Chapter 26 

Since there were no direct flights from New York City to San Antonio, Karl, on his way home, was required to fly into Dallas and take another flight to San Antonio. Because of storms blowing across Texas from the Rockies, the flight had been a rough one as they approached Dallas around noon on Monday. Upon arriving and checking the monitor for his departure gate, he found that his flight to San Antonio had been cancelled. At the desk, he learned that because of the severe weather, including tornado warnings and the danger of wind shear, all flights out of Dallas had been cancelled. The next flights to San Antonio would be scheduled for no earlier than mid-morning the following day.

Karl quickly retrieved his baggage and took a taxi to the Grayhound bus station where he was able to secure a seat on the next bus to San Antonio. Seated next to him was a young man dressed in normal cowboy work attire—jeans, jeans jacket, western hat, and boots. He had with him a small canvas bag. Since he could find no room in the overhead luggage compartment, he shoved it under the seat in front of him and hit Karl's boot in the process.

The young man said only, "Excuse."

After the bus had finally left Dallas and was on the highway to San Antonio, Karl turned to the boy and asked, "Do you live in San Antonio?"

"Nope."

"Just visiting, eh?"

"Sort of."

A few miles further down the road, Karl said, "It's pretty nasty weather out. I hope this bus doesn't get swamped in some flooded out road."

No reply.

Karl tried again, extending his hand. "My name's Karl. What's yours?"

This time the boy extended his hand and said, "My name's Clayton. Clayton Adams."

"I'm glad to meet you, Clayton. Can I call you Clay?"

"Whatever," mumbled the boy, continuing to look straight ahead.

Karl could tell that trying to have a conversation with this young man was going to go nowhere. Instead, he took his Wall Street Journal out of his attaché case and began to read.

Clayton Adams had a great deal to think about and was not in the mood for conversation. He had started out from Lubbock, Texas the day before and was on a sort of mission. There had been questions about his life that had always troubled him. But he had turned eighteen not long ago and he was determined now to find the answers.

Clayton leaned his head back on the headrest and closed his eyes. He thought back over the events surrounding his life that had led him to this day as the bus sped toward San Antonio. Shortly after his parents were married, his father deserted his mother, not knowing that she was pregnant with Clayton. Before Clayton was born, they divorced. Since she was unmarried at the time Clayton was born, she named him using her maiden name, Adams, rather than his father's name.

Clayton's mother, known by all her acquaintances as Dixie, was barely able to support both herself and Clayton, as well as two half-brothers, each conceived and born out of wedlock by different fathers. She worked a series of bartending jobs around West Texas. From time to time, Clayton asked about his father, but was told that he was dead; that he had been shot while involved in a drunken brawl. Each time Clayton asked about his father, he was given a slightly different answer by his mother, who had nothing good to say about him

One day, shortly before turning eighteen, while visiting his Grandmother Adams, he told her he had decided to do everything he could in order to find out the truth about his father and to find out what had happened to him. Clayton remembered that his grandmother had taken him out into her beautiful garden in Amarillo and they sat in the gazebo down the hill from the house. She took his hand in hers and told him the truth about his father. She said, "Your mother and father weren't suited for each other from the beginning. He lied to her about his business dealings and other things, and was unfaithful to her from the start. And it hurts me to say it, but she was no better.

Clayton asked his grandmother how he died. She told him, "I don't think that he did die. I heard recently that he was incarcerated at the Texas State Prison."

Clayton remembered replying, "Then I will be able to find him. Can you remember his name?"

"Yes, Clayton. It was Jared Walker. I have no idea why he went to prison. He has a brother who owns a cattle ranch down near Goliad. I believe his name is Michael Walker. But I'm not sure that it would be a good idea for you to try to see Jared. Dear Clayton . . . he never knew about you. He didn't know that your mother was pregnant when he left her.

Clayton was startled out of his thoughts suddenly as the bus came to an abrupt stop at the station in Waco to let off several passengers. When they were back on the road, he went back to remembering his effort to find his father. At the prison, he was able to secure a visitor's pass, registering as a family friend. He remembered that the visit was painful. He went over in his mind every word of the conversation with Jared Walker

"Mr. Walker," Clayton began. "I know that you don't know me, but my mother is Dixie Adams."

Jared looked blankly through the glass partition that separated the two. He said simply, "So what does that have to do with me?"

"Mr. Walker, I never knew my father, and I've been trying to find him. And my grandmother—Dixie Adams' mother—told me you were my father."

Jared, with a half smile on his face, said, "I never had any children with Dixie Adams."

"Do you remember Dixie Adams, Mr. Walker?"

"Yeah, I oughta remember her. I was married to her for a couple of months."

"But you didn't know that she was pregnant when you two broke up."

Jared sat as still as a stone staring unbelieving at Clayton. "You're trying to tell me that you are my son?"

"Yes, I believe I am your son."

Jared tipped his head back and looked down suspiciously at Clayton. "What is it you want from me? Are you looking for money? You must know I haven't got a fuckin' pot to piss in. Why are you here?"

"I just wanted to see you. I thought about you all my life. I sort of hoped I could find you some day and maybe we could be friends. I had to find out who my father was."

"Well, I ain't your father."

"Yes you are. I know you're my father because my grandmother Adams told me you are. And you have a brother, Michael, who owns a cattle ranch."

"Oh, so you know about him, too. He's a real son-of-a-bitch. I've got an idea. Why don't you go down and see him and tell him that you're his long lost son. He's so rich, he's got money coming out his bung hole. More than likely he'll pay you off big time to keep your fuckin' mouth shut."

"I don't want to get paid off, and he's not my father. You are."

"What's your name?" snapped Jared.

"Clayton."

"Well, Clayton, I can't do business with you. Just get your skinny ass out of here. And before you go, just a little advice. Don't get yourself involved with that brother of mine. He'll screw you every which way but up the ass. And he'll probably do that too. Now get out of here and don't come back."

"But I want to see you again and ask you some questions about when you were with my mom, and what you've been doing since you left, and . . . ."

"Look," snarled Jared. "I don't have a son. I've told you that. And I don't ever want to see you again!"

As the bus trundled through New Braunfels, Karl looked over at Clayton. His eyes were closed, but tears were streaming down his cheeks. He was clutching the arms of his seat so tightly that his knuckles were white.

Karl said softly, "Are you alright, Clay?"

Clayton opened his eyes suddenly and reached for his handkerchief. Wiping the tears from his face, he said, "I'm fine. I must have been sleeping."

When they finally pulled into the bus station at San Antonio late in the evening, Karl looked around for Michael who he had called to meet him. Turning to Clayton, he said, "Where are you headed, Clay? Is someone coming here to meet you?"

Looking around him as though he was not sure what to do, Clayton said, "I gotta find a way to get down to a ranch near Goliad."

"Well, Clay, I'm going down that way. I'm headed for the Walker Ranch."

Clayton swung around in surprise. "You are?"

"Yeah. Are you going to the Walker Ranch?"

"I gotta see someone. I gotta see Michael Walker."

Putting his hand on Clayton's shoulder, Karl said, "Well, you're in luck. Michael Walker should be here to meet me. You can drive down with us. What is it you want to see Michael about?"

When Michael spotted Karl, he hurried over and hugged him, as Clayton looked on.

"Michael," said Karl, "This is Clay Adams. He was sitting next to me on the way down here and it's a real coincidence that I just learned he's been on his way to see you about something."

"Nice to meet you Clay. You were coming to see me? What can I do for you?"

"Well," began Clayton hesitantly, "it's private."

Michael said, "We're on our way back to my ranch. Are you staying here in San Antonio?"

I haven't planned on staying anywhere. I hadn't thought about that. I just need to talk with you."

Pointing to the small bag that Clayton was carrying, Michael inquired, "Is that all you have with you?"

"Yup. That's everything I own."

"Well, Clayton, you come on and drive down to the ranch with us. It's late, and we'll put you up down there for the night. Okay?"

"Ya, okay."

Clayton sat silently in the backseat all the way to the ranch, while Michael and Karl chatted about ranch business. When they arrived, Michael showed Clayton into Jeff's room, where the bed was freshly made up by Maggie after Jeff and Paul departed for Austin.

"It's pretty late, Clayton. You get some sleep now and we'll talk in the morning. The bathroom's right down the hall there. I'll put some towels on the rack behind the door for you."

After Michael and Karl crawled into bed, they rolled into each other's arms and kissed.

Michael said, "Did this young man give you any hint what it was he wanted to talk to me about?"

"Nope. You heard him. He said it was private. He seems very emotional to me, though. I looked over at him once, and he was crying quite hard with really a flood of tears running down his cheeks. It seems to me something is really wrong. It's as though he is suffering some sort of really bad trauma."

"Well, anyway, my beautiful traveler. You are home at last. I think we're both pretty tired tonight."

"I know. Sleep tight and sweet dreams, my Prince. As Scarlet said, 'Tomorrow's another day.'"

That evening was one of Maggie's scheduled deliveries to Homer Kesselring. She had retrieved her old violin from Rhapsodie's apartment and had re-learned a piece she had once played at a student recital when she was very young. It was a violin transcription of the tenor aria, "La fleur que tu m'avais jetée" (The Flower Song) from Bizet's opera, "Carmen." She had practiced the piece until she felt she could no longer improve, although she knew it still was not very good. Tonight was the night when she would tune up Roman's violin and play the piece for Homer.

When Maggie arrived at Homer's door, she knocked several times, but there was no answer. She then went next door and asked his neighbor, Mrs. Johnson, if Mr. Kesselring had gone out.

"Why, no, Mr. Peterson. Mr. Kesselring never goes out." Mrs. Johnson then knocked on the door and called, "Mr. Kesselring, are you in there. Mr. Peterson is here with your dinner."

There was still no answer. "Mrs. Johnson," said Maggie, "Do you know if we can get a key to get in?"

"Yes, the landlady lives just below us on the ground floor."

When the landlady answered her door, Maggie said, "Would you be so kind as to unlock Mr. Kesselring's door. He doesn't answer when we knock. He's an elderly man, and he's not well. And I'm worried that something has happened."

When Homer's door was opened, Maggie rushed in to find him lying on the floor next to his desk. His wheelchair was lying on its side and a number of papers were strewn about.

Maggie kneeled down beside him and called to him. In a few minutes, Homer began to move and opened his eyes.

"What happened, Homer? Are you alright?"

"Oh, I must have fallen."

"That's obvious!"

Homer was helped to a sitting position. "I went to my desk to get some stationary to write a letter, and I stood up a little to reach into one of the cubby holes. I could feel myself losing my footing. And that's all I remember."

"Next time, Homer, if something is out of your reach, you should wait until I get here or one of the other people who delivers your meals."

"But I needed to write this letter."

Why don't you just dictate it to me and I'll write it for you."

"It's a strictly private matter, Peterson."

"Okay, Homer," said Maggie as he helped Homer back into his wheelchair. "I have a little surprise for you tonight, Homer."

"What!" growled Homer. "Is it fried liver again for the sixth time this month?"

"No, no. You're having meatloaf tonight." Grabbing Roman's violin and thrusting it under his chin, he said, "The surprise is this! Ta Ta!"

"What's the surprise? The violin?"

"No, Homer. The surprise is that I'm going to play something on it."

Homer quickly turned toward the window and said, "No. Please don't."

"But Homer, you told me you would like to hear me play Roman's violin. And I practiced a long time on a piece just for you. Don't you want to hear it?"

Still looking out of the window, Homer said, his voice cracking slightly, "I know Peterson, but it's all too much for me. Roman's gone. There's no more music in his violin. There can't be any music in his violin when Roman is gone. I just couldn't bear it."

Maggie gently laid the violin and bow down on the desk chair and knelt down beside Homer. She could hardly speak, and she felt her throat choking with sadness for Homer. She thought, 'Why are all of us on this Earth meant to suffer our pain for so long? Why does it last a lifetime?' Maggie leaned her head on the arm of Homer's chair. She knew that Homer was once again silently pleading for Roman's forgiveness, as she was crying inside for her sister Angelina's forgiveness.

Soon Maggie dried her eyes and disappeared in the kitchen where she arranged the food on a plate as attractively as possible. When it was ready, they sat and ate in silence, Homer with his meatloaf, and Maggie with a cold chicken breast she had put in the refrigerator, left over from an earlier meal.

Eventually, Homer looked up and said, "Maggie, I'm really sorry. You've worked so hard and have been so kind to an old man. I didn't realize that . . . well, that people like you could . . . would take time out of your lifestyle . . . or rather, your life . . . to think about anybody else."

"Oh, Homer," sighed Maggie, "what you thought was that 'people like me' just ran around screaming like females and pinching other guys' asses, with nothing on our minds but having sex with each other and corrupting young boys' minds and turning them all into homosexuals and just generally grossing all you 'straight' people out. Right?"

"Oh, Maggie, I wouldn't . . . ."

"It's alright, Homer. You're finding out that some of us fairies are human beings just like you are. We've got hearts, too, you know. We actually cry when a 'straight' person is in trouble." Then trying to be a little humorous, Maggie said, "And guess what! There's 'gay blood' in the blood banks! Does that scare you? Doesn't it scare you that someday if you need a blood transfusion, you will be taking the risk of being turned into a homosexual? I wonder what kind of jolt that would give an eighty-year-old man."

"Maggie I know that won't happen. You don't have to talk to me that way. If you're human like you say you are, I hope you will show me a little patience. I'm trying, you know."

Putting her hand on Homer's arm, Maggie said, "I know you are, Homer. But I guess it really doesn't matter if you or anyone else understands people like me. We've gone on for a billion years with no one understanding how we feel and why we are the way we are."

Homer simply said, "I'm trying."

"Fair enough, Homer."

Soon Homer looked at Maggie with a smile and said, "Why don't you bring your violin next time? Roman's violin needs to remain silent. But I would like to hear the piece that you practiced for me. Okay?"

"Yes. Thank you, Homer. Next time."

After Maggie departed, Homer called his lawyer and asked that he come over and see him about an urgent matter the next morning.

On the morning following his arrival at the ranch, Clayton Adams awoke with a start at the sound of Maggie's dinner bell, signaling that breakfast was ready. He had to pee very badly, and he had his usual morning erection. He jumped into his briefs and hurried down the hall to the bathroom. Just as he walked in, he found both Michael and Karl stepping out of the shower together. Clayton was obviously embarrassed, and turned to leave.

"Oh, I'm sorry, Mr. Walker!"

"That's alright, Clayton. We're not very formal around here. We're all just a bunch of guys, and seeing each other without clothes is never any problem." Then winking at Karl, he said, "And sometimes when we're in a rush around here we just jump in and take our showers at the same time. You look like you've got to pee. Go ahead. We'll just finish drying ourselves."

Clayton's erection did not seem to be going down and he stood at the toilet with just dribbles coming out. He noticed that both Michael and Karl were making no effort to hide their own erections as they dried themselves off.

"Clayton," said Michael. "That bell you heard meant that breakfast is ready. I've asked the cook to set yours and mine up on the table on the front verandah. It's a beautiful warm day for November, and we'll be able to talk out there, and we'll have some privacy."

Clayton arrived on the verandah before Michael, just as Maggie was setting down a pitcher of orange juice and a basket of blueberry and apple muffins. Extending her hand, she said with a welcoming smile, "You must be Clayton. I'm the cook around here. They call me Maggie." And then leaning in close to Clayton, she whispered with a wry smile, "But I can't think why!" As she turned to leave, she said, "I'll be bringing out a platter of scrambled eggs and sausage as soon as Michael comes."

Clayton looked out over the vast range spread out before him, still covered with that shimmering layer of morning dew. He could hear roosters crowing in the distance and the sound of men's voices as the ranch hands were setting off on their chores. In spite of the nervous anticipation he felt, Clayton was aware of a certain sereneness that surrounded him.

When Michael arrived, Clayton stood up. "Don't get up! Please keep your seat. As I told you earlier, we don't stand on formality around here. Did you have a good night's sleep?"

"Yes, thank you," said Clayton. Then looking into Michael's eyes, he said, "You look just like him."

"Who do I look like?"

"I'm sorry. I guess I'd better explain. It's my father. I mean I never saw my father and didn't know who he was. He left my mother just before I was born. But all my life I've thought about him and imagined what he looked like and . . . . I wondered what it would be like to have him play with me and take me places and all that sort of stuff."

Michael said, "When you said that I looked like him, were you talking about your father? Do I look kind of like you imagined your father to look?"

"Yes. But you really do look like him."

"Have you seen him?"

"Yes. I finally found him. But he's in prison. I saw him yesterday. But he didn't believe he was my father. He wasn't a nice man at all. And he told me to stay away from you."

Michael could feel the blood rush to his head. He couldn't believe this. Was he talking about his brother, Jared. "Clayton, what are you talking about? What's this man's name?"

Clayton looked down at his plate. "I know that you are his brother. My grandmother told me about you. His name is Jared Walker."

Michael's grip loosened and his fork dropped to the plate with a clatter. "You? You . . . are Jared's son?"

Clayton suddenly felt afraid. He saw a look of anger, and even rage, building in Michael's eyes. Clayton stood up and backed away, bumping against the wall. He could feel his hands shaking. "I'm sorry, Mr. Walker, I've ruined everything. Nothing's going right."

"No, no, Clayton! Please sit down! It's alright! It's just that I didn't know. Please sit down." The kindness had now returned to Michael's eyes.

"Mr. Walker, I don't want to be any trouble. All I wanted was to find my dad. But all the dreams I had of him turned out to be lies. Then I just had to see you. I thought maybe you might be a little bit like what I dreamed my dad was."

Michael got up and put his arm around Clayton's shoulders and led back to the table. "Clayton, please sit down again. I'm sorry I frightened you. It's just that I never knew that Jared had a son, or any children for that matter. Please believe me, I am so glad that you came to see me." Then with a smile, he said, "I'm your uncle you know. And did you know that you've got a cousin, too. A very nice cousin about your age. His name is Jeff and he's twenty. How old are you, Clayton?"

"I'm eighteen."

"Well, Jeff is away at school, but he comes back home on most weekends. You'll meet him next weekend. Where do you live, and when are you going back home?"

Feeling a little more relaxed, Clayton said, "I used to live up in Lubbock. But I left there last spring when I graduated from high school. I was just getting in my mom's way. I've always been in my mom's way. I've been out doing odd jobs, just taking care of myself."

"Where do you live, Clayton?"

"I went over to Amarillo. That's where my grandmother lives. And I just stay at the YMCA there for ten dollars a week. And I've done some janitorial work, and some yard work jobs. I get enough to live on pretty good. I keep my own account book and I keep track of every penny I earn and every penny I spend, just like I learned in my bookkeeping class in school. I keep track of how much I spend on food, on rent, on clothes, and on movies. And I've been saving up money to buy a car. There's a guy who works at the YMCA, and he has a 1972 Pinto that he'll sell me for a hundred bucks. I've already got almost eighteen dollars saved up."

"Well, Clayton, you need to stay here for awhile, and get to know your family."

Clayton felt a smile coming over his face. Here he was in this strange, but beautiful place, with his family. His real family! It was hard for him to believe what was happening. But he was determined not to be a burden. He had taken care of himself pretty well in the months since he left home, and he was proud of that.

Clayton looked at Michael very seriously and said, "Okay, I'll stay for awhile, but I need to find some work to keep adding to my car money."

"Let's not worry about that now," said Michael, getting from the table. "Come on with me and I'll introduce you to our foreman and he'll show you around the place. Would you like that?"

"Yes, I would."

After Michael left Clayton with Jake, he returned to the house to talk to Karl, who was working on some papers in the small office off of their bedroom. He told Karl what had just transpired.

"I'm still in shock, Karl. Clayton is the nicest young man. It's hard to believe he's Jared's son. But I know he is. He has Jared's features. He's my nephew, Karl, and I suddenly feel totally responsible for him. He just had the extreme misfortune of having that fuck-head for a father. And when he finally found his father, his father treated him like shit. It brings tears to my eyes to think of an innocent child being treated like that. Well, anyway, he's found a home where he'll be loved as a member of the family if he wants to stay."

Karl said, "Where does he live and when does he have to go back?"

"He really doesn't live anywhere, Karl. And he really doesn't have anything or anyone to go back to. I just want to keep him here for awhile and we'll see how he fares with us. He doesn't have much money, so we'll be able to help him on that score."

Karl got up from the desk and went over to Michael, who was at the window looking out over the yard. He took Michael in his arms and said, "You are a wonderful person, Michael. There are few people in this world who deserve you. I'm one of the lucky ones to know you and be loved by you. And Clayton will soon find out for himself what a truly loving father is like, even though you are his uncle.

It was arranged that Corky would go back to San Antonio and stay with Trooper Mark McLeod again on the following weekend. On Friday afternoon, when Mark picked up his son, Jodi, from his mother's house, they went into Breckenridge Park. He bought an ice cream cone for each of them and found a picnic table where they could be alone to talk.

"Jodi, you know your dad has been alone now for a few years. It's been great having you with me on these weekends, though. But I want to tell you, Jodi, that I've met someone who I like very much, and who I'd like to have come and live with me sometime."

Jodi stared at his father with little expression.

"He lives on a ranch south of here, but he's coming up this afternoon to stay with me over the weekend. I've made up the bed in the other room for you. I want to ask you to sleep there while you're here this weekend. Would you mind?"

Jodi continued to stare at his father. Finally he said, "Why did you pick me up today to stay at your place. I could have stayed home. What's the reason for me to be with you this weekend? I thought these so-called visitations were supposed to be so we could be together. Let this other guy stay in the other bedroom."

"We will be together, Jodi. But just during the day. You'll like Corky."

"Corky? That's his name? What kind of a name is that?"

"Now I want you to be nice to him. There'll be no need for you to be discourteous."

Jodi said no more, but leaned back with a scowl on his face.

Later that afternoon, Corky came to the apartment and found both Mark and Jodi sitting in the living room.

"Oh, Corky, I want you to meet my son, Jodi. I've told you about him."

Extending his hand, Corky said, "It's nice to meet you Jodi."

Jodi didn't look up, but sat with his arms folded staring at the floor. Corky looked a little embarrassed, but Mark took him by the arm and led him into the kitchen. "He's okay, Corky. He's just a little put out that he has to sleep in the other room tonight."

Corky didn't like the situation at all. "Mark, I can't stay here tonight. How can I stay here with Jodi here. He gets to see you and be with you only a couple of weekends a month. I can see he's very unhappy. I'd better drive on back home. I can come up here again next weekend when he's not here."

Mark protested, "No way, Corky. You're staying. I can take care of Jodi. He has to realize that I have a life of my own."

"But you'll never have a life of your own," said Corky, "if he expects to have your attention every minute. And I don't blame him. He deserves your attention. You're his father."

"Yeah," whispered Mark. "But I'm also his lover, don't forget."

"I won't, but I wish I could."

That evening, Mark had pizza delivered. After the three of them finished two extra large pizzas and a six-pack of beer, they settled down to watch television. It was a tense evening. Mark was determined to change the routine of Jodi's visits, and demonstrate to Jodi that his father was in control of who he chose for his friends and who he chose to visit his apartment. Jodi remained sullen and quiet, glowering hatefully at Corky from time to time. Corky was totally unnerved and dreaded the moment when Mark would send Jodi off to his own room, leaving the two of them to sleep together.

The fearful moment did finally arrive, and Mark took Corky by the hand and led him into his bedroom, saying good night to Jodi, now looking hurt and abandoned.

Corky stood by the bed as Mark slowly undressed him, piece by piece. But Corky's mind was on the appalling situation of having Mark's son continue to sit just outside their door. As Mark removed each item of Corky's clothing, he kissed and licked each newly exposed area of Corky's body. They were soon lying in bed, with their bodies pressed together. Corky felt so small—almost delicate and fragile—being wrapped tightly in Mark's beautifully shaped and muscular arms. He could feel Mark's hard penis pressing against his.

Mark seemed almost animalistic in his fervor to envelop Corky's body in his arms and to taste every inch of it with his lips and tongue. At one point, Mark had Corky's entire body completely lifted off of the bed as he sucked on the hair and skin in Corky's crotch. Soon, Corky was lying on his back, and Mark was sucking on his toes and bringing his tongue up over his ankles and calves. Then up over Corky's knees and thighs. As Mark was sucking Corky's entire ball sack into his mouth, the door was suddenly flung open. There, silhouetted with the light behind him stood Jodi, completely naked.

Stunned, Corky gasped, "Jodi!"

Mark instantly rolled over on his back next to Corky. "Jodi, I asked you to have the courtesy to stay in your room tonight and leave us alone."

"Daddy, I'm the one who belongs in your bed, and you know it. You promised it would be only me." Jodi walked slowly toward the bed. Stopping on Corky's side, he ran his finger lightly over the hair on Cork's leg. "Let me stay with you just for a little while. Please."

Mark finally said, "Alright Jodi. But just for a little while."

Jodi climbed into the bed and lay down between Mark and Corky, and ran his hand down over Corky's stomach until it reached his hard cock. "Daddy," Jodi said in a little boy voice, "can I suck on Corky's big cock?"

Mark looked over at Corky, and Corky merely gave a shrug of resignation. As Jodi rolled on top of Corky and sucked Corky's throbbing penis into his mouth, Mark rolled over and ran his tongue down between Jodi's ass cheeks.

Jodi said, "Get it good and wet, Daddy, and then please fuck me."

As Jodi vigorously sucked Corky's cock down to the hilt, Mark—this enormous hulk of a Texas State Trooper—mounted his son from behind and pushed his gorged penis into his ass hole. Jodi's tongue action on his penis head started to bring Corky to the point of no return. As Corky began to moan, Mark felt his own orgasm building. Almost simultaneously, Mark and Corky let out a loud yell as they each released his load—Mark flooding his son's rectum with stream after stream of hot sperm, and Corky filling the boy's mouth with his own cum.

When Mark collapsed with a grunt onto both Jodi and Corky, Corky could feel the air literally being pushed out of his lungs. He struggled to get out from under both of them and sat gasping for air.

Soon, they were lying next to one another, with both Mark and Corky gently caressing Jodi's body, which lay between them. After several minutes, Mark said, "Jodi, I think you should go back to your room now. Corky and I would like to have some time alone together. Please."

Jodi sat up and said, "Sure, you two get to shoot your loads, but I'm sent away without getting to shoot mine. If you make me go, I'll go. But let me get my own nuts off before I go."

"Okay, Jodi, go ahead," sighed Mark.

"No, I don't want to jerk off. I want to shoot up your ass."

Almost obediently, Mark raised his legs up as high as he could, revealing and presenting his asshole to his son. Jodi's cock seemed almost as large as Mark's, and as Jodi mounted his father, he plunged it into his hole almost violently. Corky lay there, hardly believing the sight of this rather small sixteen-year-old boy fucking his father as though he had total power over him.

"I'm cumming, Daddy," shouted Jodi as he pulled out and spewed his sperm in long ribbons upon his father's stomach and chest. When he had finished milking the last of the creamy thick liquid from his penis, he fell upon his father's stomach and licked up as much of his sperm as he could.

"Alright, now, Jodi," said Mark, "get along to your own room now and let Corky and me have some time together."

Jodi departed, whining "You never kicked me out before. And I hope you never do it again!"

Corky lay staring at the ceiling. Jodi had had his way with both him and Mark, but Corky was given no opportunity to do anything sexually with Mark. "Mark, I'm going to go back to the ranch tomorrow. I just wanted to be with you. But with Jodi here . . . this isn't what I planned."

Mark once again gathered Corky into his arms. "No, no, Corky. It's not gonna be the same tomorrow. He'll leave us alone. I'll see to that."

Corky awoke the next morning with Mark fully dressed and about to leave. "I'm sorry I woke you, Corky. I'm on duty all day again today. Entertain yourself with anything you can find around here. I'll see you at supper time."

Corky got up and dressed quickly. He thought about leaving San Antonio immediately, but decided that it wouldn't be right to walk out on Mark without talking with him again. He saw that Jodi was still asleep, and decided he would go out for breakfast and walk around town for a while.

At about three o'clock in the afternoon, Corky returned to the apartment. As he put the key into the door, he thought he heard voices inside. When he opened it, he could hear male voices from Jodi's bedroom. Looking in, he saw two adult men lying naked on Jodi's bed with Jodi sucking on the penis of one of them and, at the same time jacking off the other. When the two men saw Corky, they jumped up and started throwing on their clothes.

Jodi rolled over and looked at Corky, shouting, "What the fuck do you think you're doing. You don't have any right to walk in here like this—any fuckin' time you want!"

"What do you mean, asking me what I'm doing. What do you think you're doing?"

Both of the adult men, now with their pants on, ran out of the apartment with their shoes and shirt in their hands.

"Does your father know what you're doing?"

"It's none of your fucking business."

Seeing two fifty-dollar bills laying on the bedside table, Corky said, "Those two men left you money, didn't they."

"So what!"

You probably do this all the time for money, don't you."

"I said, so what!"

Corky shook his head. "I can't believe this. Where do you get these men?"

"They're all over the place. You don't even have to look for them. I go down around South Pressa, Flores, and Navarro Streets, and I just hang my fuckin' cock out, and I can get anybody I want."

Corky sat on the edge of the bed. "You're nothing but a street whore, aren't you. You're only sixteen years old, and you're an experienced male prostitute. Does your father know about this?"

"Shit, no."

"What if he finds out?"

"He won't."

"What if I tell him?"

"Go ahead. He'd never believe you. He's too stupid. But I'm not gonna let you screw things up for me, because I want to keep things the way they are. He ain't worth much, but he's a damn good fuck."

Jodi put on his jeans and tee shirt and a sweater and went out. Corky collapsed in a chair in the living room, simply not believing what he had just witnessed. He was not going to tell Mark about what he saw in the afternoon, but he made up his mind that he was not going to have Jodi interfere that evening in his time with Mark. At any hint that there would be a repeat of what had happened the night before, he was going to leave immediately.

When Mark returned home, he could sense that something was bothering Corky. He opened a couple of beers and asked Corky to go out on the balcony with him.

"I'm sorry I had to leave you alone today, Corky," said Mark. "You don't seem very happy. I take it you didn't have too good a day."

"Well, Mark, it probably wasn't the best day I've ever spent. But I do want to tell you that I'm not happy with the prospect of having your son, Jodi, force his way into bed with us again tonight. My interest is in you—not in group sex with both you and your son. Can you understand how I feel?"

"Sure, Corky. It's not gonna happen. I promise you."

Well, you said it wasn't going to happen last night. But it did. You gave in so easily to him. I know you've had this relationship with him for some time. And if you want to continue that, okay. That's fine with me. But if you want me too, I can't share you. If you want me, I've got to be the only one."

Mark leaned over and kissed Corky on the lips. "I understand that, and I promise you that you will be the only one."

After several more rounds of beer, Mark took hold of Corky's arm, and led him into the bedroom. Unbuttoning Corky's shirt, Mark soon had it off and let it drop to the floor. Just then they heard Jodi coming in the front door.

Standing in the bedroom door, Jodi said, "Are we going to bed so soon? Which one of you am I gonna fuck tonight?"

"Jodi, please, go on to your own room," Mark said firmly.

"No way, Daddy. The three of us are just getting started."

Mark shouted, "I want you to stop this, Jodi. I'm ordering you to go to your room now!"

Jodi just stood there. With a smile on his face, he began to slowly strip off his clothes. First his shirt, then his pants, revealing his fully tented under shorts.

"Jodi, I'm warning you!"

"Daddy, you're being very tiresome. If you decide to cut me out for . . . this cowboy, your department is going to learn first thing tomorrow morning that you are a child molester." Then in a pitiful sounding, child-like voice, he said, "I'm only sixteen years old, and you've been sexually molesting your own son for the past year."

Mark stood speechless, staring unbelieving at Jodi. Corky quickly picked up his shirt and put it on. Grabbing his small saddlebag, he ran for the door and left without a word.

As Corky drove on the darkened country roads toward the ranch, he thought back on what seemed like a dream. How could this horrible little monster of a boy have such a hold on his father, that big strong Texas State Trooper. 'It just isn't real,' he thought. But he knew he was falling in love with Mark. And he was sure that Mark had felt the same way about him.

It was very late at night when Corky drove into the back yard at the ranch. There was no sound. It was a Saturday night, and most of the hands were likely in town fucking their brains out, and those who hadn't gone in were in their beds asleep. It was so quiet and the yard lights cast their usual mournful shadows. Here he was again—a million miles from nowhere. Alone again. Another dream evaporated. As he continued to sit in the car, tears filled his eyes. 'Why,' he thought, 'does every dream I ever have end like this? Why?'

The next day, Corky had gone out with Brian to where a cow was reportedly having difficulty giving birth to a calf. Brian had encountered a case like this only once when he observed Adriano helping to birth a calf at the University Farms in Austin. Now he was confronted with the same situation—an occurrence that he had dreaded. He tried to remember everything that Adriano had done. Rolling his sleeve up to well above his elbow, he reached into the cow. Bloody liquid was pouring out and down his arm. He did all he could to control the terrible feeling that seemed to be rising in his stomach. He felt around for the shoulder of the calf and, hooking his hand around it, pulled as hard as he could. The cow was mooing loudly, obviously in pain.

"Oh, shit!" cried Brian. "It's not coming out. Come on you calf! Come out!" Brian pulled as hard as he could. Finally, he felt the calf begin to slip and he could see it's ears. He took the calf's head by both hands and pulled very hard. Then suddenly, the entire calf slipped out onto the ground with a rush of blood and liquid pouring all over Brian. Brian fell to the ground and began to laugh. He'd done it! He lay there watching the calf's mother begin to lick it clean. Brian wished that Josiah were there to see him do it.

As Brian lay there reveling in his accomplishment, Corky's cell phone rang.

"Hello, Corky here."

"Corky, this is Mark. I'm sorry about everything last night."

"I am too, Mark. I kind of knew things wouldn't work out."

"Well, Corky, the reason I'm calling you is to tell you that I went in this morning and resigned from the State Troopers."

Corky shouted, "Oh, no!"

"Corky, if Jodi was going to shit on me, I was going to resign before they could fire me."

"Mark, why would he go to them and tell them those awful things if you did what he wanted you to do—go to bed with him?"

"I didn't let him go to bed with me. After you left, I threw him out. I called a taxi. Then I picked the little fuck head up and carried him down, kicking and screaming, and threw him into the back seat of the taxi along with all the stuff he kept here at the apartment. I gave the taxi driver his mother's address."

Corky was almost speechless. "I can hardly believe this, Mark. But he was your son. Are you sure you did the right thing?"

"Corky, since I met you last week, I've been doing a lot of thinking. I've been thinking about what's important. You're important to me, Corky. That kid has just used me. I've known that for a long time. His mother's done a great job in making him hate me. I know now that he could put my relationship with you in jeopardy. And I'm not going to have that. I feel so bad that I allowed him to walk in on us the other night like he did."

Corky's legs felt weak and he sat down on the ground with a thump.

Both Corky and Mark were silent for a few moments until Mark said, almost inaudibly, "I think I'm falling in love with you, Corky. I need to see you."

Corky answered, "I think I'm falling in love with you too, Mark. I can't get away from here, though, until next weekend. Maybe you could come down and see me here at the ranch. I have my own room."

"I'll come down tonight. Okay?"

"Yes! Okay! You won't believe I'm sitting here on the ground with a newborn calf in front of me and blood and glop all over the place. And I have a big smile on my face with tears rolling down my cheeks. I'll see you later, my dear Mark."

Brian looked over at Corky. "What's the matter Corky? Good news or bad news?"

"I think it's good news, Brian." As he got up to leave, he said. "Oh, and by the way, Brian. Congratulations on birthing your first calf!"
 

To be continued...