Seek Him What Made Them Seven Stars
By Waddie Greywolf

Chapter 83

“When he shall die, take him and cut him out in little stars, and he will make the face of heaven so fine that all the world will be in love with night and pay no worship to the garish sun.” ― Billy Bob Shakespeare ~ Stratford upon the Guadalupe ~ Romeo and Juliet

With everything happening, Billy and his immediate family didn't have time to move into their new cabin on the cliffs their family made for them. What with getting the new Warrior-Angels and their Watcher- Protector escort husbands settled in, Nick thought it might be a good idea for them to bunk-it-in on the ship in case something came up. After they retired to their apartments for the evening, Nick made everyone another cup of Texas tea while Billy and his little brothers groomed their husband for the night. Boomer was in his cups. He reveled in the time he spent with his family when they could give him their undivided attention. Big long leggedy beasties need large amounts of love.

Billy and his little brothers were almost finished with their beloved beast when Billy's cell phone began to buzz. Billy saw the calling party was Doug Quilty from Houston. “I was wonder'n if'n you men might call this e'nin,” Billy answered.

“Hope we ain't calling too late, sir. We didn't wanna' call and disturb you men while you's in the tubs. I remembered you usually call it a night after ten,” Doug said.

“Your timing is perfect. We got just a bit more groom'n to do on my husband, and we'll be through for the night. What's up with you men? You planning on coming out here to the ranch for the weekend?” Billy asked.

“We's hoping to, if it's all right with you, sir,” Doug replied.

“Of course it's all right. We got a lot to tell you, and I'm hoping you got some good news to tell us. We made another video what will blow your socks off, Brother, about some unexpected visitors. What time can you men be ready tomorrow?” Billy asked.

“We took tomorrow off. We done our thing and the big boys told us they didn't like our brand of reporting. Our boss was strong and stood up for us, but they left us no options, Master Billy. We'll tell you about it when we see you. We can be ready anytime you can send your men for us,” Doug said.

“Good! I'll lead a posse to gather you men at eleven in the morning, but I'll call before we come. Billy said.

“We'll look forward to it, Master Billy,” Doug said.

Billy didn't say much because he knew every phone in the New Republic was tapped and any conversation, no matter how trivial, was being intercepted, recorded, and run through fifth-generation algorithmic programs which would pick up on key words and send a warning notice to a 'Shit-sniffer,' the liberal cyber-tech community's derogatory cognomen for anyone working at NSA's huge spying network. After receiving the alert, the Shit-sniffer would dutifully review the recorded conversation. They would make an assessment, and if they thought it was of interest, they would forward it to their next-in-line up the chain of command: the asshole what hired the Shit-sniffers.

The new Angels and Watchers, or Zebras as Billy began to refer to them, met almost everyone living on the ship including Commander Hunk of the Essengurda and several of his Knights. Billy requested them to come to the great dining hall for supper Thursday evening to meet the new men. His new Knights seemed to easily meld into a co-bonded group with the commander and his warriors. Commander Hunk and his men were neither naïve nor prejudice about the new Angels and their sexual bond with their Watcher-escorts. They accepted them in stride as a new part of Master Billy's growing family and welcomed them as brothers.

* * * * * * *
Bubba and his posse of Jack, Grover, and Bubba's Brute gated to the ship early for Bubba to gather Ernest Pennywise from Houston. When Billy and his men, including the Zebras wearing their kilts and boots, arrived in the dungeon, they found Bubba's posse standing around an open gate. Jack and Grover explained they were waiting for Bubba to return with Mr. Pennywise to stay the week with him. In a few minutes, Bubba and Ernest came through the gate arm in arm, smiling ear to ear, with Bubba carrying his little slave's travel case. Ernest was only wearing his slave harness with cod piece, his buckaroo boots, and his cowboy hat. There were several gasps went up from various Zebras. Young Zak, in particular, almost soiled his kilt, but his husband grabbed his hand and squeezed it in unity. Big Tank very much wanted to see his mate wearing his slave harness.

Bubba and Ernest were laughing like they just shared a delicious secret, and they were shamelessly stealing kisses from each other. Everyone smile at their unbridled love for each other. It was so large and genuine it spilled over onto everyone gathered and made them feel good. Ernie knelt before his master in front of everyone and paid homage to his boots. Bubba ordered him to complete the ritual. Bubba took Ernest into his huge arms and gave him a kiss to melt the hardest heart. Bubba ordered his slave to show their master, Billy, his homage, and Ernie repeated the ritual with Master Billy. Ernest repeated the ritual a couple of more times with Jack and Grover. He was stunned to see Grover looking so much younger and commented how good he looked. Grover thanked him graciously with a generous kiss. Finally, Ernie went to Brute who held his huge protective arms open for him. They hugged and kissed as Brute cupped Ernie's firm little butt with one big paw and stroked him lovingly with his other while singing a deep rumbling song of welcome to his master's slave. Not a penis in the dungeon, humanoid or beastie, was flaccid.

After breakfast, Billy sent the Zebras back to their room to dress western. He sent Hank and Buck along with them. The supply cowboys took them to their large western supply room again and outfitted the eight Zebra warriors. Billy explained he planned to take them off the ship to show them around, and they must look like cowboys to blend in with the rest of the Daniels family. They seemed eager to please and accommodate their master's wishes. Besides, they admitted they found the cowboy-look much to their liking. Their Watcher-Husbands were no problem because there was always several of the big beasts around the compound going about their business. After the last video interview introducing the public to the fact there really were such things as Bigfoot, Billy didn't see any reason to tamper with the Geo-satellites anymore.    

The Zebras and their husbands followed Billy and his men around all morning being introduced to everyone around the ranch. They would talk among themselves and were impressed everyone on the ranch was clean, healthy, and seemed to be in great spirits. They were warmly welcomed everywhere they went. No one seemed intimidated by Master Billy or his men. Rather than bow and scrap to him as their leader, he was greeted with hugs, handshakes, and an occasional stolen kiss. Billy and his men responded in kind. Their biggest surprise Friday morning came, when Billy told everyone to knock-off work at eleven o'clock and clean up for lunch to get ready for the weekend.

“You only work your people four and a half days a week, Master Billy?” Angel Zip asked.

“Not really, Son. They only work that amount of time at their regular jobs. Shuuu!” Billy said softly, raising his finger to his lips like he was going to tell them a secret but loud enough the rest of the men could hear, “Don't let on, but we got 'em fooled real good. Most work their asses off the rest of the time seeing to our guests and making sure everything goes well with our weekend gatherings here at the ranch. We couldn't do it without their help, but I never seen me a one of them cowboys or cowgirls what ain't happy to step in and take up the slack anywhere we need it around here. It's what family does for one another,” Billy said and grinned.

They followed Billy and his men to the barn. Billy whipped out his cell phone and punched Doug Quilty's number. Doug answered. “We're ready, Master Billy.”

“Stand by! We'll be right there,” Billy replied and opened a gate. Billy, Nick, and a couple of the boys walked through, and after a few minutes, returned, and closed the gate behind them.

“Wow! You weren't kidding, Bossman Randy. Ya'll got a bunch of new men and watchers and everyone is a winner,” Doug Quilty said, and everyone agreed. The Zebras and their husbands were introduced to Doug and Wes, and the men from Houston were impressed. “I can't say you ever lacked for muscle around the ranch but the addition of such outstanding beef before us is an awesome sight, sir. They're certainly easy to look upon,” Doug added.

“Thank you, Master Quilty,” Alpha-Zed said and bowed for his men.

“Polite, too. What more could you want in a team of protectors?” Wes asked rhetorically.

Billy took everyone to Nick's ship again to the great hall where a huge holo-vid screen was installed to show Doug, Wes, and the rest of his men the finished video of the encounter with the alien men-in-black. The video started with the arrival of the MIBs at the front gate, and when they were refused entry, they shot one of Billy's guard cows like cold blooded murderers. Doug and Wes watched with their mouths open. As the story unfolded, including the alien take-down and watching them being frog-marched off to the dungeon on Captain Nick's ship, Doug, Wes, a number of Billy's cowboys, and the new Angels and Watchers, were squirming in their seats like they were uneasy watching something so bizarre and unnerving.

The men of Earth heard about the strange men in black but few ever bothered to imagine the reports were anything more than overwrought imaginations or worse, mental derangement. The public was so brainwashed to immediately dismiss anything out of the ordinary as bunk or conspiracy theories, they were unwilling to look further into a subject and decide for themselves. If Faux Noise (Fox News) told them it was bunk, it was good enough for them; however, they also lied to them to sway their flock of sheep in the direction they wanted them to vote, and they would believe it, too, as God's gospel truth. Alas, the public of a once great experiment in democracy grew more lazy and ignorant as the years passed and no improvements in education were introduced for several generations. However, it was very good for their masters who controlled them and kept them together with their yapping little dogs in the main stream media.

The video ended with the incredibly gross incident of the aliens ganging up on their smallest member to kill and eat him. Several of Billy's posse saw it as a perfect metaphor for the one percent who feasted on the rest of humanity. There were groans and gagging sounds around the room like the men were going to be sick at the thought. Some remembered the horrible stench the reptilian aliens exuded and physically got sick to their stomachs. Fortunately, no one lost their lunch. When the video came to an end, no one said a word. Everyone in the great hall sat stunned at what they watched.

The Zebras and their husbands were told about the cannibalism of the aliens, but they were not prepared for a graphic video of the scene. They were as repulsed and in awe that there was such a ruthless cold-blooded, compassion-less species living on Earth among the humans; living on the planet they would come to embrace as their new home. Billy was surprised to learn from the Zebras, little was known about the reptilian race. More was known about another parasitic race called the 'Grays.' The Grays were an enslaved race of evolved insects who did the bidding of their reptilian masters. Their home planet is in the Zeta Reticuli system.

“Is there ever a quiet moment on this ranch?” Doug asked rhetorically like he was physically and emotionally drained. Everyone felt it. They understood. They knew what he was taking about.

“We been busy growing, Doug, but like any project worth a damn, shit happens,” Billy said trying his best to answer an awkward question, “However, not everything is as much a shock to the system as our experience with this god-awful race of critters. Thanks to them ancients we were better prepared than the average Joe and threw up a roadblock they could neither get over, under, nor go around,” he added.

Doug and Wes didn't have time before viewing the video to tell Billy about their meeting with Cactus Jack Porterhouse and proceeded to do so before the audience of men and slaves sitting in the great hall. Doug could be painfully funny sometimes and summoned up his cowboy heritage to lay on a goodly portion of cowboy hyperbole. He was a true son of the West and could sling his fair-share of bullshit with the best of them. He got everyone laughing at his and Wes's surprise when Porterhouse raised his bid for his little filly, Elaine Parsons. Doug swore he was willing to sell her contract to him for fifty thousand just to get rid of her. Doug allowed Parsons must be one Hell-of-a-fuck for a cowboy to pay half a million bucks for her ass. Everyone laughed with him.

“How soon can you men move down here and start working for us?” Billy asked.

“Our last day is the end of July. August first we're free men. We can gather our shit and be down here in a day, if we can use a gate and several of your men. However, I been thinking of keeping one apartment for us to gate to if we need to cover a story in Houston in a hurry,” Doug said.

“Come to think on it, it wouldn't hurt us to have one in each major city in the state. We might have other uses for them,” Billy said.

“Well, if you're gonna' go that far, you might as well invest in a modest apartment complex in each city, staff it with your people, so different men or women coming and going won't be so noticeable,” Tom McMartin said.

“Rental property is always a sound investment, Master Billy,” Ernest agreed, “It's also good to have a foot in another community. It can be a hassle, but you buy in an upscale area where you have less turnover in tenants. It makes good sense to have such bases of transport terminals around the state. Buy one in Fredericksburg and leave a vehicle there. When Mistress Kate and her ladies need to shop at HEB at a moment's notice, they can simply gate to a 'utility' apartment and be driven over with a bunch of cowboys allotted to her. They can make a round trip in a couple hours. You'd save a fortune in transportation,” Ernest added.      

“What about a warehouse like Uncle Tom's Cabin?” Billy asked.

“Depends on whether you want your investment to make money for you. Master Tom manages to rent out his warehouse for conventions and other large social gathering. It's growing in popularity. It's in a good location, easy to get to, with lots of acreage for effortless parking. It's a good tax write-off for his other investments. A warehouse would work, but so would an acre of storage rentals. People come and go but are rarely there every day to notice any regularity of other people's coming and going. They can be cleverly camouflaged to discourage attention from above,” Ernest said.  

“I like the idea. Let's do it to accommodate our people as the occasion arises. I'll get Aunt Helen and her staff on it. We're going to have to expand their area as well,” Billy said.

“What will you do with this video we just watched, Master Billy?” Wes asked.

“I'm giving you men a copy to do with it as you will. We're keeping several copies in case the others somehow manage to 'disappear' themselves. Also, if you can get it on the news, we plan to post it on the Net soon after as an homage to the late David Icke. At least, he was partially right. We may find more of his claims have a basis in reality,” Billy said.

“It's too hot an item to leave for long. As a parting gesture of goodwill to our boss, Stan Norsworthy, we would like to offer him the opportunity of airing the video first. It just might boost his career so he could go anywhere he wanted, even to the big leagues of New York or L.A. Hell, you might even want to consider him for a manager. Wes and I can produce a news show, but managing a station ain't in our job description. It's not what we want to do. I would strongly suggest we return to Houston and take this to him to watch,” Doug said.

“I appreciate your enthusiasm, but let's wait until you men return on Monday. If he should opt to show it tonight, there's a good chance all Hell will break loose, and we would have another week like the last one. Me and my people need a weekend to relax. We ain't doing nothing out of the ordinary; just our usual barnyard concert streaming video tomorrow. We're hoping you men might give us a hand with it,” Billy said.

“Of course we will. You know we will. We also understand your need for a time-out from the craziness of sudden fame. Would you consider a compromise if he wished to air it on the Sunday evening news? Wes and I could work up an introduction, and have it played before your DVD. More people watch the Sunday news than any other time,” Doug suggested.    

“I think that would be an acceptable compromise, Gentlemen. I don't think we should wait too long to air it. I was thinking about Monday evening, but you got a good point about the Sunday evening news. I see Wes brought his camera. After lunch, you men work up a short introduction. I'll sit in and you can ask me questions about the incident. Take both DVDs to your boss. Gimme' a call when you're ready to return, and we'll gate to your living room,” Billy agreed, “Oh, yes, and I like you men's idea of hiring Stan Norsworthy to become manager for our infant news media from the Highland Shire; however, don't offer him the job until after he airs our videos. He was brave enough to push through our interview, and he was bold enough to stand up to Cactus Jack Porterhouse. Let's see if he's got the balls to air this without his bosses' approval. We don't want a man what ain't willing to go with his gut feelings and take a chance,” Billy added.

“We agree completely, Master Billy. Neither of us will say a word to Stan about coming to work with us until after it's aired on Sunday night. You have our solemn word, sir,” Doug said.

“I agree with my partner, Master Billy. We won't say nothing to Stan about a job. I don't think we got anything to worry about. I'm almost sure Stan will see this as a must-do. We'll try to reason with him, he should do it for the sake of the human race. No matter how weird or bizarre it might seem, the people must be told the truth. Their government ain't tell'n them shit!” Wes exclaimed.

The ship's bell rang for lunch. Everyone including Bubba and his slave Ernie, and Wilbur, along with his master, Marcus gathered in the great dining hall. Ernie and Wilbur were dressed in one of their masters' large t-shirts and were wearing leather kilts like the Zebras. Young Zak couldn't help ask, “I thought slaves could come to the dining hall in their harnesses and cod pieces, Master Billy,” he said.

“They can. I just asked Master Bubba and Master Marcus if they would drape their slaves for lunch so you and several of your comrades might feel more at ease. Wilbur and Ernest have been trained not to concern themselves with their nudity or their dress. Their first duty is to obey and mind their masters,” Billy explained. Several men around the table laughed. They knew Billy well, and understood it was his brand of off-beat humor.

“Aww, they don't bother us, Master Billy,” Zak said and looked longingly at Ernie and Wilbur, “When I see them in their harnesses, it makes me imagine and long for a time when I will wear my master's harness,” Zak confessed and the other men smiled.

“Can I see a show of hands for those of the Zebra warriors who want to become slaves to their significant other?” Billy asked. He was amazed. The four smaller humanoid warriors, including Zak, and one watcher-escort, Alpha-Zed's husband Reynard, held up their hands. Billy never considered a Watcher-escort might want to become a slave to his humanoid husband, but Nick was quick to remind Billy he introduced his own husband to them as his slave.

“All right, but the two week wait is still in effect," Billy responded, "Until then, I won't worry none about overloading your senses. Masters, I'll leave it up to you to see to your slaves attire. Ernest? Wilbur? If you have your master's blessing, you may go outside in the hallway and leave your shirts and kilts on the table. You can gather them when you finish lunch,” Billy said.

Ernie looked at Bubba, who nodded his approval, and Marcus did the same for Wilbur. They got up and walked to the hallway, and returned in a few minutes, arm and arm, wearing only their slave harnesses and codpieces with big smiles on their faces. The Zebras stood and applauded for them. The other men joined them. Ernest and Wilbur held hands, bowed to the men at the table, and blushed with pride. It only made the Zebras applaud more enthusiastically.

“This e'nin we will have supper here on the ship, and it has become a tradition, our ladies on the ranch join us every Friday night. And before you ask, Master Jurgen Ironmonger's daughter down the table is originally a native of Retikki Prime and has grown up living in and around nudity from the time she was a wee bairn, but I still insist on the sexual parts, hers and us humanoid males be covered while dining. When the ladies come aboard our ship, it is the only time men living on the ship will be required to dress fully. Wilbur and Ernest know the drill and will be fully covered. What they were wearing earlier is fine as is your kilts are for you other gentlemen. Your top should also be covered, by a t-shirt or you may wear one of your western shirts. It will be your decision or your master's,” Billy said and smiled.

“Do they make leather shirts to match our kilts, Master Billy?” Zed asked.

“So you would look more like a unit?” Billy asked in reply.

“Yes, sir,” Zed replied.

“Of course. It makes sense to me. We have excellent craftsmen here on the ship working under my favorite boot and leather master, Jurgen Ironmonger, sitting down the table there with his daughter and their family companion, Sylvan Aspidistra,” Billy said. Jurgen held up his hand and smiled. “We will see to it Monday morning, but since you are my slaves, your master wants a say in how he wants you to look as a unit. Your leather shirts will be sleeveless like the one Master Jurgen is wearing now. You Zebra men have magnificent arms and shoulder development. I want to be able to see and admire your arms, like you want to see and admire our slave's harnesses. Without sleeves, your arms will be impressive and intimidating to anyone who comes to the ranch looking for trouble. A few could be a bit bigger and some are larger than the others. If you're going to be our protectors and continue living as a close unit, then I want you to be as near perfectly matched physically as possible. I plan to have my gym staff, who work with my slaves, to set routines for you. I will expect you men to comply and work hard to make your master proud of you,” Billy said.

“Certainly, Master Billy. We will be happy to comply. As a unit, does our differences in height matter to you, Sire?” Alpha-Zed asked.

“Not particularly, if you and your team can get the job done, and I have no doubt you can; however, I understand the question and why you might ask. Only half of you humanoids are of any noticeable difference. Does it matter to your men?” Billy asked.   

“To those not as tall it does, Sire,” Zed replied.

“You three men and the fourth there, have you reached your full growth potential set by the genetics of your parents?” Billy asked.

“Yes, sir, Master Billy. We were tested on Retikki Prime, Sire,” the smallest Zebra Zak replied.

“So if you asked them go to the trouble of checking, it means it does matter to you a great deal. What about your masters? Have you taken them into consideration? Do they want you to match the others?” Billy asked.

“We do, Master Billy, if it's possible, Sire,” replied Tank for Zak, and the other smaller Zebras and their husbands agreed.

“Then it shall be done. Before we retire to the tubs this evening we will meet in the dungeon, everyone will wing-up, and I will reset your growth genetics. It will probably take about a year or more to grow into a matching size, then I will stop the growth cycle. Talk it over with your husbands, if they want your genitals enhanced, tonight will be the time to make the adjustment. The same for the other four men and their husbands,” Billy said.

“You really have the power to do that sort of thing, Sire?” Zak asked in awe, then cringed at his boldness.

“Zak! I know you're as much in awe of Master Billy as the rest of us, but a good slave never questions his master, Son!” Alpha-Zed replied to his question.

“Your Alpha-male commander is correct, Zak, but your master will overlook your unintentional disrespect,” Billy said quietly and smiled at the young warrior.

“Please, forgive me, Master Billy and Alpha-Zed. I meant no disrespect. My enthusiasm and joy made me think the possibility of growing into a full-height warrior must be too good to be true. I guess I needed confirmation. From now on, I will try to curb my enthusiasm and take these things up with either my husband or the Alpha-male of our unit, Sire,” Zak said remorsefully.

“You're forgiven, Slave Zak. As you grow taller, and begin to fill-out, let your fears and doubts of belonging change to love and devotion for your master and his master,” Billy said.

“Hosanna!” shouted Randy.

“Hosanna, in the highest!” everyone around the table responded.

* * * * * * *
After lunch, Billy and Doug sat down in his office on top of the ranch house while Wes Taylor videoed them. Doug made an introduction and briefly described what the viewing public was about to see. He pulled no punches and announced it was soul-shattering in context and meaning and may be exceedingly stressful for young children or older persons in nursing homes. He strongly advised viewer discretion. “What you are about to see is an actual recording which will prove there are aliens not only visiting our planet but living among us. It's time for our government to come clean and tell the public what it knows about these disgusting creatures,” he said.

They cut it off and made a short video afterward of Doug interviewing Billy. “Where are the cells in which you held these creatures, sir?” Doug asked.

“Every ranch what has slaves has several cells to keep incorrigible, new, or runaway slaves until they can be processed, sold, or released back in with the other slaves. I'd like to think we use them mainly for utilitarian purposes rather than long term incarceration. We rarely use them and when we do they're mostly used for overflow. Sometimes we just ain't got room for everyone. We bunk 'um in for couple of nights but leave the cell doors open. Hell, our local jail rarely locks their jail cells unless the prisoners are accused felons. Our holding cells are in a lean-to building back of one of our barns,” Billy explained.

“What was finally done with the alien creatures, Mr. Daniels?” he asked.

“Some government men came to get them, or at least we thought they were real government men. In today's world ya' just never know no more. They told us they were from NSA Homeland Security, and they were old hands at handling matters like this. I can only think he meant there have been many other alien situations over the years they secretly took care of and more carefully hid it from the public. Whatever their motives were, they were wrong. The government men who came for them were dressed appropriately enough, and showed us their identification when we requested. Everything seemed in order. They didn't have any problem with me writing down their identification numbers from their badges. In fact, they each gave me one of their cards with their ID numbers on them and they matched the ones I copied.

“They were polite, cordial, and they didn't try to muscle their way onto our property. They didn't have much to say except to assure us they would take care of them, and apologized for what we had to go through. We turned them alien critters over to them, but we ain't heard back from them since. They made us swear we wouldn't say nothing about the incident and swore us to secrecy; but damn it, I'm sorry, I look upon their penchant for secrecy as a subtle but strong form of tyranny; furthermore, h'it just ain't the cowboy way. It slams the door in the face of democracy. The good people of our country have a God-given right to know the truth and they shouldn't have to worry none about some politically motivated bureaucracy treating them like a flock of easily frightened sheep. The good folks of our once proud nation's got a right to know what's going on, and they should also know their government has been lying to them for the last hundred and thirty-five years. If they lied about aliens being among us, what else have they lied about?” Billy asked strongly.

“I agree, Mr. Daniels, and that's why we're airing this brief documentary. Thank you for taking your time to be with us this evening, sir,” Doug said, Billy thanked him, and the brief interview was over.  

* * * * * * *
It was early afternoon when Doug and Wes departed through the gate to Doug's apartment. It was closer to the station, and they took Doug's car. Everyone was surprised to see them. They took the day off as one of their vacation days they failed to use. Even more surprised was their boss, Stanley Norsworthy. He secretly admired the two men and appreciated their masculine, sometimes bulldog approach getting to the heart of a story and reporting the truth. He was pleased to see them. He wondered if it was something important. In his many years dealing with Doug and Wes, he never knew what to expect. They kept him on his toes, and if it were not for them, Stan would have resigned and retired several years ago.

It had been a rough day at the station. All Hell broke loose when Little Miss Muffet fell off her tuffet while spewing her unique brand of curds and whey in the form of capricious lies and unsubstantiated vicious gossip against anyone her boyfriend wanted politically wasted. The worst or best depending on your politics. Another news reporter called her on her lies and confronted her with facts. She could only blush, sputter nonsensical gibberish, and finally threw up her hands in a gesture of frustrated exasperation implying the other reporter was a certified moron and didn't have a clue. It was a castrative ploy to dismiss him as an unintelligent low-life commie-liberal who probably secretly belonged to the Democrat party. The word 'democratic' was not in Elaine Parson's vocabulary.

She saw Doug and Wes and immediately ran to Doug's arms like she did many times before. He would try his best to be magnanimous and console her, but that afternoon he was in no mood for her cow shit. He was a man on a mission. “Oh, Doug, that new reporter embarrassed me this afternoon and called me a liar. I want him fired immediately!” she yelled petulantly in Doug's face.
 
“Look, Parsons, I ain't got time for your nonsense today or any other day from now on. You ain't in my resume of property contracts no more. I done sold your ass to your boyfriend last week. Go cry on his shoulder, for Christ sake. You belong in his stable now,” Doug said loudly and watched the stunned look on her face. In an instant, Doug realized no one bothered to tell Elaine Parsons she was sold to the highest bidder. Doug wasn't concerned. He already deposited Porterhouse's check into his account and made damn sure it cleared the next day.  

“Oh, you're just being funny, Doug. I know you would never sell my contract. I'm the strongest card in your deck, Sweetie, and you know it,” she cooed and laughed.

“Take it up with your cowboy Lothario over dinner tonight, Precious. I sold your contract, lock, stock, lies, and ungodly temper tantrums; oh, yes, and your complete lack of faith or compassion for the common man. Have a good life, Sweet-nums, I'm out-of-here at the end of the month. I can't afford you nor do I wish to cover you ass anymore when you let your mouth pump out more shit than your ass can handle. You're on you own, Girlfriend, and just in case you ain't heard, your cowboy ain't divorced from his third wife yet,” Doug tried his best to plunge the wooden stake through her heart, but he knew it was a futile gesture. Elaine Parsons didn't have one to begin with.

“You never deserved a talent like me, Doug. You never did know how to handle me,” she yelled.

“That's about the only true thing you've ever said, Elaine. I certainly didn't deserve you. I will go to my grave wondering why I ever took you on as an apprentice-understudy. I certainly didn't deserve such a heavy burden or the grief you caused me over the last ten years. I'm moving on to bigger and better things, Darlin', and I all ready done dumped the dead weight from my portfolio,” Doug said, turned and joined Wes as they walked away and into Stan's office.

After greetings, Doug told Wes to close the blinds, and hit the light switch as he popped in a DVD into the player on a bookshelf in Stan's office.

“What's this all about?” Stan asked stunned. He knew it must be something important or his two main-men would have shown more courtesy.

“We got us a story what will knock your socks off, Brother. It's a gift from us to you if you decide you want to air it. We won't explain, we'll just let you watch, and we'll be happy to answer your questions afterward,” Doug said and hit the play button. The men began to watch the video and got to the part where the main alien, posed as a government man, shot Billy's cow, when Stan's phone rang. Doug stopped the video. “Hey, Sandy, hold all my calls,” Stan said and listened for another minute, then continued, “I don't care if it is Porterhouse. At this moment, I wouldn't care if it was Jesus Christ with his daddy holding his hand standing at your desk; tell him I'm in an emergency meeting and won't be back to my desk for about an hour. I'll return his call as soon as I can,” he said and hung up.

Stan nodded to Doug, and he hit the button again. Stan couldn't believe what he was watching, that any government agency could be so ruthless just because a rancher asked to see their identification to prove they were who they said they were. As the video went on, the blood from Stan's face slowly left, and he became a pasty white. No one said a word until the video ended. There was a silence in the room which was deafening.

“Incredible!” Stan exclaimed softly like he still couldn't believe what he saw. “Unbelievable! How on Earth do you men come up with this stuff? I know it's from Billy Daniels, but you men have done outstanding work for me and this station since you been here. This just seems to be another direction you men are taking, and there's no words to tell you how important this piece is. I'm sure you already realize it, and I can only hope my words encourage you to continue this kind of cutting-edge reporting. Will I air it? Bet your ass I'll air it! I take it the second DVD is a prelude to the alien DVD?” Stan asked.

“And a postlude or brief interview with Billy Daniels afterwards as to what happened to them alien critters,” Doug explained.

“What did they do with them?” Stan asked.

“Billy called Homeland Security and told them what they had. They didn't believe him at first until he sent them a couple of video files of the creatures. They got somebody out to the ranch real quick-like after that. Billy said he took their ID numbers, and they gave him business cards with their names and the same info on them. They took them away yesterday, but Billy ain't heard nothing from them since then,” Doug said.

“When do you want it aired?” Stan asked.

“We were hoping for the Sunday evening news,” Doug said.

“Done, but I have to be careful with this until I have it announced. Jim Fieldpea, our control room wizard-technician is one of my most trusted men. He'll work with me, and we'll slot it at the very end of the news cast. I won't allow anyone in or out of the room until it's completed, and Billy's parting words are heard. This will be the test of my career, Gentlemen. It will either make me or break me, but Billy Daniels is right, it must be seen by the world. Our people have a right to know and to ask why they haven't been told about it,” Stan said.

“Will you trust me and Wes when we tell you you're making the right decision, but you won't be broken, Boss. Far from it! This is too big to throw a cover over. Anyone who watches this video will know the man who approved the broadcast has the biggest set of balls in the history of television news reporting,” Doug said.  

“Just remember, Boss,” Wes said, “you ain't doing this just for ratings. You're doing it for the sake of humanity. People need to know these things are going on and their government is hiding it from them; for what purpose, we can only guess,” he added.

“Thanks, Men. I give you my word. I will make damn sure this video is aired Sunday, and thanks for thinking about me. I know you're concerned for me, but one way or another, I'll make it through. I know there's a chance it could backfire, but it's a challenge I must take,” Stan said and shook each man's hand to be followed by hugs and slaps on the back. “I'll miss you guys. You kept me going these last few years. I sometimes leaned on you men heavily to hone your craft and leave out the extraneous bits, but I think it was worth it for both of us. Go to your new job with my blessing, Gentlemen, and give that handsome cowboy in the Hill Country my best,” Stan said and the men left.

* * * * * * *
Doug and Wes phoned Billy and returned to the ranch. It was late afternoon when they arrived and were gated to the ship to get ready for supper. They told Billy and his men about their visit and the enthusiastic response they received from Stan Norsworthy. The video would be aired at the end of the six o'clock news and again at ten Sunday evening.

“We kept our promise and said nothing about a job offer, but if Stan can pull this off and is forced to leave, we know he'll wanna' take his right-hand man with him; his technical-wizard, Jim Fieldpea. The man gets our vote, too. The four of us men in a new setting could be mighty dangerous, Master Billy,” Doug said and grinned wickedly.

“That's kind a what I's hope'n for, Gentlemen. Now lets have supper, put aside our troubles for a while, and have us a good time enjoying each other's company,” Billy said and smiled.

Doug and Wes met everyone again and took time to reacquaint themselves with the ladies of the Daniels family. They went into supper. Ernest and Wilbur were wearing their leather kilts but they were also wearing matching leather shirts with no sleeves but ornately decorated with the ubiquitous cowboy yokes on the front and back. With their master's permission, Jurgen Ironmonger took them aside after lunch, led them to his workshop, took their measurements and the two shirts were ready by evening. They looked quite smart and very handsome. Everyone complimented them, and the Zebras and their husbands were thrilled with the look.

Everyone joined hands around the great table and Billy gave a blessing asking the powers in the universe to watch over them and guide them through the days to come. Afterward, everyone sat down, but Billy was still standing. “Before we begin, I have one interesting bit of news which is as joyful and playful as it is poignant. It was a letter filtered out of thousands we received in response to our last Saturday afternoon concert. It is a letter from a prison inmate representing twenty other inmates. They all signed the letter. I would like to read it to you before we begin our meal,” Billy said and began to read the letter he was holding.   
 
“Dear Maestro Daniels, I'm writing on behalf of several men here in Huntsville Prison. A couple of months ago, on a Saturday afternoon, the powers that be started to allow us men to gather in the auditorium to watch the big video screen to enjoy you and your talented musical family perform for your slaves and your guests. We were encouraged to see your slaves included in everything with everyone working together like a family. There seemed to be no dissension or rivalry among your people. The slaves seemed as happy, healthy, and well adjusted as your immediate family and guests. It was a remarkable thing to witness. It's probably the closest to a real home and family life as we're ever going to get, but we ain't crying none over no spilt-milk. We're just grateful we could be a part of your family if only for a little while.

“At first, many of the men didn't care for the high-brow, long-haired, classical stuff; mainly, because we're dumb and uneducated about them things, but the people you have play and talk about the music are fascinating. Lately, we noticed more and more of the hard-nosed element among us, who quickly reject anything what intrudes upon their narrow views, have started coming for the first half of your shows. The music and people playing have become familiar to us, almost like family. We come to know each one by name, and we come to think on them as our family members. It don't matter none we don't always understand what we're hearing; no one can fault any performance. They's just that damn good, sir. (Please, excuse my curse word, sir, but I can't think of a stronger one at the moment.)

“Of course everybody loves the second half of the show best when you and your family let your long-hair down and play some of the best dag-nab-it down-home country music we ever heard. Not all that new Nashville lipstick and rock influenced stuff. The young musicians you got, the unusual critters, and singing dogs, joining in the fun is wonderful stuff for us, and believe it or not, it gives us something to talk about and agree upon with our brothers outside our race. When we go to the auditorium for a show, we drop our hatred and our defense barriers. It's like a free-zone, where we all can relax together and share a good time.

“We ain't got us a clue how they done come by them videos unless they sent for them, but I can't imagine they would spend any extra money to entertain us mugs. Either way, it's four hours us men can forget about our plight in life, sit back like we's part of your family, and enjoy your show together. It's almost like we's there with you good people, and we cheer and applaud along with your audience. We ain't got us no cowboy hats to toss, but we make up for it with our regulation prison-issue caps waving them about. We don't let go of them. We's likely to never see them again. (It's okay to laugh. I meant it to be funny.)

“We heard you announce on your last program the next show would be broadcast live over the Internet. We formed us a delegation to talk with the Man about being allowed to watch the live show. Every tribe was represented. They told us if we could go for two weeks without fighting each other they promised they would make arrangements to let us watch your show live. My God, you would a thunk this place turned into a Sunday school. Every man went out of his way to make sure he wasn't offending his brother, and them hot heads we got among us, we threatened them with dire consequences unless they kept the peace. We told them, if they were fond of their gonads and would like to keep them, they would set their differences aside for two weeks. With only a couple of close calls, but no altercations, everyone lived up to our 'United-races for the Daniels Show contract agreement,' and I'm glad to say, I think everyone enjoyed it all the more for having paid a price to make sure everybody got to see it.

“The reporter who went around talking with them dogs and various members of your family was a wonderful part of the broadcast. We got to know more about your varied family and got many wishing we could have something like that in prison with no worry of being jumped, beaten senseless, maimed, or killed due to racial hatred. Of course it could never happen, but nevertheless, you and your exotic extended family have us talking again. It also got some of us thinking if we worked together so's we could all get to enjoy your streaming show, what else might we be able to accomplish?

“As Mr. Quilty was scanning the people in the courtyard of your slave quarters, many of us were reminded of friends and close associates we lost this past year. I'm afraid our imaginations got the better of us when we saw a couple of people we thought we recognized, but upon getting a better look we decided it was our overwrought imaginations wishing we could see our brothers well and happy. I'm told the mind plays tricks on us, and we wish we were seeing those we loved as brothers in the past.

“The young cameraman, Mr. Taylor, was masterful with his shots and several times I imagined an afternoon in a small village in Italy where the sons of Tuscany might gather to drink Lemoncello with each other. The thought was triggered when one couple, a mature gentleman and his obviously adoring son, introduced their watcher-companion by that name, and the two handsome bodybuilders wearing the sunglasses with black cowboy hats very much reminded us of John Belushi and Dan Akyroyd as 'Joliet' Jake and Elwood Blues, in the classic movie, The Blues Brothers. Also, we especially enjoyed your joke about leaving a pig in the poke as an exchange for a chance at a better way of life. Funny stuff that was! We laughed our asses off. I certainly wish it could be that way for more of us, but alas it probably won't never happen. If it is within your power to tell the fine looking gentlemen what we mistook for old friends, please wish them well. It's obvious to us they're happy and content. Tell them their lookalikes were men of honor, men of courage and value, who gave us hope. When they passed on from our lives, a little bit of us passed on with them. Thanks again for your wonderful show, and we look forward to many more,”

“And it was signed, by Delbert Willis 'Butch' Thornton, and twenty other men on cell block fifteen,” Billy said and passed the letter across the table to Marcus who had tears running down his face. He was sitting next to Big Blue. They stood, embraced, slapped each other on their backs, and kissed each other on the cheek.

“Can't thank you enough, Master Billy,” Marcus said, “That made our day, sir,” he added.

“Does anyone know how they got our videos?” Billy asked.

Bubba reluctantly raised his hand. “I been buying several every month and asked Aunt Helen's staff to send them to every prison in Texas as a public service,” Bubba replied.

Everyone applauded for Bubba. “Great idea, Brother. Thanks,” Billy said.

“Do we have any works planned to investigate more prisoners in Texas prisons, sir?” Big Blue asked.

“Not yet, but I got me a feel'n we will soon. Will you men and your slaves agree to sit on a board to review what records and recordings we can find about some of these men?” Billy asked.

“Of course we will! You only have to ask, sir,” Marcus replied and Big Blue agreed.

“We can talk more about it this e'nin in the tubs. Until then, let's enjoy our supper,” Billy said and everyone agreed.

“Old Butch Thornton weren't educated, but he's got to be one of the most intelligent and honest men I ever met in prison,” Marcus said to his brother, Blue.

“We agree. Only Butch could get a letter like that through them censors. He's a clever man,” Blue agreed.  

“What if he didn't really get it by them, and they just sent it to see what reaction they might get?” Erin asked his husband.

“We done had our staff check it out, Baby Blue,” Billy replied, “I wouldn't have read it to everyone if it wasn't cleared by them first,” he added.

“That's a relief,” Erin said, “Thanks, Master Billy.”

“Where's Granddad and Doug this e'nin?” Bubba asked Jack and Hoss.

“Doug had another bad allergy attack from the bee brush pollen this afternoon on our way back to the ranch. He took his medication as soon as we got home and was lying across his bed when I got ready to come to your ranch. He told me he didn't feel like going with me. He said he was going to bed early and tomorrow he was going to start cleaning out the bunk house if he felt up to it,” Hoss replied.

“Grover had some last minute things come up at his ranch. He's still getting every thing set up so's it will pretty much run itself. He's implementing a lot of your ideas and suggestions. You know how hectic it can be when you got your first batch of slaves. You were running your ass off,” Jack said, trying his best to cover for Grover. Bubba nodded, but Jack wasn't sure he was convinced. Jack was almost certain Hoss didn't have a clue Grover was driving over to their ranch at Katemcy to stay the night with his cousin, Douglas Dewberry.

Later, just before dessert was served, Hoss leaned over to Jack and said quietly, “Grover ain't at his place tonight, is he?” he asked.

“I doubt it. I'd bet my last dollar them two's over to your place committing unspeakably nasty crimes against nature on each other,” Jack replied equally quiet.

“H'it's about fuck'n time!” Hoss exclaimed quietly and grinned.

“I couldn't agree more, Brother,” Jack replied.

* * * * * * *
Grover called before he drove over to Katemcy. He pulled into the compound of the Dewberry ranch less than thirty minutes after his phone call. Doug was standing on the front porch waiting for him, but at first, thought it might be a total stranger driving up. The man sitting behind the wheel of his truck was a handsome, middle-age cowboy, and he looked strong and exceptionally virile. The cowboy looked like a much younger Grover. Doug thought maybe something happened to Grover and this was his son coming to give him the bad news. 'No!' his common sense decided, 'It has to be Grover,' he thought to himself and stepped down from the porch and met the cowboy halfway.

Grover opened his arms and Doug was in them in an instant. They kissed a goodly kiss of joy and happiness at seeing each other again. “Where's my grandpa? What have you done with him?” Doug asked with concern in his voice.

“It's me, Son. It's your newly refurbished granddad. It was a gift, a reward from Master Billy for helping with the raid on Mount Ararat to free them Fallen Angels,” Grover replied.

“You mean y'ain't gonna' be my granddad no more?” Doug ask, and his lower lip trembled.

“No, no! Yes, I am, Son! I swear on the name of some unknown god, I's still as old inside in my weary old mind as I was before Master Billy gimme' a couple of upgrades. I'm still chronologically old enough to fully qualify as yore' grandpa, I promise. I'm sebendy-three years old,” Grover said sincerely.

“You don't look a day over forty. It's amazing. Shit, Grampa! You look s'damn good, I don't think I'll need supper. I'll just take you to my bedroom and eat you up like that god-awful old story they used to tell me and scare the daylights out of me when I's a kid, about a troll what lived under every bridge and ate little boys and billy-goats,” Doug declared, “You were attractive before, but now my granddad is a walking mature cowboy sexual icon,” he added.

“Then you're pleased?” Grover asked like a new kid at school.

“Extremely pleased, Grampa. I'm also happy and proud for you,” Doug said, threw back his head and shouted at the top of his voice for all the world to hear, “Hosanna, in the highest!”

Grover didn't answer his 'hosanna.' He just held his hat in his hand, looked down at his boots, grinned from ear to ear, and blushed. He looked like a young boy on his first date. Doug laughed, took Grover into his arms again and gently kissed him. “C'moan in, Grampa, I got supper wait'n for us,” he said, took Grover by his hand, and led him into the house.  

It became one of the most wonderful and magical evenings two men could share. Grover and Doug bonded like a tight cork in a wine bottle. They formed an appreciation for each other much stronger than the sometimes shaky legs provided by mere sexual attraction alone. Hot sex can be wonderful, no doubt, but if there is little in common between two people, once the climax is over there just ain't too much to talk about. Not so with Grover and Douglas. They bonded as family and Grover Parsnip easily accepted the role of a loving, caring, and encouraging grandfather. Douglas Dewberry readily accepted the role as his grandson. Grover became a Grandpa with benefits and an ample care package. Ah, the benefit package. Let us not forget the benefit package, for it became a great boost for each man's ego, self-image, personal esteem, and emotional strength in an ever increasing neurotic, and at times, bizarre world which was developing around them. Their relationship became one of easy understanding and flexibility, while being founded in the bedrock of empathy and compassion for one another.    

They talked quietly over a wonderful dinner, a chicken dish Doug made for them. They sipped a cheap sweet white wine made by an amateur wine maker on a ranch a stone's throw west of the Dewberry's in a small area known as Fly Gap, Texas. The label on the bottle was a drawing of a big horse fly and underneath the words Fly Gap Sweet White. It was perfect for the meal and loosened each cowboy's tongue enough to share a butt-load of intimacies.

Grover didn't hold back from his new surrogate grandson, “Bubba opened up to us and explained his relationship with Ernest Pennywise. It was pretty much what I expected it might be, and as I explained to you the other evening. Ernest has essentially become Bubba's slave; however, it's more complicated than just your regular master/slave thing. Bubba didn't have much choice in the matter. It was 'suggested' to him by the head honchos on Retikki Prime they would be pleased if he might consider assuming the role as Ernie's master to provide a solid emotional bond for the talented but fragile little man.

It seems Ernest lived through one Hell of a terrible childhood. I can empathize with the man. The first eight years of my life was a living Hell. Ernest also has a number of personality disorders which, strangely enough, instead of detracting from him, actually increased his genius at money management, marketing, and his trading skills. Not like an idiot savant. More like an eccentric genius who is excellent in his field, but severely lacking in close interpersonal emotional skills and social understanding. Like an internal combustion engine can run at top-notch performance and speed on high powered gas but needs oil for the lubrication of the working parts, so Ernest needs a dominant male figure to provide him with a dip stick,” Grover explained, and they shared a laugh at his metaphor. Cowboy hyperbole is not without its moments of clarity.

Grover continued, “Taking on the extra added responsibility of managing and shifting funds on the world market from the Daniels' fortune, they foresaw Ernest needing Bubba's physical and emotional support under the pressure he's about to experience as exchequer of the Daniels' domain to keep the small man from going supernova and burning out way too soon. When the powers of another universe, who are helping Bubba and Billy become major players on our planet make a request, you do what they want without question. Bubba and Billy were raised by them big watchers until they were house-broken, then they returned them to their families on Earth. There's also a surrogate and a marriage-bonded family link between them. It's as complicated, yet as excellently conceived, and strongly executed, as a spider's web,” Grover explained.

“Sort of a 'noblesse oblige' obligation?” Doug asked.

“'At's an excellent summation of it, Son. Yes, it would certainly fit the application,” Grover said pouncing on Doug's comment like a dog on a juicy bone. Grover was amazed and impressed Douglas accurately knew what the phrase meant and could apply it to Bubba's situation. It was obvious to Grover the young man paid attention in school.

“Then I get the feeling you're telling me there's a slot still open in Bubba's life, Grampa?” Doug asked.

“I would say so, Son. A king can have lots of slaves, but he can only have one queen,” Grover said and giggled like a school boy at his metaphor.

“Now wait just a dang minute! I'll be gotdamned if I'll ever consent to becoming any cowboy's queen!” Doug said emphatically, and laughed. “Consort maybe, but never a queen! However, there was a time in my younger days, I used to dream of becoming the king of the cowboys, Roy Roger's, main boy. I was sure I could be a better buddy for him than Dale Evans. I used to tell myself the only reason he settled for her was she had a pronounced overbite and looked like a damn horse. She and Trigger could have been stall mates,” Doug said, and they shared another good laugh.

“Well, let's compromise and call it the number 'two' position,” Grover said laughing, and Doug agreed, “However, I think you're doing the right thing by making yourself absent from the scene for a while. I wouldn't advise more than a week before making appearances for short periods of time, and when you do, you must act like you're fully in control and accept Bubba's position with Ernest as part of the landscape. Always look at the bigger picture, Son. Don't mess with them damn trees. Consider the forest you'll have to play in. I've heard it said, you once claimed you would have no problem with Bubba servicing his slaves as long as he took care of the mate what shares his bed, assuming it might be you,” Grover said.

“Yes, and I damn-well meant it!” Doug exclaimed firmly, “But weeks at a time investing more in one slave than what he should share with his other slaves, and especially his mate, might become a problem,” Doug said.    

“I don't think it will come to that, Son. Once't Ernest gets the The Hill Country Grange Credit Union and Money Management Center up and working here in our county, I think we will see very little of Ernest Pennywise. They'll find a building, Ernest will set the framework, get it up and running, and head-on back to his family business in Houston. He'll probably be through before you and Hoss go to work for Bubba. He might gate-it in for an evening or two, but I guarantee, he will never sleep in your bed. In fact, they could disappear through a gate to another planet, only be gone for fifteen minutes, spend a week together, and be back before you would even realize they's gone. Ya' gotta' give it to old Bubba, Son, he does his homework, and I'm sure with you at home in his bed, he would work extra hard at his homework,” he added and roared with laughter. He got Doug laughing with him.

“Besides, suppose he does spend some time away from the ranch. You always got chore' granddaddy's arms to come to and share a little love'n wiff', and there ain't a gotdamned thing he can say about it. I plan to tell him us cowboys don't never kiss and tell. I wouldn't rub it in his face, but I'd shore' as Hell wouldn't keep it no secret from him neither. After all, what's sauce for the goose is sauce for the gander,” he added.  

“I like the idea of a Granddad with benefits. You make me feel good about myself, Grampa, like I got worth and might mean something to somebody one day. Me and Old Hoss, we get along great together. He be the Bossman, and I'm his foreman. I leave running the ranch up to him, but I run the house and hold the purse strings. He swears and be'damns I'm tighter with a dollar than an ugly virgin doing a pole dance,” Doug said, and they laughed together. “I don't know what I'd do without him, but I would damn sure worry about him without me. He's an old-school cowboy; one of the best dang ranchers you're ever likely to meet, but when it comes to everyday living, he's dumber than a box of rocks. The man can't run a fuck'n washer and dryer without screw'n it up. I finally got tired of wear'n pink socks and shorts 'cause he washed his red rodeo shirt with the rest of the laundry. I nailed up a sign across the top of the door to the wash room what says, “No cowboys allowed! Leave dirty laundry on table by the door!” Doug lamented, but he still got a laugh out of Grover. “However, on the up side, he can tear the damn thing apart, fix it, and put it back together again in thirty minutes,” he added.

* * * * * * *
They finished their dinner and the men gathered the dishes, rinsed them, put them in the dishwasher, and turned it on. They took what was left of the wine and moved to the comfortable living room. It was an unusually cool evening for the middle of July, but since the global warming got worse, the weather took on a schizophrenic personality. You never knew what it was going to be from day to day. With this granddad's help, Doug made a small fire in the river-rock fireplace, and it warmed the room just enough to be comfortable. They sat together on an antique high-back overstuffed sofa which sort of wrapped itself around you and made you feel at home.

They continued their conversation. “I want to know more about my new Granddad before he takes me to bed and teaches his grandson how a handsome buckaroo fucks his buddy real good and makes his heart sing a new song,” Doug said and grinned.

“Ain't much to tell, but I damn sure know how to take care of a young cowboy's butt and have him whisper sweet words of love he has for his old Grandpa,” Grover replied.

“What was your childhood like, Grover?” Doug asked cautiously.

“Mass confusion; like living in a nightmare when you don't even know what normal life should be,” Grover said sadly, “Parsnip weren't my name on my burf-certificate. It read Grover Bowie Bigalow Junior. I was born to a woman named Dancey Jean Astroff and naturally my daddy's name was the same as mine. I don't remember much about my mother, she died when I was three years old. She walked outside to hang up some laundry, a rattlesnake bit her on the back of her leg, and hit an artery. The poison went straight to her heart, and she died within minutes. I was in the house and remember walking outside, crawling backward down them big steps, and toddling over to her. She looked like she was asleep with her eyes open. I couldn't get her to respond. I didn't know about death and went back inside the house to play with my toys. My daddy was down in a far corner of the ranch rounding up yearlings and didn't come home until late that afternoon. I remember him yelling at the top of his voice and cursing god. Then he stopped and yelled for me. He found me and cried in my arms.

“After the funeral, it was only me and him. My daddy barely knew how to take care of himself, and I quickly learned I better grow up pretty damn quick if'n I wanted to survive. There was something about me he just didn't like, and there weren't nothing I could do or say to make him love me. It was almost like he blamed me for my mother's death. He would feed me then go off on his own to do something and leave me to myself. When I's about four or five the beatings began. He would take his belt to me every damn day for the least little thing. I wasn't potty trained when my momma died, and he didn't know how to teach me. Furthermore, he wasn't interested in doing it. I couldn't figger out why he didn't love me.

“When I was five he moved me out of the house into the big bunkhouse. He said I smell like shit all the time. He didn't want me living in the same house with him until I could learn to go to the bathroom by myself and not shit my pants. Talk about rejection. He still fed me, but he put me to work every day. I never had a childhood. I did what I could do, but being a kid, my mind would drift, and I would go play or do something I weren't suppose to. He would come home and beat me with his belt until I bled. The beatings became his standard operating procedure every evening until I would be so scared I'd hide from him. I would go for several days like a wild dog eating what I could forage until I couldn't take it no more and go back to face another one of his beatings.

“He took me to a rodeo one afternoon when I was just barely six years old, and I couldn't sit down on the bench next to him because my ass hurt me so bad. He would order me to sit down, but when I did, it would hurt so much I would start to cry, and I'd jump up again. He took off his wide cowboy belt, jerked me up, pulled down my little Wranglers, and started one of his worst whippings. A big cowboy wearing his complete rodeo outfit accompanied by the sheriff come up to my daddy and told him to knock it off. They took me off by myself and told my daddy to cool his heels, they would talk with him later.

"The big cowboy was a good looking man, and I instantly fell in love with him. I knew right then and there I wanted to be a cowboy just like him and not like my daddy. I come to learn, he was the Sheriff's deputy. His name was Quinn Palo Parsnip. Everybody called him 'Quinn,' but he told me I could call him Pal. He said he wanted to be my best buddy, my 'pal.' The Sheriff tried to talk with me, but I was so damn afraid to say anything agin' my dad I didn't know what to do. The big cowboy told me he lived on the ranch next to ours, and if things got so bad I couldn't take it no more, come to his ranch and find him. He would help me.  

“My daddy didn't bother to enroll me in school and kept me working around the ranch from sun up to sunset. The bigger I got the more I could do around the ranch and not get into trouble. I rarely ever spoke to my dad, and he hardly ever spoke to me. He would feed me more regularly, but he would still bust my butt three to four times a week. As time went on, he would get more violent and hit me with his big fists in my face and body until I was afraid he was going to kill me.

“The Sheriff and his deputy, I called 'Pal,' drove out to the ranch several times to talk with me, but I was scared to death to say anything. They told my pa, he had to send me to school. It was state law. If he didn't comply, they would arrest him and put me in a home somewhere. After they left, he ranted and raved they weren't going to tell him what to do.

“By that time, I was ready for them to place me in a home to get away from him. I never had a burf-day party, got a Christmas present – nothing. What love I had for him died a long time before, and he never did one damn thing to try to gain it back. He told me one time, life is tough and he was preparing me for the life I had to live. I was young and uneducated, but I weren't no fool. I could see the way other people lived their lives happy with each other and how they treated their kids with love and respect. I knew something was terribly wrong, but I blamed it on myself. I thought I just weren't good enough to please him. I started to consider suicide; killing myself to escape his meanness.

"On the day of my seventh burf-day, he'd been drinking heavily all day, and late in the evening he started in on me. I begged and pleaded with him not to hit me. I told him I would submit to his belt, but not to hit me. I saw the madness, the rage in his eyes as he threw the empty whiskey bottle into the wall behind me and it shattered into pieces. I turned and ran for the back door, down the steps, into the back yard, but he was too fast and caught me halfway to the barn. He was yelling at me, “I'll teach you not to run from me like a fuck'n coward, boy; stand up like a man and take your medicine. I brought you into this world, and I can take you out!” he shouted.

“I took his words to mean he was going to kill me. He started hitting me with his closed fist like I was a grown man he was defending himself against. I felt the pain of broken bones one after another as he hit me over and over like I was his personal punching bag. I was losing my strength, but I managed to gather enough wits about me I knew I had to hurt him if I wanted to get away and live. He was standing over me hitting me in the face and upper body time and again. I raised my foot, and with the heel of my cowboy boot, I kicked him as hard as I could in the groin. A weird look came across his face, his eyes rolled back into his head, he screamed, and doubled over with pain and began to heave and vomit some of the alcohol he consumed. I jumped up and thought if one kick to his balls would do that another couple would give me a much better chance to escape.

“Standing, I had the advantage of a greater arc of swing with my small leg to gather more power to hurt him bad. With the toe of my boot I kicked him as hard as I could with his balls as my target. As he writhed in agony, I kicked him a third time. The last time I swung my leg, I hit him in his head with the toe of my boot as hard as I could and knocked him out cold. His body just lay there wiggling and flopping about like a chicken with its head cut off. I thought I killed him, and he was going through the throes of death. I felt no remorse. I was fighting for my life, and I was angry. I had no feelings but disgust and loathing for him. To be honest, I was more concerned about my feelings of anger than I considered any compassion toward him. I didn't like to be angry. Certainly not to the point I was forced to react strongly enough to fight back.

“I turned and ran as fast as I could considering the pain I was in. I knew I must have several broken bones. I remembered Pal making me promise to come to him if I was in trouble or needed someone to help me. I knew a shortcut to the Deputy Sheriff's ranch-house, and took the back way across country. I knew for sure, if my dad came looking for me, he would use the road, and I stayed as far away from it as I could. It was getting dark, but there was a full moon shining to light my way. I could see pretty good. I was deathly afraid of rattlesnakes and tried to watch where I stepped.

I don't know how long it took me to walk the five miles to my buddy's ranch, but I was never so happy when his ranch-house came into view, and I could see lights on inside. I walked up to the front door and knocked. Pal opened the door, took one look at me, fell to his knees, and opened his big arms to me. I knew I was safe and let it all out. I broke down and cried my heart out. Pal held me and kissed my tears away, picked me up, closed the door behind us, and carried me into his living room to his big leather couch. He held me for almost an hour letting me get out my pain, hurt, anger, and frustration. He soothed me and stroked me like I was the most important person in the world to him. Until that moment I never had anyone hold me in their arms that I could remember. The only time my dad touched me was to hit me.

“Pal took care of me and got me something to eat and some milk to drink. I told him everything and how I got away. He just shook his head and a tear would run down his cheek from time to time. He'd take his big bandanna and wipe it away.

“We need to get you to a hospital, Son, but I need to check on your dad first. If I put you to bed, do you think you could rest for a while and hold on until I get back?” he asked.

“Yes, sir. I'm all right for now, but I know I'm gonna' start hurt'n real bad before much longer. I always do after he beats me,” I told him.

“I'll only be gone for about an hour, Son,” he said.

“All right,” I agreed.

“He took me to his guest bedroom, threw a blanket over the bed and lifted me onto it. He spread another blanket over me and left the room. I could hear him getting ready to leave, but I could see he was wearing his cowboy gear including his spurs. I wondered if he was going to ride his horse over to our ranch. When he left, I went to the window and watched him ride out toward our place on his favorite pony. I looked at the clock, and he was gone almost three hours.

“When Pal returned he came into the guest bedroom. I wasn't asleep. There was too much adrenaline pumped into my system to rest, and I ached all over. He sat on the bed and took me into his big arms again. I don't know how to tell you this, Son, but just to be honest with you. Your daddy's dead. He done shot himself in the head with his own gun. Do you know what suicide means?” he asked.

“Yes, sir, when somebody kills themselves. I been think'n a lot on it myself lately. I didn't want to go on living with him no more,” I said. I thought it was strange 'cause I wasn't crying about my dad being dead. Then it dawned on me, I just didn't care anymore, and that thought was more frightening to me than the fact I just lost my only parent. I didn't care what happened to me. Nothing could be so bad as the life I was living with my dad.

“I'm gonna' take you to the emergency room at the hospital in Fredericksburg, Son. You may be asked some questions about what you did. Your only answer will be, “I can't remember. Your daddy hit you many times with his fists so hard it dazed you. You walked the Hill Country in a mental fog to get away from him until you come upon my place, I took you in, put you to bed for a while, you woke up in pain, and I carried you to the hospital. Nothing else. I never left this house the whole time. Do you understand, Grover?” he asked.

“Yes, sir, Mr. Parsnip, I understand,” I replied.

“Good boy. Call me Pal or Quinn, Son. I think we're gonna' become good friends,” he said, and I couldn't have been more happy to have that big cowboy as my friend and buddy.

“Did you ever find out what happened over to your ranch, Grampa?” Doug asked.

“Yes, but not until my Pal was on his death bed, and by that time he could a' told me he rode over to our ranch on his pony with six guns a blazing and shot my daddy down in cold blood like he was a rabid dog or a worthless varmint, and I wouldn't have cared; but, it weren't nothing like 'at. I'll tell you in a little while if you wanna' hear the rest,” Grover said.

“Are you kidding? I'll rope and hog tie your handsome cowboy butt until I hear the rest. Besides that, you's just about the best damn story teller I done heard in a long time, Grampa. Your story should be heard by more people. Who knows about your life?” Doug asked.

“Damn few. Most who knew are dead, and I ain't never shared it with another soul until now. Jack McCormack don't even know about my life, and we been friends for years. I watched him grow up and gave him his first job when he graduated law school and passed the bar,” Grover replied.
 
“Tell me the rest, Grampa,” Doug urged him.

“Quinn Parsnip drove me to the emergency at a hospital in Fredericksburg and told them he was a Deputy Sheriff in Mason and wanted to leave me with them to patch me up while he and the Sheriff had time to go out to the Bigalow ranch to find out what went on and see what they could do; however, until then, I was an official ward of the Sheriff's department of Mason County and any medical bills would be paid by the county.

“I was never in a hospital before. I experienced some apprehension, but they seemed like nice folks and carefully explained everything they were going to do. They found out I had a broken clavicle, my left arm was broken, and six of my ribs were broken. There were various cuts and bruises they cleaned and sewed me up. Oh, yes, and my big toe on my right foot was broken when I kicked my dad so hard to his head and knocked him out. I was a mess, but the food was good. I was in the hospital a full week before they would release me.

“By the time the hospital released me, my daddy was buried, the Sheriff's investigation determined my daddy died of a self-inflicted gun shot wound to the head, my case was brought before the county judge, and my fate was sealed. Since there were no other relatives anybody knew about at the time, the judge in the case decided I would be awarded to Quinn Palo Parsnip as my legal guardian to see to my well-being and hold all properties left to me in the mutual trust of the County and Deputy Quinn Parsnip for safe keeping. Other than me, my daddy didn't have no other relatives. As his only heir, his property automatically became mine when I reached eighteen.      

“Quinn came to get me after work on a Friday afternoon and drove me to my new home with him. It was like I was living a dream what was too good to come true. He fixed a light meal for us, we watched TV for a while until it was time to go to bed. The next morning was Saturday, and he only had to work half a day. He said we would talk about things after he got home. We went to bed, and he gave me a choice of sleeping in the guest room, or I could sleep with him until I got used to the place.

“I never slept with another person, but I liked the idea. I told him I'd like to sleep with him. He told me it was fine with him, but I had to sleep in the raw. Real cowboys don't never wear no pajamas or underwear. Quinn was a cowboy and I wanted to be just like him. I weren't never taught to be ashamed of my body or shy about being naked, so I didn't have no problem with his druthers. We went to bed and my Pal told me to come to his arms, he wanted to hold me for a while before we went to sleep. Since my mom died, I never experienced another human being touch me in a kind or loving manner. Quinn held me and stroked me like I was a beloved pet, and he kissed me several times on my cheek. Finally, he told me to give him a big old wet sloppy buckaroo kiss, and I did. I never kissed another person, but I liked it. I rolled over and slept the best I ever could remember.

“The next afternoon we saddled up two of his horses and rode over to my old home. On the way, we talked a lot and Quinn explained to me the ranch now belonged to me, but it was being held in trust for me by the Court in the county with him as guardian and caretaker. After we looked around, went though the house, gathered what few clothes I owned, and sat for a few minutes in the kitchen drinking a soda, he asked me what I wanted to do with the place. Without hesitating, I told him I wanted everything in the house either sold, given away, or if there was something he wanted, he could have. I wanted the place boarded up until I grew a little more and had time to think on it.

“Quinn followed my instructions to the letter, but he cautioned and advised me I should keep certain things; a few choice pieces of furniture, a beautiful old upright piano I was never allowed to touch, and a few other things I'm glad he talked me into keeping. I told him I wanted us to work both ranches. We would have one big ranch instead of two smaller ones. Quinn liked my idea a lot. My dad's stock became our stock over which Quinn would have control. It would make him more money and pay for my keep. We worked together as a team and the more I came to know him, the more I fell deeply in love with the big cowboy.

“The very weirdest thing was, we grew to look a lot alike, and the more I filled out, when we appeared in public together, the more noticeable it became until people who didn't know us just assumed we were father and son. It didn't bother me none. I was downright proud they thought Quinn was my dad. I would have killed to know my guardian was my dad, but Quinn was more like a big brother or buddy to me. We could laugh and talk about anything together, and he never once got angry with me. If I did something he didn't like or thought I could do better, a word from him was enough for me. He never raised his voice at me unless he thought I was in immediate danger.

“I took a room upstairs for my room to keep my clothes and gear in, but I can only remember a handful of times we didn't sleep together in the same bed. I liked sleeping with the big cowboy, and he made me feel safe. I could roll over and touch him if I had a bad dream or felt lonely, and most times he would respond by holding me in his arms and stealing a kiss.

“I started the first grade that next year. I was two years older than them other kids, and I was the biggest kid in my class. Quinn spent hours the year and summer before teaching me the alphabet, some simple addition and subtraction, and reading children's books to me. We read them together so many times I learned what the words meant, and I could read them to him. I found I had a thirst for knowledge, and began to learn by leaps and bounds. I soaked up information like a sponge, and I never forgot anything I learned. They tested me at school and wanted to start me in the second grade, but I wanted the experience of being in the first grade. I became a big brother to my smaller school mates, and they looked up to me. For the first time in my previously miserable life I was important to someone. Not only did I have a wonderful companion for a surrogate parent, I had nineteen younger brothers and sisters who looked up to me for leadership.

“Life changed for me. My Grandparents on my mother's side asked Quinn if they could visit with me. Poor Quinn didn't even know I had grandparents. I didn't either. I never met them before 'cause my daddy had a falling out with them when I was a baby and refused to have anything to do with them including visiting their grandson. I come to like my grandparents and sometimes spent weekends with them at their place. They were good to me, and after they saw how happy I was living with Quinn, they fully approved of the big cowboy being my guardian. They come to love Quinn as much as me. They were the only family we had.

Quinn taught me to be a cowboy and taught me the cowboy way. He took me to church once't a month and especially on Christmas and Easter. For almost eight years, I never knew what the holidays were all about. The first year at Thanksgiving we were invited to my Grandparent's ranch for dinner. I never saw such wonderful food; good things to eat and drink. It was like a new world to me, and I was thrilled to get to know my Grandparents.

I worked hard at my cowboy skills and Quinn taught me to rope. I would practice by the hour, and we began to rope together as a team. By the time I was fifteen, Quinn and I were traveling to rodeos together, and we were winning. We were bringing in some good money besides our ranch and Quinn's job as Deputy Sheriff. We became known in our part of the state as the team to beat, but for several years, unless we had a bad day and were a little off our feed, we won every rodeo we entered.

“On my eighteenth burf-day, Quinn threw a small party for me, for a few of my school chums, and my Grandparents. It was a perfect day and everyone had a good time. Quinn made a brief speech about me becoming a grown man that day, but I still had two more years of high school. I didn't feel much different. After everyone wished me well and left, my Grandparents stayed to help us clean up the place. We sat around drinking coffee and talking when my Grandparents said they had something to tell us. My grandma, Wilma, told us my mother was already a month pregnant with me when she married my daddy. I watched Quinn's face turn from a ruddy healthy cowboy tan to white like the blood drained from his head.

“Quinn and my mom dated through high school, but he didn't want to get married because he was drafted into the service. He was home on a two week leave from boot camp and knew he would be shipped out to Nam when he got back. They had sex in the back of his daddy's pickup the night before Quinn was to leave to return to boot camp. Soon after Quinn was gone and out of the picture, my daddy started dating my mom and begged her to marry him. She didn't love him, but she done it for my sake so I would have a father. No one ever knew whether Grover Bigalow figgered out I weren't his kid. I think he suspected but never wanted it confirmed. He only hardened himself against reality while acting out his frustration and disappointment by taking it out on me.

“It's not uncommon in Texas to find family burial plots on larger ranches which have been owned by the same families for years. Every Easter, Quinn and I would load the back of his truck with rakes, hoes, shovels, and tools to drive down to the family cemetery where my mom and Grover Bowie Bigalow were buried. We'd spend all afternoon cleaning up the plot, raking up the weeds and fixing anything what needed fixing. I'd pack us a lunch, and we'd make a day of it. We'd eat our lunch on the tail-gate of Quinn's big truck.

"The Easter after my Grandma dropped her bomb, we were feeling more connected than ever before, and that was saying a lot, because we were already tighter'n two ticks on an old hound dog. We looked alike. We dressed alike. We talked alike. We could damn near read each other's minds. He would start a sentence, and I would finish it, and vice versa. Folk in town started calling us big Quinn and little Quinn.

“Where do we go from here, Spud?” Quinn asked. He started calling me 'Spud' since we learned I was very probably his son. I loved the thought of being his spud what would grow to be another him. Who am I kidding? Quinn could a' called me anything, and I would've loved it.

“It's simple, Ramrod. I'm legal age in Texas. I say we march our cowboy butts down to the court house and demand to get married,” I said and roared with laughter. Quinn almost fell off the tailgate he was laughing so hard.

“You would, too, you little varmint!” Quinn shot back and we laughed.

“Damn straight, Hoss. I don't think I could ever love no human-bean more'n I love you,” I confirmed his accusation.

“That's human beee-ing, Scout,” he corrected me.

“Right! Human-bean! Got it, Ramrod!” I said, and we laughed again.

“We could adopt one another. Would that make you happy? Would you be proud to become a Parsnip?” he asked.

“Sure! I ain't got me nothing against no vegetables,” I shot back and Quinn laughed again.

“What are you talking about? You love parsnips. I ain't blow'n no smoke up yore' ass, Son. Could you please be serious for a moment?” Quinn begged.

“You got it, Ramrod. I'd be honored, downright proud, and humbled to take your name as my own and become your officially recognized son,” I said.

“That's better. 'At's what I needed to hear,” he replied, “What do you want your new name to be, Son?” he asked.

“Grover Palo Parsnip!” I said strongly without hesitation. “I don't wanna' be no 'junior' no more,” I added and grinned.

Quinn smiled, “Grover Palo Parsnip it will be,” he agreed.  

“About that time, a cold whirlwind came from out of nowhere and blew across us to chill our bones and make us shiver. It was quickly followed by a warm soft wind full of love, compassion, and comfort which easily chased the chill away. We looked at each other with our eyes opened wide like we done seen a spook.

“I don't think your mother agreed with Mr. Bigalow's cold-hearted attitude,” Quinn said and smiled. I could only agree with him.

“For all the shit he done to me, and the hurt he put me through, I don't hate the man. I feel sorry for him. He threw away a wonderful opportunity to make his life a living legacy. I just wish't he would rest in peace, Pa,” I said quietly.

"Quinn put his big cowboy arm around my shoulders and pulled me close to him. He leaned down and bussed a kiss behind my ear. “'At's the first time you called me, 'pa.' I like the sound of it, Spud,” he whispered.

“You been calling me 'son' since you become my guardian. If we're gonna' recognize each other as father and son, it seemed appropriate for the moment,” I said.

“Sound reasoning. You ever give thought to becoming a lawyer, Son?” he asked.

“Not until now, Pa. We'll see. I got me two more years of high school,” I told him.

“Did you and Quinn ever knock boots, Grampa?” Doug asked.

“Oh, yeah. I could tell him anything and never had to worry about him going bat-shit crazy on me. I sat him down after my first season playing football for the high school and explained my ignorance about them damn birds and bees to him. I was bigger than them other kids and ran all over them at football, but I also discovered, I was more attracted to my teammates than I was the girls, and I just knew intuitively several were checking out my tackle. I was proud my daddy Quinn done gimme' a  big-old cock.

“I'd been quiet around Quinn for sometime. He knew something was bothering me, but he knew me well enough to know I'd come to him about it sooner or later. I guess he got tired of waiting and wanted to know what the fuck was wrong with me. Finally in desperation, he asked me what in the Hell was bugging me. I told him the truth. I thought I was gonna' like rodeoing with the boys more'n the ladies. Quinn smiled and told me most men won't admit it, but every man goes through a period when he questions his sexuality. Then he told me, after he had sex with my mom, he never had sex with another woman. He was a virgin until the night they made love.

"Quinn said, after he got to Vietnam and the men were sleeping with each other to keep from freezing to death at nights, he discovered another part of himself he never considered. He'd pop a boner ever' night spooning his partner. His buddy asked him to fuck him one night before they went to sleep, and he did. He told me he really enjoyed it. They continued to have sex almost every night until the last week before their time was up, and his buddy got shot. He wasn't killed. They sent his buddy back to Hawaii for recovery and sent Quinn home. They lost touch with each other, and he never heard from his buddy again. After I come to live with Quinn, he never left me alone for even one day or night, but aside from a sloppy goodnight buckaroo kiss, he never came onto me sexually. I asked him what he did for sex?

“I jack myself off in the shower,” he replied.

I never heard the term before. “What does 'jack off' mean, Pa?” I asked innocently.

“Oh, dear,” he replied and grinned, “You mean y'ain't never heard the other boys talk about manipulating themselves to reach a climax?” he asked.

“What's a climax, Pa?” I asked.

“Jesus, help me! You know when we wake up in the mornings and your cock leaked that white stuff during the night, and we gotta' change the sheets? I been meaning to talk with you about it, but I just ain't built up the nerve, I guess. That white stuff is called semen or more commonly known as 'come,' 'gizz,' 'male ejaculate,' or 'baby batter.' It's male seed, Son, to fertilize a female of our species. I shot my baby batter into your mother to create you,” Quinn explained and blushed.

“And the jacking off part?” I asked.

“Better for me to show you than tell you. Strip, Cowboy! Take everything off and join me in the bedroom!” Quinn ordered.

I took my clothes off and walked into the bedroom naked as the day I was born. Lying on the bed, propped up with several pillows, was my old man with a towel by his side. He was naked, too. He opened his big arms to me. “Come! Yore' daddy's gonna' teach his boy how to jack off,” he ordered, and I crawled upon the bed with him. “Turn around and lay up against me, Son,” he said, and I complied. He put his big cowboy arms under my arms and pulled me up so my head was resting on his hairy chest. I immediately began to get an erection.

“I'm sorry dad, Mister Spud's got a mind of his own,” I lamented. My pa laughed.

“You just now discovering that, Son? It's all right. We want Mr. Spud to stand at attention,” he said and laughed. “Comfy, Young Man?” he asked.

“In your arms? I couldn't be more comfortable,” I told him.

“Oh, yes, you can,” he stated emphatically. “Reach down there with your right hand and start playing with yourself. That's it! Stroke it, Boy,” he encouraged me.  

I started playing with myself and stroking my cock like I was loping an old mule; like there was no tomorrow coming without the sun. Quinn started playing with my tits and rubbing his hands over my body. It felt so good, and I could feel something happening. “Beat that thing, Boy. Make it feel good! That's it! Press back into me, Spud! You're working it good. When you get the feeling, don't be afraid. Don't stop! Push it over the edge and let nature take its course! Go for it, Son!” he whispered. “Shoot that big gun of yorn' for your daddy! With any luck, you'll hit yore' old man between his eyes,” he growled and stole a kiss behind my ear.

“That's all it took. I could feel the sensation he described building inside me, but I didn't stop. I kept on until I thought my guts would be ripped out through my penis. I felt it boiling up from my gonads: my very first conscious ejaculation. I must have shot six feet into the air and got come all over me and my dad. “'Atta' way to shoot that big gun! Good boy! Well done! Welcome to manhood, Son! You just done jacked yourself off, Spud. Relax and melt into yore' old man's arms and enjoy the feeling,” he encouraged me.

“Thanks, Pa,” I managed to whisper as Quinn stole kiss after kiss. I turned my head up to his. He hesitated for only a moment and kissed me, but it t'weren't one of them sloppy wet buckaroo kisses. It was the kiss of a lover for his son, and I returned his kiss in kind. We continued our kiss for some time, and I think we both knew and understood it was a new beginning for us. Any existing walls between us were shot down by Mr. Spud, and we were free to live our lives in our own little world any damn way we wanted.

“From there, we were having sex one way or another almost every night by the time I was a sophomore in high school, and we never stopped until he got so old and sick he couldn't any more. Liked to have broke my heart when I lost him, but my life with him was worth it. I would do it again in a cow-town minute, to relive those many special moments we shared with each other.

“And what did Quinn tell you about the night he rode his pony over to the Bigalow ranch, Grampa?” Doug asked.  

"He told me he rode his pony over and left it on his side of the fence to graze. He jumped the fence and walked to the back compound. He called to Bigalow a couple of times to come out of the house, he wanted to talk with him. Finally, Bigalow came fogging out of the house drunker than a Lord on May Day at Cambridge, stumbled, and almost fell down the steps. He had his Colt .45 in his hand waving it about. “What the Hell do you want, Parsnip?” he challenged Quinn.

“Your boy come to my front door bleeding and looked like he was in a barroom brawl. Did you do them things to that boy?” he asked strongly.

“Ain't none a yore' damn business what I do to my boy. He's mine. He ain't yours. Jes' cause he looks like you don't make him yorn,'” he yelled, “Now turn around and go back where you come from, or I'll shoot chore' ass for trespassing,” he added.

“You better stop waving that damn hog-leg around, Bigalow. You might shoot yourself in the foot, but you ain't gonna' hit a moving target,” Quinn yelled at him and started to move in a wide arc around him. Bigalow tried to follow, but he was just too damn drunk to even hold the gun up for more than a few minutes let alone aim the damn thing. Quinn said he wasn't taking any chances. He finally managed to get behind him, but before Bigalow could find him, Quinn rushed him and put a half-nelson on him with his left arm.

“With his right arm and hand, Quinn tried to wrestle the gun from him. He pulled it up to Bigalow's head to take it out of his hand. Bigalow squeezed his hand to hold on to the gun, but as drunk as he was he squeezed his trigger finger, too. The gun went off, the bullet ripped through his temple, and blasted half his skull out on the other side. As a natural reflex he threw the gun away from him, and it landed about six feet away in the dirt.

"Quinn said he lowered him to the ground and could see there was still a spark of life left in him. He told Bigalow he was sorry; he didn't mean for it to happen. Bigalow responded, “Keep the little bastard! He's your son anyway,” were his last bitter words, and he died.

"Quinn took his good time to erase any trace of him being there. He carefully raked a tree branch over his boot prints around the area, and continued as he backed up to get over the fence. Quinn was a lawman and a good one. He knew what the Sheriff would be looking for when he investigated. He made damn sure he went with the Sheriff and laid down his own fresh boot prints in case a stray one he missed was found. The Sheriff took one look at the scene and declared it a suicide.

“Damn! That a fascinating story, Grampa. The way you talk about him, I would like to have met Quinn,” Doug said.

“He was a man's man, Son, and he was all man. The finest man I ever knew and will hope to know except maybe for Bubba, Jack, and Master Billy Daniels. I also owe him a lot. If not for him and his band of angels, I wouldn't be here with you ready, willing, and able to teach you the wonderful things about man-sex my daddy done taught me. Are you a virgin, Son?” Grover asked.

“How did you know, Grampa?” Doug asked.

“No matter. Virgins are my specialty. I remember how gentle but strong my Pal took me my first time. I know how it feels and how to give you what you want while I take what I need. Are you ready, Son?” Grover asked and stole a kiss.

“I am so ready, Grampa, lets move to my bedroom and get comfortable,” Doug said.

“Let's us mount up and ride, Cowboy,” Grover said and patted Doug on his butt.


End of Chapter 83 ~ Seek Him What Made Them Seven Stars
Copyright ~ © ~ 2014 ~ 2017 ~ Waddie Greywolf ~ All Rights Reserved
Mail to: Waddie Greywolf <[email protected]>
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11/30/2014
01/14/2017