still have fingers left over. 

The right hand was occupied cupping the hairless balls and massaging the cum up the cumchute, of course. His marriage ring was sexily enwrapping the entire package, per usual, and it grounded my strokes. Within three minutes, the erect nipples hardened under my fingertips, signaling his coming spurts. I kept time to Enya through the explosion and shudders. 

Following his hard smoothness downward to the sensitive toes, skimming him all over with my fingers and then working my way back up, engendered my own eruption. I had early on discovered this one human that could set me off without touching myself. The oversized white dick of mine just pulsed it out as I enjoyed his body under my hands, and he leaned down to cup the babies, teasing me that someday he would get pregnant by the method, like an immaculate conception. He licked his fingers lasciviously while basking in my feel of him. Yup, between his need for sucking dick, mine firstly, and my own weakness for the art of fellatio, we certainly sucked a whole lotta dick. 

Good thing his little girl had knocked me off that ladder so many years back. Little Elle was now grown up and had Elle, Junior, to love on. The image of the pigtailed imp with no front teeth brought me a full-mouthed smile. It be hard to smile with a mouth full of dick, especially the size of Jeremy. 

I wondered why the hell girl babies weren't accommodated by numeric nomenclature like boy children were: Junior, the third, the fourth, etc. Seemed mighty strange to me, and I was glad Elle had broken down that particularly stupid wall... We expected to have the two best girls in our lives present with us in a couple more weeks for the Thanksgiving period. Even if it did restrict our lewd ways a smidgeon. 

We both swallowed at the moment that we looked at each other, sending us into gagging fits of giggling. We were aware of our peculiarities and reveled together in them. After getting a cup of coffee, we sat together on the barstools turned toward the steepening mountain outside our windows, feet entangled with the other's.

I related that Ambergai was nowhere to be found and then told him of the disconcerting occurrences of the night. Jeremy was mightily perturbed that I hadn't wakened him, as if that would have helped anything. My knowledge of his reactions under stress were well documented and the last thing I would have wanted was to see him confronting whatever I had spied in the effort to act the hero. Which he would have done...I kept my mouth shut.

We went upstairs and examined the scratch marks in the snow on the balcony and then followed around to the side, viewing the abrupt ending to the marks. Brushings on the handrails and a pronounced depression in the snow below seemed telltale. So, I was not imagining something or someone up here. That led me to the conclusion that I had, indeed, seen the large, limping figure disappearing into the woods, as well. Now, my prickling skin was contagious—J-Man 's forearms were fully splotched, too. 

Not seeing our long-haired housemate on any landing around the house or on the visible property around us raised my hackles further and I insisted we make a call to the sheriff. My man wasn't as upset over his friend's absence. "He leaves for the boondocks on a regular basis to do his secret things wherever he stays. I think it's religious stuff, or something," he posited.

I hand-walked Elvee and Suture with their hated extend-a-leashes. The boys felt the devices were instruments of restrictive torture. I didn't want their curiosity to take them roaming, so they had to accept the control for the time being. They found multiple other tracks in the snow, but it was hard to determine similarities or differences now. Following the prints of the limping figure up to the point where the rocky heights held no snow at all, I lost them.

There were no size 17 footprints to be found anywhere, though, of that I was sure. On the way back in, I spotted a branch on a big evergreen tree contrasting in red and found a piece of snagged material. Some sort of coarse burlap. I freed it and brought it along.

Coming back inside, I was elated to find a revived, crackling fire. Jeremy was busily working on the long strands of hemp he had collected for the costume he planned. He was weaving and braiding the pieces into some sort of dreadlocks using his stretched out legs and toes for anchors. I was beginning to see the described endgame in real time now, at least somewhat. The bones and wiring and other pieces were still baffling. 

Jeremy looked up excitedly and called me over while I was liberating the furred beasts, "Hey, Luke, look at this, honey." He held up a big leg bone, which I had seen before. Unsure where or by what method he had procured the thing, I was staying clear of a few questions there, as well. it was a true human tibia, that I knew after examining it. "Look close—see, right there below the bony knobs—the ones you call tuberosities, right? There are teeth marks. Something's been gnawing on this one," Jeremy was hyped over this discovery. 

"You don't think a critter took a few swipes at it during the night?" I asked innocently. "It was laying outside the past three days, J." He responded with a conspiratorial look, "Yeah, my boii, but these gnaw marks were made by human teeth, Luke." He was dead serious, so I looked closer. There was, for sure, mostly blunt indentations and no sign of 'wolf teeth' marks, the big hooked teeth that look like a vampire's. Non-humans have them. All predatory animals, to be precise. 

"Well, Jeremy, that does look unusual, but what about baby animals or herbivores, or something like that?" I was still playing devil's advocate, but Jeremy wasn't having any of it. "My dude, you may know anatomy, I will give you that, but I grew up in 'The-Jamaica-Mon'," devolving into the sing-song Island lilt left behind years before, "and I am telling you, Luke, these are human teeth marks. I'm gonna show the sheriff." So, I showed him the burlap shred and we both hummed the 'Twilight Zone' discord theme. 

The visit by the law a bit later proved less than helpful. The deputy merely glanced at our evidence and barely listened as Jeremy related his gnaw mark theory. He took the material shred I showed him, but when he laid it down on the porch outside the front door, I picked it back up and pocketed it when he looked away. He didn't even notice. 

'Deputy Fife' was shutting the conversation down, letting us know that the bear culprits had been sighted, were on the run and expected to be apprehended very soon...translation, "Fuck you very much, we have everything under control. And, keep the dogs in the rest of the day, too." I almost expected to hear him tell us 'little ladies' not to worry, HE was on the case. 

I had to step on Jeremy's foot this time. He was puffing up in his indignity and had the deputy not excused himself, the steam would have been visible from my man's ears...I knew him too well. We were both frustrated by the outcome afterwards and finally decided to blow it off. So we lit up a head-high doobie. Sure enough, the whole thing became hilarious within 15 minutes. And Jeremy's costume assemblage was back on.

***

Two days had passed and we had still not seen nor heard from our friend, Ambergai. The evening was coming on, the fireplace was lit, the dogs were in their normal position at the hearth and Jeremy was enjoying the hearty soup I had cooked earlier, sopping up the French bread accompanying it. His feet were raised toward the fire and the wind was whistling around the chimney above. Another weather front had delivered a second snow and we were glad that no more tracks had been found on the balcony, or our property. So far as we could tell. The bear culprits had not been captured and everyone on the mountain was nervous. 

Jeremy was fit to be tied over the non-decision about the next night's party. He had spent a good part of the past week working up the costume he was 'wearing' and there was now a good chance the bash would be cancelled...I kept him medicated with gummy bears to defray his angst. Which also kept his dick hard.

The hard-on thing actually hadn't been too much of a feat, considering the arrival of the handsome young sommelier, Adolpho, to our home. Jeremy and he had a close bond of friendship. After being the harbinger of the bear attack news and hearing from Jeremy that he should vacate the shrimpy 'lean-to'-like cabin which he inhabited for the sturdier confines of ours, the Italian boy had accepted the offer. Arriving the same evening with a large backpack, extra hiking boots and his mountain bike, the attractive youth had taken up abode in one of the two spare bedrooms downstairs.

His state of mind had been frazzled when we answered the door to his arriving knock and he had unpacked his things then begged off from further conversation due to a need for rest, he told us. We left him to himself. 

Adolpho persisted in a stubbornly taciturn approach toward us the following morning as we gathered in the kitchen. While we understood the boy not really desiring to relive the ghastly scenario on the top of Telluride mountain, he inexplicably accepted our hospitality in typical single straight boy fashion. Which is to say: he didn't. Exiting his bedroom door that late morning, it appeared he had donned almost every piece of clothing in his sparse wardrobe. It crossed my mind that if he could've gotten the second pair of hiking boots on over the first ones, it would have happened. He seemed to be showing several symptoms of PTSD.

His flannel plaids contrasted oddly in layers by the haphazard buttoning job, at least three color schemes blossoming around the neckline, long underwear showing beneath that. I observed that there were multiple buttons missing on the outer one so that might be the case with those underneath. We could discern uneven tails sticking out at the waistline, all untucked as they were. The bulkiness to his otherwise slim waist and legs led us to believe he had layered the bottom half as well. Barely ten words left his mouth as he almost gulped three cups of double espresso, which did nothing to relax the almost frenetic body language.

"That was just strange," exclaimed Jeremy upon the boy's hasty departure on his bike down to the wine shop he owned. Coffee time, normally so laid back and easy amongst ourselves with the dogs, and recently, Ambergai, had been decidedly tense and awkward with Adolpho. The attractive man had been unshowered and greasy-haired, his eyes bloodshot... and he smelled. Not in a good way, either.

We had only known the well-groomed and out-going youth who was both a good conversationalist and a cleanly put together, if un-imaginative, dresser, to that point. I allowed that he was a straight boy and we only knew him from his work mode world, so there was that. "But, honey, he never went in to work like that before...ya' think he needs to talk to a pro about what happened?" Jeremy had said, and we had worriedly wondered together about the situation.

Because of our busy agendas, neither of us had the time to stew over it, me with readying for winter and my man tunnel-visioned on helping me out plus finishing up the costume he was obsessed over. And then, there was our added concern over the disappearance of our friend Gai, who had left without a word days before, right after my night-fright with the eerie visitation. We had to let it all drop and proceed with our schedules. 

I had to go into town for a few hours of meetings with our lawyers relating to the Austin, Texas, property. My intent on that and gathering needed supplies for the coming days and weeks here in the highlands, since we had decided to stay through at least January, had kept me from worrying too much. Anticipating the company of Jeremy's girls had expanded my lists—girls most definitely had needs uncommon to gay men.




High Country Ch. 03 Pt. 01



My day culminated that late afternoon with a bulky trip on the gondola, weighed down by enough boxes and bundles that I had to travel alone in order to fit everything on it with me. It had taken three trips from stores in town, dropping packages and sacks off at the station by intervals, to gather everything together.

On the town side gondola ascent, I was totally immersed in my planning and thoughts, setting an itinerary and mentally ordering the means for our extended stay. Along with the concerns over the Texas issues, it brought me up short as I stared at the snow-covered meadow below. There below me were three black bears, a mother and two cubs, loping across from a copse of spruces to a rocky abutment covered with bushes and aspen trees. The three entered what looked to be a cave or some such, through an aperture between two large boulders. 

After the fact, I realized that the mama bear had been carrying something in her mouth. As the gondola continued upward, away from the scene, I thought I noticed a pinkish trail in the snow coloring the tracks left by their passage. The last rays of sun disappearing over the far west peak shrouded my distinction as to whether it had been the sunrays and light reflections, or something more ominous. 

I arrived at the Mountain Village Station and hired one of the boys just leaving his shift there to aid my traverse to the lodge. Our arrival found Jeremy in discussion with 'Deputy Fife' on the front steps. My man was gesticulating in a fashion which led me to know the homecoming was probably timely.

Sure enough, as the station kid and I climbed the steps, depositing the day's acquisitions, he was puffing up his chest in the manner I knew portended a vocal tirade uncommon to my easy going man's nature. Placing myself between the two, I forced their separation. The banty rooster of a law officer backed off and down the steps with a whiney withdrawal comment, "Well, you just better mind that you do that, son, and just so's you know, your dog is a coward, too!" With a cap-straightening huff, the wiry man smirked my direction and turned, stomping his little-booted feet down to the big cruiser awaiting him. 

"Little dick bent out of shape, huh?" I posed, as my stud glared after the disappearing vehicle. "That's about it, for sure, the little snot-nosed prick," he gritted out between clenched teeth. He did crack the faintest of smiles as I reached up to kiss him hello, "I told him that he and the Sheriff sure did seem to cower in the face of adversity...so that makes my dog a coward?" He was perplexed by the simplemindedness of the man, but that made me laugh out loud.

He softened upon noticing the blonde ski-bum kid standing there in bewilderment at the scene. "Sorry, Bryce, pay us no mind, now..." looking at me he gestured we would discuss it later. We all picked up the bags and packages and sacks, bringing them inside. The wonderful smell of simmering rabbit fricassee broadsided us and the young man almost salivated his acknowledgement of the dish—absolutely no idea what it was, nevertheless he was orgasming at the smell. 

Jeremy and I laughed at the boy's reaction and my man mopped his 22-year-old tow-headed waves in familiarity. I wondered at that and watched as the two exchanged pleasantries like old buddies. 'Six degrees of separation', I thought...the early Will Smith cult-genre movie with scenes exposing that stud's naked stuff crossed my mind. Casting Stockard Channing and Donald Sutherland, the story had postulated the theory that every person in the world from the Pope in Rome to the dirtiest waif in New Delhi could follow a random chain of human connection separated by no more than six people... to me, a mind-blowing concept. More so by the knowledge of a world population estimated at seven billion.

My puzzlement brought an edifying reply from the J-Man, "We met a month back, going down on the lift together while he was mountain biking..." then he looked at the boy and asked if he'd like to stay for dinner. "There's plenty—it's like a stew, and Adolpho should be home anytime to join us, too." The kid responded vehemently in the affirmative, perking up at Adolpho's name, which left me speculating if the energetic reply was even food-related. Though with the delicious aroma, that on its own would have been justification aplenty.

I took the upstairs items upstairs while Jeremy took the other things to the kitchen, bedrooms and storage pantry. With the puppydog-eyed blonde's hypnotized aid. I laughed to myself as I pictured the boy on the gondola with my man, full well knowing his effect on men and women alike and the ends to which they would go upon first meeting him. I fully got it— Jeremy was almost irresistible. The phrase: 'going down in the lift together' easily could have taken on a different meaning if Jeremy wanted it to. And this boy—Bryce, did he say? —did meet pre-determined qualifications for happenstances Jeremy encountered.

I was repeatedly rendered glad neither of us were the jealous type, what with the hormonally heightened realm Jeremy thrived in. Since the 21st century had ushered in an era of jungle-fever proclivities more common amongst the younger set than ours had allowed, I had found that the movie-star looks of my husband kindled a startlingly sexual undertone with these millennials. I couldn't count the number of times that younger men—and women—had thrown themselves at him in the most de-basing of manners. Panting and drooling seemed to be the typical counteraction to Jeremy's animalism. The man simply could not hide the drop-dead sensuality, nor did he much try.

Opening the 'magic stuff' drawer in the side table by the bed, I procured four 10 mg THC-infused gummy bears and a body-high joint. Making my way downstairs, I heard the front door rasp open. Upon reaching the landing, I glimpsed Adolpho's apprehensive face peering tentatively up at me. I welcomed the attractive youth and let him know dinner was just about ready. Like he could be in any way unaware with the savory aroma. The lip-licking look and nervous swipe of his dark shoulder-length waves let me know he was famished. 

But, more, he obviously wanted to discuss something, so I drew him into the great room and we sat by the fireplace as he broke into a gushing tirade of apology for the way he had acted earlier in the morning. My acceptance of it and the lighting of the joint, followed by a couple of tokes each had us chatting as amiably as we always had, and I was happy to see the boy letting it go. He seemed relieved.

He had been freaked by the experience on the peak days before and what's more, the 'interrogation' by the police had cowed him—he even wondered if he, Adolpho, was somehow implicated in the mess. Especially after the way 'Deputy Fife" had third-degreed his ass while at the police station for several hours. He told me that the sheriff and the other officers were all talking like this was a murderous rampage by a person or persons rather than the bear-mauling being officially put out by their office. There had even been a reference to the reggae musician's name. Ambergai Gee.

No wonder this boy was totally messed up, I thought. First, coming upon the bloody scene, then being treated like a person-of-interest, then having to stay alone in an up-mountain lonesome place such as his own. Unsure of what or who may have him in their sights. And, what the fuck was this crap about Gai?

When Jeremy had called him, Adolpho continued, he had jumped at the chance to join us. Then he had revolted himself by the thought that my man probably thought he had responded for sexual reasons...silly man. Jeremy might be a lot of things, but by no means was a lech or perv among them. My man had a nearly two-decade track record of upstanding character traits by my first-hand knowledge, who happened to be overly-endowed with both bodily and psychologically magnetic qualities. Inherent to his being. There was nary a less-than-gentlemanly bone in the man's body. Including the nine inch one. 

Never did he stick that beautiful thing anywhere close to where it wasn't invited. The man had proven the fact umpteen times over the years. Horndoggery and lechery were not worthy of comparison. Jeremy epitomized the difference. I assured Adolpho of all this over the coming minutes and we went to the kitchen to gather things for the upcoming impromptu stew fest...it was making everybody hunger-cum, if that was even a term.

Popping open a couple of Belhaven ales, which I knew the young Italian enjoyed, we finally thought of finding where Jeremy and young Bryce had gotten themselves off to. Those turned out to be prescient thoughts. Upon opening the second bedroom door, our curiosity was answered. Adolpho was, while I was not, surprised to find the two locked in a sweaty fuck down right there beside the bags they had managed to get placed on the bed before ripping each other's clothes off. Literally. 

Bryce's heavy sweatshirt was in two pieces on the floor, his jeans were tossed on the potted plant by the window, shoes were nowhere to be seen and his Under Armour briefs were hanging in multiple pieces between the lampshade and the credenza. My man's clothing was similarly arrayed around the room. The two were lip locked and tonguing each other through audible groans and moans. The big fat black dick of Jeremy's was buried balls deep in Bryce's ass so that it wasn't visible. 

By the spasming I could see going on at that level, it was evident that an eruption was now in progress and as we watched, mesmerized, Bryce's white boy dick started squirting sperm onto Jeremy's ripped stomach and chest. Naturally, my man's hand was cupped for the reception. 

Bryce was straddling the prone black man, one leg on the ground, the other bent upon the bed, the boy rocking deeply on the thang in his hole. Jeremy's big hand clenched one of the two white melons he was pole-holing, still kneading it as the barely visible root of his piece shot jizm into the hot cleft between the matched set.

Adolpho couldn't suppress the guffaw that passed his lips and the sound brought the rutting pair out of their trance. Jeremy's guiltless grin came visible as the blond ski bum—bum being the relevant term—bumped up from the bottomed out state of his sperm-grabbing crouch. He swung around, blushing from both exertion and mortification, to face us. His cute little bubble butt and dick both dribbled cum... Jeremy's pretty piece spewed a last couple of weak jets upward and onto those round buns just vacating the geyser. 

I sucked in another toke at the sight, feeling my own piece respond in typical fashion to seeing my own guy in the writhing state of ecstasy I so well knew. I totally got off on viewing or sharing his pleasure. Turning to Adolpho, I offered a power hit and the stoned straight boy reacted by accepting it. 

Bryce, not well-versed in our open ways, sputtered his apologies to everyone and no one in particular. Jeremy reached up and seized the still bouncing- and cumming- cock of the boy, squeezing his attention long enough to let him know all was OK. That silenced the kid and he slowly relaxed, finally smiling self-consciously at the three of us. The sexy boy transparently reflected shock that he wasn't about to be beaten or shot. Or strung up. 

Rather than that, I stepped into the adjoining bathroom and brought each slimed man a towel and warm washcloth. Adolpho was simply not sure what to make of the whole scenario. No women were present, so he evinced the vibe that this shouldn't be right, yet the telltale tenting to the front of his multiple layers of pants told an entirely different story...

Noticing this, Jeremy read it rightly as bullshit. (His take on this type of blatant straight-world hypocrisy had always been, "Yeah, right, and male hustler's dick's get hard at the sight of the money...uh-huh...") Rising from the bed, he wiped the spume off of his delectable self, licking it shamelessly, staring Adolpho down. Then he went over to the Italian and sat down again on that side of the bed while he deliberately pulled Adolpho toward him, unzipping first one jean zipper, then a second, and finally, unbuttoning the last pair. Under all this two pairs of boxers resided, wrinkled and crumpled against the dark-skinned youth's ripe groin. 

Stoned yet wary now, Adolpho stiltedly allowed the action, no doubt understanding the wordless dressing-down he was receiving. Yet, he also remembered what came after the 'unwrapping' part of this process by memories of previous private blowjobs courtesy of Jeremy... Young Bryce watched the action in bewitched fascination, still oozing. And boned up.

"Maybe you might be wantin' to cover this all up just a little less for the next time, straight man," Jeremy pointedly grinned at him, removing the somewhat shy, but very stiff Florentine hard-on waiting to be unveiled. It had grown up to be a large, curved, cut beauty. And it strayed toward my man's succulent lips. Bryce couldn't look away from it, I noted. Jeremy neatly pushed all three pairs plus the drawers to the sockless ankles.

Jeremy's legs were now spread around Adolpho's from where he sat, his reinvigorated fuck stick brushing on hairless inner thighs. The young man definitely felt it, knees bending slightly at the touches. The extremely talented mouth drew the dick in like a Hoover deluxe, ebony hand fondling the funky ball sack on its way through to cup and draw the brown Italiano butt to him.

The motion ended only when the dark shaft had disappeared down to the brown curls decorating the root. He slowly worked his way around the shaft with that tongue snaking out from the full lips between slurps, until the whole of it was slimed to his satisfaction. Then, he backed off completely, leaving Adolpho's face wearing a look of bereft abandonment. 

My man turned to me in silent request of a power hit. Which I gladly provided. Then, I provided the straight boy with one. And then the ski bum. Finally serving myself, we were sufficiently saturated. The four of us proceeded to perform or voyeur the ongoing group thing. 

Adolpho's mouth succumbed to the ski bum's hungry tongue and I fastidiously tongue-cleaned both the ski bum's and Jeremy's cocks. Between the group, everybody's tongue got a work out and with the delicious smell of the fricassee enveloping us, Adolpho learned his lesson. We all enjoyed an unexpected aperitif...

Adolpho was amazed to find that male tongues were more athletic than those of the persuasion to which he had been heretofore inculcated and ended by actively tangling with his first masculine lingual devotee. Probably not his last. At least, so hoped the young ski bum...and his little bum...I mean butt. 

Hunger or sleepiness inevitably invades after orgasm; the three senses being served by adjacent cranial nerves. The former extended precedence in this case. Jeremy's rabbit stew was just what the doctor ordered. I signed the prescriptions personally. The freshly-baked, warm, buttery rye bread and Depeche Mode's Violator CD provided us filling nourishment and ambience.

After cleaning up, taking the dogs out and banking the fire, the four of us headed to the warmth of our respective beds. Each of us enjoyed a gummy bear as non-liquid digestif. Jeremy nudged me upon noting Bryce's surreptitious U-turn when he thought we were safely upstairs. The boy slipped into Adolpho's sanctuary for who knows what kind of conversation. The two certainly had the time to hash it out. We both smiled that the sommelier's door opened from the inside on Bryce's approach. 'I told you that boy just needed some good ass, honey," I poked my stud. At which he threw me over his broad shoulders and headed upstairs with a gruff, "Me, too."

In the privacy of our lair, Jeremy first filled me in on the good deputy's visit, telling me bad things which I had feared and didn't care to hear. In the process, my big-hearted man worked himself up to the point that I had to resort to slapping him. With my dick. He was distracted by the subtly nuanced move and forgot the subject as soon as my rigid prick hit his tonsils. Would I never get enough, I asked myself? Minutes later the man was asleep with it and my load filling his mouth. I didn't have the heart to take it away. He lay there so angelic and pacified.

For the first time in days, we both slept uninterrupted, falling into slumber as softly muffled sounds arose from the bedroom below us.



High Country Ch. 03 Pt. 02



Mighty Tungsten Tuberosity, Part 2

Hallowe'en morning. All Hallows' Eve. All Saint's Eve. The beginning day of AllHallowTide, the Western Christian Feast days signaling the liturgical dedication to remembering the dead. At least, that is, the saints, the martyrs and all the faithful: those who existed in Purgatory until the Day of Reckoning or, modernly, the Rapture. 

All those not waiting there were already partying in Hell. I had sometimes wondered to myself how exactly those in Purgatory spent their time. Hmmmm. Maybe I would review Mr. Milton's take on it. Paradise Lost. Published in winter, 1667, it came out within a year of the Great London Fire...plenty of pre-burnt and freeze-dried souls to contemplate.

So, anyway, different strokes for different folks, I deduced, by the variance in ways for observing the date. My mind dwelled on the ancient days' rites, before and after being hijacked by religiosity, as I lay watching out the undraped bay window, head on my lover's smooth, muscled pectoral. His nipple, always erect, plugged my ear. My dick got hard as that nipple wobbled, inviting me with each deep, regular breath. My phattening white shaft climbed involuntarily up the smoothness of his thigh.

Brushing softly downward over Jeremy's luscious skin, I lightly fingered the black prick lying there in wait, turgid as usual. He didn't even stir, also per usual, but that dick sure did. The thing sprang up at my touch. I could stroke the beautiful thing while that nipple continued harassing me and he would likely only awaken to the flood of emissions at the ending, if then.

I was certain his dreams entertained a ribald world where continuous rapture and climax held dominion. What else, I reasoned, could Heaven be about if not that? Could true religious believers fail to understand that their Lord, in all His infinite wisdom, hadn't made orgasm so sweet just to prove it a curse? The doings of the Devil Incarnate? Any extant Creator was surely getting a good laugh at the stupidity of that illogic. This basic non-sequitur really bothered me. 

With that thought, I slicked up that pretty ebony dick and climbed on for a classic holiday ride. My hard dick bounced on and off the taut belly beneath it as I contemplated the concept. Rapturously. Climax accompanied the epiphany that any caring Creator had, indeed, meant orgasm to be a gift. Never a curse. 

That curse thing had to have originated as part of the nightmares of sterile old, balding, impotent men who forced all priests and monks to dress alike, tonsure themselves, and act the same. Calling it "Holy", so they wouldn't suffer alone in their misery...

I opened my eyes to find Jeremy's hand swiping up my load from his chest, smiling up at me as his own piece flooded my guts, "what the Hell were you thinking about inside that curly head, Luke?" We pulsed pleasurably together in our personal religious observance exercise... call it gay communion.

Yup, the geezers were just pissed because they didn't have Cialis back then.

We sure would, when the time came that we needed it... 

A soothing communal shower later, we two descended wrapped in towels to find our adorable pair of guests cuddling together on the fireplace hearth, apparently comparing tongues. Lip-locked as they were, it was a bit difficult to tell. The two freshly showered and combed boys looked up as we entered with our coffee cups, shy at the interruption. Hard dicks poked unshyly from the fronts of their towels and told another tale, for sure. 

Adolpho appeared much more at ease now—multiple orgasmic experiences tended to do that to a person—and his pinkly cherubic cheeks attested to the fact of successful address of the gay question regarding he and Bryce... entwined bodies would seem to bear the fact out.

Yup, I confirmed, he had just needed some good ass.

Limerence would appear to be in ascendance, if body language was any indication...Jeremy and I exchanged smug glances at the overnight change. The two were absolutely beautiful together.

Let the bitter, rancorous, oath-keeping, sanctimonious side of the spectrum marinate themselves as they liked. Just leave the rest of us enlightened ones the hell alone, I philosophized... These two had melded under our roof and considering our own distant beginnings along with a solid two-decade relationship, naysayers may happily go fuck themselves. With my blessing.

While meandering through a congenial breakfast of granola, yogurt, berries, honey and buttered toast, we four compared notes for our hopes in the coming evening, should the Mash Bash materialize. Jeremy laid out his da Vinci-of-a-costume and I described my own makeshift personification of a cubic zirconium, at which all three chuckled in the visualization.

The boys went off to their now-shared bedroom to pow-wow over their own. We gave them free rein over the abundance of extra clothing, or other packed-away downstairs closet contents, should it be of help. I teased my man that Bryce, especially, may need something to wear, what with the interesting decorating design of the spare bedroom yesterday. He just looked at me, innocent.

A short hour after that, the door banged at us in announcement of visitors and the dog boys went racing to it, yipping their proclamation. Upon opening up, we found two grim-faced law enforcers, aka keepers of the peace, in the forms of none other than 'Deputy Fife' (we didn't really care to know the man's name) and his boss, Sheriff Hamlin Delmar. Rod thin and irascible, Jeremy and I had always found it hard to believe this progressive community had actually elected the cantankerous old codger to office. Nonetheless, it would seem to be so. Here he stood.

The two scrutinized us both from head to feet there on the porch. From our perspective, a whole lot longer was spent seeing the skin parts then the towel parts...just sayin'. The transparent projection of their disdain for the minimally clothed, biracial homosexual duo with whom they apparently had business to discuss was evident.

Ever the raconteur, my studly man pulled me closer to him, draping his long, muscular arm over my shoulders, making damn certain that his ring finger showed. He looked from the wizened little deputy to his stern-faced boss, all the while smiling cordially so as to clarify things. His body language spoke volumes. Out loud, he looked down on the uniformed face of the law from his six-foot-three frame and innocently inquired, "What may my husband and I do for you, Sir?" The ironic sarcasm fairly dripped out of his mouth. 

Deputy Fife visibly chafed at the actions and words, but in an attempt to keep things professional, Sheriff Delmar ignored the blatantly benign provocation. He cleared his throat and tipped his cowboy-style hat, "Well, Mr. Kell, we are trying to locate a gentleman who has been reported to be staying at this address: a Mr. Amber...Ambergay...errr, Amberger Gee, IV. We have an interest in speaking to Mr. Gee and are hoping to do so now, that is if you might be of help." 

With resolute calm, I butted in, "We would be glad to, Sheriff, but for the fact that we have been, ourselves, perplexed by his disappearance three days ago. We haven't heard a word from him, and we're both quite concerned." In my most professional voice, I asked, "May we ask to what the matter might pertain?" Ignoring the query, the law man obtusely deflected by asking if we would call and let him know should things change and we did hear from him. "Of course, Sheriff, and we would likewise appreciate the same courtesy should either of you. The man is a dear family friend." 

Jeremy was enjoying pushing the little deputy's buttons, now upping the ante by smoothing his free hand over his stomach, thence deliberately rubbing himself upwards from bellybutton to both pecs, then on up and around his thick neck and head...the armpit was delectably, visibly deep. The nonchalance of this action was punctuated by never taking his eyes from the deputy's, who couldn't look away. The motions rattled the man, but evidently on a short-leash this visit, he was unable to bring the power of his badge to bear here in the presence of his overseer.

My memory of the deputy's demeanor in this same spot the previous day had left me with the impression of a pugnacious pug, shrilly barking his power at my man. Today, the man was more the picture of a submissive cocker spaniel after being caught peeing on the new carpet. I had to control my smile.

The short conversation apparently had come to a conclusion and the law men curtly backed down the steps, turning to re-enter the waiting cruiser, then disappearing down and around the bend as we stood watching. Jeremy reached down now, spanked me on the butt and deadpanned, "Well, now, that went swell, don't you think?"

I let go the laugh I had been holding and we went back inside, wondering what, indeed, that encounter had been about? The landline we kept in case of lost power was ringing in the kitchen and upon answering, I heard elderly Mrs. Chastain's voice on the other end. She had seen the police cruiser pass three times on the way to our place the last three days and she couldn't hold her curiosity any longer, she told me.

Had we heard anything from Gai, she asked worriedly, rightly surmising that the official visits might be related. When I let her know what had happened, she and Mr. Chastain, who was also on the line, regaled me with their own news: there had been another bear attack the previous afternoon but they had just heard from Lady Carlotta that the three bears allegedly involved had been tranquilized and corralled at a wildlife preserve on the next mountain over, just this morning. The good news was that the bash was a go, they added, and were we still attending? I assured them that we wouldn't miss it, but asked the old couple to back up a bit. Had they said there was another death-by-bear?

"Oh, no, Luke, there was an attack—another outsider again—but it hadn't killed the man, only maimed him. He is at the San Miguel County hospital now, comatose in the ICU. An arm and his...thing...had been ripped off. Poor soul." she added. We ended with mutual hopes for any news regarding our missing mutual dread-headed friend. Funny, she had spoken pretty much the whole time and had never gotten around to asking more about the law officers.

Hanging up the old-fashioned solid state rotary desk telephone I looked at Jeremy in disbelief. "Wassup, Luke? You look like you just talked to a dead person," he asked with concern. "J, there was another attack—over on the far side—yesterday afternoon. I think I saw it—or, at least, the after part." 

I recounted the sighting of the three bears while on the gondola yesterday and the pink trail I was unsure about in the snow. As I filled him in on the other details and the tele call, the first things in our minds were: why hadn't the sheriff said anything about it? And, where was Gai? He was, indeed an 'outsider' as Mrs. Chastain had called the victim, and she hadn't known more about the person. We were now officially freaked. 

The next two hours saw the two of us scurrying over the mountain to the county hospital, burning up our iphones calling everyone we could think of in search of details and answers. Getting us admitted into the ICU proved tricky, as we could not prove relation to an unknown comatose patient. I finally prevailed on the nursing staff that even without privileges at this hospital, I may be able to offer help or advisement due to my current status in several Austin and Texas hospitals. That worked.

Upon first viewing the close-cropped person-of-color lying almost full-body bandaged, right arm obviously missing at the shoulder, blood seepage evident around the midsection and every orifice plugged by supportive devices, my relief at the lack of dreadlocks was mitigated by the poor stats exhibiting. Conferring with the clinicians on duty, I offered some natural remedy interventions familiar to me and we all agreed that the prognosis was fairly grim for the un-identified patient due to the loss of blood and severe hypothermia the man had suffered before being found.

I promised to keep in touch on the case if they would like and returned in a half hour to the waiting area to find Jeremy uncharacteristically fidgety and very jumpy. I surprised him in his worried thoughtfulness and he nearly bolted from his seat, "Damn, Luke, you scared me—how is he?" He had convinced himself that his older mentor was the victim and tears rolled when I let him know it wasn't so. He blubbered a little into my shoulder, then we thanked the nurses and left a number should they need it. 

Leaving the amazingly quiet confines of the small mountain hospital ER, we made our way quietly back to the station. Sheila E and her spouse, Cat G, were awaiting a car as we walked up to the gondola and we joined them on the trip back over the mountain. The svelte, cutting edge couple were relieved, like us, to hear that, at the least, no bad news had been heard about the lead singer for the Mighty Diamonds. The present mutual concern stifled our normal upbeat tone when sharing time with these special ladies. The two were partiers. Sheila was glad the bash was still on, as she and Cat were scheduled to perform, they told us.

We hadn't known, as the surprise was not to be unveiled until they were introduced last-second by the imported Frisco DJ. They swore us to secrecy by spilling it that a close friend or two were flying in later in the afternoon to join them, and we both zipped our lips in mimicry of losing the tattle key. Little could we know... 

The music was going to be unbelievable this evening, Jeremy whispered to me when Cat also let it out that the theme was 'Music of the Night'. The knowledge raised spectres of The Phantom of the Opera, and it seemed appropriate. I was happy to see a smile perfuse my man's face.

We parted from the couple on our different ways up the 'hill', their chalet in a secluded glen a mile from us, trading promises to meet later during the celebration. In trudging homeward, we attempted levity to boost each other by teasing about the coming hijinks sure to occur at the Monster Mash Bash and comparing guesses as to the refurbished venue in the old Pandora Mine from the nineteenth century mining period. Just about nobody was privy to the upgrades undertaken there and not a hint had slipped out. We could not figure how the hundreds of attendees would ever fit into a mine, refurbished or not.

While absorbed with each other, we missed the quiet approach of a sleek gray automobile from behind and both nearly died of fright when the short tap of the horn signaled its presence just feet from us. We twirled around in midair to see the capped visage of Paecup Andropov grinning by his surprise materialization. We dropped back as the chauffer lowered his window and razzed us unmercifully as 'pussy-boys' for our apparently comical shrieks at the shock. 

"I'm guessin' that Lady Carlotta isn't in the back considering your low-rent thug talk, Paecup," Jeremy teased back, regaining a semblance of manly dignity. "How's it hangin', bra? You gonna be seeing us up at the mine tonight?" He obviously liked the Russian man and we had agreed to try to get more acquainted after our previous get together at our place. "Ya. The Lady has invited me to accompany her ladyship this evening and I have been forced to acquire appropriate attire for the affair. My first Amer-ee-kan par-tay," he informed us. "She is quite the lady, and the be-est employer I have ever had—will you two be dressed, as well?"

"Ha", I replied, "will we ever." We assured him it was so. The man then offered Lady Carlotta's official greeting and enquired if we might acquiesce to joining the two in the travel to and from the bash, seeing as the gondola would be no doubt stretched to capacity by revelers. She had sent him on this errand to personally invite us. We were delighted with the offer as the idea of Jeremy's cumbersome get-up was presenting a daunting challenge for traversing the mountain, and our Benz was not nearly large enough. So, we merrily accepted and climbed in, allowing the Russian to escort us the rest of the way to the log home. We were already getting near the time to begin Jeremy's assemblage. The afternoon was getting away from us.

Inside, the cabin of the auto dazzled in its aristocratic appointments and Paecup pushed buttons which caused the drop of a small marble serving table and the appearance of a compact refrigerator below it. Another button rendered a partial rotation by two of the six facing Italian leather seats toward each other, the feet supports arising to push us into a position we had not experienced in a car—except maybe a remotely similar contrivance in the new Benz Maybach S600 Pullman, test-driven back in Austin. I facetiously asked if the Geisha girls would enter from the rear boot, to which Paecup seriously replied, "the girls would travel in the front seat to avoid contact with the passengers until the proper time..." Jeremy snorted at that.

The efficient chauffer then asked if we would prefer refreshment before unloading and Jeremy's cynicism evidenced itself by his wry comment, "Why yes, good man, I do believe I will have a couple of small bumps and a highball before we deplane." We were feeling mirthful at the unexpected ride and opulent 'accoutrements'. 

That is, until Mr. Andropov clicked three successive switches which ejected three tiny silver spoons resting in small exotic wood 'canoes' from the facing seatback, each heaped with pure white powder, a bit floating extravagantly down to the marble surface. "Would the Sirs prefer Columbian, Bolivian, or perhaps the absinthe—that on the right?" We exchanged shocked looks and Paecup chuckled in the rearview mirror at us, "We keep the traveling sedan well-stocked, monsieur's, per the Lady's instructions.

Jeremy almost choked in his attempt to respond but I finally managed a haute retort, "but Paecup, for whom might the third spoon be, exactly?" My provocative tone brought another unexpected quip, "Uh, boii, that would be for moi, but only should the two gents desire a short interlude before our parting..." 

That did it. Jeremy unhooked the small spoon on the left, raised it to his flared nostril and inhaled it in a sharp intake, rubbing the sides together while raising his head, like he knew what he was doing. My turn to be astonished.

He turned to me, checked to make sure Paecup was watching, then brazenly licked my face from chin to forehead, "Honey, we shouldn't act like thankless guests—get the middle one." His grin as usual, disarmed and reassured me. He grasped the middle spoon himself, held it up high, affirming with the driver, "the Bolivian?" 

Then he wedged shut one of my nostrils, raised the engraved (of course) spoon to my other and directed me to, "Inhale...Honey." I replicated J's technique and caught sight of the Russian man ejecting his own private dispenser next to the steering wheel. He raised the chauffer's private copper spoon there and did the same with a cheery Russian exclamation meaning, "Salud".

We all sat stock still for a few minutes to 'absorb' our party favor and then, upon pulling into our pebbled drive, floatingly unloaded from the vehicle, skipped up the steps and entered our abode. The Russian man was stripping as he crossed the threshold—jacket, tie, cap all disappeared over the couch; his shirt, undershirt, pants, boxer briefs, socks and shoes in next quick succession, ending in a spread-legged stance like a true Cossack, proudly naked and boning up in split seconds. The rising member was very ethnically Slavic: big, long, thick and uncut. 

Jeremy whistled his appreciation, "you move fast Paecup. What else are you good at?" Not awaiting a reply, I continued getting myself undressed, enjoying the view as Paecup reached out and thumbed my man's pants down to the floor. In the doing, his face contacted and followed the contour of the strongly built ebony body from the thick neck downward between the meeting point of the mounded pectorals, over each ripple of the six-pack as he lowered them, slowly and with intent, so as to feel as much of the beautiful visual as possible. Facially.




High Country Ch. 03 Pt. 02



Since Jeremy seldom restricted himself with underwear or drawers—he did sports straps occasionally—he had only to lift each foot out of the leggings and raise his bulky sweater over his head to be stunningly, rigidly nude. His nine inches matched the white Russian. The thing levitated bobbingly upward over the level plane, foreskin coyly shrouding the bare edge of the spongy, curving base of the corona. 

The fat, round, snug nuts hugged the flaring base like lovers and it was a very good thing that I was familiar with its details as I managed only two blinks before it nestled to the short curly geometric pubic curls in the back of that Slavic throat, arched Slavic nostrils deeply inhaling the muskiness emanating from it on the way in. The man must have studied Houdini's techniques for holding one's breath, or perhaps the dickstroker simply had the lung capacity of an orca, because I, myself, nearly passed out for lack of air while watching and waiting for him to back the thick thing out of his gullet.

Basically, it never did. The whole head job. 

Jeremy stood staring directly into my eyes the entire time, his sexy dark eyes dilated with the Go-Fast bump and glazed by the blissful longevity being accorded him via the deep throat. He shared the effect with me. Obviously possessing no gag reflex, Paecup's throat had visibly expanded by the outline of my man's swallowed shaft embedded in it but the pro never once winced, hiccupped, or hesitated in the delivery of the most unique blowjob I had ever witnessed. Or that J-Man had ever experienced. Jeremy, gentleman that he be, denied it was so later, in deference to me, but the truth was what it was.

What the sucker did do wasn't actually sucking; as the blossomed dickhead stretched down that throat, Paecup set his swallowing mechanism in to repetitive rolling motion. The effect caused a continual wavelike effect of his Adams' apple to roll for minute after minute, over and over the super-sensitized head, massaging the sponginess until a deep pirate sound like, "arrrggghhhh" escaped from Jeremy and the dick I loved began pulsating to the rolls as the extreme throat action forced his eruption without a single other stroke.

Jeremy's eyes rolled up in his head, his fingers clasped the close-cropped blond hair, holding the man in place- as if that was necessary- while the giant orgasmic release quaked and roiled through my man's senses. Every perfect muscle in his body appeared to be on high-tension squeeze mode. If I hadn't seen it myself, and instead only walked in at the moment of climax, I would've thought Dr. J- Kell were suffering a grand mal seizure...of utter euphoria.

As my pleasure rose in seeing the extended effect my Jeremy was deriving now, I could feel the pre-cum drip from my own dickhead. It stood straight and long in quivering readiness for my hand to stroke it, but I felt a hot tongue suddenly wrap around the tip and nurse the drippings.

We three had been so intent during our entry that we had failed to notice that the two young men sharing our home were lounging together on the recliner by the fire. The two had stayed silent, voyeuring us through the entire hot event, but upon seeing the unique climax and my ropy oozing, the two had both settled before me on their knees. Obviously intent on preventing my drippings from messing up the floor.

Now, the duo set to licking and massaging my hard-on, making it and me jump in delectation. I watched them enjoy themselves, each exploring the other's tight young body as they slobbered over my piece, but my eyes went right back up to the satyr in paroxysms before me just as he lowered his head to gaze over at me again, conveying the gratification he was feeling. He got to see my longmeat give in to the fervor as we experienced, in series, the other's amazing cum.

The boys' newness to each other and their just-now maturing libidos allowed for a mutual boy-orgasm while Bryce licked and swallowed my juices, the two lip-locking together around my shaft and then spraying all over each other in their enthusiasm. Four sated men stood or knelt with man-oozings covering us—oh, wait, make that five men, as we all four watched the still impaled Russian erupt in multiple jets of Eastern Orthodox bliss, too. I think that made a straight flush or five-of-a-kind, or something, by poker vernacular. 

We all grounded with some more time and reveled together in the best pre-Hallowed Eve rite of passage ever. If they're watching, those saints and martyrs must be cumming, too, I figured.

That's it. I had finally hit on what all those denizens of Purgatory do, whiling away all that time in their wait for the pearly gates to open up. Pearly—get it? But, I digress.

A little embarrassed—like...not at all-- we five enjoyed the big upstairs shower together after Paecup's 'short interlude' and planned for the coming evening. The new couple accepted an invitation to join us in the Pierce-Arrow. Paecup extended one in Lady Carlotta's name, knowing she would love the company of four virile men. Jeremy leaned on the steaming wall jets under a cascading rainhead while I massaged the sore muscles after all that constricting and contracting. I was a fortunate man.

We finally descended to sort out mixed up clothing, playfully bombarding our new driver friend with his uniform. My black stud added, "Nice of you to stop Andropov a load, now Paecup your uniform and get back to work." Tucking in his shirt, he jounced down the front steps to the auto and waved that he'd be back... 

I felt like a scene from the Walton's, all four of us on the front door deck waving good-bye to Paecup, half waiting to hear a voice from the open upstairs window call down, "Goodnight, John-boy..." 

How homey we looked. Except for the fact that Jeremy was butt-ass naked with dangling going on and the two boys, in towels and draped all over each other, no, there was no discernible difference from the old Walton's show. My quip, "well, let's go in and have a little helping of 'the Recipe'," got me some mighty weird looks. I got the joke, anyway.

In the great room, we hunkered around the fireplace, as always, nursing some of the Recipe...errr... Old Fashioned cocktails. Jeremy had pulled Adolpho into his confidence about the coming attraction dubbed "The Mighty Tungsten Tuberosity' and the two were animatedly planning the transport and logistics over the mountain to Pandora Mine. Bryce, meanwhile, snuggled over to me on the huge leather sectional with his drink and asked, "could we talk, Dr. Cevennes?" 

Uh-Oh, I thought, those words never had a good connotation, and I braced for a broadside. Were his parents suing us? Had Adolpho raped him? Or, was he pregnant? With the recent tragedies, I was kind of expecting something else bad.

"Of course, my man, but...what exactly is up with 'Dr. Cevennes' suddenly?" I asked him. "I mean, yeah, I am older than you and that is very respectful, and all, but good grief, Bryce, we have been suckin' each other's dicks and showering together...aren't we a little past the formalities?" 

The wavy-haired youth colored a little and he stared right at me, "OK, sir...uhh, Luke (that was better), it's just that, well, I haven't ever known a real doctor—I mean, as a friend—or anything like that, and you guys have been so nice to me and everything..." he was stuttering through a prepared speech it sounded like to me.

What is really up, I wondered? He went on, "It's just that I'm so happy right now, even with all of the shit that's been goin' down, and...well, I'm just figurin' that this bubble has to burst pretty soon—am I gonna owe a bill, or something...?" I burst out laughing at the serious look on this cute boy's face. The others stopped and looked toward us. Seeing his face and my reaction, they were now listening.

"Well, Hell, Pearl, what are you thinking," I posed, "that you're checked into the Hotel California?" His blank look let me know that that had gone right over his head, so I took a breath and wrapped my arm around his shoulder, drawing him to me, "Listen, Bryce, I know that Jeremy and I are new to you, and this 'thing' going on with you and Adolpho must be so cool yet confusing. But don't think for a minute that there is any foot about to fall, here. JFK and me, we are just in love with Life, so when the unexpected happens our way, we just accept the serendipity of it all and make the best of situations. We both are convinced of the 'Tree of Life'."

"Are you worried how your parents are going to handle this—do you even still live at home?" I shut my mouth like a fuckin' kissing gourami suddenly. "For that matter, by the way," and I straightened up across from the youth for this, sticking my hand out, "I am Dr. Lucas Laughlin Cevennes, and this is my husband, Dr. Jeremy Fallsworth Kell. Yes, we both are. We are from Austin, Texas, and stay up here in Tride for as much of the time as we can. I am on sabbatical from my group practice for a few more months and Jeremy teaches, Philosophy, at the University of Texas, but not until the Spring Semester. How do you do? Would you care to join us in Life?" 

I had pulled up short upon realizing that we knew next to nothing whatsoever about this person. That should be changed, post haste. Life is, indeed, a party, but there should at least be invitations, after all.

The young man fairly melted into me at this soliloquy, and when he looked back up, a single tear was somersaulting down his cheek. "Yes." Nothing more came out. I realized in a moment that he really couldn't talk, so we just sat there quietly for a little. Over my shoulder, Jeremy's big hand suddenly appeared on it, and Adolpho had stood and come up behind the boy, putting both hands on him. 

My superman looked down at the both of us and said gently, "Bryce, I am so sorry. May we know who you are?" Adolpho's dark hands gently massaged his shoulders, and finally, Bryce took a deep breath, "I am Bryce Adams Canyon. I moved here to Telluride a year ago after my grandfather passed away in Seattle. I am working to get my degree in computer programming, I love mountain biking and I don't have any family. At all. I'm not sorry about that, it's just what it is, is all." And with that, the youthful Adonis leaned into me and bawled. 

I think my heart swelled all up and burst at that moment. Jeremy, along with Bryce, sat down with us and we all just lost it for a while. Even Elvee and Suture, sensing the profundity, came up and lay down at our feet, communing with the pack. Hmmmmmm. 

My drink tipped over between J-Man and me where I had forgotten it and we both jumped up, shattering the deepness. We went to get paper towels and on our return, found Adolpho and Bryce whispering together. Much as we didn't want to interrupt, the mess needed clean up, so we did. Jeremy managed to trail his middle leg, for once unintentionally, over Adolpho's arm in reaching past him and the Italiano reacted by slapping it. The thing boomeranged over and sideswiped Bryce's nose next, and the serious atmosphere evaporated. 

Wow, I mused, as I studied the trio. How funny, the way that families are made. 

An hour passed by and we finally roused ourselves from the very happy spiritual reverie, realizing that 'the car' would be coming by for us in an hour or so. The youngsters disappeared into their bedroom and we two hustled up to our own, spending a talkative shower time, again, just because we wanted to, discussing the situation in which we now found ourselves. 

Coming out, we put on matching silver lame thongs over our gold wedding cockrings and mountain boots with wool socks all sprayed silver, then descended to get the grand assemblage underway. Magic peanut butter rolls for all were laid out to usher the four of us into the mood of the eve but not before Jeremy and I ogled the stunning young pair. Upon exiting their lair, they were now transformed and inhabiting the characters of Alexander the Great and his lifelong lover, Hephaestion Chiliarch.

The two were radiant in their mirroring attire, having appropriated matching calf-high sheepskin-lined leather lace-up boots, old ones from J-Man and my Santa Fe days. The briefest of matching bikini underwear sporting an over-sew of gold-hued aspen leaves minimally hid anything of their lean physiques. Matching evergreen brow-rings encircled their wavy hair. Bryce's tow-headed blondness contrasted sexily against Adolpho's sepia tones. Various temporary thigh, belly, dorsal and bicep indigo tattoos complemented the look. Matching red-lined, black leather full-length capes, found in our closet from days' past, completed their ensembles.

The two set a mood of Bacchanalian mindset by the sensuality oozing from their pores and they joined the two of us, singly. We figured if we could separate them we might be able to keep their hands off each other and pants on long enough to help us. Adolpho aided Daddy Jeremy with the intricately complicated Tungsten Tuberosity, while Bryce helped me clip together the clear plastic wedged shower door guards I had accumulated from the three hardware and bathroom supply stores in Telluride town.

We shaped the wedged pieces into a geodesic diamond shape that would easily fit over my head and enshroud my body from neck to crotch. Heavy-duty clear rubber-banding would hold the contraption in place, attaching to my neck, arms and each upper thigh. We covered the geometric beehive-like surface with a tight-stretched cover of sheer Glad Cling Wrap, then emptied the hundred other rolls of the sticky stuff, wadding them all into loose translucent balls which would then be stuffed strategically into the interior, capturing me inside. 

Not see through, but enough so that it left a shimmery impression of my body, I looked in the mirror as Bryce positioned all of it evenly. The faceted appearance of a 'cubic zirconium' now personified itself. We fashioned a ring of thin, tawny (skin color), moldable straws from the hobby shop to snugly encircle my neck, then extend behind and above my head to a rounded hoop wrapped in tinfoil, makeshifting a halo, and I was ready. 

I could put it all on and off, with a little help, in a matter of a few minutes at the mine entrance so as to allow freeness as desired, especially on the ride there. I was sure we would need the room with the five of us. We came out of the spare bathroom to an extraordinary sight: an entire human skeleton grinned at us, suspended on bony feet a few inches above the ground. As we came in, the spooky wraith began walking toward us, quite dexterously, arm, leg and neck joints working in synchrony.

Shadowing two feet behind it followed Jeremy, the managing puppeteer controlling the skeleton by attached equestrian riding crops, cleverly wired in tandem to allow five points of contact for motions like walking, pointing, waving, saluting, nodding etc... His own mesmerizing body was entirely golden and eerily phosphorescent. Head to toe, every supple tendon, muscle and ligament was on magnificent display. Above his shoulders was similarly glowing, the left half of his face and head hidden by a partial skull mask of pearlescent finish. His eyes had been outlined in Pharaonic manner, above and below in stark black kohl, his lips were blackened as well, projecting a macabre vibe when he smiled.

A set of spectacularly feathered silver sequined wings lay enfolded behind his back, curling over and then down behind his head from the gold-strapped attachment between his shoulders. As Bryce and I oohed and aahed at the aura of the whole vision, some controlling spring caused the up and outward spreading of the functional pair, ending in a hovering, glowing umbel, as widely arching as my man was tall. How in the world had my innovative man ever dreamt this up, let alone brought it to fruition? Adolpho stood at the back corner looking like a woodland satyr as he peered from behind the thing he had helped put together, almost as wowed by the effect as us. Of course he was being mooned, so there was that.

"Honey, you look amazing. I am sooo blown away," was all that I could come up with. "But, I do not even want to know where Mr. Bone came from." The wide grin wasn't giving anything away, as he preened through this unveiling. "How in hell are we going to get you there all in one piece, baby?" I exclaimed next as the size of the final product came into 3-D focus. 

"Don't worry, Luke-man, this ain't just a fly-by-night show. I can get this thing on and off in five minutes flat. It can even fold up...or down, I mean. As long as you can put up with my gilded ass for the night— I may need some help getting the dye off, later. We covered...everything," winking at Adolpho. 

"You've got to be kidding, JK, I am not letting you ever wash that off- you are a damn god. I fully intend to suck my first god dick tonight." Bryce noisily drew in his breath next to me and exhaled in total disbelief. "How did you two do this?" he finally managed, as he cooed at his new lover behind Jeremy.

Oh, newbie, you hain't seen nothin' yet. Wait 'til we get up to the mine," came the cocksure reply. But the triple-note horn bespeaking the royal's arrival pierced the dusk outside, and we all busted ass into disassemble-mode, forgetting to be curious.

Sure enough, we got Jeremy down to his glowing, gilded self by the time the Lady of the evening arrived up the steps. The Golden Orb glided gracefully through the room and with a dramatic flourish opened the heavy, arched door, reaching out to take hold of be-ringed fingers peeking inside.

We all stood back as first the fingers accepted the welcoming hand, then the rest of the Lady Saxe-Coburg inched forward, revealing none other than Liza Minelli in her transformed guise for the special night. 

Short, spiked black hair with silver tips mohawked her heavily made-up, blood-red lipped doppelganger Liza face, a silver lame (how convenient) full body spandex leotard covered her flawless torso and arms, high neck hugging her to the tight-skinned chin. Thigh-high black leather, tasseled and spike-heeled boots stepped authoritatively over our threshold, coming to a sharply loud, staccato halt before Jeremy.

Her similarly black kohl outlined eyes widened as she perused the puppeteer's 24K envelopment, beginning at his face, stopping for a pregnant pause at the snake-stuffed silver thong, finally traveling downward to the exquisitely sculpted thighs and calves with silver-shod feet. "It would seem that our tastes tend toward a parallel, Dr. Kell," Liza wryly observed, "but we obviously fill things in differently...don't we?" As Jeremy's clothing consisted of a very minimal few square inches of cover, it was fairly evident to what she referred. 

Ten aristocratically long glistening silver fingernails tipped fingers decked out this evening with every sort of silver ring and tinkling knuckle charm raised up and virtually outlined my man's form like a murder scene cutout. "My, but you do fix up nicely, Professor..." she thrummed seductively. Jeremy, raised one hand, took hers again, and turned her slowly to face the rest of us, who until this moment had not existed. She arched a single eyebrow as she scrutinized the three of us.

One side of her mouth rose up and her lips parted in a Liza smile-to-kill and she stepped forward. "My Good God and Save the Queen. Mr. Andropov informed me that we were to have company for the après soiree send-off but he did not let me know we were up-classing the 'Arrow... This entourage glitters more than a popinjay in the court at Versailles. How did I get this lucky, young men? Do we all wear the same dress size?" 

That broke the ice for the bedazzled Adolpho and Bryce who had never traveled in an automobile of the sort we had described, let alone escorted the thirteenth person in line to the throne of England. This naughty vixen humanized the whole affair and I brought the boys forward to greet her.




High Country Ch. 03 Pt. 02



"Lady Carlotta Saxe-Coburg of Annenberg, Saxony and Mecklenburg, it is my pleasure to present to her ladyship the Messiers Adolpho Cosimo De' Medici, XIV, of Florence, and Bryce Adams Canyon, the original, from Seattle," for effect, I smiled. Adolpho reached out to kiss her hand and I thought for a moment Bryce was about to curtsey. Or pee. 

He was not prepared, and all four of us broke up seeing his tangible distress. "Bryce, this is Tride. The Lady is our friend, Carlotta, and we are all about to...par-tay, young dude. C'mon, let's get our game face on." And with that, Jeremy brought out the hookah for the special hash we had procured, while I passed out the vintage Bordeaux and a gummy bear each, with a tray of fruit and brie.

As dusk waxed upon us, the boys donned again their black capes with red silk lining, each fastening one another's neck clasps. We all helped load the costumes into the spacious boot of the 'Arrow. The lady was suitably in awe of the Mighty Tungsten Tuberosity, if not a mite baffled, just as Jeremy preferred. Mysteriously, he poked a large black bag in last, leaving me wondering, what else?

Paecup, in full Russian Cossack garb, grinned at us knowingly as he loaded all into the warm interior. Carlotta, now comfortably medicated, was familiarly touchy-feely, and who could blame the woman, what with the succulent manflesh surrounding her. All of the same dress size, I remembered. Her court was in session and her courtiers were in thrall. And enthralled.

After a small familiarization period so we were more knowledgeable of her traveling palace, her next order of business was to instruct Mr. Andropov to dispense the 'international fare'. The tiny spoons appeared and the boys had yet another choice to maneuver through. Our comfortable banter made the ride around the mountain and up the San Miguel River byway through Telluride township intimately enjoyable as we zoomed pleasurably upwards in mental states of jocular camaraderie. Jeremy was in rare form in his own gold caped cover. I snuggled next to him and the boys balanced Carlotta's sides, to her delight, playing more the role of Liza Cougar than her ladyship this night. 

Approaching the old entrance to the 19th century silver mine, we were caught up in the traffic joining us in revelry for the Hallow's Eve Bash. The local police, including 'Deputy Fife' and Sheriff Delmar, helped in directing parking for those coming by vehicle. Several hundred more were streaming up from town and the gondola on costumed feet. We safely secured any evidence of the 'implements of destruction' as we had named the party accessories and Paecup navigated to a site separate from the rest, per a perk allowed by Carlotta's friend, County Judge Rickenmeier, and we ended in a secluded cul-de-sac populated by only a few other cars and some security guards. 

Upon exiting the car with thanks to Paecup for the safe passage, and a remonstrance to join us soon, we commenced to reassemble the two costumes of mine and Jeremy's. Lady Carlotta was taken by both, though the Tuberosity was 'stupendously fabulous', as she called it, admiringly surveying the accomplishment. 

Leaving the parking spot and heading for the mine entry point, we began feeling the pound of the musical beat inside. The mine-cave venue fairly launched the reverberations at us from diverse sources, probably emergency adits, drainage and venting openings, I figured. 

Jeremy had Adolpho carrying the mysterious bag as his own hands were busy with the 'puppet' controls and Mr. Bone preceded our entourage. The characters we encountered boggled the mind what with the wide-ranging imaginations populating the area, but our own arrival set off a rumble of wonder by the group we brought. We soon had a flock of varied ghouls, celeb mocks and fantastical figures following in our wake and we looked amongst ourselves like, "What have we wrought?" 

Reaching the recently enlarged hangar-style gates, wide open and welcoming this eve, we halted, of asudden encloaked by the pot smoke billowing out upon us. All five of us were already virtually afloat, levitated by the party favors.

Jeremy signaled Adolpho, and hunky Alexander the Great unzipped the big black bag, extracting a carefully bundled head cover of woven hemp dreadlocks. They had been painstakingly sprayed a shimmering silver and also embroidered with hundreds of silver sequins. Next, he extracted a snowboard with extra wide foot bindings. At least, that is what it appeared. But the thing sat off the ground by some tubular 'mechanism' mounted underneath. 

While Jeremy and Adolpho fit the ornate dreads onto his head, fastening them by some arranged method, Carlotta passed out to each of us a set of wireless earbuds with which to not only diffuse the sound inside somewhat, but to also allow our inter-personal communication with one another while partying inside. Something new from Harmon-Kardon, she told us. Without wiring, the tiny buds fit our ear canals like a hearing aid and we found we could easily speak amongst us five, privately. How fly, I thought. 

Looking back at my man, I saw him now pointing a small remote at the 'snowboard', and upon programming the thing, he caused the board to suddenly begin glowing. After a few seconds warm-up, the board very slowly rose up about a foot above the ground, hovering obediently in place. He grinned up at me, mouthed the words, "physics department prototype" and stepped up into the rubber foot grabs. He needn't have mouthed them. The ear buds made each word clearly distinct.

The Mighty Tungsten Tuberosity was now functional. The exclamations surrounding us were audible in their disbelief as this silver dreadlocked, golden-glowing, 'Magic Mike' Cirque-esque character once known as my husband towered above us all, acrobatically balancing on the magnetic-levitation hover board, looking every inch the image of a Greek God. With a skeleton vanguard. And wings.

By some pre-set signal, the trendy hip-hop music suddenly changed to the rhythm and lyrics of 'Monster Mash' by the Crypt-Kickers. The Mighty Tungsten Tuberosity, along with the four of us, followed by the dozens behind, slowly made our entrance into the now 'cavernously' spacious re-do of the Pandora Mine. 

The original mine passage had been dynamited through its rock walls, opening it to an enormous adjacent under-mountain cavern sporting a subterranean lake formed by an early mining error which missed the path of the desired silver lode vein. Instead, the blast opened another track for an underground river which flooded the cavern. 

The floor of the cavern began ten feet lower than the mine tunnel and dropped off gradually to where the lake surface began about seventy-five feet distant. The contractors had constructed a stairstep entry down to the floor for connection. The grand stairway opened in ever widening semicircles with each step. 

Those hundreds of partiers already inside, drinking, mixing and dancing, began signaling others and turning as we entered the opening. Beginning down the stairs, heads turned, seeing a remarkable, floating Jeremy in all his resplendent glory with a strangely glowing entourage. A murmur of incredulity grew at the developing spectacle. 

His wings now slowly spread and arched upward and outward. The effect was breathtaking and silenced all conversation in the cavern. Even the pounding music diminished as if on cue. Then, a growing roar of acclamation built and the music ratcheted back up. I took Carlotta's hand, the boys followed suit and at Jeremy's sides we entered the cavern in ancient Roman Triumphal Procession style, many more revelers on our heels. I felt goosebumps well up all over my body and glancing over at Carlotta, we knew we were experiencing the coolest-ass Hallowe'en we would ever possibly imagine. 

A clear acrylic dance floor stretched out over one edge of the under-mountain lake. Gloom swallowed the lake's far shore. A playboy bunny had delivered an order of drinks sent courtesy of an attractive Russian Cossack now beaming our way from the bar hugging one rock wall. A becoming female buttercup blossomed next to him, obviously into uniforms by her looks at Mr. Andropov.

Paecup raised his pint of ale in toast to us with a broad grin and we raised ours in reply. The party had now increased in energy level. The multitude gradually absorbed the grand entrance, now gathering to smaller groups for the onslaught that was the Tride Mountain Monster Mash Bash.

The renowned San Francisco DJ of Castro District fame spun round after round of danceable tunes, keeping many attendees on the dance floor without pause. We five joined in, Jeremy disembarking from the mag lev to wiggle that thong-enhanced gold booty. Carlotta was in her element, accepting well-wishes from most everyone as a true royal would expect, and her Gordian knot boys, inseparable and interlocked, kept guard over the lady while magnifying her pleasure just by their presence.

We all danced together with abandon, passing the constantly circulating blunts going through the crowd. Paecup disappeared with his buttercup and we knew another of the man's 'short interludes' must be 'going down'. Good for him, I rooted.

Jeremy lowered his wings and came over to me, drawing us away from the others, as a slower song allowed the cavern to catch its breath. He removed both of our earbuds, nuzzling into my ear, "I am in love and lust with you, my Luke. You make me good." I felt his gold hand cupping my bare, thonged buns. Amazed at this beautiful man's ability to surpass himself in almost every situation, he did so now. As we joined together for a bit, the lights dimmed over a few minutes and we took to the side bar for a break. As we ordered another drink, we saw the ladies, Sheila E and Cat G mount the far steps to the stage, followed by two male figures with whom they were conversing and sharing a joint. 

JK pulled me along as we wove our way toward the four, vagrant hands reaching out to feel of the Tuberosity passing by. It looked as if the silver lame might be stretching its limits in recognition of the attention...which made my own answer in mimicry. By the time we arrived at the stage, we were both sporting boners and we knew it was something only acceptable under the present circumstances. We luxuriated in each other's tumescence, silently signaling a pact to address the predicament in a little bit.

We climbed the stage and Jeremy turned back to me, squeezed my hand and lipped into my ear, "Honey, it IS Robert Cray and Prince—I knew it." Some band members had begun setting up for a live concert. The four heavyweights continued conversing, amazingly not causing a riot by their simple presence on the stage. Only in Tride, it crossed my mind. 

Cat spied us and waltzed over, giant grin congratulating our earlier arrival. "That was some entrance, maestros," she said as she pulled up to us. Sheila E, now following her wife's path, brought the two superstar talents with her. 

We were humbled by their kudos and the group of us chatted over their intentions to wow the celebration with true superstar power, all together for a set. I felt a shoulder tap and glanced back to find 'Liza' and the 'twins' next to us. By our questioning looks, she laughed, "Dears, you glow."

The music legends all acted like typical humans, including the three with us in the conversation and even sharing a hash vape cig that Adolpho produced from somewhere. Handing it to me, the ebullient sommelier told me, "Luke, we're in an Armistead Maupin book, I just know it- no one else could think this night up. I've been keeping an eye out for Anna Madrigal the whole time." I was amazed the youth even knew who either one was, even though Mr. Maupin should be a household name to all, as an American Treasure.

The lights blinked three times, signaling the cavern, and we left them as the band warmed up. Everyone finally realized what was about to be up...almost. Over the next hour, the evening was crowned by the exhibition of surprise superstar talent serenading the audience like none of us would likely ever forget. 

After classic songs led by each of the four luminary performers, the crowd was crazy in its preoccupation with the star power before them. Then, the band went low to a pianissimo undercurrent like an on-hold freeze-frame. 

The lights abruptly blacked out completely and the only luminescence was provided by the multiple phosphorescent entities and fluorescent devices around the subterranean theatre. Umbrella'd by the golden glow put off by Jeremy, all five of our intimate group were together in front of the stage. Thanks to our earbud communicators via Lady Carlotta, we collectively huddled around one more shared vape cig, able to converse privately amidst the cacophony. 

J-Man was the first to recognize the new undertone, his senses switching to high alert. The rest of us listened, finally hitting on the fact that the band had picked up an island beat. As the lights crescendoed, our eyes latched on to an immensely tall, lean figure with a mike who was smiling and pointing directly at us, having picked us out beforehand by our glow. We all just about collectively shit our britches (except the Lady, of course) as the dreadlocked crooner launched into a lilting lyric made famous by the Mighty Diamonds. The crowd went delirious.

Ambergai Gee was back... 

***

I lay in the big polished cypress bed inside our log cabin nestled amid the high mountain vale overlooking Mountain Village on Telluride Mountain situated in the San Juan Mountains of southwest Colorado, America, Western Hemisphere, Earth. Latitude 37.93 degrees North. 107.85 degrees East. 

Douglas Blue Feather preformed Sacred Space from his 'Into Euphoria' CD as the haunting Indian flute imbued our master suite with an otherworldly flare.

My legs were pinned back over my head, spread wide open by two huge ebony hands. The long fingers of each encircled my ankles, securing the clear path below. There was an eleven-inch-long, large diameter slick black dick slowly and methodically pumping in, then out, of my excessively lubed bare asshole. It was fucking purposely slow, all the way in and all the way out, to the ridges on the phatted mushroom head. Each stroke was separated by a pause, necessary to prolong the slowly warming and rising approach to the long-delayed volcanically eruptive, climactic edge being savored all the more by this manner of the mature fuck. As the big dickhead contemplated the propulsive release of baby-infused, Creole creaminess, it knew the pulses of ejaculatory ecstasy would be passed to me by the energy. 

In the coming release and by the knowledge of the fuck and suck pluggings now unfolding within inches of my union, I knew that the patience involved would reward five people with whom I was inordinately close and also with whom I desired to share the magnified effect by this manner of doing the deed.

I held the dark brown cylinder in my fingers as I used the opposing fingers of my other hand to close off the manly nostril of the nose on the man now staring deeply into my eyes. He inhaled slowly, then I switched the like action to the other nostril. Having just served myself to the incense high, I was luxuriating in the return of Ambergai Gee and the feeling of his long, swinging dreadlocks caressing my skin as I listened to the slow shag going down next to us. My stud husband, Jeremy, was enjoying the same sensations we were as he passed along the feelings to his fuckee, Bryce. 

Bryce, who was slobbering hungrily on the rhythmically synchronous Italian curve sliding down his throat to the same beat of the two fuckers. His new life lover, Adolpho, made sure to hold his boy's legs wide open and to match the two black dicks in their desired mutual arrival at the doorway of elusive five-fold bliss.

Indeed, after many moments of suspended time passage, the low grumbling throat sounds by the Jamaican set my Jeremy and Bryce's Adolpho into take off mode, and within seconds, all five of us came collectively, the only sperm to be seen was from my and Bryce's cocks, as the other three spent their loads deeply embedded in the cavities of choice.

Jeremy and Gai vied for the cream afterwards, Adolpho too new an initiate to gay methods to partake yet, at least in the view of anyone other than his baby, Bryce. Scooping the gooey exudate, the two ritually smeared each other's mouths, allowing the licking clean of both men's long fingers by the other's tongue and lips. The ultimate expression of domination by black men over white men.

If the religious right feared the expansion of their narrow, bigoted concept of sinful manifestation, our perception of ultimate gay consummation was the epitome of it. 

We all relished the camaraderie of our communalism, sharing soft, private, group intimacy as we recovered our wits and backed down from the peak just scaled. Should others desire to understand our bohemie, then get high, do a hit of poppers, multiply by fifty while climaxing during a thunder and lightning storm in the middle of a hurricane. Then one might possibly understand.

Jeremy scooched over to me as Gai arose to get towels and washcloths, whispering nothing at all into my ear. I giggled back at him, out loud. Adolpho covered his tow-headed blond bombshell with kisses because he could and we awaited Gai's return. When he walked back into the road, biggest dick swinging possessively at us all, we accepted the towels, and pounced.

Bombarding him with questions for which we had been wanting answers since Hallowe'en night, when he returned to us.

Jeremy, the man's lifelong friend and long lost confidant, asked, "OK, my man, Gai, where in hell did you disappear to and why did you leave without a word?" Among the multitude of questions, these two were the most stumping.

Gai slowly, deliberately washed and toweled himself as we all watched his waggling, then he smirked and clod hopped downstairs. Size 17 quadruple E feet tend to do that. On returning, he held a Chimay Blue ale bottle by the neck, classic blue vapor spreading over the lip, descending around it like dry ice. It was an ethereal effect. I bought Chimay Blue to see it. The ale was stellar, but the vapor was better. 

Clearing his throat, he asked to light up some ganja so we got a blunt out and did so. After taking a large toke, he began. "Ma' pussy boys, ya' all need t'know a bit a' the few t'ings I does before ya' may unnerstan on th'appenin's goin' down o' late. So, I'm a'gonna tell ya, now, Mon. Be listenin' close."

And Ambergai Gee, IV, he did tell us, and we did listen, stonedly rapt. But, as I am not him, I will relate it in this language, for ease of unnerstannin', as he would say:

The statuesque denizen of Rastafarianism told us that the Rastafari Sect began in Creole Jamaica, in the early days of Western World slavery. It was a way for the slaves to empower themselves. They adopted some tenets of the Bible, but developed their own dialect of English, called Lyaric. They lived by the creed calling for treating one's body as a temple: never cut one's hair, eat only that which is good for the body, never tattoo your body...

They did hold to some gruesome beliefs, too, though. Like, after vanquishing their enemies, they would save the bones of the enemy bodies and before the next battle, they pulled the bones out and gnawed on them symbolically, to bring them strength and courage. 

The Rastafari, or Rasta, think of the New World—aka, the Western Hemisphere—as their purgatory, since they were brought here against their will. The need for return to Africa, their homeland, which is their Heaven on Earth, is paramount to them. Like Mecca for Muslims. Jerusalem for Christians.

The direct descendent of King Solomon and the Queen of Sheba was Haile Selassie I, who ruled Ethiopia, Africa, from 1916-1974. He was the messiah to the Rastafari and they felt he had promised to bring all slaves home. The Rastafari detest other religions, calling them the white man's way of subjugating them, and refer those other than their own as 'Babylonians'. They reject the term Rastafarian and the concept called Rastafarianism because any philosophy ending in '-ian', or '-ism', are of Babylon, and therefore oppressive to the peoples of the World. Hence, the Rastafari, or Rasta.




High Country Ch. 04



Pound Cakes 

Damn, those feet were big.

Exiting the downstairs doorway of Telluride Hardware and Feed Emporium, I was absorbed in my thoughts when the hefty honkers ruined my concentration.

The Nike Cross-trainers were not new, nor were they rare. Rather, the presumption of the size of the dwellers within them was what captured my attention.

While many would dispute the notion that big feet infer a full set of like-sized appendages, I beg to differ. Living with size 13 and 17 extra wides in my home, and aware that the largest feet on record in the NBA, Roy Tarpley, whose size 25 immeasurably-wides still held the Ripley's record for something, I knew the veracity of the general concept. Just Google that name, and add the word dick.

I traipsed up the stairs before me while my eyes stayed glued to the ground supporting those big'uns. Upon reaching street level, I broke away from them, reluctantly. That reluctance melted, however, at my realization that the bi-ped being they supported was an entity rarely encountered in the wild...errr, Telluride town. 

A lanky, obsidian-skinned, double image of the foxy musician, Jon Batiste, stood with impressive feet planted, knees slightly bent, arms akimbo, nostrils flared, stomach concavely absent, onyx eyes checking me out. 

Oh, he was licking his thickly dark lips, too, as I raised my own eyes from his nicely bulging crotch upwards to encounter this overtly cocky Pan-like creature. His first words stuck with me, "You be the Doc with the bookends, a'ight?"

For a second I thought I was being mocked. His face was not looking directly at me, but at an angle, which made the cock-eyed scrutiny seem other than sincere. It changed quickly to mischievous when his brilliant white teeth broke out from under the tongue licking those luscious, thick lips, and I responded in kind. "What's up with those 'bookends', bra?" Though noncommittal, by my downward nod he got the fact the comment referred to his feet.

I was gratified the guy had noticed me, but still unsure of any intent, so took the tack of bafflement, instead. 

"I seen ya' with those two fly mens a couple days back—ya'll was in the bistro where I'm workin' right now. Kinda stood out. And, your hands was playin' all 'round those studs...Wassup with yo'own self?" Ahhh, now it came clear. My men and the proclivity of mine which was hardly held in check here in the liberal bastion of the mountain town full of 'misfits' did define me, I supposed. 

And nobody overlooked my men. Both mature studs made plain our close-knit connection by their own body language, maybe more than I did. I admit, my hands did tend to rove over their 'fly' presences...

Both big hands made the next statement: one wrapped around the bulge I had been assessing moments before and the other fisted itself toward me in a friendly bump request, smile dipping on one corner as he clarified his intent. I bumped back and his fingers opened in retraction.

God, I loved the innate sultriness almost all men-of-color radiate. Especially when they are tail-chasing. This one was evincing the trait exceedingly well, I noticed, and my junk pitched upward by the comprehension.

Did I mention that the rascal was pinching a short, fat blunt between one dark thumb and long forefinger? He motioned me around a corner into the adjacent alley, using the blunt as a carrot. Little did he know that the bulge was much more my 'carrot' of choice. Or maybe he did know. Either way, I followed like I had a nose ring attached to his jeans button, feeling an oncoming event. No one was around that I could see, so what the hell?

Mystery dude lit up as he hoofed it, and the smoke left a definable trail to the back corner. He drew me leftward into a narrow dead end, body language conveying a certain familiarity with it. A throbbing undertone of base drifted down from the small open window above us. Venting the bar behind the wall the man leaned against, it imbued the small semi-enclosure with an erogenous channeling of Grace Jones singing Walking in the Rain.

Turning around to me, he cocked his leg up on that wall, balancing on the other. The enwrapping hand still lightly massaged the noticeably bigger bulge. This act and the smile said a lot. The blunt went to his lips, pointing inward, offering a more intimate share of the herb.

His full lips were moist. They brushed mine as we anteed up a notch. His dick-wrapper set of digits transcended to outreach and my package blossomed in time lapse as he unbuttoned my 501's.

Only spreading the opening, he then leaned and grasped both edges of our sweaters, slowly raising both of them over our heads in a fluid motion. His tongue licked my taut belly all the way through that progress and as both cleared our heads, he engulfed my mouth, then tongued it open.

My heavy dick punched its way up from the front gap in my bunched boxers and poked his sable belly. Day-ummmm, I gasped. This man was able and steroidal in his tightness, and I think I felt a fucking lightning bolt jolt my dick head. He traded our places with his hands on my waist, now pushing my back up against the wall.

That versatile tongue vacated my mouth and descended once again in the reverse manner it had licked me up, this time guzzling down over my cock. Stopping only upon reaching my loins. The back of his throat provided a perfect endpoint and he ground into me greedily, teeth biting the phatted root. 

Experienced in the trade of cocksucking, the veteran raised up off of me as he recognized my too quick approach to the precipice. "As good as advertised, sexy man," he hissed in my face. Did he mean me, or him, I wondered? His crotch contacted mine and I honestly didn't really care what he was packing by this time. The head was good enough. He apparently meant me since he was back on the dick in a fast second, very apparently ready for the load. 

He rivaled my Jeremy in his talent—not. But, a distant second, no less. With only a few dozen full strokes, I came. Spurting it up to my own mouth as he backed off to see the multiple jets, his devilish leer sent shivers up my spine. This was a bad boy... he managed to eat a full helping of protein despite the watching and I luxuriated in the hot wetness as his tongue cleaned up. I licked my lips.

We sat still for a minute, then the doppelganger stood slowly up. He had loosened his pants and freed his piece while sucking, so on rising up, I felt a long, hard limber cock pulling against my scrotum, sideswiping past my asshole on the way. It rasped along my sensitive dick, then my stomach, and pressed between us as he passed me some cum-laden saliva, as nasty as he could. 

My dick had no chance to wilt, springing back up between his smooth upper thighs to his balls after he passed over it with his own. He oiled my mouth with his. 

"Don't be lookin' at my junks... not 'til I tell you...Doctor. Uh-Ohh, I thought. Intoning that title wasn't a real good omen.

My questing hard-on managed to contact his perineum and close by asshole. The hot stud rubbed suggestively over it, teasing my just-erupted piece. "Dat ain't gonna be happenin', beastie-boy...get it gone from your head, now," he warned. But, he never moved from the contact. 

My dick happily dry-pumped the spot while he lit up again, trading tokes to the slow-grind rhythm of the on-going Grace Jones medley. 'Nightclubbing' filled the surrounds as we felt the sexy beat between us.

Blunt now down to a nub, the no-name cocksucker placed it on the tip of his tongue and pushed it as far down my throat as he could. I swallowed it, hoping it wasn't all I soon swallowed. "You about to be my cravin' bitch, oreo-man. All that creamy white fillin' 'tween yo' two mens got me goin' t'other night. I'm a-wantin' to feel you all up on the insides," he didn't stutter in my ear at all. 

Ooooh, that sweet talk always gets me. He pulled out a little packet, white powder familiar. Handing it over to me, he told me "O-za Kay-za, baby bottom boii, on my mark, now, you gonna be removin' your mistaken boner from where it's fakin' itself out, and you gonna go to descendin', slow-like, with yo' damn eyes closed, and durin' the trip, you are gonna be thinkin' 'bout how you gonna 'sprainkle' this all along my shaft after you be slickin' the thang all up, good and nice—it gonna be stickin' to it a lot better that way...and then, you gonna be lettin' me lift those creamy legs up and I'm gonna crack that private li'l cookie jar you got goin' back there, baby bitch." As this all sank in, he dipped a good scoop up on a long pinky nail and sucked it in one flared Batiste-like nostril, staring at me while he did it. The other hand's fingers searched out the pucker.

My dazed perceptions got the message, "And keep those damn eyes shut." I understood and I was ready. 

"Mark...Beee—yutch." Was all else he said.

I followed the precise instructions, taking care to rub my dick all the way down his thigh and calf on the way for my introduction to the mystery dick stuck between us, sliding down against his cum-laden chest. Getting down to a crouch, eyes closed, I searched for the hard prick with my own tongue, sucking it into my curious mouth upon locating it—it wasn't too tough to find—and said a mental 'Hi' to the long, smooth stalk. It went in easily, an insistent push the only evidence of his hyped desire.

The nice piece was cut, with a huge flanging head that searched the inside of my cheeks on the way in. I spent a good several minutes slathering it, liking the feel of the full bush surrounding the pole, contrasting it to the total smoothness around Jeremy's dick. Unable to deepthroat Gai's full eleven inches, that huge one provided me no common comparison. My high mental state was now enhanced by an extra small bump from the man's lowered pinky 'spoon' and, knowing what to do, I did so. Sucked it in.

The powdered pinky then erogenously rubbed my inner lips and teeth, leaving them tingling.

Finally, as the music medley changed to Grace's 'Pull up to the Bumper', I managed to focus, letting loose my new favorite dick of the moment. "OK, you can open those eyes, now, boii." He was sure watching the effort from above, and slapped my face a few times with it, slobbering me up.

I carefully poured the remainder of the packet, as instructed, along the top ridge of an utterly stunning upward curving deep black penis. I had never seen such a darkly hued dick before and up close as it was, it appeared blue-black. Large, tortuous veins scrolled down the sides. The huge swollen crown kept threatening to throw off the powder by its happy jumping. I was forced to roll a finger around the top curve of the base to control its excitement, but finally managed without wasting too very much.

I next spat in my palm and slimed my waiting hole with it, reaching between my legs from my crouch. Now, I couldn't wait to put the beauty where it obviously belonged. For the moment, anyway.

Standing, I allowed the mystery man to hook my knees, one by one, over his elbows. Strong arms pushed me up the ancient brick wall and our noses met. "I'm goin' in for some cookie dough, now, bitch." The throbber aligned right nicely in its curving anatomy, and we both studied the other's eyes for emotion as it slowly, surely sunk inside my juicy asshole. "Those pretty bitch eyes sure are getting' big...Doctor...and I'm thinking it ain't all because o' that coke-frosting on top o' my fine black dick...huh?"

Nodding, I felt the curved end reach its length—only slightly shorter than my true man's—and we sucked face while getting acquainted. I liked the feeling of the brillo bush tickling my ass globes and we grinded together as Grace broke into 'Use Me'. It was hot. The cold weather made both our nipples extra hard but the heat of our hooked bodies kept the chill at bay. 

"Tell me what they call you, Dick Man," as I stared at him fucking me. 

"When I pump your ass full of sperm and send you home to Daddy with it drippin' out, you call me Ezra—Ezra Pound. You gonna have me a baby and I am gonna have visitation rights, now, you got it, bitch?"

As we rocked my socks off there against that wall, I felt the connection between us where the ultra-black dick was poling my ass being rubbed. By fingers not belonging to any of our four hands. All four were currently busy up here.

It was startling, but felt jood. Ezra felt it too, and our eyebrows both arched up. Looking back over the slim man's shoulders, we spied a miniature, nappy-headed ebony male kneeling down between Ezra's legs, checking the action and adding to it. He looked up at our altered movements and threw a familial grin up at our fucking faces. Couldn't care less by his intervention. "Boy, I told you to wait in the car, didn't I?" My big dicked man demanded. No response. "Well, didn't I?" Nothing but crickets.

Grace broke into 'Nipple to the Bottle' and it dawned on me the rhythm between us hadn't changed. Neither did the small alien hand stroking our connection-point down there. Ezra looked back at me, shrugged, and grinned, too, like, "What can I do?" We picked up the pace.

The connection between us was palpable and I devolved into the music and the strokes. Ezra pounded my ass for ten more minutes, telling me all the nasty words he could think of, most comments ending with "bitch". I bounced with the flow and crested before he did, spewing cum all between us again, smearing our bellies and chests.

That finally did it for the slim man, and I felt the sharp punch of his fat black dick into my gut where it seated itself, convulsing unseen shots of cum up in my insides. The little alien fingers excited the whole effect.

The black man sucked my lips into his while he groaned at all the various sensations. The forbidden thoughts pulsed through the both of us...and maybe a third. In the midst of it all, we felt hot stabs of prickling heat wash over both our asses; our eyebrows jumped again. So did our dicks.

We pumped together long past the climax point, feeling the erotic drippings underneath our touchpoints and we rolled in the blissful afterglow... the leer and evil-esque look had been replaced by satiation and he kept up the tonguing for several suspended minutes. Extra fingers were still busy massaging the last pumps of his dick, keeping the slippery action going down below.

"You are pregnant, bee-yutch, and I be the Daddy, now—what's those two mens o'yours gonna be sayin' bout that, do ya' think?" He posited, rubbing my nose with his. And smiling. 

"They're gonna want your number...Ezra Pound." You free night after tomorrow?