Write a Review

A High Country Tale IX Mighty Tungsten Tuberosity

All Rights Reserved ©


Back up-country,Telluride is readying for the annual Hallowe'en Bash. A series of vicious attacks put the event, being held in the refurbished, yet-to-be unveiled, old Pandora Mine, in doubt. Luke Cevennes, M.D. He liked the way it sounded even after a decade and a half of wearing the mantle. Jeremy Kell, Ph.D. That rolled over Luke's tongue with more flavor than any name in his world. The sexy Jamaican immigrant actually swept him off his feet nearly two decades before. The two fit each other. Luke and Jeremy's best friends, Jake and Calumet, likewise professional and accomplished, lag in years by a decade but the bond between the four: as deep as the Mariana Trench. Traversing the 21st century as a new age American family, the two interracial couples complement each other in ways the majority of people could only look upon in wishing. Hi-jinks, ribaldry, a touch of activism plus candor and humor, all souffled with a smattering of profundity, gel into a roving epic, from America to Europe to the Caribbean, on the shores of WWII Normandy, to Blue Mountain in Jamaica, up the wuthering heights of the Rockies, and down the alluvial plains of the American deep south as these self-deprecating, refined yet lusty menfolk wend their way, together, while luring the flotsam, jetsam and A-listers of Humanity along, on the sojourn that is the Tree of Life. Enjoy the ninth chapter.

Romance / Erotica
Zachariah Jack
n/a 1 review
Age Rating:

Mighty Tungsten Tuberosity

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It seemed the Jamaican community did not view Hallowe’en, or All Hallows’ Eve, in the same manner as we Americans did. He had informed me of the solemn and macabre history it symbolized in the Caribbean nations. The religious, as well as the pagan undertones of the day and night, still took precedence over any light-heartedness. Even to the point of high anxiety for many. Morbidity and mortality were more commonly associated memes of their season.

All Saints’ Eve. Dia de Los Muertos. Day of the Dead. Samhain. All were a part of the three day Allhallowtide observance for remembering the dead. And preceding that, the harvest festival. America had managed to divorce itself from the seriousness of it through the generations. Ahhh, the low expectations of casino capitalism…

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Paecup couldn’t disregard the haphazard dress of the tall man and was not immune to appraising the startlingly large, fat piece the two of us were usually so content to have flop around. The Lady herself seemed resigned to the uncovered beast by now, still sidelonging it every so often. The driver inadvertently licked his lips at its sighting and I wondered how long it would take for the RastaMon to acquaint himself better… introverted, the man was definitely not. And, his interest in the young Russian was palpable. The big dick waggled just a little more than need be when delivering the best cognac in the house, I observed.

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

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

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

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

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

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

The trees stood guard in stark contrast and I could make out a set of some kind of tracks just outside on the balcony. Unable to tell anything more, there suddenly came to my ears a soft ‘pfflumph’. I inferred something or someone having just jumped down over the banister around the corner, landing in the snowy covering a floor below.

It was disturbing, especially with the marks in the snow just feet from me. They led around the corner toward where the sound had arisen. My goose pimples multiplied. Padding over to the side bay window alcove preferred for reading, I pulled back that curtain and was further dismayed to envision what I thought to be a bent figure loping away into the woods surrounding the house. It moved with a limping shuffle and the figure seemed large…bulky. And dark. A bear, I ventured? Not something I wanted to see after the gruesome occurrence the afternoon before.

It occurred to me that the ‘mountain’ in the dead-of-night might no longer be a molehill.

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

Not brave enough to venture outside under the circumstances, I scoped the perimeter for ten minutes or so before the chill to my skin subsided. Seeing nothing more, I nevertheless canvassed the darkened house. The dogs dutifully followed me as bodyguards while checking all of the doors and windows for a third time.

The boys normally sounded off at anything unusual and as they were both quiet, I concluded that my imagination must have transfigured some familiar night creature out on its nocturnal curiosity trek. After all, bears were common visitors…Suture and Elvee had long since ceased signaling their presence, sensing no inherent danger there. Probably not a good thing under the present circumstances.

On the other hand, however, it hit me that the elk were absent and I had heard no night hootings from the owl, either. Both were uncommon events. The elk liked our property due to the salt licks I put out regularly and over next to the pond, under the protection of the looming mountain, there was fresh hay during the winter. I had just put out two bales the day before. And the big elk were not there. Things that make you go, ’hmmm’.

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

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

The Rastafarian was gone. Rumpled bedsheets and an indented pillow were the only trace of him. While this in itself was no great cause for concern, it added to my angst. The amiable Rastafarian had admittedly proven mysterious in some ways during his weeks with us. The man would awaken at times in the night and pull one of us to him in a possessive bear hug. Never voicing a word, just seeking intimate proximity, we had presumed. Other times he would perform a deep-of-the-night blowjob on one of us. Something that never occurred in the light of day. He was big on the macho thing.

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

I showered in cool water to jumpstart myself, toweling off as my man entered to take a turn. He nuzzled me on the way in without a word. The quietude of the snow and the repressive atmosphere that I felt was apparently affecting him, as well. Pulling on clean jeans and my preferred choice of turtleneck sweaters, I descended to start coffee and put on an Enya CD. It matched the pensive morning mood.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Yup, between his need for sucking dick, mine firstly, and my own weakness for the art of fellatio, we certainly sucked a whole lotta of it.

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

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

We both gulped down cum at the same moment of eyeing one another, sending us into gagging fits of giggling. We were openly aware of our idiosyncrasies and took amusement from sharing them. After refilling cups of coffee, we conspired together on barstools faced toward the steepening mountain outside our windows, feet entangled with the other’s.

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

We went upstairs to examine the scuffed patches in the snow on the balcony and then followed around to the side, viewing the abrupt ending to the markings. Prints on the handrails and a pronounced depression in the snow below appeared telltale. So, I had not been imagining things up here. By the evidence, it was likely that I had, indeed, seen the large, limping figure disappearing into the woods, as well. Now, my prickling skin was contagious—J-Man ’s forearms were goose bumped, too.

Not finding our long-haired housemate on the landings around the house or on the property raised my hackles further and I insisted we make a call to the sheriff. JK wasn’t quite as upset over his friend’s absence. “He leaves for the boondocks on a regular basis to do his secret things, wherever he stays. I think it’s religious stuff, or something,” he posited. But he ultimately agreed and we called anyway.

I hand-walked Elvee and Suture with their hated extend-a-leashes. The boys felt the devices were instruments of restrictive torture. Not desirous that curiosity might take them roaming, they had to accept the control for the time being. The duo found multiple other tracks in the snow, but it was hard to determine similarities or differences now. Following the prints of the limping figure’s path up to the point where the rocky heights held no snow at all, I lost them. Though it did solidify the proof.

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

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

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

“You don’t think a critter took a few swipes at it during the night?” I asked innocently. “It was laying outside the past three days, J.”

He responded with a conniving look, “Yeah, my boii, but these gnaw marks were made by human teeth, Luke.” He was dead serious, so I looked closer. There was, for sure, mostly blunt indentations and no sign of ‘wolf teeth’ marks, the big hooked teeth that look like a vampire’s, which all non-humans have. All predatory animals, to be precise.

“Well, Jeremy, that does look unusual, but what about baby animals or herbivores, or something like that?” I was still playing devil’s advocate. Jeremy wasn’t having any of it.

“My dude, you may know anatomy, I will give you that, but I grew up in ‘The-Jamaica-Lond’,” devolving into the sing-song Island lilt left behind years before, “and I am telling you, Luke, these are human teeth marks. I’m gonna show the sheriff.” When I pulled out the burlap shred after that, we both hummed the ‘Twilight Zone’ discord theme.

The visit by the law a bit later turned out less than supportive. The deputy merely glanced at our evidence and barely took note as Jeremy related his gnaw-tooth theory. The little tinhorn half-heartedly took the material shred I showed him. When he laid it down on the porch outside the front door and proceeded to ignore it, I pocketed it. He didn’t even notice.

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

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

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

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

The hard-on thing actually hadn’t been too much of a feat, considering the addition of the handsome young sommelier, Adolpho, to our home. Jeremy and he had a close bond of friendship. Upon being invited to relocate to our more solidly spacious log home, Adolpho had expressed reticence to the proposal, but had not refused. A veritable lone wolf with a teddy bear personality, the grizzly mountaintop discovery had nevertheless thrown the young entrepreneur, assaulting the boy’s sensibilities in the most sacred of his spheres: the high country.

A drafty lean-to, called home, secluded and vulnerable to formerly non-threatening black bears capable of breaking down the door had ultimately convinced Adolpho that he should vacate it for the sturdier confines of ours. The Italian boy had accepted the offer. Arriving the same evening with a large backpack, extra hiking boots and his mountain bike, the attractive youth had taken refuge in a spare bedroom downstairs.

His state of mind had been frazzled when we answered his arriving knock. After unpacking the few belongings brought along, the young man then begged off from further conversation due to a need for rest, he told us. Even the pooches failed to draw him out. We left him to himself.

Adolpho persisted in a stubbornly taciturn approach toward us the following morning as we gathered in the kitchen. While we understood the boy not really desiring to relive the ghastly scenario on the top of Telluride mountain, he inexplicably accepted our hospitality in typical single straight-boy fashion. Which is to say: he didn’t. Not even expressing appreciation for a ‘port-in-the-storm’.

Upon exiting the bedroom door, it appeared he had donned almost every piece of clothing in his sparse wardrobe. It crossed my mind that if he could’ve gotten the second pair of hiking boots on over the first ones, it would have happened. I detected several symptoms common to PTSD.

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

“That was just strange,” exclaimed Jeremy upon the boy’s hasty departure on his bike down to the wine shop he owned. Coffee time, normally so laid back, had been awkwardly tense with Adolpho. The attractive man was unshowered and greasy-haired, his eyes bloodshot… and he smelled. Not in a good way, either.

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

With our busy agendas preparing things for winter, readying for holidays, settling some matters back in Texas, plus expectations of Jeremy’s girls’ visit in a few weeks, neither of us had the time to stew over it for long. Add to that my man’s intentions with regard to finishing up the costume he was obsessed over, and the concern for the disappearance of our friend Gai, who had left without a word days before, right after the eerie nocturnal visitation, and we decided to just give Adolpho some space. We proceeded in our schedules.

A meeting over the mountain with our lawyers relating to the Austin, Texas, property and gathering needed supplies for the anticipated visit by Jeremy’s girls—girls most definitely required items uncommon to gay men--- took the bulk of my day. It culminated that late afternoon with a bulky trip on the gondola, having filled an entire lift car with my purchases. Storing everything at the station over three trips from varied stores finally found me bushed and alone as I ascended for the home crossing.

Totally immersed in planning an itinerary and mentally ordering our extended stay, along with mulling the Texas issues, I gazed vacantly from the glass enclosed car. Reality yanked on me as I suddenly realized that below, three black bears, a mother and two cubs, were loping across the snowy meadow. They made their way from a copse of spruces toward a rocky abutment covered with bushes and aspen trees. The three vanished into a shrouded cave or hollow through an aperture between two large boulders.

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

Arriving at the Mountain Village Station, I hired one of the boys just leaving his shift there to aid my traverse to the lodge. Even with two of us, it was an ordeal managing all of the packages and sacks up the lane to the house. As we trudged up the last stretch, we found Jeremy in discussion with ‘Deputy Fife’ on the front steps. He was gesticulating in a fashion which led me to know the homecoming was probably timely.

Sure enough, as the station kid and I climbed the steps, JK’s chest was puffing up in a display of animosity unusual to my easygoing man’s nature. A full head taller, his face was bent downward into the law officer’s and he was tersely cold in expressing words I couldn’t quite decipher. Having seen enough, I pushed between the two, forcing their separation. The banty rooster of a law officer retreated off the porch and down the steps, red-faced. Obviously determined to have the last word, he whined, “Well, you just better mind that you do that, boy, and just so’s you know, your dog is a coward, too!” With a cap-straightening huff, the wiry little fellow glowered at me, as well, then turned, stomping his little-booted feet down to the big cruiser awaiting him.

“Little dick bent out of shape, huh?” I posed, as my stud glared after the disappearing vehicle.

“That’s about it, for sure. The little snot-nosed prick,” he gritted out between clenched teeth. The faintest of smiles arose as I reached up to kiss him hello. “That little turd started pullin’ my chain because I had too many questions about ’Gai and the bears, I guess, so I told him that he and the Sheriff sure did seem to dither and cower in the face of adversity… How does that make my dog a coward?” He was perplexed by the simplemindedness of the man, but that level of ignorance made me laugh out loud.

He lightened upon noticing the blonde ski-bum kid standing there in bewilderment at the scene. “Sorry, Bryce, pay us no mind, now…” looking at me he gestured we could continue it later. Gathering all the bags and packages inside, we were broadsided by the wonderful smell of simmering rabbit fricassee. The young man almost salivated his acknowledgment of the dish—absolutely no idea what it was, nevertheless he was orgasming at the smell.

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

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

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

I was repeatedly rendered glad to be void of jealousy, what with the hormonally heightened realm Jeremy thrived in. Since the 21st century had augured in the era of jungle-fever proclivities more common amongst the younger set than ours, I had found that the movie-star looks of my husband kindled a startlingly sexual undertone with these millennials. I couldn’t count the number of times that younger men—and women—had thrown themselves at him in the most debasing of manners. Panting and drooling seemed to be the typical counteraction to Jeremy’s animalism. The man simply could not hide the drop-dead sensuality, nor did he much try.

From the ‘magic stuff’ drawer in the side table by the bed, I removed four 10 mg THC-infused gummy bears and a body-high joint. Making my way downstairs, the creak of the front door floated to my ears. Reaching the landing, I glimpsed Adolpho’s apprehensive face peering tentatively up at me. I welcomed the attractive youth and let him know dinner was just about ready. Like he could be in any way unaware by the savory aroma. The lip-licking look let me know he was famished. The nervous swipe of his dark shoulder-length waves let me know he wanted to discuss something. So I drew him into the great room. Sitting by the fireplace, he broke into a gushing tirade of apology for the way he had acted earlier in the morning and previous evening. My quick acceptance of it and the lighting of the joint, followed by a couple of tokes each, had us chatting amiably as we always had. I was happy to see the boy letting it go. His relief was evident.

Freaked by the experience on the peak the day before, as we’d surmised, the boy was also upset by the vehemence of the police interrogation. It had cowed him—he even wondered if he, Adolpho, was somehow implicated in the mess. ’Deputy Fife” had third-degreed his ass while at the police station for several hours. He told me that the sheriff and the other officers were all talking like this was a murderous rampage by a person or persons rather than the bear-mauling being officially put out by their office. There had even been a reference to the reggae musician’s name. Ambergai Gee.

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

When Jeremy had called him, Adolpho continued, he had first hesitated at the chance to join us. He had revolted himself by the thought that my man might think he would take the offer for sexual reasons…silly straight man. The convoluted reasoning they employed when it came to their dealings with gay men. Jeremy might be a lot of things, but by no means was a lech or perv among them. My man had a nearly two-decade track record of upstanding character traits, by my first-hand knowledge, who happened to be overly-endowed with both bodily and psychologically magnetic qualities. Inherent to his being. There was nary a less-than-gentlemanly bone in the man’s body. Including the nine inch one.

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

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

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

By the spasming I could see going on at that level, it was evident that eruption was now in progress and as we watched in spellbound fascination, Bryce’s white boy dick started squirting sperm onto Jeremy’s ripped stomach and chest. Naturally, my man’s hand was cupped for the reception. Bryce was straddling the prone black man, one leg on the ground, the other bent upon the bed, the boy rocking deeply on the thing in his hole. Jeremy’s big hand clenched one of the two white melons he was pole holing, still kneading it as the barely visible root of his piece emptied jism into the hot cleft between the matched set.

Adolpho couldn’t suppress the guffaw that passed his lips and the sound brought the rutting pair out of their trance. Jeremy’s guiltless grin came visible as the blond ski bum—bum being the relevant term—bumped up from the bottomed-out state of his sperm absorbing crouch and swung, humiliated, around to face us as his ass and dick both dribbled cum. Jeremy’s pretty piece spewed a last couple of weak jets upward and onto the round buns just abandoning the geyser.

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

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

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

Reading this rightly as bullshit (his take on the matter had always been; “Yeah, right, and male hustler’s dicks get hard at the sight of the money…uh-huh…”), Jeremy rose from the bed, wiping the spume off of his delectable self, licking it shamelessly. Then he went over to the Italian and sat down on the side of the bed while he deliberately pulled Adolpho toward him, unzipping first one jean zipper, then a second, and finally, unbuttoning the last pair. Under all this, two pairs of boxers resided, wrinkled and crumpled, against the bronze-skinned youth’s ripe groin.

Stoned and happier since his and my talk, Adolpho allowed the action, no doubt remembering what came after the ‘unwrapping’ part of this process. “Maybe you might be wantin’ to cover this all up just a little less for the next time, straight man,” Jeremy grinned at him, removing the somewhat shy, but very stiff Florentine hard-on waiting to be unveiled. It had grown up to be a large, curved, cut beauty. And it strayed toward my man’s succulent lips. Bryce couldn’t look away from it, I noted. Jeremy neatly pushed all three pairs plus the drawers to the triply-socked ankles.

Jeremy’s legs were now spread around Adolpho’s from where he sat and that mouth drew the dick in like a Hoover deluxe, ebony hand pulling the brown Italiano butt to him, not stopping until just the dark brown curls and the tight balls were visible. And being licked by the long tongue inhabiting the black stud’s multitasking mouth.

He slowly worked his way around the shaft with that tongue snaking out from the full lips between slurps until the whole of it was slimed to his satisfaction. Then, he backed off completely, leaving Adolpho’s face wearing a look of bereft desertion.

JK turned to me in silent request of a power hit. Which I gladly provided. Then, I provided the straight boy with one and then the ski bum. Finally serving myself, we were sufficiently saturated. The four of us proceeded to perform or voyeur the ongoing group thing. Adolpho’s mouth succumbed to the ski bum’s tongue and I fastidiously cleaned both the ski bum’s and Jeremy’s cocks. Between the group, everybody’s tongue got a workout and with the delicious smell of rabbit fricassee enveloping us, we swallowed our choice of aperitif…

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

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

After cleaning up both the kitchen and ourselves, taking the dogs out, and banking the fire, the four of us headed to the warmth of our respective beds. Each of us enjoyed a gummy bear as non-liquid digestif…

Jeremy nudged me upon noting Bryce’s surreptitious U-turn when he thought we were safely upstairs. The boy slipped into Adolpho’s sanctuary for who knows what kind of conversation. The two certainly had the time to hash it out. We both smiled that the sommelier’s door opened from the inside on Bryce’s approach. ’I told you that boy just needed some good ass, honey,” I poked my stud.

In answer, he threw me over his broad shoulders and headed up the remaining stairs, concurring, “Me, too.”

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

For the first time in days, we both slept uninterrupted, falling into the arms of Morpheus as softly muffled sounds emanated from the bedroom below us.

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

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

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

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

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

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

That curse thing had to have been part of a nightmare of sterile old, balding, impotent men who forced all priests and monks to dress alike, tonsure themselves and act alike, calling it “Holy”, so they wouldn’t have to suffer alone in their misery…

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

Yup, the old geezers were just pissed because they didn’t have Cialis back then. We sure would, when that time came…

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

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

Limerence would appear to be in ascendance if body language was any indication…Jeremy and I exchanged self-satisfied glances at the overnight change. The two were absolutely beautiful together. Let the bitter, rancorous, oath-keeping, sanctimonious side of the spectrum marinate themselves as they liked. Just leave the rest of us enlightened ones the hell alone, I philosophized… These two had melded under our roof and considering our own disparate beginnings along with a solid two-decade track record, naysayers may happily go fuck themselves silly. With my blessing.

While meandering through a congenial breakfast of granola, yogurt, berries, honey and buttered toast, we four compared notes for our hopes in the coming evening, should the Mash Bash materialize. Jeremy laid out his da Vinci-of-a-costume and I described my own makeshift personification of a cubic zirconium, at which all three chuckled in the visualization. The boys went off to their now-shared bedroom to pow-wow over their own. We gave them free rein over the abundance of extra clothing and other packed-away contents in the downstair closets, should it be of help.

The best-laid schemes o’ mice and men…oft go awry. An apt quote, with much truth to it.

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

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

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

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

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

Jeremy was enjoying making the little deputy uncomfortable. He upped the ante by airily smoothing his free hand over the patch of peeking pubic hair showing above his towel, thence upwards from bellybutton to pecs, offhandedly tweaking his nipples lightly...the insouciance of this action was punctuated by never taking his eyes from the deputy’s, who couldn’t look away.

The behavior rattled the man, leaving him nonplussed and blushing. Evidently on a short-leash, Fife was unable to bring the power of his badge to bear here in the presence of his overseer. My man had read the situation perfectly. He had been livid at hearing of the tactics used on Adolpho at the sheriff’s office and more so when Gai’s name had been bandied. His unspoken retort here to that treatment by only body language was proving classic.

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

The ‘conversation’ was apparently at a conclusion and the lawmen curtly backed down the steps, turning to re-enter the waiting cruiser, then disappearing down and around the bend as we stood watching. Jeremy reached down now and spanked me on the butt, deadpanning, “Well, now, that went well, don’t you think?”

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

Worriedly, she asked whether we had had any word about Gai, rightly guessing that the official visits might be related. When I let her know what had happened, she and Mr. Chastain, who was also on the line, regaled me with their own news: there had been another bear attack the previous afternoon. They had just heard from Lady Carlotta that the three bears allegedly involved had been tracked down, tranquilized and corralled at a wildlife preserve on the next mountain over, just this morning. The good news was that the bash was a go, they added, and were we still attending?

Concern for our friend was overshadowing our focus but I assured them that we didn’t want to miss it… wait a moment, my mind suddenly reeled as I caught the comment, and I asked the old couple to back up a bit. Had they said there was another death-by-bear?

“Oh, no, Luke, there was an attack— another outsider again— but it hadn’t killed the man, only maimed him. He is at the San Miguel County hospital now, comatose in the ICU. An arm and his…thing…had been ripped off. Poor soul.” she added. We ended with mutual hopes for any news regarding our missing dread-headed friend.

Hanging up the old-fashioned solid state rotary desk telephone I looked at Jeremy in disbelief. “Wassup, Luke? You look like you just talked to a dead person,” he asked with concern.

“JK, there was another attack—over on the far side—yesterday afternoon. I think I saw it—or, at least, the after part.”

I recounted the sighting of the three bears while on the gondola the previous day and the pink trail I had been unsure about in the snow. As I filled him in on the other details and the telephone call, the first things in our minds were: why hadn’t the sheriff spoken about any of this? And, where was Gai? He was, indeed an ‘outsider’ as Mrs. Chastain had called the victim. We were now officially freaked.

The next hour saw the two of us hurrying over the mountain to the county hospital, burning up our iPhones calling everyone we could think of in search of details and answers. Nothing proved forthcoming and we fretted.

Getting admitted into the ICU proved tricky, as we were not relatives to an unidentified comatose patient. I finally prevailed on the nursing staff that even without privileges at this hospital, I may be able to offer help or advisement due to my ER status in several Austin and Texas hospitals. That worked.

Upon first viewing the close-cropped person-of-color lying almost full-body bandaged, my relief at the lack of dreadlocks was mitigated by the poor stats he was exhibiting. The right arm was obviously missing at the shoulder, blood seepage was evident around the midsection and every orifice plus some newly forged ones had been plugged by supportive devices. I conferred with the clinicians on duty.

We discussed a new regimen of innovative shock remedy interventions developed at the burn center in San Antonio and recently instituted at my medical center. The protocol was accessed and begun. Regardless, the prognosis would remain grim for the patient due to the copious loss of blood and severe hypothermia suffered before being found. He had been over-long in the snowy exposure.

I promised to keep in touch on the case if they would like and returned afterward to the waiting area. Jeremy was uncharacteristically fidgety and very jumpy. In surprise at my touch he nearly bolted from his seat, “Damn, Luke, you scared me—how is he?” He had convinced himself that his older mentor was the victim and tears appeared when I let him know it wasn’t so. He blubbered awhile into my shoulder, then we thanked the nurses and left a number should they need it.

Leaving the quiet confines of the small mountain hospital ER, we made our way back to the gondola station. The discussion between us was one of reciprocal assurances that Ambergai Gee, IV, was a hardy and resourceful soul of much experience. He hadn’t just fallen off the proverbial turnip truck. We resolved to keep positive about his wisdom and abilities.

Our pep talk relieved us more than we could’ve hoped, knowing we were right. Bucking one another up, we arrived at the station to find no less than our friends Sheila E and her spouse, Cat G, awaiting a car. The chance meeting provided a needed diversion from the fraught past hours, so joined them on the trip back over the mountain.

The svelte, cutting edge couple was relieved to hear that, at the least, no bad news had been learned about the singer with the Mighty Diamonds, though common concern stifled the normal upbeat tone when sharing time with these special ladies. The two were partiers. Sheila was glad the bash was still on. She and Cat were scheduled to perform, they informed us.

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

The music was going to be unbelievable this evening, Jeremy whispered to me when Cat also let it out that the theme was ‘Music of the Night’. The knowledge raised a spectre of The Phantom of the Opera, and it seemed appropriate what with the old mine venue. Both of our spirits were lifted and I was happy to see a smile perfuse my man’s face.

We parted from the couple on our different ways up the ‘hill’, their chalet in a secluded glen a mile from our log home, trading promises to meet later during the celebration. In climbing homeward, attempted levity boosted one another more so by teasing about the coming hijinks sure to occur at the Mash Bash and comparing guesses as to the refurbished venue in the old Pandora Mine from the nineteenth century mining period. Just about nobody was privy to the upgrades undertaken there and only vague hints had slipped out. The girls must’ve known something, but hadn’t spilled the beans about it.

Absorbed with ourselves, we missed the hushed approach of a sleek silver automobile from behind and nearly died of startlement when the short tap of the horn signaled its presence just feet from us. We twirled around in midair to see the capped visage of Paecup Andropov grinning by his surprise materialization. Dropping back to the driver’s window brought the razzing and unmerciful quips marking us as ‘pussy-boys’ for our comical shrieks at the interruption.

“I’m guessin’ that Lady Carlotta isn’t with you considering the low-rent thug talk, Paecup,” Jeremy teased back, regaining a semblance of dignity. “How’s it hangin’, bra? You gonna be seeing us up at the mine tonight?” He obviously liked the Russian man and we had agreed to try to get more acquainted after the previous impromptu get together at our place.

“Ya. I’ve been invited to escort her ladyship this evening and been forced to acquire appropriate attire for the affair. My first Amer-ee-kan par-tee,” he informed us. “She is quite a lady, and the be-est employer I have ever had— will you two be dressed, as well?” Apparently, he meant costumes, but the difference in backgrounds muddled the terms, I noticed.

Ha, I thought, will we ever. We assured him it was so. The man then offered Lady Carlotta’s greeting and asked if we might acquiesce to joining the two in the travel to and from the bash, seeing as the gondola would be no doubt stretched to capacity by revelers. She had sent him on the errand to personally invite us.

We were delighted with the offer. The idea of Jeremy’s cumbersome get-up was presenting a daunting challenge for traversing the mountain and our Benz was not nearly large enough. So, we merrily accepted and climbed in, allowing the Russian to carry us the rest of the way to the lodge. We were already nearing the time for beginning Jeremy’s assemblage. The afternoon was getting away from us.

Inside, the cabin of the auto dazzled in its aristocratic appointments and Paecup pushed buttons which caused the drop of a small marble serving table and the appearance of a compact refrigerator below it. Another button rendered a partial rotation by two of the six facing Italian leather seats toward each other. Foot supports arose to push us into a position we had not experienced in a car—except maybe a remotely similar contrivance in the new Benz Maybach S600 Pullman, test-driven back in Austin.

I facetiously inquired if the Geisha girls would sit in front with him, to which Paecup replied, straight-faced, “the girls would always enter from the boot to avoid contact with the passengers, until the proper time…” Jeremy snorted at that.

The efficient chauffeur then asked if we would prefer refreshment before unloading. Jeremy’s disbelief was evidenced by his wryly faux-formal comment, ”Why yes, good man, I do believe I will have a single malt and a couple small bumps before we deplane.” We were feeling mirthful, now, at the unexpected ride and opulent ‘accoutrements’.

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

Jeremy almost choked in trying to respond and I finally managed, “but Paecup, who might the third spoon be for, exactly?” My provocative tone brought the quip, “Uh, boii, that would be for moi, but only should the two gents desire a short interlude before our parting…”

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

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

Then he wedged shut one of my nostrils, raised the engraved spoon to my other and directed me to, “suck……Honey, don’t blow, it’s a euphemism…” I replicated J’s technique and caught sight of the Russian man ejecting his own private dispenser next to the steering wheel. He raised the chauffeur's copper spoon there and did the same with a cheery Russian exclamation meaning, ”Salud”, leaving us to share an extra bump each by the remaining spoon. Absinthe. Hmmm.

We all sat chatting for a minute while ‘absorbing’ the party favor. Then, pulling into the pebbled drive, we floatingly unloaded from the vehicle, skipped up the steps and entered.

The Russian man was stripping as he crossed the threshold. Jacket, tie, cap, all disappeared over the couch; his shirt, undershirt, pants, boxer briefs, socks and shoes next left in quick succession, ending with him spread-legged, proudly naked and boning up in split seconds. The rising member was very ethnically Slavic: big, long, thick and uncut.

Jeremy whistled his appreciation, “you move fast Paecup. What else are you good at?” In reply, Paecup reached out and thumbed my man’s pants down to the floor. I proceeded getting myself undressed, enjoying the show. His face contacted and followed the contour of the strongly built ebony body as he lowered the jeans.

Slowly and with intent, so as to feel as much of the beautiful physique as possible, his nose slid from the thick neck downward between the mounded pectorals, over each ripple of the six-pack, all the way to the exposed crotch.

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

The fat, round, snug nuts hugged the flaring base like lovers and it was a very good thing that I was familiar with its details as I managed only two blinks before it nestled to the short curly pubic curls in the back of that deep throat. Slavic nostrils deeply inhaled the muskiness emanating from it.

The man must have studied Houdini’s techniques for breath-holding, or perhaps the dick stroker simply had the lung capacity of an orca. Either way, I nearly passed out as I watched through my own held breath while waiting for him to back the thick thing out of his gullet.

Basically, it never did. Through the whole head job. Jeremy stood staring directly into my eyes the entire time, his sexy gray eyes dilated with the go-fast bump and glazed by the blissful longevity being accorded him via the cavernous throat. He shared the effect with me.

Obviously possessing no gag reflex, Paecup’s throat had visibly expanded by the outline of my man’s swallowed shaft embedded in it but the pro never once winced, hiccupped, or hesitated in the delivery of the most unique blowjob I had ever witnessed. Or that J-Man had ever experienced. Jeremy, gentleman that he be, later denied it was so, in deference to me, but the truth was what it was.

What the sucker did do wasn’t actually sucking. As the distended dickhead stretched down that throat, Paecup set his swallowing mechanism into a repetitive glugging motion. The effect caused a continual wavelike effect of his Adams’ apple to roll for minute after minute.

Over and over the super-sensitized spongy head was massaged in this unusual manner until an ‘arrrggghhhh’ escaped from Jeremy and the dick I loved began pulsating to the throat rolls. The extreme throat action forced his eruption without a single other stroke.

Jeremy’s eyes rolled up in his head, his fingers clasped the close-cropped blond hair, holding the man in place--- as if that was necessary--- and the giant orgasmic release quaked through my man’s senses.

Every perfect muscle in his body appeared to be on high-tension squeeze mode. Had I only walked in at the moment of climax, I would’ve thought JK was suffering a grand mal seizure…of utter euphoria.

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

Being so intent during our entry, we had failed to notice the two young men sharing our home lounging together on the recliner by the fire. The two had stayed silent, voyeuring us through the entire occurrence. But upon seeing the unique climax and my own ropy oozing, the two had soundlessly crept from behind, settling before me on their knees. Obviously intending to prevent my drippings from messing the clean floor…

Now, the duo set to licking and massaging my hard-on, making it jump by the pleasure. I watched as they enjoyed themselves, each exploring the other’s tight young body as they slobbered over my piece.

My eyes quickly raised back up to the paroxysmal satyr before me just as he gazed over at me again, conveying gratification. My longmeat soon gave in to the fervor and he vicariously shared my cresting, as I had his, only moments before. The boys’ newness to each other and their youthful libidos allowed for a stroked mutual boy-orgasm while licking and swallowing my juices. They lip-locked together around my shaft and then sprayed all over each other in their enthusiasm.

Four sated men stood or knelt in a sheen of man-goo--- oh, wait, make that five men--- we all four watched the still impaled Russian erupt in multiple jets of Eastern Orthodox bliss, too. I think that made for a straight flush or five-of-a-kind, or something.

With some more time we came up for air, savoring a most excellent pre-Hallow’en rite. If they were watching, I figured those saints and martyrs must be cumming, too. That’s it. I had finally hit on what all those inhabitants of Purgatory do, whiling away all that time in their long wait for the pearly gates to open up: they voyeur. Pearly—get it? But, I digress.

A little embarrassed— like, not at all--- we five enjoyed the big upstairs shower together after Paecup’s ‘short interlude’ and planned for the coming evening. The new couple accepted an invitation to join us in the Pierce-Arrow. Paecup extended one in Lady Carlotta’s name, knowing she would love the company of four virile men.

Jeremy leaned on the steaming wall jets under a cascading rain head while I massaged the sore muscles after all that constricting and contracting. I counted myself a fortunate man.

We finally descended to sort out mixed up clothing, playfully bombarding our new driver friend with his uniform. My black stud kept up his teasing of the Russian, ”Nice of you to stop Andropov a load. Now Paecup your uniform and get back to work.” Tucking in his shirt, the chauffeur bounced down the front steps to the auto, waving that he’d be back… I felt like a scene from the Walton’s, all four of us on the front door deck waving good-bye to Paecup, half-waiting to hear a voice from the open upstairs window call down, “Goodnight, Jonboy…”

How homey we looked. Except for the facts that Jeremy was butt-ass naked, dangling, and the two boys were draped all over each other in just towels, there was no discernible difference between us and the old TV series family. My wisecrack, “Well, let’s go in and have a little helping of ‘the Recipe’,” got some mighty weird looks. Jeremy and I got it, anyway.

In the great room, we hunkered around the fireplace, as always, nursing some of the Recipe…errr… Old Fashion cocktails. Jeremy had pulled Adolpho into his confidence about the coming costume attraction dubbed “The Mighty Tungsten Tuberosity’ and the two were animatedly planning the transport logistics over the mountain to Pandora Mine.

Bryce, meanwhile, snuggled over to me on the huge leather sectional with his drink and asked, “Could we talk, Dr. Cevennes?” Uh-oh, I thought, those words rarely had a good connotation, and I braced for a broadside. Were his parents suing us, or had he strained something helping me haul packages? Was he pregnant? With the recent tragedies, I was kind of expecting something else bad.

“Of course, Bryce, but…what exactly is up with ‘Dr. Cevennes’? I mean, yeah, I am older than you and that is very respectful, but good grief, boi, we have been suckin’ each other’s dicks and showering together…aren’t we a little past the formalities?”

The wavy-haired youth colored a little and stared right at me, “OK, sir…uhh, Luke"--- that was better--- "it’s just that, well, I haven’t ever known real doctors—I mean, as friends—and you guys have been so nice to me and everything…” It sounded to me like he was stuttering through a prepared speech. What was in his head, I wondered? He went on, “It’s just that I’m so happy right now, even with all of the shit that’s been goin’ down, and…well, I’m just figurin’ that this bubble has to burst pretty soon—am I gonna owe a bill, or something…?” I burst out laughing at the serious look on this cute boy’s face. The others looked over at us, hearing my reaction.

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

“Are you worried how your parents are going to handle this—do you even still live at home?” Pulling up short, I shut my mouth like a kissing gourami. Idiot that I was.

Taking a deep breath, I straightened up across from the youth, sticking my hand out, “I am Dr. Lucas Laughlin Cevennes, and this is my husband, Dr. Jeremy Fallsworth Kell. We are from Austin, Texas, and stay up here in Tride for as much time as we can. I am on sabbatical from my hospital for a few more months and Jeremy teaches, Philosophy, at the University of Texas. How do you do? Would you care to join us in Life?”

It had struck me abruptly that we knew next to nothing whatsoever about this young person. That should be changed, post haste. Life is, indeed, a party, but there should at least be invitations, after all.

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

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

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


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

Wow, I thought as I perused the trio. How funny, the way that families are made.

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

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

The two were radiant in their simple mirrored attire, having appropriated matching calf-high sheepskin-lined leather lace-up boots from J-Man and my Santa Fe Days. The briefest of matching bikini underwear sporting an over-sew of gold-hued aspen leaves minimally cloaked anything of their lean physiques. Matching evergreen brow-rings encircled their wavy hair. Bryce’s flaxen blondness contrasted sexily against Adolpho’s sepia tones. Various temporary thigh, belly, dorsal and bicep indigo tattoos complemented the look.

They set a mood of Bacchanalian mindset by the sensuality oozing from their pores and joined the two of us, singly. We figured separate tasks might enable us to keep their pants on and hands off each other long enough to help.

Adolpho aided Daddy Jeremy with the intricately complicated Tungsten Tuberosity, while Bryce helped me clip together the clear plastic wedged shower door guards I had accumulated from the three hardware and bathroom supply stores in Telluride town.

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

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

I could put it all on and off, with a little help, in a matter of a few minutes at the mine entrance so as to allow free mobility, especially on the ride there. I was sure we would need the room with the five of us.

We came out of the spare bathroom to an extraordinary sight. An entire human skeleton grinned at us, suspended on bony feet a few inches above the ground. As we came in, the spooky wraith began walking toward us, quite dexterously, arm, leg and neck joints working in synchrony.

Shadowing two feet behind it followed Jeremy, the managing puppeteer, supporting and controlling the skeleton by attached equestrian riding crops. His own dazzling body was sparklingly phosphorescent and golden. Head to toe. Every supple tendon, muscle and ligament were on magnificent display. His head and face were similarly glowing, the left half hidden by a skull mask of a pearlescent finish. His eyes had been outlined in Pharaonic manner, above and below in stark black kohl, his lips were blackened as well.

A set of spectacularly feathered silver wings lay enfolded behind his back, curling over and above, then down behind his head from the strapped attachment between his shoulders. As Bryce and I oohed and aahed at the aura of the whole vision, some controlling spring tested the up and outward spreading mechanism of the functional pair, ending in a glowing umbel, as widely arching as my man was tall.

How in the world had my innovative husband ever dreamt this up, let alone brought it to fruition? Adolpho stood at the back corner looking like a woodland elf as he peered from behind the thing he had helped put together, every bit as wowed by the effect as us.

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

“Don’t worry, Luke-man, this ain’t just a fly-by-night show. I can get this thing on and off in five minutes flat, and I made it so it can even fold up. As long as you can put up with my gilded ass for the night. I may need some help getting the dye off, later. We covered…everything,” winking at Adolpho.

“You’ve got to be kidding, JK, I am not letting you ever wash that off-- you are a damn god. I fully intend to suck my first god dick tonight.”

Bryce drew in his breath next to me and exhaled in total disbelief. “How did you two do this?” he finally managed, as he cooed at his new lover behind Jeremy.

“Oh, newbie, you hain’t seen nothin’ yet. Wait ’til we get up to the mine,” came the cocksure reply.

A triple-tone automobile horn interrupted, bespeaking the Royal's arrival. It pierced the dusk outside, and we all busted ass into disassemble-mode, forgetting to be curious.

Sure enough, we got Jeremy down to his glowing, gilded self by the time the Lady of the evening arrived up the steps. My golden man glided gracefully over to the heavy arched door. Opening it, he reached a gilded hand out to welcome fingers now be-decked by rings.

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

Short, spiked black hair with silver tips mohawked her heavily made-up, blood-red lipped doppelganger Liza face. A silver lame--- how convenient--- full body spandex leotard graced her torso and arms, high neck hugging her tight-skinned chin. Mid-thigh black leather spiked-heel boots stepped authoritatively over our threshold, coming to a sharply loud, staccato halt before Jeremy.

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

Ten long, silver-tipped aristocratic fingers had arrived this evening, ringed with every sort of silver band and tinkling knuckle charm. They raised up and virtually outlined my man’s form like a murder scene cutout. “My, but you do fix up nicely…” she whirred seductively.

Jeremy raised one hand to hers again and turned her slowly to face the rest of us. Until that moment none of us had existed. She arched a single perfect eyebrow in inspecting the three of us.

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

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

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

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

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

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

After a small familiarization period, so we were more knowledgeable of her traveling palace, her next order of business was to instruct Mr. Andropov to dispense the ‘international fare’. The tiny spoons appeared and the boys had yet another choice to maneuver through.

Our comfortable banter made the ride around the mountain along the San Miguel River byway through the township intimately enjoyable for all as. We zoomed pleasurably upwards in mental states of jocular camaraderie. Jeremy, in rare form, entertained us in his own gilded cape. I snuggled next to him and the boys balanced Carlotta’s sides. To her delight, she got to play more the role of ‘Liza Cougar’ than ‘her ladyship’ this night.

Approaching the old entrance to the 19th-century silver mine, we were caught up in the traffic coming together for the Hallowe’en Bash. The local police, including ‘Deputy Fife’ and Sheriff Delmar, helped in directing the parking for those coming by vehicle, looking fairly askance at the opulent vehicle as we passed by them waving.

Several hundred more were streaming up from town and the gondola on costumed feet. We safely secured any evidence of the ‘implements of destruction’, as we had named the partying accessories, while Paecup navigated to a site separate from the masses, per a perk allowed by Carlotta’s friend, County Judge Rickenmeier. We ended up in a secluded cul-de-sac populated by only a few other cars and some security guards.

Upon exiting the car with thanks to Paecup for the safe passage, and a remonstrance to join us soon, we commenced reassembling Jeremy’s and my two costumes. Lady Carlotta was absolutely taken by both, though the Tuberosity was ‘stupendously fabulous’, as she called it.

Leaving the parking spot and heading for the mine entry point, we began feeling the distant pound of the music beat inside. The sounds reverberated at us from diverse sources, probably vent and adit openings, I figured.

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

The recently enlarged hangar-style gates were wide open and welcoming this eve. Reaching them, we halted. All five of us were virtually afloat, already levitating by the party favors. Now, we were additionally elevated by the pot smoke billowing out from inside.

Jeremy signaled Adolpho, and hunky Alexander the Great unzipped the big black bag, extracting a carefully bundled head cover of woven hemp dreadlocks. They had been painstakingly sprayed shimmering silver and embroidered by hundreds of glittering sequins.

Then, he extracted a snowboard with foot bindings. At least, that is what it appeared. But the thing sat several inches off the ground by some tubular mechanism mounted underneath.

While the duo fit the ornate dreads onto his head, fastening them by some prearranged plan, Carlotta passed out to each of us a set of wireless earbuds. The devices would not only diffuse the sounds inside, they should also allow for inter-personal communication with one another while partying. Something new from Harmon-Kardon, she told us. How dope, I thought.

Looking back at my man, I saw him now pointing a small remote at the ‘snowboard’. After programming the thing, the board suddenly began glowing, then very slowly rose up about a foot off the ground, hovering obediently in place. He grinned at me, mouthed the words, “UT physics department prototype” and stepped up into the rubber foot grabs attached on to it.

He needn’t have mouthed them: the ear buds made each word clearly distinct.

The Mighty Tungsten Tuberosity was now complete. Exclamations surrounding us were audible in their disbelief. This silver dreadlocked, golden-glowing, ‘Magic Mike’, Cirque-esque character, formerly known as my husband, towered above us all. Balancing on the mag-lev hover board, he looked every inch the image of a Greek God. With a skeleton vanguard.

By some pre-set signal, the trendy hip-hop music suddenly changed to the rhythm and lyrics of ‘Monster Mash’.

The Mighty Tungsten Tuberosity, along with the four of us, and followed by dozens more, all made our entrance into the now cavernously spacious re-do of the Pandora Mine. Those partiers already inside were drinking, mixing and dancing. The multitude turned to see Jeremy in his glory as a murmur of acknowledgment spread at the bedazzling spectacle.

He pressed a button and slowly the silver wings spread, arching upward and outward. The effect was breathtaking and silenced the cavern chatter. Then, a growing roar of acclamation built and I took Carlotta’s hand. The boys followed suit, and we entered the cavern in ancient Roman Procession style. I felt goosebumps welt up all over my body. Glancing over at Carlotta, we knew we were experiencing the coolest Hallowe’en we would ever possibly imagine.

Inside, the dance floor stretched out over the edge of an under-mountain lake, the gloom swallowing its far subterranean shore. A bartender delivered each of us an order of drinks, sent courtesy of a certain Russian Cossack now leaning on the bar hugging one distant hewn rock wall.

An attractive female buttercup blossomed next to him, obviously into uniformed men, by her look. Paecup raised his pint of ale in toast with a grin, and we raised ours in reply. The party had now increased in energy level and the multitude gradually got over the grand entrance, gathering to smaller groups for the celebration that was the Tride Mountain Monster Mash Bash.

The renowned San Francisco DJ of Castro District fame spun round after round of danceable music, keeping many attendees on the dance floor without pause. We five joined in, Jeremy disembarking from the mag lev to wiggle that thong-enhanced golden booty.

Carlotta was in her element, accepting well-wishes from most everyone as a true royal would expect. Her Gordian knot boys, inseparable and interlocked, kept guard over the lady while magnifying her pleasure just by their presence.

We all danced together with abandon, passing the constantly moving blunts circulating through the crowd. Jeremy poked me and pointed at Paecup as he disappeared with his buttercup. Another of the man’s ‘short interludes’ must be occurring. Good for him, I rooted.

Jeremy lowered his wings and came over to me, drawing us away from the others, as a slower song allowed the revelers to catch their collective breath. He removed both of our earbuds, nuzzling into my ear, “I am in love and lust with you, Luke. You make me real.” The beautiful man once again made me feel like the first option.

Congregating together at a side bar for a break, we watched the lights gradually dim over a few minutes. While ordering another drink, the ladies, Sheila E and Cat G, mounted the far steps to the stage, followed by two male figures with whom they were conversing and sharing a joint.

JK pulled me along as we wove our way toward the four on the stage, vagrant hands reaching out to touch of the Tuberosity passing by. It looked as if the silver lame might be stretching its limits in recognition of the attention…which caused my own to answer in kind. By the time we arrived at the stage, we were both sporting partial boners and signaled a pact to address the predicament in a little bit.

Climbing the stage, Jeremy turned back and squeezed my hand. ”Honey, it IS Robert Cray and Prince—I knew it!” Some band members had begun setting up for a live concert. The four music world heavyweights continued conversing, somehow not causing a riot by their presence on the stage. Only in Tride, it crossed my mind.

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

We were wowed by their affirmation and the group of us chatted over their intentions to smash the festivity with true star power, all together here for a set. I felt a shoulder tap and glanced back to find ‘Liza’ and the ‘twins’ next to us. They had been separated from us but had found us. By our questioning look, she lipped, “Dears, you glow.”

The music legends all acted like typical humans, taken aback to be presented to a royal personage. They not only joined us in conversation, they even shared a hash vape cig that Adolpho produced from somewhere.

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

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

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

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

Ambergai Gee was back…

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

My legs were pinned back over my head, spread wide open by two huge ebony hands. The long fingers of each encircled my ankles, securing the clear path below. There was an eleven-inch-long, large diameter slick black dick slowly and methodically pumping in, then out, of my excessively lubed bare asshole. It was fucking purposely slow, all the way in and all the way out, to the ridge on the phatted mushroom head.

Each stroke was separated by a pause, necessary to prolong the slowly warming and rising approach to the long-delayed volcanic, eruptive, climactic edge being savored all the more by this manner of the mature fuck. As the big dick anticipated the long, propulsive release of baby-infused, Creole creaminess, it knew the pulses of ejaculatory ecstasy would be passed to me by the energy.

In the coming release, and by the knowledge of the adjacent sensuous pluggings now unfolding within inches of my union, I knew that the practiced patience would reward the people with whom I was inordinately close. All four of whom I desired to share the magnified effect by this way of doing the deed.

I held the dark brown glass cylinder in my fingers as I used the opposing fingers of my other hand to close off the manly nostril of the nose on the man now staring deeply into my eyes. He inhaled slowly, then I switched the like action to the other nostril.

Having just served myself to the popper high, I was reveling in the view of Ambergai Gee and the feeling of his long, swinging dreadlocks caressing my skin. I listened to and felt the slow beavering fuck coming down next to us. My stud husband, Jeremy, enjoyed the same sensations we were as he passed along the feelings to Bryce.

Bryce, who was slobbering hungrily on the rhythmically synchronous Italian curve sliding down his throat to the same pace of the two fuckers. His new life lover, Adolpho, made sure to hold his boy’s legs wide open for Jeremy as he matched the two black dicks’ rhythm. We desired mutual arrival at the doorway of elusive five-way bliss.

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

Jeremy and Gai vied for the cream afterward, Adolpho too new an initiate to gay methods for partaking yet. At least in the vision of anyone other than his baby, Bryce. Scooping the pearlescence, the two ritually smeared each other’s mouths, allowing the licking clean of both men’s long fingers by the other’s tongue and lips. The ultimate expression of domination by black men over white men: cannibalizing the next generation.

If ever the religious right feared the expansion of their concept of sinful manifestation, our group perception of gay consummation provided the template.

We all luxuriated in our communalism, sharing collective intimacies as we recovered our wits and backed down from the peak just scaled. Should others desire to understand our bohemie: get high, do a hit of poppers, multiply the effect by fifty while climaxing during a thunder and lightning storm in the middle of a hurricane. One might then possibly understand…it was exhilarating.

Jeremy scooched over to me as Gai arose to get towels and washcloths, whispering nothings-at-all into my ear. I giggled back at him. Adolpho covered his tow-headed blond boyfriend with kisses because he could and we awaited Gai’s return.

When he walked back into the room, big dick swinging possessively at us all, we pounced. Bombarding him with questions for which we had been awaiting answers since Hallowe’en night. When he had finally returned to us.

Jeremy, the man’s protégé and long lost confidant, took the lead. “OK, my man, Gai, where in hell did you disappear to and why did you leave without a word?” Among the multitude of questions, these two were the most perplexing.

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

Clearing his throat, he asked to light up some ganja so Bryce got a blunt out, minding our patriarch. After exhaling a long toke, he began.

“Ma’ pussy boys, ya’ all need t’know a bit a’ the few t’ings mi does before ya’ may unnerstan on th’appenin’s around o’late. So, mi a’gonna tell ya, now, Mons. Be listenin’ close.”

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

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

They did hold to some macabre beliefs, too, though. After vanquishing their enemies in battle, they would save some bones of enemy bodies. Upon going to fight the next time, they pulled the bones out and gnawed on them symbolically. To bring strength and courage.

Like all religions, internal divisions developed through the years over differing interpretations of their beliefs. Squabbles turned into blood feuds. Now, a fundamentalist offshoot, the Rasta, had deemed the time right for purging the impure.

He said many other things, too, but these ideas were enough to explain to us what had happened. Gai told us that he had gotten word at the opera house reggae concert--- the one Jeremy and I had attended--- that agents of the Rasta fundamentalists had put a ‘hit’ out on the band called ‘The Mighty Diamonds’, believing the music group had corrupted the true beliefs the Rasta held dear.

The victims of the mountain attacks, far from being tourists, were instead, stagehands from the reggae group. When members from the Rasta sect had caught up with them, the victims had been chased. They had attempted escape by a high mountain route but were caught and horribly murdered. The two were dismembered according to ritual cleansing rites in demand of atonement for the bands’ drift away from the ascetics’ beliefs.

Black bears had only happened along afterward, apparently by chance, dragging away some of the body parts. Their tracks left the appearance of them being the perpetrators of the killings.

The night of my frightful experience in our bedroom, the Rasta had tracked Ambergai Gee to our home. Somehow reaching the balcony entrance, the assassin for some reason had aborted that attempt in the religious vendetta, or perhaps it was only a scouting venture. Regardless, he had retreated, jumping down from the balcony and escaping into the night, leaving the torn patch of burlap clothing stuck to the tree where I had discovered it.

Gai figured he had been startled, maybe by me. But having also seen the disappearing figure, he had rightly identified a threat to his ‘family’, Jeremy and me. He had resolved to leave us to ensure our safety, and try to avenge the wrong while ridding the threat...

He spent the next days pushing forward to do just that. Using Adolpho’s remote, abandoned house as a base, he had convinced another stagehand from the band, who had also remained in the area, to help him. The stagehand had tracked down the true murderers but had been brutally attacked and hacked in the confrontation.

During this assault, the bear clan had once again shown up, maybe drawn by the smell of the blood, Gai reasoned. They succeeded in terrorizing the terrorists themselves before they had finished their macabre aims. While interrupting the gruesome deed, their presence had furthered the public’s fear that marauding bears were attacking humans.

Gai had happened on his cohort afterward and was aggrieved to find him alive but partially dismembered by the Rasta. He had taken the man to the hospital in hopes of saving him and then left to go after the zealots.

The day of Hallowe’en, Gai had caught up to the perpetrators and ‘brought a end to da’ rampage’, as he put it. He would not tell us the details of what had happened, only that the threat no longer existed. As well, he had gone to the Sheriff with the evidence, proving what had occurred. The assassins and their ilk would not make menace again.

His critically injured friend had regained consciousness only long enough to verify Gai’s account, succumbing in comatose peace soon after. The Sherriff, along with the town officials, had decided to allow the bear attack story to remain intact, relocating the bear clan to a remote area of another mountain range away from humans. The case was now officially closed. The cover up was to persist, the truth never to be told… We were all sworn to secrecy and must agree to hold the knowledge close amongst just us. He had insisted.

Our pact sealed the ending of the whole affair, and the ritual lighting of the hookah hash pipe provided both closure and then levity after the sad tale. In true Jamaican fashion.

Ambergai Gee, IV, informed us that by taking turns bringing the Daddy Rastafarian of the domicile to climax, while the rest of us watched, we could all be sufficiently expiated for our knowledge. Well, we all ‘sucked’ it up and did the penance. Now, if that didn’t seem like the kind of religious ritual I could embrace, then I didn’t know what ever would.

Boy, did we sleep like babies that night…

Continue Reading
Further Recommendations

Queenlovelyone: I love this book. Hope it gets hotter

Piyu: This is the first time i have ever left a review on a book...i liked all your books..but i never commented or anything..i did not even think about seeing the comments or review..I got so invested in this book that i literally can't help myself commenting..We knew from the start that tobias and ai...

Lala: This book was quick read but a great one. I liked how the author had the store come full circle and didn't leave any gaps in the storyline.

Max & Alex: Beaucoup de fautes comme rien c'est rein et j'en passe ...

kenju99: Very spicy, but a bit unbelievable.

25tllegere: Love! It's wonderful how they all connect with each different story.

Diana: I just love the way you write

LadyGlover: Great book with a brilliant plot line, looking forward to reading the whole series

Nashla_343: Me encanta ❤️🤣 y me dio mucha risa

More Recommendations

StarArrow20023: Esta muy buena la recomiendo mucho porque tiene un buen trama y es de BTS

Angie: Loving this series can’t wait for more! Please please go on!

Kaari: I'm currently fighting a cold so laying in bed with all these characters to keep me company is perfection

Relator10: It's a believable world with funny anecdotes about the characters. The format with one MC take the spotlight at a time works well. People who into werewolfs should give this a try.

Heidi Witherspoon: This story keeps getting better. I’ve read the first 5 in one day. Couldn’t put them down.

About Us

Inkitt is the world’s first reader-powered publisher, providing a platform to discover hidden talents and turn them into globally successful authors. Write captivating stories, read enchanting novels, and we’ll publish the books our readers love most on our sister app, GALATEA and other formats.