Love and Life After Death

By: Nicholas Hall
(© 2015 by the author)

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

nhall@tickiestories.us

I almost chuckled aloud as I mused considering my present circumstances and how I got here; I could feel my butt cheeks clench with each spurt of my semen into the warm orifice, that tight sheath encircling my spewing organ, milking me of my essence of man. Really, I suppose it's a rhetorical statement since I knew very well how I "got into this." I greased up my manly stiff hose, did the same to his almond colored (on the outside, quite pink and lovely just inside the ring) rear entrance, lifted his legs up to grasp my hips, placed my now weeping rod at his inviting, winking entrance, leaned forward, engaging his sweet, young lips with mine, and pushed as he lifted his pelvis to shove back, opening himself and assisting me.

It was now, resting somewhat after a slow, amorous, and most satisfying, breathless, (almost) fuck, my cock still swelling, pulsing, and swelling again as his wonderfully talented anal muscles and massaging inner bowel milked from it the last vestiges of my seed, matched with the copious fluids emanating from his own orgasm now forming small pools and puddles on his chest, abdomen, and finally his sparse bush of pubic hair where the last of his sweet fluids oozed from the delicate slit at the end of his beautiful young penis.

This was our third tryst of the night; just before we slept, once during the night when he crawled on top of me and rode me like a stallion, and now in the morning, stretched out on his back receiving me between his legs face to face so we could kiss and cuddle, as the morning sun was peeking through the window of our home overlooking the Mississippi River. He opened his eyes, smiled, pulled me closer with his arms, flexed his butt muscles to keep me seated deep into his inner core, and said, "I love you so; how could I have been so lucky?"

Lady Luck shined her bright lights on me, I thought, as well, earlier this summer when I flew to La Crosse, Wisconsin. It was there I really found balance, satisfaction, contentment, love and life after death.

"There is nothing – absolutely nothing- half so much worth doing as messing about in boats ...or with boats... In or out of'em, it doesn't matter."

(Kenneth Grahame –The Wind in the Willows)

How we loved that particular quotation from Kenneth Grahame from The Wind in the Willows, I thought as I put the fifty-two foot houseboat in reverse, gave the dock boy who'd cast off my bow lines freeing the craft from the dock, a wave of thanks and goodbye, applied power to the engine, and began backing out of the slip where it was docked after winter storage on land at the marina in La Crosse. A slight "bump" and a gentle momentary rocking of the craft gave me every indication of my lack of skill or practice in handling the large watercraft since I either nudged something leaving the slip or took on more load, which I knew was impossible. I thought my skills would improve once I was out on my own into the main river channel and on the way home.

Powered by a single 150hp outboard engine, the craft was all we dreamed of for many years, looking forward to the day we could "power down" active participation in our farm and roadside fruit stand in Muscatine, Iowa and "power up" opportunities to relax in our later years and enjoy cruising on the Mississippi River flowing by our riverfront home.

My long-time lover and partner in the farm, Martin Evans, and I talked often of retiring early or at least entering into "semi-retirement" before the age of sixty and enjoying the river not only from the front porch and deck of the home we owned, but from the surface of the actual river itself, journeying on it via a houseboat, relaxing in the back sloughs and sandbars replete throughout the Upper Mississippi from Muscatine north. There were many small towns, and large, we wished to visit, explore, and enjoy along the banks of the river and a houseboat would be a most convenient way to do so. Each town or city had a marina or marina's where we could dock, enjoy the city, and still have our own bed and house to reside in after a fulfilling day.

Our life together had been busy, full, and rewarding through our work, friendships shared with others, financially through the profits of the farm, and personally, each one of us loving and giving to the other as couples in long-term relationships do. We were complete, whole, in each other, freely giving of ourselves to the other, and sharing in all things.

Martin Evans and I were farmers; not what people generally thought of as "farmers" raising pigs, cattle, milking cows, growing corn or beans, but vegetable/fruit farmers or "growers" as we preferred to say. In fact, we grew melons- watermelons, cantaloupe, and muskmelons and also a sizeable "pick your own strawberries" operation on some of the most productive land for doing so in Muscatine County. Muscatine melons were much sought after and valued for their flavor and juicy fruity interiors. The soil was rich with alluvial deposits, although not of the same tilth as the "loam" rich and black soils found in other parts of the state, more of a lighter, sandy texture, requiring water and some added nutrients for the crops we grew. Aided by the warmth of the longer summers, the climate, and growing season, this land produced some of the largest, sweetest melons imaginable!

The cantaloupe and muskmelons, were large, the largest slightly smaller than a volleyball, with bright orange flesh and a sweetness aromatically evident when first cut in half in order to clean the seeds from the interior cavity during preparation for eating. The watermelons, depending on the variety, were dark green to light green (some with stripes), weighing five to twenty-five pounds with deep red centers or smaller, "seedless" varieties. In recent years the public and many markets preferred the smaller "seedless" variety since the melon could be readily consumed. The majority of our crop was wholesaled out to markets and the remainder sold from our roadside stand. Harvest was generally complete by early September.

The plants were started in the greenhouse and transplanted when the weather was right. Generally speaking, all melons would mature in seventy to one hundred days and be ready for market, if the weather cooperated and diseases such as fulsarium wilt, powdery mildew, or Anthroacnose didn't damage the plants.

We'd been blessed with good crops and generally good prices over the thirty years we owned the farm; profitable enough for us to pay it off, build a new home (also paid off) overlooking the river, and buy the houseboat.

I couldn't help but sigh deeply as I piloted the boat from the harbor and slough out into the main channel of the river. At the moment, there were none of the massive "tow" boats pushing loaded barges up or down the river heading either to ports down south or up north. There were quite a few pleasure boats, including fishing boats and other craft including houseboats, plying up and down the river as the people in them enjoyed the beautiful sunny mid-May day.

The houseboat was all Martin and I wanted in a pleasure craft we could live in and travel in relative comfort while away from home. The advertisement offering the boat for sale in La Crosse caught our attention; it seemed to have all of the "bells and whistles" we were looking for and at a reasonable price. The fifty-two foot craft was equipped with the 150hp motor now pushing it downstream, a five thousand watt generator for use when not connected to a land-line electrical power source or batteries, gas/electric appliances, satellite dish, navigation lights including a large spotlight for night travel, sonar for depth finding, radar unit topside for night and inclement weather travel, ship to shore and ship to ship radio, fifty gallon tank for fresh water, two forty gallon waste storage tanks (one for grey water and one for sewage or black water) which had to be pumped when docked, full bathroom including freshwater shower (there also was a shower located outside on the stern deck that pumped river water to wash with if fresh water was in short supply), a well-equipped galley (kitchen), living room with television, radio, CD/DVD player, queen-sized bed in the master bedroom, two bunks for guests in the hall across from the bathroom (head), covered front deck, top deck lounge area, walkways along each side of the cabin for moving from bow to stern without going through the cabin, and solar panel topside for recharging the two marine batteries when the motors or generator were not running. Last but not least, there was a small twelve foot flat boat with a ten horse motor and mounted on the rear fan or aft deck held in place by a hoist high enough not impede the view to the rear of the houseboat, allowing the small craft to be launched with little difficulty.

We flew to La Crosse last fall after harvest was complete, decided the craft was just perfect, bought it, and spent a week cruising around the La Crosse area learning how to navigate and run the houseboat, before deciding to head back home. The night before we were to leave, while out to dinner, Martin suddenly collapsed and died from a brain aneurysm. I put the houseboat in dry dock, took Martin home for burial, and left the boat in Wisconsin all winter.

His death was so sudden, final, and life changing for me. Martin was only one year older and at age fifty-six had not been ill at all during our life together other than an occasional bout of the flu or a cold. Our plans for an early retirement were gone in an instant, leaving me adrift in a sea of confusion, indecision, and deep emotional loss!

The first three to four months after his death and funeral, I must admit, I drifted, not physically around the countryside, but emotionally, seeking a way forward without my beloved partner. Dealing with a loss so great was difficult for me, as it is for many, but slowly, slowly I began to pull myself from my depression. It wasn't until after Christmas, I found a way to move into the future for whatever time I had left for myself before I reached the same end as Martin.

It was a most difficult holiday for me as it is with many widows, widowers, and others who have had a personal loss such as mine. Holidays seem to be the most trying of times when so many happy memories of good times together are clouded and almost flooded with the sorrow brought by the absence of the one those good times were shared with.

I decided several thing after Christmas; keep the house we enjoyed so much and keep the houseboat, bringing it down river in the spring to be used and enjoyed, docking it in the marina not far from the house. It would help, I thought, ease the pain of Martin's loss since we'd never really, except for the brief time in La Crosse, used it together. My decision to sell the farm was the most difficult decision and one I knew I had to make. We spent many years together, building up the business, bringing it to a strong profitability and securing our financial future; now my future!

The real estate market was good to excellent and it was time to cut the final tie. The farm was listed for just a little over a month and I had three strong offers to buy. Choosing the best offer, I accepted it, and after closing, with the money deposited, I was no longer a fruit and vegetable grower, but retired at age fifty-five.

"No sense crying over spilt milk," I muttered aloud, decided I needed some water and set the wheel, pinned it so the craft would stay steady on course, and scooted to the kitchen ("galley, dammit," I muttered aloud correcting myself), to get a bottle of water from the refrigerator to slack my thirst.

Opening the refrigerator, selecting plastic bottle of water, I mentally patted himself on the back for what I considered was a fine job of provisioning the boat for the journey downstream. Two days of shopping in La Crosse filled the pantry with canned and dried foods, as well as several cases of bottled water; the refrigerator freezer was filled with various meats, vegetables, and several pizzas. I'd made certain the main refrigerator had the necessary condiments, salad dressing, fresh vegetables, milk, and cream. There was no danger of going hungry since I also planned to stop at several of the communities on the way south to shop and do laundry.

Twisting the top of the water bottle off, raising it, I took a long hard pull, filling my mouth with the cold, refreshing liquid, when a voice behind him asked,

"Got another one of those? I'm thirsty!"

"Jesus Christ!" I shouted spraying water from my mouth, shocked and surprised another person was on the boat with me. I wheeled about and standing before me was the dock boy I waved a farewell to an hour or so previously.

"What the hell are you doing here?" I sputtered, flummoxed by the boy's appearance and daring.

"Waiting for a bottle of water," was the simple reply, made casually and without threat or malice.

Angry at the unwanted and unwarranted intrusion into my personal space and life, I stifled what I wanted to do and say as the presence of the young man, who, for whatever reason, stowed away on my boat and now had the fucking nerve to ask for a bottle of water, and asked, quite calmly I thought,

"Just who in hell do you think you are?"

"Someone who will get his own bottle of water so you can run this boat or have you forgotten there's no one steering the damned thing?"

"Oh shit!" I groaned and sprinted to the helm (that's the front of the boat where the steering wheel and other controls are), stepped in front of the captain's chair, pulled the set pin to free the wheel, and clasped it with one hand while holding my water with the other. I quickly scanned the surrounding water for other craft and the depth finder (sonar) to see if there was enough water under the keel (bottom) to float the craft.

"Why don't I hold your water bottle while you get things under control and calm down a little bit," the young man offered.

"I'm calm!"

"You sure didn't act like it when you spit water all over; now I have a mess to clean up!"

"Who said you have to clean it up?" I shouted.

"Do you have to shout? I'm only a couple of feet from you holding your water; remember. It's not as though we're on one of those Carnival® cruise boats you know."

"Do you have to be so damned aggravating?" I sputtered.

"No, but do you have to so angry all of the time?"

This conversation was going nowhere and I still had no idea who I was dealing with or why so I decided to change tactics.

"I'm Tony Warren," I offered by way of introduction, taking a deep, calming breath, I hoped, "owner of this vessel and am currently trying to decide if I'm going to head to shore to hand you over to the authorities for trespassing or toss your ass off now and let you swim to shore."

"Well, that's a thought," pondered my interloper, "but if I drowned, you'd have to live with that and if you turned me over to the authorities what would that accomplish? Either way, you'd never really get to know me and lose a deckhand, a cribbage and chess player, a darned good cook, and a provider of pleasant company and companionship on your journey."

I'd seen this young man around the docks the past two days as I loaded the houseboat for my journey. I assumed he worked for the marina since he was the one that cast me off and sent me on my journey. Now, however, I doubted he ever worked for them and was a runaway. I needed to know his name and age and whatever else I could learn about him. He didn't look dangerous, but you never know now days.

"Now," I began while still tending to the task of piloting my boat, "I need to know who you are, how you got aboard, and where do you think you're going to do once you're in my company on my houseboat. I hope this is not a pirate attack; is it?

He giggled and waggled his head "no" but offered no more.

"Name?"

He smiled- a real killer smile, replying "Aaron Reed."

"Age?"

"Eighteen."

"Doubt it; got any proof?"

I had every reason to doubt his age; I'd guess his age around fifteen or sixteen at the most. He was probably five foot two or four, slim, narrow hipped, small in stature, almost petite, delicate; weighing maybe one hundred to one hundred fifteen pounds if he was lucky, and had the build of a younger teen, not a young man age eighteen. His hair was dark, eyes just as dark with just a hint of an epicanthic fold indicating some Asian heritage mixed with Caucasian or, such as in my case, Mediterranean ancestry since his skin was olive in color, just a little darker than mine. Aaron Reed was one cute young man, to say the least!

He reached into his pocket, produced his wallet and pulled out a State of Wisconsin Identification Card and handed it to me.

"No driver's license?" I queried.

"Nope; if you'll notice, I lived in Milwaukee; no place to park a car so no need for a driver's license. Besides, I took the city bus when I wanted to go somewhere."

Never seeing a Wisconsin I.D. card before, I decided to take it on its face and assume it was genuine. Aaron's picture was on, along with his address, and birth date, showing he was eighteen years old by some three months.

"It looks authentic to me," I muttered,

It fucking should, Aaron thought to himself, cost me a hundred and fifty bucks to get it!

"but, you sure don't look eighteen," I continued as I looked him over, "no facial hair and built like you're maybe fourteen or fifteen." It was really a bluff on my part to see if he would stumble on his age, but since I'd never been in contact with a person of Asian heritage, I couldn't be certain he wasn't eighteen or older. We'd employed migrant workers of Mexican-American descent and legal immigrants who came for the harvest and planting and there were some of the young men I could have sworn were only fifteen or sixteen when in fact they might be twenty-one or twenty-two. I guess I'm just a poor judge of deciding age by looks!

Aaron interrupted me; "I've told you my name and age so what's your name and how old are you?" challenging me with an emphasis on his last four words.

This kid had balls, I'll give him that! I pulled out my wallet, dug out my Iowa Driver's License, and showed it to him, announcing, "I'm Tony Warren, age fifty-five, fifty-six in a month!"

Aaron looked at my license and then, the little shit, began a visual inspection of me, from head to toes.

"Well, you don't look fifty-five years old!"

I snorted, "How am I supposed to look – old?"

"Yeah," he replied with a smile, "old guys don't look as fit as you. Most are really wrinkled, with fat guts, small dicks, and big balls hanging in low sacks!"

"Ha," I replied, "at least you got one of four right!"

Aaron looked at the man in front of him, the owner of the vessel he was on, the man who could determine whether he'd allow him to continue on this journey with him or toss his ass overboard. Aaron spent two days watching Tony Warren load his boat, joke with the people in the marina, smile and wave at him whenever he saw him, and Aaron genuinely liked him.

Tony Warren offered him the chance to escape from the hell he'd known and maybe, just maybe, find a new life someplace else; at least that's what he hoped! He decided Tony, age fifty-five or fifty-six, wasn't really such a bad looking guy, in fact rather attractive; pretty good looking for his age or any age for that matter. Aaron tended to have an attraction for older men, but hadn't yet experienced any relationship with one.

Tony was probably four to six inches taller, weighed maybe twenty to thirty pounds more, greying hair, trim waist, well-tanned, and really looked fit. He did wonder, if as Tony indicated, which one of the four physical attributes he guessed right. There was no doubt it wasn't a fat gut or lots of wrinkles so was it a small dick or big balls?

He continued his pondering while he looked quickly around the main cabin and the controls at the helm. Posted above the window to the front where Tony could watch ahead to steer the boat and navigate, was a picture of Tony and another man. He'd missed seeing that before when he was on the boat. He'd have to remind Tony to lock up when no one was aboard; Aaron slept here the past two nights while Tony was loading and staying someplace else.

"I guess you're really age fifty-five after all," Aaron said to me as he handed back my license. "Who's the guy in the picture?" he asked, pointing to the picture I had above the window.

For some odd reason, his question angered, yet saddened me, and about to retort in a sarcastic and perhaps defensive manner, I hesitated, realizing young Aaron was only curious and meant no harm, so answered quite calmly, strongly, not really caring what he thought of me or my relationship with Martin,

"That's Martin Evans, my partner, soulmate, and lover for over thirty years!"

"Cool!" he answered happily in response.

I turned my head to look at this seemingly very accepting young man and saw not disgust, but admiration, pleasure, and genuine acceptance of gay men.

"He passed away last fall," I continued, still keeping my eyes on Aaron, "shortly after we bought this houseboat. We only spent one week enjoying it together."

I felt my voice begin to break and stifled a sob before it could fully erupt, although it didn't stop the tears from streaming down my cheeks.

Aaron said nothing, but stepped up to the wheel, put one arm around me, and gave me a very comforting and affectionate hug, consoling me, letting me know he cared for my feelings as well. With that simple gesture, he became part of my life, my journey, and I proceeded to tell him of my life with Martin; the farm we operated, my sale of it, the desire to continue owning the houseboat, and of taking a trip down the river to berth it in Muscatine. It was not as if Martin and I had no experience on the river, we owned several pleasure boats over the years and spent a great deal of time on the water, especially after Martin and I built our new home overlooking it.

I lost track of time as we visited; well, I visited and Aaron listened which I found most pleasing, and suddenly became aware of Lock and Dam 8 at Genoa downstream. I radioed the Lockmaster requesting permission to lock through and was informed there were several other small watercraft wanting to do the same; we were to join them.

Aaron was fascinated by the process through which a boat was "locked through;" the opening of the huge lock gates, the lowering of the water until it was the same level as downstream, the opening of the downstream gates, and our journey out and downstream. It was just a ways downstream I spotted an island with a nice sand beach, probably created by the constant dredging of the channel by the U.S. Corps of Engineers and decided it would be great place to fix our lunch. I slowed the engine, dropped to the downstream end of the island, and motored up into slack water formed by a cove.

Slowing even more, fearful I'd ground us, I began watching the depth finder. When I had about two feet of water under the keel and was about ten yards from the actual beach, I put the engines in neutral and activated the anchor hoist, dropping the main anchor and securing us. The water was deep enough for us to float free, but shallow enough for us to walk to the sand beach on the island if we wanted.

"I'm ready for lunch; how about you?" I asked Aaron.

"Sounds great, but I notice you have a shower on board; can I take one before lunch? I'm a little stinky and haven't had a chance to really get clean for a couple of days," he acknowledged.

I explained, while I did have a shower, it used either fresh water from the storage tanks or from a city water hookup when we stayed at a marina. As a result, since we were not at a marina, we'd have to be careful with our fresh water use and filling our grey water holding tank. I also spent some time filling him in on how the fresh water, grey water, and black water systems worked.

"Our holding tanks only hold enough for about three days of waste, if we're careful, and no, we can't empty them into the river- it's against the law."

Aaron nodded, looked discouraged until I said I could use a scrub also so we may has well use the river and the beach. With that said, I gathered up two towels, a couple of washcloths, and a bottle of head and body wash, waved him forward, walked to the small ladder used for boarding when anchored, and stripped down to my bare essentials.

His mouth dropped open and when I turned to face him and tell him to do the same, he was already wiggling out of his shirt, shoes, and jeans. He muttered as he stepped out of his jeans, "I wasn't wrong about the big balls part."

I just smiled, watching him slowly pull his thin, well-worn boxer briefs down and step out of them. With a nod, I picked up the two washcloths and the head and body wash, climbed down the ladder and waded ashore. Aaron was still standing on the deck when, after leaving the items on the sand, I returned, climbed back up, dug out another anchor and rope, re-entered the water and secured us with a second anchor, "Just in case," I shouted and waved him in.

Aaron took a real good look at Tony's package as the older man climbed in and out of the boat and waded ashore. Tony's balls were relatively large and low hanging and his cut cock, even while limp, was somewhat bigger than average he thought. Compared to his own, it was gigantic, but Tony wasn't very tall either so maybe it just looked big, although Aaron doubted it.

Tony's ass was not all that saggy as he thought an old man's butt cheeks should be nor was there a great deal of fat on the older man's body. In fact, thought Aaron, he's in pretty damn good shape!

I watched as Aaron stepped down the ladder into the water. He was short enough so the water came up over his crotch almost to his hips, covering his male parts, causing him to piss and shiver at the same time, but not before I got a really good look at them. His penis was uncircumcised and about two to three inches long with a very short tube of foreskin just barely covering the head and his balls were not tight up against his body, but low enough to indicate they'd dropped and he was well into if not passed the development stage, although I still had my doubts. His pubic hair was not full, dense as I expected, but light in coverage and black like the hair on his head. Aaron's legs and arms were sparsely and thinly covered by the same dark hair.

As he neared me, I picked up a washcloth and the head and body lotion and waded out to meet him. When we met, I told him to duck and get wet so I could shampoo his head. He looked at me rather oddly until I explained,

"Martin and I used to shampoo and wash each other and found it most relaxing and comforting." I squeezed a dollop of lotion on his head and began a careful, thorough shampoo of his beautiful dark hair. "It was a way for us to forget about all of our troubles and worries," I continued as a massaged his hair and neck.

"And fucking sexy to boot," thought Aaron as his prick began to stiffen.

I felt him relax as I gently shampooed his hair, leaning back up against my chest, listening to my voice as I spoke of the good times Martin and I had together. I also tried to draw him out, seeking answers to why and how he ended up in La Crosse and on my boat, but he responded very little, answering with only a "yes" or "no" to my subtle inquiries. I still thought he was younger than what he said, but I had little experience with Asians so how was I to know?

"All done," I announced, "duck and rinse."

Aaron did as I requested, dunking his head and whole body under the water to clear the shampoo from his hair, sputtering as he came up for the second time, giggling, "That felt good; now I'll do you, but you'll have to either bend over or kneel on the bottom so I can reach your head."

I obliged by kneeling on the sandy bottom, giving him access to my head and graying hair. He put a dollop of shampoo on my head, transferred the bottle to my hand, and began massaging the soap into my hair and on my scalp. As he worked, he leaned forward, his chest, back, and what felt like about a five inch very stiff cock making contact with my back. I felt it, made no comment, but felt my own staff begin to rise in response. I'd never had any experience with men this much younger, especially after being with Martin all of those years, but now I felt things beginning to change.

Aaron announced he was finished, I ducked and rinsed, but stood facing him, allowing my now engorging cock to point out straight at him. His eyes fell quickly to view my staff, licked his lips but said nothing. I turned walked to shore, picked up my washcloth, spread soap on it and began scrubbing my body, paying particular attention to my cock and my ass. Knowing Aaron was hard as well, I waved him ashore and held out a washcloth for him to use.

He didn't seem a bit embarrassed or shy about stepping up to me with his stiff rod pointing north. I was right, it was about five inches or so long. As he scrubbed, he did make one comment while looking at me; "Big!" and that was it.

We rinsed and waded back to the boat to towel ourselves dry. As he climbed up the ladder, his small butt almost in my face, I couldn't help but notice it and the small wrinkled pucker tucked away between those lovely mounds. In the cabin, he fished around in his backpack hunting for clean clothes, but seemed to have little luck.

"Need something to wear?" I asked.

"Yeah; I didn't have a chance to do any laundry the last couple of days."

Not certain if I had anything that would fit him, we did rummage through my clothes closet and dresser, finding a pair of shorts (they fell down around his ankles when he put them on) and finally decided on a long-large tee-shirt of Martin's still in the dresser. Aaron slipped in on and it did cover him, at least from his shoulders to his knees. It would work well while on the boat, but going to town someday- don't think so, because when he bent over, his ass poked out. He thought that was hilarious, but also enjoyed being naked underneath.

During lunch, which Aaron ate quite readily explaining he hadn't had any breakfast, I didn't press him on his background, instead spent the time discussing the boat and how things worked on it; all the way from how to take showers, use the head (bathroom- damn, I'll never get used to the new words; may as well use the ones I'm most familiar with), lights (including the solar battery charging panel), the refrigerator, television, satellite, water and waste system, and the motors which pushed the craft.

When it was time to up the anchors, Aaron peeled off his tee-shirt and waded ashore to bring in the extra anchor. He acted as though he'd been running around naked his whole life. I did notice he did chub up when he climbed back on board. When he came into the cabin and front where I was standing in front of the instrument panel and wheel, he smiled and asked, "How's that?"

His nice fat stiff cock was sticking almost straight up and twitching just a little. Trying hard not to stare, my own cock beginning to lengthen in my shorts, I merely responded, "Just fine; really, just fine, and raised the main anchor, started the engines, and began backing away from the island to continue our journey.

"Can I steer if for a while and sort of learn how things work? Aaron asked and sidled up next to me.

Nodding my consent, instead of standing in front of me as I expected, he hoisted himself up on the cushioned seat where I was sitting and positioned his sweet buns between my legs, his naked legs touching my exposed thighs and legs and his butt up against my crotch. That action, his warm, smooth almost hairless body up against mine, really gave me a serious hard-on! The end of my stiff dick was poking out of the bottom of the right leg of my shorts, resting tight against his right butt cheek.

It was distracting, I must admit, but I decided to begin a careful, patient instruction on handling the helm, increasing and decreasing speed through the use of the throttle, how much depth was under the keel by watching the depth finder, and steering the craft. I really had to be careful where I put my hands since more than once either a hand or my arm would brush his stiff prick. He never commented and neither did I. I hoped he didn't' realize what he was doing to me!

Never, ever in my life, I thought, at least since Martin and I'd been together had someone this young and this good looking brought me so instantly to a cock-stand such as I had now. Perhaps it was because I missed Martin so much or perhaps it was because I'd been without the companionship and sexual liaison with another male that brought it about, but really all I could think about was nursing that sweet prod of Aaron's to climax and mounting him, giving him a good rogering! It was something I loved, but in the later years of our relationship, Martin often begged off, claiming it was "too painful" and I was "too big" to make it satisfying for him. I didn't argue or complain; after all, lovers do what pleasures the other party because you love him!

Aaron continued at the helm until we rounded a bend and spotted the metal interstate bridge at Lansing. Off to the right of the channel, I spotted a marina, and took the helm from Aaron.

"We're going to head in there for the night if there's a place to dock. After we're secured, I'll see if there's a laundromat nearby so we can get some clothes washed and dried for you. You best get your shirt back on, can't have you running around naked all of the time."

The young man who met us when we docked, pointed out a slip we could use, hooked me up to electric and city water and assured me, in the morning, I could pump my holding tanks and top off my fuel tanks as well. Aaron gathered up his laundry, I stuffed it in a laundry bag, and after setting up the satellite dish so he could watch television if he wished, headed to shore to take care of business.

* * *

After Tony left, rather than watch television, Aaron pulled a soda from the fridge, sat in the living room area of the houseboat, sipped on the cold drink, and thought over his situation. He laughed to himself at Tony's reaction to his naked body and knew exactly the affect he was having on Tony Warren as he made every effort to wiggle his ass up against Tony's crotch while he sat between his legs while piloting the boat. He'd taken note of Tony's long, thick, veiny penis, large balls, and slim but trim physique while they were swimming and bathing earlier in the afternoon and decided then, not only was Tony well fit, but he liked him as well – all of him! Tony treated him nice, seemed affectionate, understanding, and Tony's treatment of him was much nicer than he'd been receiving the past few years. "Yep," he thought to himself, "It'd be well fit for me to stay with Tony, if he'll have me, and let him love me the way he and I both want; his fat cock up my ass!"

Aaron Reed was the product of a business liaison between his mother and an unnamed, unknown client she met at a hotel in downtown Milwaukee or so she claimed. She thought he was Asian or something, but wasn't very tall or weighed very much. According to her he made up for in sex since "he could fuck like a rabbit." Of course, Aaron's mother wasn't very tall either; barely five foot two inches and not heavy at all either.

After Aaron's mother was arrested for the third time for prostitution and jailed, he was placed in the "system" and drifted from one foster home to the next. She'd be out for a year or so and "bang" back into the lockup again! The last time, when he was twelve, was the last he ever heard from her. If and when she got out, she never made contact with him and the State didn't notify him of her whereabouts either so he ended up stuck in the "system."

Aaron learned a great deal while being fostered and it all wasn't from books either. Most of the places he stayed were with caring foster parents, but since his mother still lived, they considered him unadoptable. He learned how to survive on the streets, in the foster homes, stay under the radar, and still keep himself in spending money; not by selling himself, although he'd sucked a few cocks of other boys, wanked each other, and taken it up the ass on occasion (which he really loved), but he earned his bucks by panhandling, picking pockets, and "five-finger discount."

Aaron wasn't above helping himself to spare cash he found lying around the houses; just a five or so – not enough to be missed. He enjoyed going to church with his foster parents and either passing the collection plate or ushering. It not only kept him active and free from paying attention to the sermons, but also gave him access to an offering envelope or two. Rarely spending much, stashing the cash he obtained knowing someday he'd need it, Aaron relied on the State payments to the foster parents to supply him with his needs.

The last place he'd been placed was with a couple who had two sons, both away in college when he arrived in September. The fosters were strict and if he broke their rules, the man would take a belt to him; not just across his jeans covered ass, but make him pull down his pants and boxer briefs, and strap him on his bare ass. The old fart seemed to enjoy it!

The two sons came home for Christmas break and after a week or so, saw Aaron as their personal fuck toy! They'd tag team him night after night until they returned to college after break. Fortunately for Aaron, neither had a very big cock and they both insisted on using condoms since they "didn't want to catch anything from him." They gave mean, hard fucks and took pleasure from hurting him while they did. Both bigger than him, fighting back was not an option, so Aaron just took it! They announced they wouldn't be home for Easter since they were going to someplace in Texas instead. In their absence, Aaron made preparation to leave before they returned. He made certain he had a copy of his birth certificate, his social security card, and most importantly, a fake Wisconsin Identification Card!

Two days before the bully, butt-fucking brothers returned for the summer and what they were thinking would be one round-robin fuck fest, Aaron gathered up what few clothes he had, his pilfered copy of his birth certificate, his social security card, Wisconsin I.D., and packed them away in his backpack, along with his cash, putting the most of it in the back pack, but enough in his pocket to meet his needs. Aaron did leave the brothers a note; "Find someone else to fuck; my ass is sore!" There'd be little chance anyone would miss him for a few days, since school was out and the brothers weren't about to spill the beans why he left.

He caught a city bus to the Greyhound ® Bus Depot, bought a ticket to Cleveland, left the station, and before he'd walked fifty yards, encountered a young black male with a backpack on as well. When asked, the young man told Aaron he was "bookin'" out of town; Aaron gave him the ticket, wished him luck, caught a city bus to the west side of the city, and ended up at a truck stop.

Aaron was lucky; he caught a ride with a good guy trucker- a trucker who took him all the way to La Crosse and didn't ask for a blowjob, a little piece of his sweet ass, or a wank! The trucker had a load of boats he was delivering to the marina just off of the causeway and that's where Aaron ended up.

Aaron arrived at the marina a little before Tony did. He watched the man climb out of the cab that brought him there; watched as he entered the marina office, giving everyone a friendly greeting, and watched as an employee showed him his boat. As they walked back to the office, Aaron decided he liked the looks of the man; he seemed friendly enough, didn't carry himself in a threatening manner, didn't appear to be aggressive or arrogant, was fairly good looking, but he did looked damned lonely! Aaron knew the feeling well! Aaron spent two days watching him load the boat with food and other supplies.

"What the hell," Aaron muttered to no one in particular, walked down to the boat, tossed his backpack in a storage chest on the rear deck, climbed back on shore, and waited for the man to return.

Aaron spent two days watching him load the boat with food and other supplies. Funny thing, the man didn't spend his nights there, so Aaron did.

"The guy should have locked the boat doors," Adam said to himself when he woke the first morning after spending the night in a nice comfortable queen-sized bed.

On the third day, the man climbed aboard, started the engines, and Aaron, now on the docks, shouted, "I'll untie the lines," and waved. The boat began backing out, Aaron quickly climbed aboard and stealthily worked his way back to the rear and hid behind the storage chest. If anyone was looking for him, they'd check the bus station, find out he'd purchased a ticket to Cleveland, and spend their time looking for him there. Who in the hell would suspect he was traveling down river in a houseboat with a man he didn't know?

After Tony went ashore with the laundry, Aaron headed toward the master bedroom, leaned back on the pillows, pulled up his tee-shirt, and while remembering how Tony's twitching cock rubbed up against his bare butt cheek, wondering how it would feel to have that embedded deep in his love chute, stuck his middle finger up his ass, and began stroking up and down on his own rigid shaft until his balls tightened, his hips lifted, and he erupted all over his stomach, crotch, and hand. He was a bottom and loved it, only he wanted to give his body, not have it taken as the two brothers had done! Concerned they may have left him some little present, when he had his physical, after they returned to college, he also had the doctor check for any STD's. He received a clean bill of health and he was pleased. There was only one man he wanted to seed him and breed him properly now, and that was Tony Warren. Satisfied, running his fingers over his cum-coated tummy, he fell sound asleep!

I folded Aaron's clothing and put them in the laundry bag I'd used to bring them to the small laundromat I located not far from the marina. He really had very few clothes (all size small); two pair of jeans, a half dozen tee-shirts, some very worn cotton boxer briefs, a half-dozen pair of socks, couple of handkerchiefs, two small sweatshirts (one a "hoody"), and a light jacket.

"Not much for a young man of eighteen traveling about the country," I said aloud, wondering from whom or what he was running escaping from.

I decided he needed some new clothes, which I'd purchase when we reached Prairie du Chien, and I was going to invite him to stay- at least until I finished my trip! I was really beginning to like him, even after such a short acquaintance. "Beautiful" was a word not adequate in describing him and saying I wanted to pleasure him and him me was like wondering if horny dogs fuck!

Arriving back on board, laundry bag in hand, I was struck by the quietness; the television wasn't on, Aaron was nowhere to be seen, and I suddenly felt lonely, missing his smile, his smooth, almost hairless skin, his very presence! My heart skipped in trepidation, wondering, dreading, he'd left or, worse yet, something catastrophic, tragic occurred to the handsome young man who entered my life only this morning.

A gathering feeling of moroseness seeped into my mind as I slowly walked from the living/kitchen area toward the master bedroom, passing the bunk beds adjacent to the bathroom, noticing he was in neither, and finally to my bedroom, spotting him there. I felt, at that moment, like one of the Three Bears in "Goldilocks;" stretched out on my bed, wonderfully naked from the neck down where his tee-shirt was bunched up, nipples surrounded by his darker areolas, spotting a couple of globs of discharge resting between, and gathering from the smell of cum and the pools and puddles of it gathered on his stomach, naval, and on his sparse public bush, knew, when looking at his cock, I'd find a hand, still covered in semen, still resting there, relaxed after he's paid due diligence to his lovely male organ.

Setting the laundry bag down quietly so not as to wake him, I stood drinking in with my eyes the beautiful sight of his naked, young body before me, his breathing slow, relaxed, as he slept. The foreskin of his now flaccid penis covered the head except for a small opening where the piss slit on the head glistened with the final drops of jizz to leave, what I thought was a deliciously formed, delicate, and enticing smooth male cock!

For whatever reason, care and concern I rationalized in my lusting mind, I stepped to the bathroom, dampened a washcloth with warm water, returned to the bedroom where Aaron still reclined in restful, peaceful slumber, leaned over and began carefully, gently, and lovingly clean him of the residues of his recent masturbatory climax. I'd just about finished when he said softly,

"That feels great, Tony."

A quick, embarrassed glance at his smiling face, caused me to say, stumbling on my words, "I just thought you might not want to get your shirt all messy! Sorry about that!" and started to step away.

Aaron grabbed my hand, the one with the washcloth in it, saying, "No problem, `cept you missed a very important part of me," and placed my hand on his cock, where the head of the one-eyed admiral was just peeking out from under the cover, seeking either a port to enter or in readiness to call for "all hands!"

Watching the luscious, palatable end of his cock begin extending from the smoot, velvet sheath it called home when not in active hardness, I became aware Aaron's right hand was slipping up the right leg of my shorts where, with one finger, he gave the tip of my hardening, weeping cock-head a tickling, light, brush, causing it to twitch and extend more. Embarrassed he'd noticed my growing tumescence, I did a quick swipe of the cloth across his gorgeousness, and remarked quickly,

"Your laundry is done," and stepped away, letting his hand drop, but not reducing my erection.

"I really appreciate that," he responded, with a sensuous wipe of his tongue across his so inviting lips.

"It's late," I stammered, "and I need to fix us supper," turned and headed for the kitchen.

"I'll help!" Aaron and scrambled from the bed, still clad only in his tee-shirt, to join me, "right after I put my clothes away."

"Put them in one of the empty drawers on the left side of my dresser," I shouted back, hustling my ass, hoping to give time for my hard cock to deflate before he came to help.

Aaron entered the kitchen, after putting clothes away, clad in the tee-shirt, bare legs, and a smile. Looking at him dressed as he was, did little to return my cock to its flaccid state, knowing what was tucked away under that shirt.

"What's for supper?"

"Steaks on the grill, baked potatoes, in the microwave, and salad."

Aaron washed the potatoes while I readied the steaks for the grill and put them on to cook. We both worked on a tossed salad, leaning up against each other, evidently seeking the warmth and companionship that only one person can bring another.

Supper was delicious, the sunset was spectacular as we sat of the fore-deck savoring our after dinner drinks; wine for both of us, although Aaron didn't seem to have had much of it in the past since he made a funny face when he first sipped it. Having Aaron with me on the boat, was more than pleasurable, it was delightful! Our conversation was mostly small-talk, with me doing most of the talking. Aaron continued not to offer much concerning his past or why he was on the road and I didn't press the issue. I mentioned to him he needed some new clothes, he merely nodded knowingly; when I mentioned I intended to buy them for him, he just grinned, commenting,

"I'd like that very much! Some of my stuff is starting to wear out; I just didn't get around to do any shopping!"

Darkness seemed to gather quickly once the sun settled behind the western bluffs. As soon as it did, the mosquitoes began swarming about the naked parts of our bodies, so we headed inside where screened doors and windows kept the fierce little blood suckers away from us.

I was growing tired, confused as well, so I told Aaron I was heading to bed and he could take one of the bunks in the hall, adding, "We'll leave for Prairie du Chien in the morning and spend a couple of days there. I think you'll enjoy the city."

"Oh, I think I'll enjoy this trip with you very much!" Aaron responded.

I made a quick pit stop at the bathroom before heading to my bedroom. Once there, I stripped naked and crawled under a light cover. I was tired, but my overactive mind would not let me sleep. I couldn't believe my reaction when Aaron rubbed his bare butt up against my crotch and what I felt when I saw him naked, sleeping on this very bed, his delightful penis and nice tight balls on display. I had been filled with lust; not just lust, but a desire so strong it was all I could do to contain myself. It was an animal instinct almost, to not only engulf his cock in my mouth, but to flip him over on his stomach and ravish his sweet little ass with my rampant, throbbing man-tool causing him to beg for me to fuck him and me obliging. When I first saw him today, I wanted to make love to him and still did.

"Why on earth," I said silently, "would any handsome young man, almost thirty-eight years younger than me, even consider seeking and enjoying the company and sexual activities from an old man like me? He hasn't even known me for twenty-four hours; besides he's probably not gay, which I now doubt, or has a lover somewhere he's on the way to meet."

I flipped back the cover, stretched out on my bed, naked, my stiff cock in my hand, imagined Aaron was there with me. I could see his beautiful, tan body sprawled out in front of me, his almost hairless body alluring, enticing me to kiss his nakedness beginning at his head, letting my lips and my tongue travel delicately, softly from his forehead, to his left ear, then below, nuzzling the highly stimulating spot just behind the ear and on the neck sending electrical shocks from there to his groin.

Not wanting to stop there, migrate my lips around to his own, brushing, licking, probing until he opens and allows me entry where we can touch tongues, slip around inside each other's oral cavities, until I pull back, and using my nose as a guide, drop my face to his left nipple. There my lips would encounter that little nub surrounded by the darker brown tan of his areola, and caress it with my tongue, suckling gently on it, bringing it to a peak, before moving to its twin on his right breast.

Bringing him to a hip raising position of anticipated delight, I release my stimulation and travel south, to his navel, where I dip my tongue slightly into that small indentation, before continuing my journey to his pubic region, encountering his sparse bush, inhaling is intoxicating male scent, and finally, with my tongue, eagerly, but delicately swipe across the now emerging head of his cock as it begins begging for attention.

My fantasy was interrupted when my bedroom door quietly opened!

Aaron waited until he heard Tony leave the bathroom and go to his bedroom. Hearing the soft "click" of the bedroom door shutting, Aaron retrieved the tube of lubricant he'd "liberated" from the butt-fucking brothers, scurried across the hall, tended to business, and carefully lubricated his little puckered rear entrance and love tunnel, as far as his fingers would reach, left the bathroom, and walked quietly down the short hall to Tony's bedroom.

Naked, with only the light from the marina lights to illuminate hall and him, he opened the bedroom door, and saw Tony laying on his bed, his very stiff and large penis held in one hand, his eyes intensely fixed on him as he entered and walked to the bed.

Aaron slipped his body into bed, facing Tony, reached a hand forward and, while moving Tony's hand aside, clasped the object he'd wanted to make an acquaintance with all day, and for that matter the past three days, jacked it a couple of times and said, "Feels like you're happy to see me?"

"Happy" was not quite the word I would use; "ecstatic," "over-whelmed," or "flummoxed" would be only three adjectives from multitudes I might use to describe how I felt at that moment in time. Instead, I only nodded, not worrying whether or not he could see my head move, since my power of speech seemed to be almost non-existent or at least diminished with the appearance of this sweet, heavenly, luscious, young, nude male holding my cock! Not a sound came from my lips until,

"Oh my God!" I moaned as a pair of warm lips and a moist mouth wrapped around the head of my most sensitive organ and a wet flicking tongue began dancing under the glans and probing at the slit on the end of the shaft. Just as quickly as the warmth appeared, it disappeared and was replaced by a hand slicking a cold, slippery lotion all around my turgid rod.

"Don't worry," Aaron assured me, "it's going to warm up quickly," wiped his hands on the towel he brought with him, climbed above me, straddling my torso, holding my cock upright, centered it at his anus, and pressed down! He hesitated, pushed harder until the reluctant rectal ring opened allowing the head of my cock to pop into him, just beyond the tight ring muscles of his sphincter.

I said nothing, but oh, I wanted to shout plenty as he slowly settled lower and lower until his warm butt cheeks rested on my groin, my pubic bush tickling his smooth balls. Aaron was so, so tight (or I was so, so, large; it's hard to say), so warm, so moist; I could feel his internal muscles in the colon, bowel, and other parts of his body stretching, massaging, relaxing, adjusting in order to accommodate my girth. I felt I could penetrate him no further until my prick would puncture his stomach, which I knew was impossible, but it certainly felt like I was that deep inside him.

"Shit," thought Aaron as he slowly and somewhat painfully lowered himself on Tony's cock. "It feels like my whole insides is being rearranged; his prick not only looked big, it feels as big as it looks!"

Once fully seated, he rested, getting used to the intruder, before he began a gentle rocking motion; up and down, up and down, back and forth, taking the bologna pony at a walk before going full canter. When he finally did, he heard Tony gasp, "I'm not going to last long at this rate!"

"Neither am I," he squealed and suddenly, they both erupted!

I felt the pressure building in my balls, deep inside me, my cock-head swelling, and with a shout, I spurted my seed deep into Aaron in a series of blasts, seeding him, breeding him, claiming him as mine! As I unloaded, I felt him shudder, his anal ring constricting around my prick, and jets of his own warm, creamy juice shot out of his small cannon onto my chest and stomach. A glob hit my lips and, wanting to taste his essence, swiped it with my tongue, and ingested it into my mouth, where I savored its sweet taste before swallowing.

Aaron leaned forward, laid his head upon my shoulder, wrapped his arms under my shoulders, holding me in a tight hug, sighing, "God, Tony, that was totally awesome!"

Well, I couldn't disagree with that statement! I thought, at my age, I might start to droop, so to speak, but remained has hard as when I first started. Thinking he might be uncomfortable or at least want to relax his sphincter for a little while, I started to pull out, but he quickly stopped me!

"Leave it in for as long as you stay hard; it feels so damned good!" he pleaded and raised his head and kissed me!

His kiss more than blew my mind! It wasn't just a kiss, but a passionate, tongue-wrestling, fluid-swapping kiss of lust and love, for me, an old man!

We lay like that, him on top of me, me embedded in his rear, until I felt him begin to relax and begin snoring softly. Aaron was sound asleep, stretched out on top of me, my cock still up his butt. I was able to reach the light blanket I'd kicked off earlier, pull it up, and cover both of us without waking him. Wrapping my arms around him, holding him secure and safe to my body, I luxuriated in his warmth, his smooth, velvety skin, and hoped this relationship would never end!

Eventually, my penis softened, and I plopped free from his love chute. I thought he might be uncomfortable resting on top of me, but when I attempted to move him, he held on all the tighter and whispered, "No!" It was fine with me, so I drifted off to sleep, comforted by him as well.

Around midnight, he suddenly raised his head and announced, "I have to go to the bathroom!" but didn't make any effort to climb off of me and head to the bathroom.

"Oh, oh," I muttered aloud, "you're still asleep Aaron, my love," and quickly moved him off of me, got him to a groggy, sleeping standing position, and, with encouragement and assistance, walked him to the bathroom, and sat him on the toilet. While he farted out gobs of cum, air, and who knows what else, I washed myself clean from our love-making with a washcloth. Once his bowels were empty, he pissed and pissed some more. When the golden stream quit flowing, I leaned him forward and cleaned his sweet cheeks and pucker with tissue and with a warm, wet washcloth. My flaccid cock came into contact with his face while ministering to him and, even in his sleep, he couldn't resist taking a swipe at it with his tongue.

I stood him up, put an arm around him, and guided him back to our bedroom (since it would appear that's the way he wanted it and I definitely did). He settled in next to me with his right leg over my hips and crotch, right arm over my chest, and his head nestled on my right breast. We fell asleep that way!

The wake of a passing barge heading up river, gently rocked us awake the next morning. The sun was barely peeking over the bluffs to the east, but it was light enough for me to see the bright, smiling face of my bed-mate looking in total contentment at me.

"Gotta piss!" he announced, laughed, and headed for the bathroom. When he returned, it was my turn to relieve my bladder. Much relieved, I returned to the bedroom and was greeted by the same smiling face and forearms resting on a pillow, ass thrust up in the air, wiggling in invitation. That luscious buttocks with its light brown and pink orifice was just the right height for me to kneel behind him and service him the way we both desired. I mounted my lovely, precocious, sexually provocative, and enticing young stallion and began our morning ride. By the time we finished, we were both well and truly fucked, to say the least!

After breakfast, we topped off our tanks, emptied our wastes, and headed down river towards Prairie du Chien through Lock and Dam 9 at Lynxville. I became quite aware on the trip down river it's not impossible to fuck Aaron while steering the boat with him in my lap, my rod impaled as deep as his butt cheeks would allow. The only problem was I had to look around his head once in a while to make certain I didn't collide with something on the river, that and make certain I try to keep my eyes open when I cum!

I paid docking fee at the marina in Prairie for two nights, made certain Aaron was clean and presentable (meaning I raised his tee-shirt, knelt before him, sucked his sweet candy stick into my mouth and brought him off before we left) in clean tee-shirt, shorts, and tennis shoes, locked up the boat, hailed a cab, and went shopping.

Prairie's a great city spread out along the river and has much to offer besides old Fort Crawford. Shopping took most of our day and when our arms could hold no more, we took a cab back to the boat and unloaded. Aaron was so overwhelmed with all we'd purchased, he damn near cried.

"I don't know how I can thank you enough," he said softly looking at the treasure trove of items I bought for him and raised up on his toes and kissed me.

Well, I knew what he could do and we did, twice in fact before supper, and just before falling asleep at bedtime.

"He must be terribly sore," I thought, but he didn't complain, although I noticed he did make liberal use of the special cream a pharmacist recommended at one of the big box stores when I asked if there was anything to "ease the discomfort of..." and said no more but inclined my head toward Aaron. The pharmacist winked, picked up the cream and asked if I needed "some little blue pills" as well. Those I didn't need, oddly; one look at Aaron's naked body and I was as stiff as a flag pole on the Fourth of July.

The next morning we caught a cab again, but this time I had it take us to a bicycle shop. Aaron questioned me why and I explained it was really quite simple.

"Many of the small towns we'll visit don't have taxis so if we want to see the sights we either have to walk or just not go. Other towns have cabs, but why pay when we can ride a bike? Besides, we can take these with us on the houseboat."

I bought two road bikes, complete with rear carriers, lights, front and back strobes for safety, front packs that attached to the handle bars for incidentals, attached tire pumps, saddle bags for the rear to hold our purchases or other gear, helmets, biking clothing (you know the tight shirt and the pants that outline the size and shape of your dick), camel-back water containers, and a couple of small tool kits. Even on sale, the bicycles set me back a pretty penny, but I figured we could sight-see and exercise at the same time.

We rode them back to the houseboat; they were a joy to handle! Our two day stay turned into a week and we enjoyed our new found freedom, touring around Prairie du Chien, visiting Villa Louis and other places. We even rode across the bridge into Iowa, visiting Marquette/ McGregor (checking out the Pink Elephant) and out to Effigy Mounds National Monument.

One day turned into the next as we lazed our way down the river, stopping for overnights anchored to islands or sandbars, swimming, sunning, with stops along the way at Garnavillo, Guttenberg, and Cassville where we watched the car ferry, loaded with tourists, cross the Mississippi from Iowa to Wisconsin.

We finally arrived in Dubuque, rented a slip at a marina near the riverboat casino, for three days and began our visit. Dubuque, although the downtown section is relatively flat along the river, is perched on bluffs and hills necessitating the rental of a car to see the colleges and university high above the city. We did ride the cable car up the bluff for a fantastic view of the city and the riverfront. We dined out, watched a couple of movies, and poked around the shops and sights the city had to offer. It was an enjoyable visit and occupied about a week and half of our time. I did suggest we rent a car and drive over to Madison, Wisconsin, but Aaron quickly and emphatically said "No!" and as usual, I didn't press why.

After Dubuque we traveled south to the little town of Bellevue, Iowa. It's a quaint town with an interesting shopping district. The Lock and Dam is right next to the town. From there we took our time down river to Savannah, Sabula (the Island City), Clinton, Le Claire (Home of Buffalo Bill), and finally ended up at Muscatine, my home, and now Aaron's, I hoped. It was the twentieth day of August when I steered the boat into the marina and the slip I'd rented to dock my boat. Once docked, moored securely, and utilities hooked up, we unloaded our bikes.

Aaron asked "Where to?" and I answered "Home; it's not far, maybe four miles. We'll leave everything here, go home get the pickup, come back, unload laundry and clean clothes, and the perishables and haul them home. The rest we'll leave here, since we're not done tripping."

My home overlooking the river sits just high enough on a hill to be relatively safe from flooding, although I do carry flood insurance just in case, and has an excellent view of the big river from the front room, deck (roofed and screened into a three-season deck), and walk-out basement. After parking our bikes in the double garage and entering the house through the mud-room and kitchen access from the garage, I gave Aaron the tour; dining room, living room (with fireplace), master bedroom (with large walk-in shower and full bathroom), and two guest bedrooms with access to a guest bathroom across the hall. Downstairs, half of the basement was mechanical and storage and the other half finished into a family/recreation room with a wet bar and entertainment center.

All he said the entire time we toured was one word; "Wow!" when we stood on the deck overlooking the river.

"Well," I said happily, my arm around Aaron, "Do you think you could be happy living here with me?"

Aaron was still; I felt a slight shudder go through his body. When I turned him to face me and ask what the problem was, his eyes were full to overflowing with tears!

"Hey, what's the problem my sweet love?" I asked as I pulled him tightly to me.

Aaron sobbed, "I don't think I'd better stay; you could be in a lot of trouble if I did!"

I didn't respond right away, but finally asked, "Why would you say that?"

"Tomorrow's my birthday!"

"So?"

"I'll be sixteen!" he sobbed, "In Wisconsin you have to be eighteen to consent to sex; you know, the kind of stuff we did."

My heart fluttered, skipping a beat, when I heard his confession; it was as I suspected, but refused to acknowledge, even after seeing, feeling, and tasting his physical attributes. I felt my shoulders slump in the stark realization concerning the impact his words had on my relationship with him and what could happen to me as a result of what we'd been doing since he came on board.

Although my love for him was deep, intense, and committed and I was certain his toward me was the same, even though he'd offered himself to me freely and without coercion, in the eyes of the law I was the perpetrator or predator and he was the helpless victim. No doubt about it, if found out and convicted I could end up in prison for many years, or in my case, the rest of my natural life. If I should, per chance, be released before my demise, I'd be labeled a "sexual predator or offender" and a pariah for all to know and take revulsion of.

All of this would happen if, and the operative word was "if," we were found out. If not, then we could continue to enjoy each other's company, love each other as passionately in the future as we had on our journey down river, wake each morning in each other's arms, and fall asleep each night in post-coital bliss.

There was no other choice as far as I was concerned; in my mind, it was the right thing to do!

I raised his face, wiped away his tears, kissed him, and responded, "I guess we should do something special to celebrate, don't you think?" Unable to contain myself, I added, "Well, my sweet love, we're in Iowa now, not Wisconsin and the age of consent is sixteen. What other's don't know we did is fine, as long as we keep our mouths shut!"

"But," he said in a pleading voice, his face now all smiles, "There's a lot of times I don't want to keep my mouth shut; full, yes, but not shut!"

Aaron, the second love of my life, held me tight, flexed his muscles a wee bit more, just to test to see if there was any more seed left inside me for him to put in his sweet garden, grinned at me and said, "See, I told you no one would ever know, and now it's too fucking late!"

Aaron Reed celebrated his eighteenth birthday exactly one week before, yesterday we were united in marriage, and today is the rest of our lives together; a life loving each other and sharing all things through love and now, through the law. I still miss Martin, my first love, but it was as if in his death he had something to do with my meeting Aaron and eventual marriage to him, wanting me to enjoy life after his death!

The End.

 

Posted: 08/16/19