My Father, My Son
by: Tom Borden

2000-2008 by the author


The author retains all rights. No reproductions are allowed without the author's consent. Comments are appreciated at...


Jared was led back to his the cellblock. As he heard the steel gates of his cell close behind him and the guard's footsteps on the steel decking slowly fade away, he sunk to his knees next to his cot. How could this have happened? How could his brother, Michael, hate him so much? Now he knew he would never see Clayton again. Five more years. He knelt there, feeling nothing, as though there was no life left in him. He slowly pulled the sheet from his bed and, without hardly thinking, he began to tear it into strips. His mind was virtually blank. There were no thoughts. There were no hopes left. There was no life left. Tying several cloth strips together, he climbed onto the wooden chair in his cell and tied one end to the large water pipe that ran overhead. Still standing on the chair, he tied the other end securely around his neck. He had no tears, no thoughts, no hope. Then kicking the chair out from under him, everything went dark.


Chapter 51 


The ride back to the ranch was subdued. Michael, Jeff, and Paul said little, each sitting silently with his own thoughts. Michael felt relieved that he now had five more years without worry before Jared would once again come up for parole. Then he said, "I'm glad all this happened after my mom and dad were gone. I always thought mom favored Jared over me just a little. I guess the first-born is always looked upon as being just a little more special. You know, Jared and I always got along when we were kids. He was a typical big brother, and he looked after me. He really started going wrong when Ol' Ben died and cut him out of his will."

Then after remaining quiet for awhile, Michael said, "I've never stopped missing that big brother. But I don't have a big brother anymore. I haven't had one for a long time. I always wished the clock could have been turned back and he and I could once again be what we were to each other.

Paul said, "Michael, you know what the prison Chaplain said when he called you. Maybe he has really changed. You know, stranger things have happened."

"Yeah," said Michael with a sigh.

When they arrived home, Tony came out to meet them and said, "Well?"

Michael said, "Parole was denied. Where's Clayton?"

"He's over there in the horse barn."

Michael found Clayton spreading hay in the stalls. "Clayton, it's done. Jared was denied parole."

Clayton stopped and put down his pitch fork and said nothing. He just looked out of the open half-door at the end of the stall he was working in.

"Clayton, did you hear me?" said Michael. "Jared was denied parole." Walking closer, Micahel put his hand on Clayton's arm. "What's the matter, Clayton?"

"Oh, I don't know," said Clayton, looking down at the ground. Then looking at Michael, he said, "I guess that's good news."

Michael said softly, "Come on over here and let's sit down. What is it, Clayton? I thought you'd be relieved."

Clayton reached into the breast pocket of his shirt and pulled out the folded up letter that Jared had sent him. "It's this letter, Michael. I've been reading it a lot. I just don't know. I just don't know."

Michael sat quietly. He didn't know what to say.

Finally, Michael said, "Clayton, come on in the house. It's dinnertime now. I know something's bothering you, and we can talk more about it after dinner. Okay?"

"Shit! Why do them sons-a-bitches always do that?" snarled the night prison guard as he peered into Jared's cell where Jared was hanging by his neck. Getting on his cell phone, he shouted, "Git up here to Cell 44B! Another fuck-head has hung hisself!"

Two men from the infirmary arrived quickly. Untying the sheet, they lowered Jared's body onto a gurney and wheeled him away. He was brought into an examining room, where the prison doctor examined the body. After checking all of the vital signs, he said, "This man still has some life in him, but barely. Get him into the infirmary and get him on oxygen immediately. Maybe we can save the old devil." Then, as he removed his gloves and threw them into the waste can, he said, "Why the fuck do these characters try to kill themselves like that? It's pretty sad."

Jared was completely unconscious, but he had a faint pulse. The prison chaplain, Father Taft, was summoned, as he always was in cases like this. When he entered the room, he said, "Oh, my God. It's Jared Walker. He had no reason to do this." Then looking at one of the orderlies, he said, "He's not a Catholic, but he freely gave me his confession one day. He received the forgiveness of the Lord Jesus Christ. He had no reason to do this."

Because of the seriousness of Jared's condition, Father Taft administered the last rites and left to call his brother, Michael.

Michael had just finished supper and when he answered the phone, Father Taft said, "Mr. Walker, I have some bad news to impart to you. After the parole hearing today, your brother, Jared, tried to take his own life."

"Oh, my God!" gasped Michael.

"He had tried to hang himself in his cell, and when he was found, he was still barely alive. It is entirely uncertain whether or not he will pull through. I thought I would call you in case you would like to come and see him."

"I don't know, Father," said Michael. "Would he recognize me?"

"Well, he's still unconscious, of course. The doctors said they didn't know just how long he had been without oxygen. There may be extensive brain damage because of that."

Michael was shocked. The thought actually occurred to him that this was yet another scheme that Jared was using to gain attention. But he knew better.

"Thank you for calling, Father. I'm not sure what I'll do," said Michael.

"It's entirely up to you to do what you wish, Mr. Walker. But under the circumstances of your brother's confession, and his expressions of contrition, I thought you might be interested. That is why I called. Goodbye."

Michael hung up the phone and, while Tony was cleaning up the kitchen, he walked into Clayton's room. He found Clayton lying on his bed, staring at the ceiling. Michael sat down on the edge of the bed and, leaning over, kissed Clayton on the forehead. Clayton turned his head and smiled at Michael. Then he reached up with both arms and pulled Michael down close to him.

Kissing Michael on the lips, Clayton said, "I love you, Michael. You're my dad. And no one can replace you."

Michael said softly, "But you're thinking about Jared, aren't you?"

"Kind of," replied Clayton.

"What is it, Clayton? Would you like to see him again?"

"I don't know."

"I'm afraid I have some news. The prison chaplain just called me and told me that Jared had tried to take his own life after the parole hearing. They rescued him, but he's just barely alive. They're doing what they can to save him."

Clayton stared at Michael in disbelief. Then he pulled Jared's letter from his pocket again and looked at it. His eyes were brimming with tears. "This letter. Maybe he really did mean what he wrote me," said Clayton, choking on his tears.

Michael held Clayton tightly in his arms and whispered, "The Chaplain asked if I wanted to come to see him. Would you like to see him, Clayton?"

Clayton, unable to speak, nodded his head.

Adriano and his father, Mario, set out for the courthouse to start Mario's application for Resident Alien status in the United States. On the evening before, however, Mario had an unpleasant encounter with Adriano's neighbor who lived in the apartment just across the hall. The man's name was Elmer Flatt. They had met in the elevator. Mario had said good evening and, with his Italian accent, introduced himself. Elmer Flatt glanced at Mario with a look of disdain, but said nothing.

When they arrived on their floor, Mario stood at his door searching for his key. As he did so, however, he heard Elmer Flatt's voice coming from inside his apartment as he yelled, "Well, Mildred, we've got another goddamned Dago moved into this building. Ain't there no place in town we can git away from these goddamned Wapps?"

As Adriano and Mario sat in the waiting room, waiting to see an immigration officer, Mario said, "I hate to go back to the apartment in a way in case I run into Flatt again."

"Don't worry about it, Dad," whispered Adriano. "Just ignore him."

After returning home, Adriano went on into the apartment, while Mario stepped across the hall to look at the Flatt's apartment number. As he did, Elmer Flatt opened the door and said, "Git away from here. What're ya tryin' to do? Come in and rob us? All you fuckin' Dagos are alike. I don't trust any of ya!"

Mario could feel the steam rising around his collar. "Listen, Flatt! I don't like being called a Dago. I have as much right in this building as you do!"

"Oh, yeah?" countered Flatt.

"Yeah, and as far as I'm concerned, I don't like low-life, loud-mouthed Americans like you!"

"Then why don't ya haul yer little Dago ass back to the place where ya came from!" shouted Flatt.

"I'll see you dead before I leave here," shouted Mario. "This is my son's apartment, and I'm a guest here. I have every right to be here!"

As Mario turned to his own door, he saw the neighbors from two other apartments in the hall peering out of their doors to see what the disturbance was all about.

Adriano fixed his father a very strong whiskey sour, and they both sat quietly watching the evening news. Adriano had seen his father's temper when he was a young boy still living in Florence. But this had been the first time in many years that he saw it erupt again.

"Dad," said Adriano finally, "I don't want to have you sitting here steaming all evening. I won't fix any supper tonight. Why don't we go on out to eat somewhere and then go over to the Nest for a couple of hours? I hate to see you so upset, Dad. You need to get out and get your mind off of Flatt."

The night had finally come for Caleb's housewarming party . . . with Michael as the only guest. Michael had been thinking about what to buy as a housewarming gift for Caleb. But when he and Enrique were looking through Ol' Ben's things in storage, he saw a large mantle clock that had been in the Walker home for several generations. It was an antique eight-day wind-up clock with a carved walnut case and a beautiful brass pendulum that could be seen through a glass door that had once been back-painted with a scene of cows grazing in a field. Most of the painting had been worn off, but was still visible. Michael remembered that, when they were boys, he and Caleb used to wind it up and listen to its mellow chimes as it struck each hour. Caleb had always been fascinated with that clock, and Michael felt it would be a perfect gift for Caleb's new home. It bore a connection between himself and Caleb that went back to their childhood.

When Caleb heard the doorbell, he greeted Michael with a fresh triple Scotch. Handing it to Michael, he invited him in. With the clock wrapped up and held under one arm, Michael threw his other arm around Caleb's neck and they kissed deeply and long.

Michael took a quick look around and said, "Caleb, you done good! This is really a beautiful apartment! I won't ask you what you paid for it. It looks so comfortable, not exactly like a typical austere bachelor pad. Such beautiful furnishings!" Michael glanced around to see if there was a suitable place for the clock. There was no mantle since there was no fireplace.

"Caleb, this is for you and your new home," said Michael, handing him the package.

Caleb took the package and said, "I didn't mean for you bring anything, Michael." As he unwrapped the package and saw what it was, his mouth dropped open. "Michael! This is that beautiful clock that belonged to your family. It always sat on the mantle in your living room! You're not giving it to me, are you?"

"Of course, Caleb. It's yours now. It has a lot of memories for both of us, doesn't it?"

"You're going to make me cry, Michael. If you really mean it . . . if you're really letting me have it, I'll treasure it more than just about anything I have." Caleb carried the clock over to a chest on the other side of the living room and carefully placed it there. "This is where I'll put it so I can see it wherever I am."

Caleb wound the clock as well as the chimes, and set the time, which was about three minutes to eight. After setting the pendulum to swinging, he came back and sat on the sofa with Michael. As they both looked at the clock, it began chiming the hour of eight. It was a sound that Michael had heard all his life as a boy. Caleb turned and took Michael in his arms, and they kissed passionately.

"I'll never know how to thank you, Michael," said Caleb, kissing Michael lightly on the lips between almost every word. "I don't want to get up, but I want to go in and get my own drink, and I've got a tray of goodies for us to nibble on."

When Caleb went into the kitchen, Michael leaned his head on the sofa back and listened to the soft music that Caleb had put on. He recognized it as a Beethoven's Piano Concerto No. 5, popularly known as the Emperor Concerto. When Caleb returned, they drank and nibbled on the goodies. They talked about the schedule for Caleb's wife's trial and also about the turn of events concerning Jared.

Soon, Caleb said, "I'm expecting you to stay the night here, Michael. Now that we have had the housewarming, we still need to have a bed warming! It's a brand new one!"

"When did you learn to be so subtle, Caleb?" said Michael with a quizzical look on his face. "I don't know what you're suggesting. Of course, if you use force on me, you're bigger than I am, and I might not be able to fight you off."

Caleb said, "Do you want me to be clearer as to what I'm suggesting?"

"Yeah, tell me what you're really asking."

"Okay, Michael. I want to fuck the shit out of you tonight. Okay? Is that clear enough?"

"Oh, yeah! I like a guy who says what he's really thinking!" said Michael with a big smile. "And maybe you'll let me fuck the shit out of you, too!"

"Well, it is my bed, and I'll have to think about that, Michael."

After their third triple Scotch, Caleb took Michael by the hand and led him into the bedroom, already lit with very soft lights, turned down as low as they would go. "My God!" said Michael, "This looks like you're expecting someone!"

"Stop the cute stuff, Michael, and get out of those clothes!"

As Caleb threw back the bed covers, Michael stripped down to his boots. "I love the boots, Michael," said Caleb. Is there anything else you have to offer?"

"Quit it, Caleb!" said Michael as he threw himself on the bed. "Now you're trying to be cute. Let me watch you do a slow strip."

As Michael began to slowly stroke his enlarging penis, he watched as Caleb removed each piece of clothing in an agonizingly slow way and threw it on the floor in a heap. As he watched this, Michael's penis grew to its full rigid size. Caleb leaped onto the bed and spread Michael's legs so that he could get his head between his thighs and suck in each of Michael's balls.

As Michael continued stroking, Caleb said, "Don't cum now in my hair! I just shampooed it!"

Lifting Michael's legs, Caleb brought his tongue down to that warm, moist region protected from invaders by Michael's firm round ass cheeks. With his hands, Caleb took hold of those luscious orbs and opened the door to a dark cavern at the end of which was that beautiful red jewel of a hole. He could see that the hole was snapping and clenching as an invitation to enter Michael's body. Sinking his face deep into the trench, Caleb searched with his tongue through the thicket of soft hair until it reached its prize. As he sunk his tongue through the welcoming hole into Michael's rectum, Michael moaned with exquisite pleasure.

Michael muttered, "I need your cock in there, Caleb. Fill me up with it. Please."

Caleb quickly got up on his haunches and mounted Michael and, without warning, thrust his hard penis into Michael's saliva filled ass crack and then in through the waiting hole. "Oh, fuck me hard, Caleb. I need it so badly!" cried Michael.

As Caleb pushed in and out, Michael watched Caleb's chest muscles ripple. The soft light cast a pinkish glow on Caleb's skin, bringing Michael to a frenzy of passion for Caleb's body.

"I'm close, Michael," growled Caleb. "I'm gonna cum!"

Michael said, pull out, Caleb. I want to see every stream of your hot thick cum shooting out onto me!"

Michael could feel Caleb's penis enlarging in his rectum and said, "Pull out and shoot it on me! Please!"

Caleb pulled out just as he started hurling volley after volley of thick white cream onto Michael's stomach and chest, with a large glob landing on Michael's lips. Sweat was pouring off of Caleb's chest, and his chest hair glistened with tiny droplets. As Caleb began to milk out the last drops of sperm from his penis, he said, "I tried my best, my sweet man, to shoot it all up as far as your mouth, but it just shot where it wanted to."

As Michael straightened out his legs, Caleb scooted down and took Michael's gorged stiff penis in his mouth. Michael said, "I don't know if I'm going to cum very well, Caleb. Just before I came over, I peeked into Jeff's and Paul's room since the door was ajar, and there they were, both naked, and Jeff was on his knees fucking Paul doggy fashion with that big delicious cock of his. I love watching Jeff's ass cheeks when he fucking. They are so round and luscious as they bounce up and down. They didn't see me, but when I went back to my room, I was so hot watching them that I jacked off in the shower. I just couldn't help it."

Caleb said, I saw your son, Jeff, once walking down the hall naked. What a body he's got. He obviously took after his old man. And I agree about those ass cheeks. I've fantasized more than once about having my face in between them while I jerk off.

"Well, Caleb, who knows? You might have a chance sometime. But if you do, you'll have to have Paul at the same time. That's the rule they follow.

"Anyway, Michael," said Caleb, "getting back to you and your ability to cum on demand, I've never had to worry about you. I used to see you cum three or four times in one night. I'll bet I can make you cum now in no more than three minutes!"

Caleb took the full length of Michael's penis into his mouth and vigorously stroked it from hilt to tip with his lips. He could feel the veins around the penis begin to bulge and feel hard. After only about a minute, Michael reached down and pushed Caleb's head off.

"Okay, Caleb, you win. I was just about shoot. But I'd rather shoot up your hole. That's what I've been looking forward to. Remember, I said earlier I hoped you'd let me fuck the shit out of you."

"Fair enough, Michael. I really want your cock up inside of me. But I also was looking forward to drinking a nice big load."

"Maybe later, if you're so sure I can cum another time," said Michael as he mounted Caleb, who had pulled his thighs up tight against his chest. Caleb looked hard at Michael as he started to hump harder and harder. He thought back when they were teenagers, he would look at Michael's body as Michael fucked him. His chest was smooth then, and he had no pectoral bulges at all with just the tiniest little nipples. Now he looked at Michael's chest, which showed strong pectoral muscles bulging and rippling beneath a soft layer of light hair. Michael's nipples were now large and brown and sticking out from his chest like small hard rocks. He thought to himself that he surely could have had Michael as his lifetime partner if he had only not been so stupid when he was young.

Caleb watched Michael's sweat-covered face as it began to distort into an agonizing orgasmic grimace. Throughout all his pumping, Michael was concentrating so much on the enjoyment he was feeling that he literally forgot to swallow as saliva filled his mouth. As his penis began to throb and shoot his sperm into Caleb's ass, saliva began to dribble out of his mouth and off of his chin. The sight of this was so erotic to Caleb, that he felt his own orgasm building as he could feel Michael's penis throbbing against the rim of his asshole with each surge of cum. Before Michael had thrown his last volley of sperm into Caleb, Caleb's hard penis erupted with his second load of sperm, shooting it all the way up to his chin.

Soon, Michael pulled out and straightened Caleb's legs, massaging them lovingly as he did so. Then leaning over and licking Caleb's chest and chin clean, Caleb said, "Is this as good as it was with Karl?"

Michael raised up and said, "Caleb, that's not a fair question."

Caleb pulled Michael's head down and kissed his lips, tasting the remains of his own cum. "I know it wasn't. It was not in good form for me to ask such a thing. I already know how you felt about Karl. You and I have something different from what you and Karl had. Please forgive me, Michael."

Michael stretched out alongside of Caleb and, as he threw his legs over Caleb's, said, "There's nothing to forgive, Caleb. You're right. Our relationship is different from that of Karl and me." Then propping up on one elbow, Michael ran his fingers over the fine features of Caleb's face. "Are you going to be alright living here alone like this?"

"Michael, I am so happy to be rid of that nasty shrew of a wife of mine. Compared to that, living alone is heaven."

"Well," said Michael, "I know that sometime you'll find someone who you'll fall for, and there's no way in this world that any guy wouldn't fall for you."

"Speaking of that," said Caleb, "do you remember this guy who lived at your place for awhile? I think his name was Steve. Didn't he go back to New England?"

"He sure did. I was sorry to see him leave. He was married and went back to see if he could save his marriage. There aren't too many guys as good looking as he was, and still be as gentlemanly as he was. He brought some eastern class down to the ranch."

Caleb said, "You knew about the time just before he left when Clayton and Tony and Steve got it on together, don't you?"

"Yes, I heard about it. It was a nice send-off just before he left."

"Well, Michael, I don't know if you knew this, but not long after Clayton and Tony left his room, I went in there that night asking for some soap since Noah and I were out of it. I knew that the two boys had been in there, but I found Steve idly lying there fucking himself with a dildo and a dreamy look on his face. I was suddenly really attracted to him, Michael, and somehow we ended up fucking each other. He's about twelve or thirteen years older than me, but I thought of him as being about my age when I was with him."

"Really?" said Michael.

Laughing, Caleb said, "We both had our asses full of cum. I had Noah's cum up there, and Steve had, I think it was Tony's cum up his ass. So when we fucked, we had a lot of good lubrication." Then turning to Michael, he said, "Do you think Steve will ever come back here? I've thought of him so much since that night."

"I don't know, Caleb. He seemed determined to leave and work on his marriage. I have a feeling he might have stayed, though, if it had worked out between him and Dan. But it didn't, and now Dan's gone."

"Did Steve leave a forwarding address or a phone number?"

"I don't think so, but I'll ask Tony. He would know one way or the other. You really liked him, didn't you?"

"Yeah. If I can't have you, Michael, Steve's the kind of man I could make a life with."

Soon, Michael and Caleb were feeling horny again and began playing with each other's penises and balls. This led to them getting into a sixty-nine position. "Now, Caleb," said Michael, "you have your chance at a good drink of my cum, just like you were hoping. Do you think you can cum a third time, Mr. Sixty-Minute man?

"Just watch me!" said Caleb.

The alarm rang at 6:00 a.m. just as the first rays of sunlight poured into the window. From the living room, Michael and Caleb could hear the old clock striking six. Caleb was due at the office at eight.

As Michael stretched and yawned, he reached over and tweeked Caleb's nipples. "Well, Caleb, I guess your new place has been warmed, and even your great new bed has been properly warmed." Then putting his hands behind his head, he said, "It was a great housewarming party, my love."

Caleb sat up and said, "Are you going to have to leave right away, Michael. I can fix some breakfast for us."

"No, thanks, Caleb," said Michael, throwing his legs over the side of the bed. "I have an appointment at the ranch with a guy about some bull sperm."

"Bull sperm?"

"Yeah. We used to borrow a bull from a little ranch just west of us to come in for a few days and fuck all the cows he could. But that guy started charging for it, and we found that it was a lot cheaper to buy frozen bull sperm."

"I never heard of that," said Caleb.

"Oh, that's been around for a long time. We buy it packed in steel containers that are kept frozen. The only trouble this time is that refrigeration broke down in the warehouse that stored it in San Antonio. Now all they've got is a warehouse full of thawed sperm. And that's no good. I'm going to talk to my supplier and see if we can purchase some from a place in Kansas City."

"Tell me, Michael," queried Caleb, "How do they collect that stuff. How do they make a bull shoot his cum without it being in a cow's cunt?"

"You know, Caleb, I never did know how they got it. One thing I know is that they don't jack off the bull. You've seen the size of a hard bull cock, haven't you? It's like a baseball bat, only thicker. Do you remember when we were kids, and we still had a bull, when we would come up behind him and look at those huge balls hanging down. They were like two black grapefruits hanging in a big long sack. And we used to take a willow switch and reach over and tickle those balls? That bull used to get so fucking mad, we were lucky we weren't killed before we were able to jump over the fence."

"How much sperm does a bull shoot when he cums, Michael?"

"I've heard it's about a whole pint or so. I used to watch our bull mount and fuck those cows. And then when he pulled off, that big huge cock of his would still be pumping out great long squirts of his sperm all over the ground. Do you remember little Bobby Sutton, who lived over on a ranch on the other side of Goliad? Well, he told me he used to catch all those drippings in a cup and taste it."

"It must have tasted terrible," said Caleb.

"No, he said it tasted just like his own cum."

Michael got dressed in a hurry and rushed back to the ranch.

Mark and Corky were feeling in a rather festive mood. It was the second anniversary of their meeting on that fateful night that Mark had rescued Corky after his car accident.

"Let's go to a really nice place tonight," said Mark. "I don't really feel like going to some sleazy bar filled with smoke and crazy music and a lot of screaming little queens running around trying to make out."

"Me neither!" said Corky. "You know, I've really lost my taste for those trashy bars. Especially since you and I have been together. It's just one big frantic mating dance they do in those places, and I don't need it."

Mark said, "I remember there used to be a real terrific piano player in the Lobby Bar at the St. Anthony Hotel. I saw in the paper the other day that he's now playing at the lounge in the Hotel Palacio del Rio down by the river. Why don't we go there. He's a blind pianist, and he plays nothing but the 'favorite oldies,' smooth and mellow. Okay?"

"Yeah, let's go!"

The large poster in the hotel lobby, just outside of the lounge read, "Pierre Henri Bourget at the piano, playing golden oldies, back by popular demand."

Mark and Corky, dressed in their best pointed toe boots and wide-brim hats, were shown by the maitre d' to a table close to the large grand piano mounted on a low platform at the far end of the lounge. A large bowl of mixed nuts was on the table, and a round of Pearl Beer was soon delivered. After listening quietly to a rendition of "Deep Purple" and "Paper Doll," Mark got up and slipped several dollar bills into the large empty brandy snifter which sat next to the music rack.

"Merci, Monsieur!" chirped Pierre.

Mark looked startled. "You're welcome, Pierre. But how did you know I put money in the glass? It was just paper money."

Pierre laughed, as he continued playing. "I have very good ears. I can always hear the sound of money, no matter what it is!"

"Your English is very good, Pierre. How long have you been in this country?" asked Corky.

"I've been here for over fifteen years. I came over with my mother as my companion after my father died. She managed my career here and got me a lot of gigs here in Texas."

"Have you played anywhere else in America?" asked Mark. Then looking around, he asked, "Is your mother here tonight?"

"I've played a few other places, but I love Texas more than anywhere else. My mother died almost two years ago. She used to sit right here on a chair next to me every night. Now I limit my appearances to places here in San Antonio. There's an agency here that arranges the engagements for me. My landlady has been good enough to drop me off where I'm playing and then pick me up at the end of the evening."

"When do you get off, Pierre?" asked Corky.

"I normally play until 3:00 a.m. when the place closes. But for the past few nights, the manager here has let me get off early so I can catch the last bus home. My landlady had a heart attack and is in the hospital now."

The evening wore on and Pierre continued to play the old favorites. His brandy snifter was now almost filled to the brim with bills and coins. It was now midnight, and Mark and Corky had downed almost fifteen bottles of beer between them and found themselves merrily singing "Ninety-nine Bottles of Beer on the Wall" along with a number of other well-soaked patrons. Soon, Pierre reached for the brandy snifter and emptied into a cloth satchel, which he tied around his waist under his shirt.

"I enjoyed talking to you fellas tonight," said Pierre, standing up. "But it's time for me to leave and catch my bus. And thank you very much for your generosity. I hope you enjoyed my music."

Mark said, "There's no point in you taking the bus, Pierre. We'll drive you home."

"I couldn't impose on you," said Pierre, waving his hand in front of him.

"It's no imposition, Pierre. You gave us a great time tonight, and we want to do this for you."

After Pierre protested several more times, he finally agreed to go with them. As he got into the car, he said, "My mother always warned me not to go anywhere with people I don't know, especially since I can't see you."

"You don't have to worry about us, Pierre," said Corky.

When they arrived at Pierre's rooming house, they walked up to the door with him. Pierre searched through his pockets for his keys and began to panic when he couldn't find them. "I think I've lost my key. It's not in any of my pockets."

Mark tried the door to see if he could jimmy it open, but discovered that it was locked with a deadbolt. He turned to Pierre and said, "Pierre, I want you to come home with us just for tonight. And then in the morning we'll come back, and perhaps one of the other roomers will be up and will let you in."

Pierre was hesitant, but realized there was no other way, unless he stayed there and slept on the front step. When they arrived at Mark's and Corky's apartment, Corky led Pierre to a chair. He said, "Now you just sit down and relax. We have a sofa here that's a hide-a-bed, and you can sleep there. How about something to drink, Pierre. We have all kinds of soda."

"Just a glass of ice water, if I may. Thank you so much."

While Corky was in the kitchen fetching Pierre's water, Mark said, "How old are you, Pierre?"

"I just turned 33 this month."

"Well, you were only a teenager when you came over. You know, you are a very handsome man," observed Mark.

"Thank you. You and Corky have been so nice to me all evening, and so nice to take me in like this. I would like to see what you look like, too," said Pierre as he was handed his glass of water.

"Well . . ." Mark was not sure what to say.

"May I see you?" said Pierre.

"Well . . . I . . . ."

Pierre laughed and said, "I haven't been blind all my life. I do know what the world looks like and what people look like. My blindness didn't come on until I was about fifteen or sixteen. But I now have eyes in my mind. And those eyes can see through my fingers and my hands."

Mark and Corky looked at each other, not fully understanding.

"I can touch you and feel you, and in that way, I can see you."

"But you still can't see us," said Corky.

"Yes I can. In many ways I can see you better that way than you can see me right now. I can feel your bodies with my fingers and my hands, I can feel the texture of your skin that you can't see with your eyes. I can feel the thickness and texture of the hair on your bodies, I can feel the firmness of your muscles, the shape and movement of your chest as you breathe. I can feel the smile on your face. In this way, I can see you perfectly in my mind's eye through my fingers. Believe me, I can."

Mark and Corky sat silently, not knowing what to say.

Pierre, with a quick laugh, said, "Do I shock you? Would it embarrass you for me to see what you look like in that way?"

"No, it wouldn't, Pierre. Do you want to . . . see . . . us now?," said Mark.

"Yes, please. Would you mind taking off your clothes? You shouldn't be embarrassed. It's the only way I can do it."

Both Mark and Corky stripped down to their boots. Pierre could tell where Mark was standing from his voice. He stood up and walked over to him. He placed his hands on the top of Mark's head, gently running his fingers through his hair. Then with his fingers, he carefully felt all of the features of Mark's face, his eyes, ears, nose, lips, cheeks, chin. He ran his hands over Mark's broad shoulders and down and around both arms, carefully feeling his wrists and hands and fingers. Then running his fingers in a circular motion lightly over Mark's chest, he could feel Mark's nipples harden, and could hear Mark suck in his breath suddenly from the feeling of Pierre's fingers on them.

Corky sat nearby, hardly able to contain himself watching this handsome young Frenchman run his hands lightly over Mark's prominent abs and into his pubic hair. Now kneeling on the floor, Pierre took Mark's throbbing penis in both hands, gently feeling the protruding veins and large firm head. Pierre smiled as he rubbed Mark's long string of sticky pre-cum between his fingers. As he carefully held and fondled Mark's balls and its large ball sack, Mark could not stifle a moan of pleasure. Pierre brought his hands down over Mark's muscular thighs and calves, pulling gently on the soft hair that covered them. Then, moving around behind Mark, Pierre ran his hands over Mark's large, firm ass cheeks. Pulling one cheek aside, he ran the fingers of his other hand over Mark's asshole, and at the same time, leaning in and taking in the strong masculine odor of Mark's crotch.

Finally, sitting on the floor, Pierre said, "Mark, I now see you in my mind's eye as clearly as any sighted person can . . . maybe better."

Pre-cum was still running heavily out of Mark's penis, and Corky came over to capture it with his tongue.

"Now, Corky, I want to see what you look like, too," said Pierre, standing up. Corky walked over and stood before Pierre. As Mark watched, Pierre gave Corky the same total body treatment that he had just had. When it was over, Pierre found his way back to his chair. He said, "I hope you didn't mind what I did. It's the only way I could really see you."

Mark said, "Pierre, we didn't mind at all. But I have to tell you that you must surely know that what you did was very erotic for Corky and me. I don't know what is was for you, but it was a very unusual sexual experience for us."

Pierre smiled and said, "I'm glad, because as I was looking at your beautiful bodies, it became a very sexual experience for me, too."

"It did?" said Corky eagerly. "Pierre, would you let us see if we could have the same experience by 'looking' at your body in the same way?"

Pierre laughed, and said, "I know what you're saying Corky. You don't have to make out that you just want to see if you can duplicate in your own mind what I just experienced. Let's not kid ourselves. I am extremely sexually aroused by both of you, and I know that you are, too." And then with a wry smile, Pierre said, "Do you really want me to sleep alone on the hide-a-bed?"

All three laughed. Pierre stood up and said, "In all seriousness, though, I want you to understand that I was telling you the truth that the only way I can really see you is to do it through my fingers. No matter what happens next, I want you to know that I was not playing games. It truly is the only way I can see you."

Mark walked over to Pierre and lifted him out of the chair and kissed him on the lips. Then he said, "And we're not playing games, either, Pierre. We didn't know this would happen, but it has, and we're not going to make you sleep alone in here on that old sofa."

Taking Pierre gently by the arm and leading him into the bedroom, Mark said, "Would you mind if we got you ready for bed, Pierre? We'd like to undress you ourselves, and I promise we'll hang up these nice clothes of yours so they won't get wrinkled."

Pierre smiled and nodded. Both Mark and Corky slowly and carefully removed each piece of Pierre's clothing, revealing a beautifully proportioned body and a very erotic looking bikini tan line, punctuated by a very hard, uncircumcised penis that stood up at a forty-five degree angle. "Oh, you're a swimmer!" said Corky.

"Yes, in a way. I mostly lie on the beach and take the sun. I go over to Galveston Beach on the Gulf as often as I can. Do you like my tan line?"

"Pierre, we're going to show you how much we like it very quickly," said Mark.

Mark, Corky, and Pierre got into bed and lay with their naked bodies pressed closely together, as Mark reached over and turned down the bed table lamp to a very low, soft glow.

It had been a hot, muggy day at the ranch . . . a terrible day for the central air-conditioning to break down in the house. That night, Michael lay naked on his bed with the sheet thrown back. He had slept only fitfully and, looking at the bedside clock, he saw it was already 2:00 a.m. The house was quiet. Everyone had gone to bed long ago. Staring out of the open window, Michael could see that there was no breeze at all, and there was an eerie silence in the air. All he could hear were a few Coyotes howling in the distance and an occasional squawk from the Peacocks he was raising. He knew that the others in the house were closed away in their rooms. Jeff and Paul, Tony and Clayton, and Enrique and Noah. He suddenly felt very lonely. Sleep evaded him. He lay thinking about Clayton. He knew that he should be guiding the boy, but yet, it would have to be Clayton's decision in the end concerning Jared. Damn Jared! And poor Enrique. The thoughts of what those two young men must be going through gnawed at him.

Michael thought about his reunion with Caleb. He wanted so much to have Caleb with him, but he knew their lives had grown apart for too long. Michael would never leave the ranch, and Caleb had a thriving law practice in Goliad. It seemed a strange kind of love they had for each other, but that is how it would have to remain.

The heat in Michael's room became so oppressive that he got up and walked down the hall to the kitchen for a glass of something. Looking out of the window toward the bunkhouse, he could see in the yard lights someone leaving Luke's room, barefoot and wearing only his briefs. He had his clothes draped over his arm as he ran toward his own room. Michael couldn't make out who it was. He fixed himself only a glass of ice water and walked through the house and out onto the front veranda. Sitting in one of the old wicker chairs, he stared out over the endless range, lit only by a hazy moon.

Since Karl had left the ranch, he had never been far from Michael's mind. As he stared at the moon, Michael spoke softly aloud. "Why, Karl? Why don't you write me or call me? I need to tell you that I never wanted you to leave. I did something very foolish, and you thought I wanted you out of my life. Never, Karl, never. Please let me know you forgive me."

With the vision of Karl's face and body before his eyes, Michael could feel his penis getting hard. Still looking off into the night, he held his penis and started stroking it. It felt good and, closing his eyes, he imagined that it was Karl who was sending that tingling, pre-orgasmic feeling through his body. Suddenly, a slight breeze blew over Michael's moist and sweaty naked body, and it made him shiver. As he continued to stroke, he thought he heard a noise at the window behind him. It was Clayton's and Tony's room. He didn't look around, but he knew that the two boys were at the window watching him. He didn't mind. He stroked harder and harder and faster and faster. A short yell issued from his mouth, signaling that he was now giving his body over to a powerful orgasm. As he jerked his hips upward, long thick ropes of cum, glistening in the moonlight, shot upward and down onto his thighs.

As Michael sat still clutching his wilting penis and breathing heavily, he turned his head and saw Clayton and Tony in the window, smiling broadly and giving the thumbs up. Michael began feeling better. Perhaps it was just having gone through a great orgasm. But he thought it was more likely the sight of those dear, young faces smiling at him.

To be continued...


Posted: 09/26/08