Border Wolves

Heed the Dog’s Bark; Beware the Wolf’s Bite

By: Nicholas Hall
(© 2021 by the author)

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

nhall@tickiestories.us

Chapter 1

“Where all the world is young, lad
and all the trees are green;
and every goose a swan, lad,
and every lass a queen;
then hey for boat and horse lad,
and round the world away;
young blood must have its course, lad
and every dog his day.

(Charles Kingsley) 

The padlock on the metal cattle gate barring access to the graveled lane leading to “Tanglewood on the Lake,” so named by his grandfather many years before for the cabin on the lake, clicked softly as it was unlocked, followed by the light squeak of hinges as Clay pushed the gate open and back until it was latched open, resting against the steel post alongside the driveway. Clay left the gate open when he returned to his truck to drive to the cabin. He’d leave the gate open, except when he was gone or at night. Not that a locked gate would keep anyone from robbing or doing harm to him, but closing it did give him some sense of security.

He was young, just seventeen, and inexperienced with and unaccustomed to living alone, especially in the forests of Northern Minnesota. If, on the other hand, he was walking a city street, day or night, or traversing the halls and grounds of Falkham Academy for Young Men, from which he recently graduated, he may have felt much more confident and aware what might present a danger or opportunity to him.

Clayton Lionel Randolph St. Claire III drove down the lane toward his new home, as of one week previously, returning from an extensive shopping trip to International Falls. His purchases occupied the space under the topper covering the rear of his pickup truck. He’d spent some time, prior to his trip, sorting through what was in the cabin and what was needed, making his list, and “checking it twice.”

“Hell,” he chuckled to himself, “just about like the proverbial Santa Claus, only it’s spring and I’m not a fat, jolly old Elf.”

Incidental items, such as milk and bread and a few other items, could be purchased at the convenience store/gas station in Kabetogama. Major shopping had to take place in larger cities or towns and International Falls seemed to be the most logical for him. It presented a larger variety of stores and shops, plus it was a place he was familiar with. The trip fulfilled his need to stock his cupboard in the small pantry, the deep freezer, and refrigerator. He stopped on the way home to fill four five-gallon gas cans so he’d have gas for the outboard motor on the boat, the emergency generator, .and garden tractor. He also notified the post office to begin regular mail delivery.

Nothing seemed amiss, at least from when he’d left earlier in the day, when he stopped in front of Tanglewood. Less than hour passed and Clay had frozen food and meats in the deep freeze, fresh foods in the refrigerator, canned foods and dry foods such as cereal in the pantry, and the truck in the two-car garage with the gas cans stowed in a small shed nearby. By then it was late afternoon, the sun was slowly sinking, and Clay, still well fed from the burgers, fries, and malt he had for a late lunch, opted to have a cola and ice, and just sit on the three-season porch and try to relax and sort out his emotions, something he’d been struggling with for some time.

Clay stretched out his legs, resting them on a foot stool in front of the chair he lazed back in, cola in his hand, slowing sipping it’s cooling and refreshing ingredients, viewing the lake from the porch, as it reflected the fading sunlight into glowing pink, red, and yellow colors onto the surrounding forests.

Sighing, he mused, “Really, it’s not bad, in fact pretty damned good considering the major cluster-fuck of these past three years.”

Clay was the only child of Clayton Lionel Randolph St. Claire II and Alison Crawford Richfield, both from families of wealth and privilege. Their marriage was one of arrangement or convenience, he believed, rather that love, forging two families of wealth. Both Clay Jr. and Alison thought it’d be “nice” to have at least one, possibly two children to continue the line and care for the accumulated and growing portfolios they brought into the marriage.

They ended up with just one child, a son. The doctors claimed, according to Alison, she was incapable of bearing any more children since the birth of Clay left her sterile. Clay often heard his mother complain of her pregnancy with him and the increased girth of her abdomen making her “ugly” and “unattractive,” in her opinion. He surmised, once he was older, his mother had the doctors “clip her tubes” when he was born so she wouldn’t become pregnant again while still enjoying the pleasures of wanton sex.

She was a very attractive woman and seemed to attract men as flowers do butterflies. Clay Jr. was no slouch in the “I’m so handsome, come and adore me” department either and he had a sexual attraction toward young ladies to succumb to as well, using that attraction to his own sexual satisfaction, frequently and with great enthusiasm.

Clay seemed to be little more than a bauble, with a penis, to show off when they so desired. He’d inherited the good looks from both of his parents and his brains from his father’s side. Often left in the care of a nanny and nursemaid as his parents flew to Europe, skiing at Aspen, enjoying the sun of the Bahamas, or the fun of Hawaii, he soon learned to be relatively independent of them.

Until age seven, he was schooled in an exclusive private school nearby, taken there each day by the family butler/chauffeur and nanny and brought home each afternoon. He’d sit in the kitchen, drinking milk or hot chocolate, eating a cookie or two, and tell Cook all the wonderful things he’d done and learned each day in school. Clay was an excellent student and took his studies most seriously. Seldom did his nanny or Cook have to remind him to do his schoolwork.

After dinner at eight each evening, his nanny would read to him for a bit before he’d dutifully trot into the library or living room, depending where his parents were, if they were home, give them a perfunctory kiss, receive one in return, and bid them goodnight before being tucked in by his nanny.

Clay couldn’t remember exactly when, probably around age four or five, when his paternal grandparents, Clayton Lionel Randolph St. Claire, Sr. and Nina St. Claire, began taking him into their home for holidays and school breaks and when his parents abandoned him for their vacations. He was their only grandchild and slowly began to realize they weren’t pleased with the treatment, rather neglect of him, by his parents.

It was fine with him! He enjoyed being with his grandparents, being freely and often hugged with verbal and unspoken expressions of true love of him by them. In truth, he came to love them so very, very much and did all he could to please them. Holidays and breaks were so much fun, not because of the places he might go or see, but just because he was with them.

Tanglewood became his summer home while on break and his retreat from the disparities of a dysfunctional family, preferring the company of his grandparents rather than his parents. His grandfather taught him how to fish this lake, along with others in the vicinity, and the trout streams scattered throughout the forested landscape. They fished almost every day when the weather permitted, and swam with him when it was warm enough. Well, they often sat on the dock and watched so he wouldn’t drown by mistake with his cavorting, although there were times both of his grandparents would join him in the cool waters of the lake.

Often, he’d see other boats on the lake since there was a public landing at one end. The occupants usually would be people fishing rather than waterskiing or other such activities. Sometimes young people his age would be in the boats with the adults and other times older boys and girls in the boats without adults. None, however, stopped by to visit or play. He was pretty much on his own and, most of the time, that wasn’t so bad.

His grandmother taught him those life skills needed at home such as cooking, mending, preserving foods, doing the laundry, and cleaning. She decided if he ever had to survive on his own, he’d be well equipped to do so. Clay was now so thankful she did!

Clay’s grandfather also imparted the various skills of lawnmowing, running and maintaining the boat and motor, and some carpentry, electric, and plumbing skills, although for most repairs, St. Claire relied on others hired to do the work. Yet, he felt young Clay needed to know such things.

He also learned money management and investment finance from both of them. Financial matters and investments were discussed openly between his grandparents and he was included in those discussions. They made certain he knew where all of the important documents were, combinations to the safe at home and the small one at Tanglewood, and who the attorneys were. Again, he was eternally grateful for the lessons learned and the information they imparted to him. It all became of primary importance, especially in this past year.

His grandparents were less than pleased, to say the least, when his mother and father made the decision, when he was seven, to send him to Falkham Academy for Young Men. The academic program was excellent, the curriculum was diverse, and he’d have plenty of opportunities to learn and express himself, plus he’d have the companionship of other boys. It was just that it was a boarding school and far removed from them. They’d miss his closeness but reconciled themselves to having him for breaks and for the summer since it was apparent his mother and father really didn’t want much to do with him. Out of sight, out of mind!

Clay entered the Academy in grade three, the lower school. The Lower School was grades three through six. The Academy was arranged into three schools; the Middle or Junior School was grades seven through nine and the Senior School was grades ten through twelve.

The education he received at the Academy was exceptional! As a boarding school, boys were allowed home for holiday breaks, a spring break, and a summer break of about six weeks. All boys were housed in dormitories and each dormitory consisted of several “houses” or pods. Each house had sixteen boys with four per room, a house resident assistant or “proctor,” a senior student. There was a house “master” or resident for each dorm. They were usually male staff members who lived in the dorm as part of their assignment and received a monetary stipend for the assignment as well.

It was a good school with a wide variety of learning experiences. While there, Clay had not only the opportunity to delve deeply into the academics, but into other such offerings including outdoor or environment education field trips, investment managements, government and community service projects, and the fine arts. His physical education programs include outdoor adventure programs, soccer, field sports including archery and sporting arms, golf, softball, basketball (which he sucked at), tennis, gymnastics, and swimming. Actually, the educational and co-curricular programs were the best money could buy, since the yearly tuition and room and board were quite expensive.

Clay learned more than just the academics taught in the classrooms. There was an entirely different curriculum activity to be learned, experienced, and enjoyed, if one wanted it, in the dormitories. He discovered the gay side of his life and found others just as inclined in the residence halls. Gay sex didn’t run rampart through the school since there were more straight boys than gay in residence but all the boys adhered to the strict anti-discrimination policies of the school. If, they found the activities of some boys unbearable, they’d be advised to seek an education elsewhere.

Clay learned from day one, to keep his mouth shut – unless he was giving a blowjob to someone!

During the first couple of months, where Clay became acquainted with the various rules and customs of the school, not much happened. Oh, there were the usual and inevitable boy boners popping up and out during shower time or pee time with the usual giggles and looks to compare, but little else. All the boys in his group were hairless and cocks sized about the average for their ages. Some were cut and some were uncut and some liked cock and some didn’t, or so Clay thought. It changed one night after lights were out and he heard, then noticed, one of his roommates slip out of bed and ever so quietly, leave the room. The boy came back about an hour later. It didn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out what was going on, especially when a different boy left the same way the next night. The clencher was the first boy whispering to the second, “He’s big, isn’t he?” and the response was, “yeah, but he also fills your ass with sticky stuff.”

Clay put together his own plans, joined the small cadre of “special boys” and received and gave the sexual satisfaction desired. A good time was had by all; no one was forced and no regrets, but one hell of  good time during his years at the Academy.

Noting the daylight slipping and dusk now making its appearance, Clay put his empty glass in the sink in the kitchen, walked to the bedroom where the metal gun cabinet was located, strapped on a .22cal. pistol, grabbed a flashlight, and walked down the lane toward the front gate to shut it. The pistol was more for his comfort than necessary since he really didn’t believe anything or anyone would harm him. Still, he took no foolish chances.

Ever cautious, ever practical, and ever curious, that was Clay!

On the way back to the house, he noticed several fireflies flitting and bobbing about in the woods. Some blinked, but there were a few that didn’t- just sort of shined their small, dim lights and moved, seemingly along with him. They presented no danger to him so he disregarded it and went inside.

******* 

Dawn was just breaking and the air quite chilly as Clay slipped on a robe after waking and taking a piss. He wandered to the kitchen, heated up some water for his morning tea, and, large mug of tea in his hand, stepped out on the porch to enjoy it. As he came out of the house, a movement off to his right in the woods caught his eye. It was a fleeting sight greeting his eyes, of something rather large and grey, yet undistinguishable enough to remain unidentifiable, before the apparition disappeared from view. Shrugging it off, he settled into a chair next to the small table on the porch to enjoy his brew and the view.

It was cold enough on the porch to shrink his balls up tight to his crotch and shorten his circumcised cock to half.

“Should have put some clothes on,” he muttered to himself.

Clay enjoyed sleeping nude and thought the robe would be sufficient to ward off the cold. Instead of returning to the bedroom for clothes, he flipped on the electric baseboard heat on the porch to take the chill off.

His grandparents used to spend their morning breakfast time and afternoon cocktail hour on the porch. The little table he now used to hold his tea was the same one they used for many years, while in residence at Tanglewood, to hold snacks, light meals, or their drinks as they enjoyed the view of the lake and the surrounding forests.

Tears of sadness filled his eyes and his heart felt empty knowing his grandparents would never again be able to take such pleasures or for him to enjoy it with them as he had in past years. In the past six month both of them died within two months of each other; first his grandmother and then his grandfather. He died, Clay thought, more from a broken heart than from any other disorder.

Their deaths seemed to be the final blow to his family life, other than his Great Uncle Bill, his grandfather’s younger brother, now his guardian and trustee.

Clay’s mother died three years previously while spending some time at their condo in Florida of what the coroner determined to be of natural causes. Clay couldn’t really say he had any strong feelings for his mother since she pretty much neglected him for many years. He was, one could say, indifferent towards her death.

“Should have been ‘due to an overdose of high school cock – fucked to death!” Clay muttered. Rumor had it she was having a “pool” party with several underage guests. Supposedly, she was being mounted by her fifth “guest” when, once he rammed his big teen cock in deep, she said “OH!” and expired. So did the kid’s cock!

His grandparents were sympathetic, but understanding when she died, and were absolutely livid when his father announced he was marrying again! This time to a lady with two sons, two and three years older than Clay. He overheard his grandfather grumble the two boys were his fathers’ and hers before he married Alison, Clay’s mother. So, if correct, he had two half-brothers.

His grandfather demanded and received two things regarding the marriage. In case of death of Clay II, guardianship of Clay would go to the grandparents and all investments held in joint ownership would revert to Clay and St. Claire, Clay’s grandfather, removing any claim the new wife or other children toward those particular assets. The threat to bring this about was not an idle one. If Clay II didn’t agree, St. Claire would, through personal influence and adequate funds, bring him to bankruptcy! Clay II knew very well his father could and would. He quickly agreed, reasoning there’d be enough left to keep him and his new wife and sons comfortable the rest of their lives.

Clay met his step-mother and the two sons a couple of times and was not impressed with them or the way he was treated. It saddened him, then angered him at the distain and rejection she and her sons exhibited toward him. His father made no attempt to defend him or support him so, home for Clay was solidly established with his grandparents.

The unthinkable happened! Clay II was killed in an armed robbery attempt one night while his wife and he entered a parking garage preparing to go home after a late-night dinner out. Less than a year later, Clay’s grandmother died and then his grandfather. The two final deaths occurred during his final semester of his senior year at the Academy.

His losses, although grievous and deep, were somewhat ameliorated by the designation of his Great-uncle Bill as his guardian and trustee. Uncle Bill was younger than his grandfather by ten years or so and raised three boys and one girl. On top of that his children also had a passal of kids, some of whom were Clay’s age. Clay enjoyed the company of his third-cousins while at his grandparents and their occasional visits to Tanglewood during the summer.

The entirety of his grandparent’s estate, aside from some bequests to various charities and a portion to Uncle Bill, went to Clay. The value of the assets and cash bank balances ensured Clay would really never have to work, if he maintained his investments and managed them accordingly. He retained his grandfather’s accountants and investment managers to assist him in these matters. St. Claire, shortly after Clay’s father remarried, opened several bank accounts as joint accounts with Clay’s name on them, as well as various investments.

After graduating from the Academy, Clay announced, rather than live in his grandparent’s home immediately, he’d rather spend some time at Tanglewood, perhaps even living there permanently. Only time would tell. His Uncle Bill flew in to International Falls, met Clay at Tanglewood when he drove there in his pickup truck, and then spent a couple of days acquainting and instructing Clay on the operation of equipment, necessary shutoffs, connections, and general household information. He left Clay with a three-ring binder with detailed information for him concerning Tanglewood. Most of the information Clay was familiar with, but it was nice his Uncle Bill was there to greet him and reacquaint him with operations at Tanglewood.

Clay’s thoughts drifted to the night before his graduation. It was to be without any family present, although he’d be meeting Uncle Bill here at Tanglewood. It was one of his last nights as Proctor or Senior at Thompson House, the pod of sixteen middle or Junior students he was responsible for. He’d been their proctor for two years and they’d have a new one, for those remaining in the Middle or Junior school, the next year. The group had a party for him with cake, presents, and cards of thanks to celebrate his graduation.

After the lights were out and all was quiet, two of the more appreciative lads came to his room and expressed their “special” thanks to him.

“It was lovely,” Clay thought stroking his growing erection. First one, then the other lad, offered up his ass, welcoming Clay to sink balls deep into very familiar territory and breed them with his abundant seed. These two, two of four assigned to the same room, drew straws to make their special present. The other two lads also had been frequent visitors to Clay’s room over the past two years, but discretion was the better part of valor they thought. Besides, to fuck all four of them would take a good part of the night and there was the risk of being caught. Technically, Senior proctors weren’t supposed to “entertain” younger students after lights out in their rooms. Didn’t stop it from happening however!

The more he remembered that last night and the pleasures brought to him by the boys and the pleasures he gave them, caused him to stroke harder, polishing the head of his cock and shaft with slick, smooth, and erotic pleasure. Feeling himself about to ejaculate, he pulled his robe open, stretched out his legs, grabbed a handkerchief from the robe pocket, and with a groan and several shudders, pumped his copious, wet semen into the handkerchief.

Clay sat, robe still open exposing his deflating cock to the morning sun and watched, with curiosity, the bright, shiny reflection of something across the lake and up from his place. The reflection morphed into an aluminum fishing boat with one person in it. Clay paid little attention to it. He rose, went into the house, cleaned his hands and cock off with a warm, wet washcloth, and returned to the porch. In the time he was absent from the porch, the boat  landed at his dock, and the occupant was now standing on the steps of the porch.

Robe still open, cock still exposed, Clay looked at the young man, about his age, dressed in jeans, tee-shirt, and light jacket, staring at his open robe and pecker.

The young man looked first into Clay’s eyes, moved down, exploring the flesh exposed by the open robe, fixated for just a moment or two on the now flaccid penis nestled in a dark pubic bush, and moved upward again to Clay’s face.

Realizing his nudity was the object of the stranger’s investigation, remembering what he’d just in terms of pleasuring himself, responded,

“Well, shit!” groaned Clay, quickly pulling his robe closed and invited the good -looking young man inside the porch.

To be continued...

Posted: 07/02/2021