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...


Michael sat looking puzzled as he listened to Clayton. He couldn't imagine what might be going on. He said, "I really don't think he's gaining his memory back. The doctors assured me that the brain damage was so extensive that that would never happen. But you know something, Clayton. I'm beginning to wonder myself a little about Marcus. He's been sitting with Jared going over the family pictures almost constantly. And I wonder sometimes why he would do that, especially every day like that. And another thing. A few days ago, Josiah and Brian came down for a short visit, and Josiah said something that seemed strange to me at the time. He said . . . and he said this very pointedly . . . I should watch and pay attention to what Marcus was doing. It was almost as though he made a special trip down to the ranch just to tell me that."

"Well, Dad, I just don't like this guy. He acts so smooth all the time, like a snake in the grass. I think Josiah's right. He needs to be watched.


Chapter 70 


Jumper still had a small cast on his ankle, but was now able to hobble around without the crutch. Jake said, "You remind me of Tiny Tim in that Christmas story. You ain't so tiny, but you git around pretty fuckin' good."

Jake and Jumper had planned the next morning after breakfast to go out and give Lady Pokey, the old mare, another try. This time, one of the crew had put a western saddle on her, and Jake lifted Jumper up on it.

"Now hold on, boy, to that saddle horn if ya wanna. I'm gonna try to get the old gal outside."

Jake took hold of the reins and pulled gently, but Lady Pokey wouldn't budge. He called to one of the other hands standing by. "Hey, Skeet, git over here git behind her and push."

The combination of pulling and pushing finally moved old Lady Pokey into the barnyard. "Now how ya doin' up thar, young 'un?"

"I'm okay. It feels better me holdin' on to somethin'."

"Now here," Jake said as he leaned over. "Let me adjust these fuckin' stirrups so's ya can git yer feet in 'em." Standing up and stepping back, Jake said, "Now yer lookin' like a real cowpoke thar, pardner! Now put yer hat brim down a little farther over yer eyes. Ya look too much like that fuckin' Roy Rogers fella with yer hat perched on the back of yer head so silly-like. Ya gotta wear that hat like it'll give ya that confident and self-assured look, like ya know what yer doin'. Now push it up in the back a little, and let it slip down yer forehead."

Jumper did as he was told.

"Now, Jumper, snap them reins and see if ya can git her a goin'."

Jumper didn't know quite what to do. Jake stepped over and gave the reins a quick snap like the snap of a whip. Lady Pokey didn't move a step. "Here Jumper, hold the reins like this. Always hold 'em loosely and let 'em kinda drape down on either side of her neck. Then when ya want her to move, give 'em a little snap."

Jumper held the reins as he was told and then gave them a little snap like Jake had.

Jake said, "That was good. Yer doin' good. Hey! I'll be fucked! That old nag's movin', Jumper. Now hold on."

Jumper held on to the saddle horn with both hands and said, "I'm gonna fall off, Jake!"

"No, ya ain't! She only took four fuckin' little steps! Ya jist did what nobody's been able to do with this old tub of horse flesh. Now snap them reins agin!"

Jumper snaped the reins again, and Miss Pokey took another few steps. Jake hollered, "Now give her a little poke with them spurs I clamped onto yer boots!"

Jumper called out, "I'm afraid to. I wanna git down!"

"Now do as I says. She ain't gonna hurt ya!"

Jumper very lightly touched the animal's side with one spur. Lady Pokey jerked and turned completely around. Jake said, "Shit! That's the fastest I ever seed that old gal move in years!"

Jumper had fear written all over his face as he sat rigidly in the saddle. "I wanna git down, Jake. Please!"

Jake walked over to Jumper and put his hands on Jumper's thigh. "Hey, cowboy. You got control over this fuckin' old nag that the rest of us ain't never had. I can see it. She's gonna do jist what you tell her to. I can tell that now. Don't be afraid of her. Talk to her. Tell her yer gonna take her back to her stall. Not too loud. Just kinda soft like. She's now turned around facin' the barn door agin. So after ya tell her what yer gonna do, pat her nice on the neck and jist snap them reins a little, and I'll bet ya a fuckin' buck, she'll jist walk on in there as sweet as ya please, jist like a lady should. Okay, now lean down a little and talk to her in her ear. Then take her right on in."

Jumper leaned over and said softly, "We're goin' back to yer stall now." Then he snapped the reins just slightly, and old Lady Pokey walked slowly into the barn and into her stall. Jumper didn't know whether to laugh or cry. He felt like doing both. As he and Jake laughed, Jake lifted Jumper down to the ground.

Jake knelt down in front of Jumper. "See boy!," Jake said excitedly. "Yer that old gal's master now. That's all she was lookin' fer! Some young sweet boy like you to come by and sweep her off her fuckin' feet. I guess she's like a lot old broads. She likes 'em young!"

Jumper threw his arms around Jake and said, "Do ya think I'll be able to ride a real horse sometime?"

"Lady Pokey IS a real horse, buddy! But I know what ya mean. Yer gonna be a fine cowboy someday, and yer gonna have yer own horse. I'll take ya out some day out on the range and teach ya how to rope them dogies. Come on, let's go see Tony and git a cold drink. He makes the best fuckin' lemonade this side of the Pecos. And we'll sit and talk fer a bit before I got to git back to work, and I'll tell ya some horse stories. Been ridin' 'em out on the range fer a hunderd years before you was even born!"

Later in the morning, Tony delivered the mail to Michael in his office. After opening and setting aside a number of bills, he came to a letter whose return address was Morton Hanover, Attorney-at-Law. The letter inside was a short one informing Michael that there would be a hearing on Ol' Ben Walker's estate. It went on to say that he represented a Mr. Jared Walker in his effort to have Ol' Ben's Last Will and Testament overturned. Michael could hardly believe his eyes. His first thought was to call Caleb for advice. Caleb was in a staff meeting with his partners, but called him back. In the meantime, Michael pulled out all the paper work he had filed concerning the Will.

When Caleb finally called back, Michael told him about the letter. Caleb said, "That's crazy! Ol' Ben died 'intestate'. In other words, he had a valid Will and it went into probate and was determined at the time by the judicial authorities to be genuine. It was never competently contested. In my opinion, no one at this time has any legal right to contest it, especially this many years later. Who did you say sent you that letter?"

Michael looked at the letter again and said, "It's from someone by the name of Morton Hanover."

"Oh, yes, I know him. Maybe you remember him. In high school he got involved in several circle-jerks with us. He was that funny looking guy with the big black eyebrows and big gaps between his teeth and always looked like he needed a haircut. He went through law school the same time I did, and the whole time he hung around one of the nelliest guys I ever saw in my life. He was a first class jerk, Michael. I wouldn't ordinarily talk about my fellow attorneys, but to tell you the truth, he's still a jerk. He has the longest record of lost cases of anybody in the Goliad County Bar Association."

"What I don't understand, Caleb, is this business of him representing Jared. Jared isn't in any position to be taking anyone to court. How could this have happened?"

"I agree, Michael," said Caleb. "I've made it a business to get to know the law clerks and secretaries in the various law firms around the county. Most of them have never learned the old saying that 'loose lips sink ships.' I can usually find out things from these people that come in quite handy in my own litigation work. When is this hearing supposed to take place?"

"Caleb, the letter says next Wednesday, a little over a week from now."

"Okay, Michael, my friend. Don't worry about this. The whole thing sounds crazy to me. I would advise that you don't mention any of this to anyone just yet. And don't go and confront Jared about it, either. Let me make some inquiries, and I'll be back to you. Love ya, Michael."

"And I love you, too, Caleb," responded Michael.

Michael went into the kitchen to get a cup of coffee and found Karl sitting and talking with Tony. "How are you feeling today, Karl," said Michael, giving him a kiss on the lips.

"I'm doing great, Michael, as long as I know you're close by. By the way, I saw that Tony had a lot of mail for you. I'm anxious to getting back and dealing with those nasty bills. I never thought I would miss them. But I guess everything's relative. I have to get back into the swing of things. I took the liberty this morning to call our attorney so we can get our Articles of Partnership legalized again. He said we didn't have to come to his office. He'd bring all the paperwork out here to the house tomorrow morning, if that's okay with you."

"Of course, it's all right, Karl. The sooner the better!"

As Michael idly looked out of the window, he saw Marcus and Jared sitting together in the gazebo talking. Every time he saw Marcus lately, Josiah's warning came back to him. He said, "Excuse me for a minute, you guys. I have to make a phone call. I'll be back to finish my coffee in a few minutes."

Michael rushed to his office and called Caleb again. "Caleb, there's one thing I forgot to mention. You know, we couldn't figure out how Jared could possibly be behind this. Well, we hired a caregiver to watch over him. He's a registered nurse, and he's here quite a few hours of the day. And they seem to always stay sequestered in Jared's room with the door closed. His name is Marcus Filmore."

Caleb was silent for a moment, and then said, "You're kidding! Marcus Filmore? I know his old man. You know. He's Filmore of the Filmore Ranch. I represented him once a long time ago, but never again. That old man is the slimiest old son-of-a-bitch I've ever run into. He is so crooked, he'd make Bugsy Moran look like Mother Theresa. And his son is as bad. That son was picked up for cocaine trafficking. He was as guilty as sin, but they couldn't get any evidence that would stand up in court."

"Oh, for God's sake," said Michael. "I guess I'd better go in and fire him and get him out of here."

"No, Michael. I wouldn't do that yet. We don't know, but he may be involved in all this. We just don't know yet. Don't disturb things yet. Let's just let all this business play itself out and see who it leads us to. Just act as though you know nothing. I'll keep in touch with you. I think it will probably be best to plan on attending the hearing. I think we'll have a better chance of getting to the bottom of this if we don't act too hastily."

Michael said, "I don't know what I'd do without you, Caleb. I wouldn't go against your advice in a thousand years. Keep me informed."

"You can count on it, my dear man," said Caleb. "Hey, before you go, how's Karl doing? I understand he's back home."

"Thanks for asking, Caleb. Karl's still having a bit of a rough time, but the important thing is that he's finally back home, where we can work on it together. And he's going to be okay. He's anxious to get back to work, and there's no shortage of that! Keeping him busy and showing him all the love I can is the key, I think."

"Once again, my dear Michael, I love ya, and I say if anyone can make things right, you can!"

Both Paul and his colleague in the faculty, Adriano Cinella, never made much effort in concealing their sexuality at the University. In fact, some students had seen them in the past occasionally at The Nest. They didn't openly advertise it, but neither did they deny it. Paul was always a bit nervous, however, over the thought of anyone knowing about his relationship with Jeff, mainly because, in the name of propriety, it was generally frowned upon to see faculty members having these kinds of relationships with students. He was not worried so much for himself, but was concerned for Jeff's sake.

Paul had been assigned to teach four classes this fall, and he was glad finally to be back in the classroom. Oftentimes during the lunch hour, he and Jeff would meet at the Student Union cafeteria. Paul made an effort to always make it look as though it was strictly a teacher-student relationship, and nothing more. One day, when the cafeteria was particularly crowded, a young man approached them and asked if he could join them since all the other tables had been taken. Paul and Jeff welcomed him and told him to put his tray down. They introduced themselves. The young man's name was Pyotr Krupskaya. He was Russian born, but now held a German citizenship. He was in America on a student visa.

"Just call me Peter," the boy said. "I've always used the Anglicized version since I left Russia when I was a very small child."

"Okay, Peter," said Paul. "What program are you in here at the University?"

"I'm studying veterinary science, and you happen to be one of my instructors, Mr. Howard. You know, in Anatomy class. You probably don't recognize me."

"Well, I'm glad you are one of my students, Peter. I think I remember you now," said Paul. "It's so early in the semester, that I haven't yet familiarized myself with all the names on my class rosters. I'm having a beginning-of-the-year get-together for all of my Anatomy students at my place next Saturday. You should be getting a notice of it in your student mailbox in a day or so. I hope you'll be able to come. My apartment isn't very big, but the class has only twelve students in it, so we ought not to be too crowded. I moved down to the first floor recently and we have a nice patio now that we can use."

"Oh, yes, I will come." Then turning to Jeff, Peter said, "I think I've seen you, too, around campus. Last year was my first year here. And I know that you and Mr. Howard must be good friends."

Jeff said, "Well, we get together for lunch sometimes and talk about anatomy and stuff like that. That's all."

Peter said, "Oh really? I used to see you and Mr. Howard drive away from campus almost every day. I thought maybe you . . . well."

"You thought what, Peter?" asked Paul.

"Oh nothing. But I just thought you were together or something like that."

"Like living together?" said Jeff

"Well, Ja."

Jeff said, "If we were, would that bother you?"

Paul put his hand on Jeff's arm and said, "Come on, Jeff, let it drop."

Peter said, "No, that's okay. That wouldn't bother me. When I was going to school in Munich, I lived with one of my professors, too. That wouldn't bother me."

"You mean, the two of you were . . . you know . . . partners?" asked Paul.

"Ja," said Peter. "Now it's my turn to ask if it bothers you that I did that."

Paul and Jeff looked at each other, not knowing quite what to say without letting this conversation go too far.

Paul finally said, "Peter, of course it doesn't bother us that you lived with one of your professors in Germany. Jeff and I understand."

"I thought you would," said Peter with a smile

"You did?" said Paul and Jeff in unison.

Finally, when they had finished eating, Peter stood up and said, "You were real nice letting me sit down and eat with you. I'll see you in class, Mr. Howard. And I'm sure I'll see you, too, next Saturday, Jeff. Good-bye."

Paul and Jeff watched Peter walk away.

"He's one of the brothers, Paul!" said Jeff. "What a find! Whenever I used to look at pictures of Nazis in their uniforms, I never thought there could ever be any men so handsome. Those Germans are beyond handsome."

Paul said, "He's Russian, Jeff, not German."

"But he was raised in Germany, and he's got that wonderful German look."

"Have you fallen for him, Jeff?" asked Paul wryly.

"Well, haven't you?" Jeff said.

They both started laughing. Yes, they agreed, they had both fallen for him.

Josiah lay restless in bed. He and Brian had made love that night and Brian quickly thereafter fell asleep. Josiah got up and took the silvery shroud that his mother had given him out of the drawer and looked at it. Touching it made him feel strange and oddly melancholy, but exhilarated at the same time. Holding the cloth in both hands, he felt drawn to walk out on the balcony and sit in the quiet night air.

"How do you feel, Josiah," came the familiar voice from the darkness at the other end of the balcony.

"Fine," Josiah said without taking his eyes off the cloth.

"How do you like your life so far, Josiah?"

Josiah looked up and said, "I love my life. But I sure would like to know who the hell you are. You bother me. And why do you seem to know everything I do?"

"It's my business to know, Josiah."

"I suppose you know that I know who my mother is. But she just found me. I'd like to know who my real mother is."

"Why, Josiah, it's Mrs. Forbes. You were led to her."

"But I want to know who gave birth to me, or didn't anybody give birth to me? I couldn't have just appeared somehow from the sky."

"Oh, no, you were born right here on Earth."

"Well, who?"

"A very young girl gave birth to you, and she died just as you were born."

"Did I have a father?"

"Of course, you had a father. Don't start thinking you had some kind of Virgin birth! Let's not get supernatural about things!"

"But who were they?"

"It doesn't matter, Josiah. Their only purpose was to conceive and give birth to you. Your mother is Mrs. Forbes."

"But . . . ."

"No more questions, young man! They can't be answered! It's all beyond you and is no concern of yours!

"Well, don't get mad!" said Josiah.

"Josiah, you won't be hearing from me again after tonight. Your life has been put on a track that will never falter. The purpose of your life has been ordained. There are many others on this Earth like you, and the world would never be able to go on without you. You will follow the conscience you were given and your God-given instincts. We have already seen the goodness in your soul, many times over, and we're satisfied. Don't think about me again. Treasure the shroud you were delivered in. It will give you continued strength and a never-ending capacity to love. Now go back to your Brian. Sleep well!"

Josiah felt a certain relief that he would never hear that voice again. But in a strange way, he felt renewed and rather giddy and happy about himself and the future. He really didn't understand what the voice in the dark was telling him, but he now had an overwhelming feeling that he really mattered in the world and that he had the power to make a difference in the lives of other people.

Josiah put the shroud away and climbed back into bed with an enormous feeling of love sweeping over him for his Brian. He lay there, lightly kissing and caressing Brian's sleeping body. Pressing himself up against Brian and pulling the sheet up over them both, Josiah, with a smile still on his face, fell asleep.

Caleb placed a call to Hanover's office and asked to speak to Jack Turner, one of the law clerks in the firm. "Jack, it's Caleb. How are you doing today?"

"Oh, fine, sir. How are you?"

"Just fine, Jack," said Caleb. "I was wondering if you have any knowledge of the situation with the Walker Will that your boss is handling."

"Hold on, Caleb. Let me go and close the door so I won't be heard. I don't have too much knowledge of it, other than the hearing's being held next Wednesday week."

"Jack, have you ever seen Jared Walker come in to talk with Morton about it?"

"No, but there seems to be some other young man who has been in frequently talking about it."

"Do you know his name, Jack"

"No, but maybe Morton's secretary might know. Hold on."

Jack went out to speak with the secretary and came back to the phone. "Caleb, it's some guy by the name of Filmore."

Caleb said, "I see. Jack have you been asked to research the law on this case?"

"No, but the other law clerk has been working on it, and he told me the other day he thinks it's a frivolous case because he couldn't find a precedent, nor any legal basis for the claim."

"Jack, as usual, you've been a great help," said Caleb. "Is Morton in?"

"Yeah, let me buzz him."

"Hello, Caleb," said Morton Hanover. "How can I help you?"

"Well Morton, I just want to know what all this business is about with Jared Walker's contesting Ol' Ben Walker's Will."

"There's nothing I can tell you about it, Caleb. The hearing's next Wednesday."

"I know, Morton," said Caleb. "I'm representing Michael Walker in this case, and I just want to know who put you up to this."

"What d'ya mean?" responded Morton.

"What I mean, Morton, is that Jared Walker is totally incompetent to bring any kind of suit like this. And besides that, you know as well as I do you can't win a stupid thing like this. I thought you had more brains than that."

Morton said, "If you don't have anything else to say, Caleb, I've got work to do."

"I just want to know one thing, Morton," said Caleb. "Who is it that you're really representing? It can't be Jared Walker. Who's behind this?"

"Listen, Caleb, anything you need to know, you'll find out at the hearing," shouted Morton.

"Okay, Morton. But I'll say this. You're a fuckin' goddamned fool for doing this. And Michael and I will be there to watch you make one of yourself!"

As soon as he hung up, Morton Hanover dashed out into his outer office and shouted, "Marjorie, get Marcus Filmore on the phone for me. He's probably at the Walker Ranch."

When Marcus answered, Morton said, "Listen Marcus, I told you before, and I'm tellin' you again, we can't win this fuckin' case. We're all gonna look like fools in that hearing."

Marcus said, "Calm down, baby cakes. Did somebody stick a hot knife up your ass this morning? Remember you're getting paid to do what I ask. And as you well know, you can't afford to say no. Now don't give me any shit, Morton!"

"You come to me for legal advice, Marcus, and my advice is to drop the claim!" shouted Morton.

"No, sweetheart, I didn't come to you for advice. I came to you to do this job. And I expect you to do it. Remember, there are a lot of fucking people out there who would love to know what I know about you!"

"Okay, Marcus. But I'm warning you, when this case is lost, you and I are finished. And I won't give a flying fuck what you do after that!"

When Saturday came, Paul and Jeff stocked up on soft drinks and plenty of snack food for the student gathering that evening. The stereo was ready, too, if needed, but Paul and Jeff were concerned that all their CDs were of classical and semi-classical music. Paul said, "Well, if any of them want music, we'll just tell them that our Stereo is broken. The music can't be too loud, anyway, because of neighbors in our building."

The invitations were for 7:00 p.m., and within ten minutes of that time, all twelve students arrived, including Peter. There were seven boys and five girls in the class. They were a lively group and all were most courteous with their manners. A lot of conversation abounded, and Jeff and Paul had to move fast to keep the refreshments replenished. No one seemed to mind not having music blaring away.

Peter's time was being monopolized by one of the other boys, and when Jeff or Paul came to talk with them, the boy seemed especially distressed that they were being interrupted, especially when Peter would turn away from him to talk. The boy was introduced as simply Zoomy. Zoomy, it turned out, was Peter's roommate. Later in the evening, Jeff learned from Peter that Zoomy was nothing but a pest and would never leave him alone.

Jeff asked him, "That's too bad, Peter. What is it that Zoomy wants from you?"

"Well, you know," said Peter. "What do you think he wants from me? But he's not my type, if you know what I mean. But I have a hard time getting away from him."

"Maybe you could request to move to another room, Peter," said Jeff.

"I've tried that, but there aren't any other rooms available."

"Well, Peter, I know you'll manage somehow."

It was good seeing everyone getting to know one another and getting along so well. After all, this was one of the purposes of these beginning-of-the-year get-togethers. It was also a chance for them to get to know their professor in an informal setting. The party had been planned to last only about two hours, until about 9:00 p.m. But 11:00 o'clock came, and most were still there enjoying themselves. The snacks had long before given out, and only two or three bottles of Pepsi were left. But soon after, they began to leave, thanking Paul profusely for having them over to his place. One girl kissed Paul and whispered in his ear that maybe they could get together sometime. Paul just smiled and wished her goodnight.

Peter and Zoomy stood out by Zoomy's car, and Paul and Jeff could tell they were arguing. Finally, Zoomy jumped in his car and raced away. Peter came back to the front door where Paul said, "Peter, wasn't that your ride?"

Peter sat down on the step and said, "I told him to go on back to the dorm by himself. I can take the bus back. I just wanted a few minutes without him hanging around me."

Paul said, "Well, come on back in and have another soda before you go. I noticed that you were just about the only one here who wasn't really enjoying himself."

"Oh, I enjoyed the party a lot, Mr. Howard," said Peter. "It was just when he'd start bothering me."

After they got seated in the living room, Jeff said, "Tell us, Peter. We're curious. What was the situation with you and that professor you lived with in Germany?"

"Oh, he was my English teacher. This is how I got to be able to speak English so well. He'd have me over to his house a lot of afternoons so he could tutor me. I was living with my mother. My father had died when I was quite young, just before we left Russia, and my mother was having a rough time of it. My English teacher, Herr Wieland, arranged with my mother to take me in to give her some relief on expenses. She was very grateful. But I didn't stop seeing her. I visited her almost every afternoon. Heinrich . . . that was Herr Wieland's first name . . . would even give me some money to take to her."

"Is your mother still in Germany?" asked Paul.

"Yes. And I write her almost every day. I keep telling her that when I go to work and get some money, I'll bring her over here. But she says she doesn't want to leave home."

"So you lived with Heinrich?" said Jeff, trying to encourage Peter to tell more.

"Yes. He was kind of like my father, but not really. He loved me very much, and I loved him very much."

"What do you mean by 'not really?'" Jeff asked.

"Well, we slept together, like you and Mr. Howard."

Paul and Jeff tried to conceal their surprise at this rather bold statement.

"But I never told my mother," continued Peter. "She wouldn't have understood. She never understood how much Heinrich and I loved each other."

Peter was wearing shorts, and Jeff could hardly keep his eyes off of Peter's legs as he sat cross-legged on the sofa. Jeff finally said, "Peter, you know there aren't many buses that run this time of night in this town. Would you like to stay here tonight?"

Paul shot a glance at Jeff and quickly interjected, "But we could drive him home ourselves."

As though Peter hadn't heard that, "Yes, I suppose I'd like stay here tonight, if it won't be too much trouble."

Paul said, "Very well, Peter. The guest room is made up and you'll have your own bathroom."

Jeff said, "Come on, Paul. Let him sleep where he wants to." Then continuing on boldly, he said, "Paul and I have a king sized bed, and there's plenty of room for three."

As Peter smiled agreeably, Paul stood stunned at Jeff's boldness. He had never slept with one of his students, except Jeff, of course. And although he was enormously attracted to Peter, he was not at all sure he wanted to break his long-standing rule not to get involved with his students.

Jeff took Peter by the hand and led him into the bedroom. "Come on, Paul, it's nighty-nite time!"

As Jeff took off his boots and began removing his clothes, he said, "You sleep in the buff, Peter? Paul and I don't even own a pair of pajamas."

"Yeah, I only sleep bare-assed," said Peter as he unabashedly started removing his clothes.

As Paul stood staring at the sight before him, Jeff said, "Come on, Paul. You look silly standing there with your clothes on."

Paul slowly began to remove his clothes as Jeff and Peter flung themselves on the bed. Soon, Paul was lying there with them. In spite of all of Paul's reticence, he now suddenly felt overcome with a wild desire for Peter's body and quickly began kissing him and then moving down to suck on the boy's nipples. At the same time, Jeff took Peter's hard penis into his mouth, tasting the sweet pre-cum that was bubbling out of it. The shape of Peter's long slender tanned legs, covered with a soft layer of blond hair excited Jeff as he ran his hand slowly over them. As Jeff licked the underside of Peter's penis, Paul moved his head down and began licking the top side of it. They took turns slipping Peter's large penis head into their mouths. Peter lay on his back moaning softly with his eyes closed and running his fingers through Paul's ass crack.

Slowly, but steadily, Peter inserted one, then two, then three of his fingers into Paul's hot, moist asshole. Paul murmured, "Push in farther." Jeff took hold of Peter's legs and pushed them up to reveal a sweet, pick pucker. Peter's ball sack was so long, it hung down into his crack, and Jeff had to lift it up slightly to see the hole. Moving close, Jeff ran the tip of his tongue over the pucker and felt it begin to clench and unclench rapidly. As he did so, that long luscious set of balls rested on his nose. Jeff suddenly didn't know what he wanted to do most at that moment . . . tongue fuck the boy, or take those beautiful balls into his mouth. He opted for the balls. The skin on the ball sack was so soft, and the balls inside felt so fragile in his mouth. Soon, Jeff was once again heavily lubricating Peter's entire ass crack and asshole with his saliva.

"Fuck me, Jeff, please!" pleaded Peter. As Jeff got into position and pressed his hard penis into Peter's rectum, Paul brought his head down onto Peter's stomach and began sucking him off vigorously. Peter was now moaning loudly and now had four fingers pushed into Paul's asshole. When Paul could feel Peter's penis hardening and could feel the veins that encircled it enlarge, he pulled off and whispered to Peter, "I want to save you. I want you to fuck me, Peter."

As Jeff watched Peter slowly burying his hand up into Paul's rectum, the sight began to send him over the edge. His orgasm took hold of his groin like a vice and he could feel the sperm coursing up through his shaft and out into Peter's rectum. Surge after surge, it came. Jeff pounded his pelvis hard against Peter's ass, hoping to God he could make the orgasm last. But soon, it was over, and he could feel Peter's sphincter muscle clamping down hard on his wilting penis.

Paul looked at Jeff as much to say he wanted in also. Jeff pulled off and collapsed on his back beside Peter. As Paul held Peter's legs up, he mounted the boy and slipped his throbbing penis into his cum-soaked rectum. At the same time, Peter reached over and took hold of Jeff's semi-hard penis and milked out the last remaining cum onto his fingers, which he sucked clean. Just watching Paul pounding away at this boy's ass, made Jeff's penis jump as though it wanted to get hard again.

Peter reached up and ran his hands over the thick hair on Paul's chest and stomach as he watched the muscles in Paul's body stretch and ripple with every thrust. Jeff rolled over on his stomach and began kissing Peter deeply as they slashed away at each other's tongues. The sight of Jeff's beautiful round ass cheeks standing up so smooth and firm had captured Paul's attention as he fucked harder and harder. There was no holding back. As Peter watched the muscles in Paul's arms and stomach and chest, along with heavy veins, pop out and strain to their utmost, Paul sent his thick cream in to join with Jeff's sperm in the depths of Peter's slender body. With the veins in his neck and face, red and bulging, Paul grunted savagely until the last tingle of his orgasm had subsided.

Paul collapsed onto Peter's body and, as their hot and sweaty bodies lay pressed together, they kissed deeply.

Soon Peter whispered, "Mr. Howard? I would be honored if you would let me fuck you, now."

Hearing himself referred to as 'Mr. Howard' at a time like this when he had just fucked the boy made Paul feel very strange.

"Of course, you may, Mr. . . . what's your name again?"

"Just call me Peter," the boy said with a smile. Paul couldn't get himself to tell him to just call him 'Paul.' He didn't really know why. He had just ravaged the boy and he no longer had a shred of his usual professorial dignity left.

Paul rolled over on his back and raised his legs. Peter got up on his haunches and, pulling apart Paul's ass cheeks, peered in through the soft hair that filled it. Reaching around and getting some of the cum on his fingers that was now oozing out of his own asshole, Peter lubricated Paul's hole gently. Then, pushing closer, he inserted his penis up to the hilt in one swift plunge.

By this time, Jeff was hard again and, as he watched his lover being fucked by this student, he began stroking it. Peter had always loved to watch other men jacking off, and he kept his eyes on Jeff's hand and penis as his pushed his own into Paul's ass harder and harder.

Jeff could feel himself coming close and got up on his knees, offering his gorged rod to Peter. Pushing close to the boy, Peter was able to take Jeff's already throbbing penis into his mouth just as Jeff began spewing out another load of hot, thick cream. As he gobbled it down, the feel and taste of it sent Peter into an orgasmic frenzy. Pounding himself against Paul's ass as hard as he could, he shot stream after stream of his own sperm into Paul. Suddenly Paul's penis erupted and sent his second load of cum onto his stomach. Peter, panting and struggling to catch his breath, finally leaned over and licked up as much of Paul's sperm as he could.

After awhile, the three of them lay on their backs, totally spent. Their hot, sweaty naked bodies were pressed together, with Peter in the middle.

Paul said, "We've had a real workout. Do you want to go to sleep now, Peter, or do you want us to take you home?"

Peter turned his head and kissed Paul, and then Jeff. He said, "I really think I should go home. I don't want to have to explain to that guy in my room where I've been. It's none of his or anybody else's business."

Paul got out of bed and said, "We'll be glad to take you home, Peter. And Peter? I hope you'll kind of keep what we did to yourself."

Jeff got up and said, "You know, with you being one of Paul's students, he worries about something like this getting out."

"Oh, you guys!" said Peter. "It never occurred to me to say anything about this. This is my private life." Then turning to Paul, he said, "I hope you won't feel funny when you see me sitting in class next time. I won't. This is just between you and me and when you see me, it'll be just like I don't know you. I promise. You'll see. Heinrich always told me that when we weren't at home, we were always strangers. No one else ever needs to know. It's our own private business. You know, he was a professor, too. And I never violated his trust. And, Mr. Howard, I promise you, I will never violate your trust, either. And by the way, I've always been a really good student. So you'll never have to worry about me blackmailing you for a good grade. That's not what I do. I'll earn my grade. Heinrich worried about that once, but he soon learned he could trust me."

As they got in the car, Paul drove, while Jeff and Peter sat in the back seat. Jeff said, "You know, Paul, you and I shot our loads twice tonight. But Peter here only got off once. Don't you think it's only fair that Peter gets a second chance, too?"

As Peter smiled, Paul said, "Go for it, Jeff, if Peter's willing!"

Peter quickly undid his shorts and slid them down around his knees. His penis was already hard and wet with pre-cum. Jeff leaned over and took the whole shaft into his mouth. The jiggling of the car as it moved enhanced the sensation somehow. As they pulled up to a stoplight, a car full of screaming girls pulled up beside them. They opened their windows and started whistling and hooting at the two men they could see. As Peter looked at them, the fact that a guy was sucking his dick unbeknownst to these horny girls sent him into a rousing orgasm. He contorted his face and opened his mouth, leaving no mistake in the girls' minds that he was in the middle of an orgasm. The girls obviously knew and, falling silent, stared with their own mouths open. Then the light changed, and Paul sped off.

After dropping Peter off at his dorm, Jeff and Paul drove home. Paul said, "I don't know. I can't really believe I did that. That was a student, and I broke my own supposedly inviolable rule never to play around with students."

Jeff said, "Don't beat yourself up, Paul. I believe this kid. There's just something about him. He's a horny little guy, and has one of the sweetest faces and cutest little bodies you'll ever find. He just had the hots for us, Paul. I don't think he's a bad kid."

"Just the same, Jeff, it makes me a little nervous. I don't normally make any attempt to keep my sexuality a secret on campus. But to fuck around with a student is really a no-no."

Steve and Caleb had both been working long hours, often into the evening hours. They weren't home for dinner except one or two nights a week. On the other evenings, they would meet at the Goliad Inn for dinner, sometimes as late at nine o'clock. The food was quite good, and on occasion, it was extraordinary, according to Steve. Steve had found it difficult to believe that anything south of New England and the upper eastern seaboard could ever be as good as the food served there. He had eaten at several Texas establishments and found the food sorely lacking . . . the kind of places where the gravy is dripping off the edge of the plate when it's served. Tony at the ranch, however, did a very good job with his meals, but of course, as Steve rationalized, Tony got his training in New York. The trouble with Tony, though, was that his catalog of recipes was very limited and they never really ever came up to the level of truly elegant dining. But he spent so much of his time preparing and serving buckets full of plain old meat and potatoes to the ranch hands, that he obviously was unable to put much additional energy into the meals he prepared for the family.

Their waiter at the Goliad Inn was a stunningly handsome Irishman in his mid- to late-fifties, known by all as simply, Murdock. He had been with the Inn for some years, after emigrating to this country from England where he had been a manservant, and then Butler at the estate of Lord Cunningham of Devonshire. Steve was drawn to this man because of his impeccable manners, refined accent, and almost regal bearing. And to add to Steve's admiration, Murdock knew his wines.

After dinner one evening, as Murdock was serving the coffee, Steve decided to find out more about this good looking interesting character. He was continually amazed to find a man like this hidden away down in Goliad County, of all places. "Tell me, Murdock," Steve asked, "what brought you to this country?"

"Well, sir," said Murdock with a slight chuckle. "It's a rather long story. I don't know that you'd be interested."

"Please," said Steve, with a wave of the hand.

Since it was late, and all the patrons at his tables had left, Murdock lingered to tell his story.

"Well, when I was butlering in Devonshire," Murdock began, "I became quite good friends with the Footman there on the estate. His name was Barker. In fact, we became quite close. But he had read an advertisement somewhere that a rather wealthy family in Chicago was looking for a Butler. And after they corresponded, he was hired and had his way paid to the United States. I was sure he would make a very fine Butler because I had trained him myself to take over on those occasions I was either off or in the sick bed. We corresponded rather regularly, and in one letter, he tried to convince me that I should come to Chicago. There were other wealthy families there, and finding a position would not be difficult. At the time, the lady of the estate was quite ill, and the Lord had become quite strapped for cash. The old place needed a lot of work, and he was very seriously contemplating turning the whole place and all its furnishings and art work over to the National Trust. The National Trust was very interested in taking it over, restoring it, and opening it up to the tourist trade, like so many other stately homes in Britain had become.

"So, I put in my resignation and off I toddled to America and to whatever might await me in Chicago. I was indeed able to find a position fairly quickly with a very old couple. But my word! Being in the service for an American I found was so much different from that in Britain. I grew quite unhappy."

Steve said, "Well, what was the difference?"

"I dislike saying this, but I found them crude and boisterous. Their manners were appalling. My friend had come to the same conclusion with his family, and we both eventually resigned. After that, he and I shared a small apartment on the Near North Side and decided, with our training, to secure jobs in a fine restaurant. We both were fortunate enough to be engaged by The Palmer House to serve in their very fine dining room, the beautiful Victorian Room. It was a wonderful place to work. The clientele were bright and well-mannered and very high tippers. The management treated Barker and me superbly, offering us the best tables. And because of my very extensive knowledge of wines, I also became the sommelier for the Palmer House. You know, the wine steward has a very special place in the world of fine dining. They gave me a free hand, and I was able to upgrade their wine list extensively."

"But you didn't stay there. Right?" said Steve.

"A few years later, the Hilton chain bought the Palmer House and decided to redecorate the Victorian Room and covert it to some pseudo-French bistro. When they were done with it, it looked simply dreadful. Like something suitable for a Holiday Inn. So the Hilton people let Barker and me go because they wanted nothing but waitresses, who they dressed up in some kind of outfits they thought looked enticingly French.

"And then you came down here, right?" prompted Steve.

"Well, yes. Barker and I bought a little car and we decided to tour around the country. We had both saved a good deal of money, and we thought we owed this to ourselves. We thought we would drive down along the Mississippi since we had both read a number of your wonderful Mark Twain stories. Then when we got to New Orleans, we loved it and we thought we might settle there and find employment at one of their fabulous restaurants. But alas, we were unable to find any positions. So we headed west to Texas and we actually stayed a week at a dude ranch."

"You didn't!" gasped Steve.

"Oh yes. It was very interesting. Like the movies! We even had a chance to ride horses with western saddles, not those thin little things we had in England. When we left there, we went on to San Antonio. We spent a good deal of time there. It is such a charming city! Then we drove south with the idea of getting to the Mexican border. We had both wanted to see a bull fight, and we learned that there was an active bull ring in the small border town of Reynosa."

Murdock had been standing as he talked, but because most of the patrons had left, he sat down and continued.

"But on our way, just as we were passing the little town of Floresville, just up the way here, a large semi came roaring by us in the opposite lane. We could see that is was weaving strangely, and before we knew it, it swiped the side of our car and sent us swerving off the road and rolling down a steep embankment. I had been knocked unconscious, but when I awoke, I found that Barker was dead. I was pinned in the wreckage and rather wished that I had died. When the medical people finally arrived, I was taken to hospital here in Goliad. I had several broken ribs, a concussion and a lot of scrapes and bruises. When I was released, I found that our suitcases had been rescued, so at least I had not lost my belongings.

"I was literally lost. I didn't know where to turn. I had no friends and no family. My beloved Barker was dead. But I had some money. I walked to the bus station, but I had no idea why. I had no place to go. But as I sat on the bench in the waiting room, a young woman recognized me from when I was in the hospital. She was a nurse or something. She asked me where I was going, and I told her that I didn't know. I had no place to go. We talked for awhile, and she said that if I wanted to wait tables again, I should go over here to the Goliad Inn. She explained that it was a very nice place and that I could also get a room here.

"So, gentlemen, here I am. I took the job and I've been here now for some twelve years. And because of my knowledge, I am also the sommelier for the Inn."

Caleb and Steve were very moved and sat quietly, almost unable to speak. Steve finally spoke and said, "Murdock, you should write a book about your life."

"Oh, I don't know," Murdock said with another short chuckle. "I don't see anything there interesting enough to write about."

Steve said, "I'm the new owner of the Goliad Wine and Cheese Shop here in town. I wish you would come by on your day off maybe, and we'll have lunch."

"Oh, you are!" said Murdock with a big smile. "I purchase all my wines through that shop. I've noticed an upgrade in your stock there. I knew there was a new owner, but had not yet met him. So, I am very pleased to make your acquaintance, Sir. It will be a pleasure working with you!"

"Steve, let's have Murdock over for dinner one evening," Caleb said. "We have some friends we'd like you meet, Murdock, who I think you'd like. It would give you a night out when you wouldn't have to serve dinner to anyone. When's your night off?"

"I'm off on Thursdays."

"Well then it's a date!," said Steve. "Next Thursday it is! By the way, I know everyone calls you Murdock, but do you have a nick-name or something?"

Murdock smiled and said, "Well, Murdock's my last name. My first name is Terrance, but I hate it. Barker always called me Terry. So you can call me Terry, too, if you'd like."

"Okay, Terry, we'll see you on Thursday!" said Caleb.

To be continued...


Posted: 10/03/08