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"Are you gonna be okay?" Will Saunders, asked, as he, his wife, and son entered the courtroom, at Owen's side. The blond man hesitated, his hands clenching into fists. A fine sheen of perspiration appeared on his forehead, as he grasped the door jamb. "Um . . . I don't know . . . no, not really." He turned to Will wearing a wry smile. "I guess I don't have much choice, though, do I?" He scanned the courtroom, speaking without turning. "This is the same room Pops died in. It was right over there," Owen nodded toward where his father had confronted his own demons, and died, after doing his best to apologize to Owen for how he had treated his son. Nicky Saunders reached out and took Owen's hand, doing what little he could to let his friend know he wasn't alone. The boy felt responsible for bringing Owen into this place. If he'd been able to run away from Maxine, he told his parents, instead of letting her grab him, none of them would be here. It didn't matter how often his parents told him that he was not the person at fault. It was Maxine. He was not the person who would be on trial. Again, it was Maxine. He was not responsible for the way Owen felt about the building. "You are not responsible for anything which is going on, Sweetheart. You are the victim, Nicky," his mother, Peg Saunders reminded him. You didn't do anything wrong. "In his own way, Owen is also a victim," she said, kneeling, and holding her son's hand as she looked into his eyes. "He's never recovered from how his father treated him. Even though the man treated him real bad, Owen still loves him, and it's going to be hard for him to go back into the same place where he saw his father die." "We have to help him, Mom," Nicky said. "Owen's always helping me. I should be able to do something to help him." Peg Saunders knelt and hugged her young son. "That's real nice of you, Nicky, but the only thing you, me, your father, or anyone else can do for Owen, is to be there whenever he needs us. Sometimes holding his hand, or putting an arm around his shoulder, is all he needs, to know that he's not facing things alone, and that people who love him are there, with him. "Do you understand?" "Yeah," Nicky grumbled, "But, I don't like it. Owen helps me. He always has. Somehow, holding his hand doesn't seem like enough." Peg Saunders drew her son to her for a long hug, overcome with maternal pride. "Sweetheart, holding his hand, will mean a lot to Owen." When he gave her a skeptical look, she grinned. "Really. Especially when you are the one who's doing it." Owen took his little friend's hand as he glanced down at Nicky, and moved close. "Geez, this is rougher than I thought it'd be," he murmured," glancing to Will. "I thought meeting with the lawyers this morning, and all of us having to relive everything about when Miss Maxine grabbed Nicky, was bad, but bein' here . . . in this place . . . brings all the stuff with Pops back, and having Maxine harping at everyone, telling 'em how to do their job, doesn't make things better." He grinned apologetically. "I'm just not good when people are shouting and carrying on." He looked down at Nicky and did his best to smile. The courtroom was nearly full, the two slowly moving ceiling fans inadequate to move the heavy air. Many people from Riverton were present, some as witnesses, some merely because they sensed a bit of entertainment, at Maxine's expense. Nearly everyone was fanning themselves, their voices hanging in the humid air. No sooner at the Saunders' and Owen stepped into the stale air of the enclosed room than Maxine, as if sensing their presence, shot to her feet and pointed a shaking, claw-like finger in their direction. "There he is!" she announced to all present. Everyone turned, expecting to see evil incarnate. Instead, all they saw was Owen, looking pale, and the Saunders family. Maxine dropped her lighted cigarette onto the wooden floor of the courtroom, and ground it out, as she convulsed with a liquid cough, then inhaled a wheezing breath and continued, in a rasping voice. "He's the cause of all this! He's the one who should be behind bars, abusing a child, like he does!" Will rested a hand on Owen's back. "Don't let her get under your skin, son. Don't respond to her. That's what she wants you to do." "You're not alone, Owen," Nicky said, looking up at his ashen-faced friend. "I'm here. So's Mom and Dad, and all these people who know you." "You tell him, Nicky," someone said, loud enough for everyone in the courtroom to hear. The comment was answered with nods and a chorus of voices, raised in agreement. Maxine, sensing there wasn't a friend in the entire room, crossed her arms and plopped down onto the heavy wooden chair, then turned a scathing glare on her State-appointed attorney. Owen responded to the words of encouragement with a slight nod, a determined tightening of his lips, as he and the Saunders family made their way to the front of the room, and joined their attorney only moments before the judge appeared and the court was called to order. Nicky didn't seem to notice the heat, humidity, or tension which cracked throughout the room, as he climbed onto the witness chair, prepared to answer questions. "I'm ready," he said, turning to the judge. When many in the courtroom chuckled, he turned in the chair, to better see the judge. "Did I say something wrong?" he asked, the grey-haired man, who looked down at him and smiled. "No, young man. Not at all. Thank you for letting us know we can proceed." "Your welcome," Nicky responded, turning away from the judge to face, first one attorney, the another, each time telling the same story about being grabbed by Maxine, and calling for Owen, who was working nearby in the library. He described his friend's mad dash out of the library door, and how he'd grabbed Maxine's arm. "She made me drop my book!" Nicky said, at one point, as if that was something much worse than being seized, shouted at, and roughly shaken, no matter how frightening the experience had been. "Owen came running, when I yelled. He grabbed Miss Maxine's arm, keepin' her from shaking me any more. Then, Mom and Dad came running, and Mom went, pow, and hit Miss Maxine in the chin, with a fist, telling her what a bad person she is." "Pow?" the judge grinned. "Yeah, like this," Nicky said, warming to his story. He slid off the chair and demonstrated exactly what his mother had done. "A long time ago, Owen's told me that it's not a good thing to hit and yell at people," Nicky continued, as he climbed back onto the slippery wooden chair. He turned to the judge. "Maybe, he should'a told Mom." Peg Saunders covered her mouth, hiding her smile from her son. Even Owen grinned. Next, Owen was asked to describe what happened, followed by a string of townsfolk, all of whom described the event in much the same way as described by Nicky Saunders. When it came time for Maxine to take the stand, she refused, sinking back into her chair and crossing her arms, determined to stay put. When the judge ordered the bailiff to assist the Defendant to the stand, Maxine shot to her feet, batting the bailiff's hand away. "Did the fag-boy pay you to treat me like this, lettin' all those friends of his come here and tell lies about me? I'm just an ordinary old woman whose livelihood is being taken away 'cause of that fag-boy and his fag-boy friends." "Ma'am, we are not here to discuss anyone or anything, but you, and what you are accused of having done, namely assaulting young Nicky Saunders, a child. "Of course I grabbed him! He needed a good shaking, or a few good swats on his bare butt! Some kids, and he's one of 'em, need to have common sense beaten into them. I was shaking the kid trying to find out what he and that fag-boy do in bed together," she concluded, in a gravely voice. "What?" Nicky asked, turning to his mother. "Bed?" he asked, his childish voice rising in disbelief at what he'd heard. "Shhhh, Sweetheart," Peg murmured. "You're not supposed to talk unless you're asked to." "But . . ." Nicky sputtered, glancing from his mother, to his father, and the judge, calming only when Owen rested a hand on his shoulder. Peg Saunders gave Owen a look of thanks as she shook her head, holding a finger to her lips, reminding her son to sit still and do his best to remain quiet. "Sure, bed!" Maxine spat, answering the youngster's question. "Why else would a child be friends with someone like him?" the scarecrow-thin woman screeched, turning to point at Owen, who impassively stared straight ahead. "Owen's teaching me to read!" Nicky shouted, back, unable to restrain himself. Maxine sniffed, crossed her arms, and held herself ramrod straight. "Likely story. I don't believe you." She turned away from the child, raised her jaw, and sniffed disdain. "Yet, I do," the judge said. "You would," Maxine sneered, rounding on the man. "You're probably just like him," she yelled, pointing to Owen. Y'll stick together, don't you?" The judge turned to Owen, who had bowed his head. "Mister Carver, are you ill?" "No sir." Owen gulped. "All of this shouting n'stuff, plus this courtroom." He shook his head. "I . . . I . . . can't handle yelling n'stuff . . . too well. Plus, my . . . my father, died in this room. Bein' in here, and listening to all this shouting, makes me feel like I'm reliving it all." Maxine drew herself up and pointed a claw-like finger in Owen's direction. "He killed his father! A nicer man was never born, and he killed him with his fag-boy ways." Will choked back a response, as did many others in the courtroom, all of whom knew the real Jonathan Carver, Owen's father. "Ma'am, Mister Carver is not facing this court. You are. You have just admitted assaulting a child, and for that you will be punished. "We are not here today to discuss Mister Carver's unfortunate father, nor how he came to die, so please refrain from unfounded comments. Also, please do not use the term fag-boy one more time." Maxine crossed her arms, and sniffed, raising her chin. "Stop me." Nicky squirmed in his seat, sensing Maxine had met her match. "Alright, ma'am, I shall." "How?" Maxine sniffed, inching her chin a notch higher. "I am holding you in contempt of court. You shall be spending the next two months in the Evanston town jail, during which time you shall do your best to learn to treat other people as you would wish to be treated. And," he held up a finger, when Maxine opened her mouth to speak, "you will learn not to interrupt me, talk back to me, or call me names. The unfortunate souls you must deal with on a daily basis may have to put up with such behavior, I however, do not. "After you have had an opportunity to contemplate your behavior, we will meet again, and I will . . ." "How dare you!" she hissed, leaning on the table in front of her, with stiff arms. "Ma'am, a moment ago, I sentenced you to two months in confinement. I am increasing it to three. One more outburst, and it will be six months." "You have no right! I am an old woman! I've done nothing wrong! The fag-boy has paid you to do this to me! It's not right! I'm not the one who should be punished!" "Bailiff, would you please escort the Defendant from the courtroom, and turn her over to the town of Evanston's Chief of Police, so she can begin her six month sentence." He returned his attention to Maxine, who was struggling with the Bailiff. "The six months you are serving in the Evanston jail, ma'am, will be deducted from whatever sentence is eventually imposed. Take her away." "You can't be serious!" When the shouting and screaming had finally quieted, the judge took a deep breath and turned to the Saunders'. Mister and Mrs. Saunders, Nicky . . . Mister Carver. The woman who assaulted you will be locked away for a minimum of six months. She has admitted to assaulting you, young man, and a sentence will be imposed. The Court will not entertain the possibility of bail for a minimum of three months. Are there any questions?" "I don't understand the big words," Nicky said. "I'm sorry." The judge grinned. "There is no need to apologize, Mister Saunders. "I've sent her to jail for six months, for yelling and calling me, you, and Mister Carver . . . Owen . . . bad names. There are rules everyone must follow. She broke all of them, even after being warned. "In addition to breaking those rules, she admitted to grabbing and shaking you. After she has spent the next six months thinking about calling me, you, and . . . Owen, names, I will decide how she shall pay for what she did to you." He paused a moment to give Nicky a chance to think through what he'd been told. "Do you understand?" "Yes. Thank you for explaining it." The young boy turned to his mother. "I guess I shouldn't call anyone names, huh?" * * * "We're back!" Nicky shouted, scrambling up the stairs to the apartment, filled with excitement. The young man's parents, and Owen, followed, at a more sedate pace. Sam looked up from his laptop computer and smiled at the boy's enthusiasm. "So . . .," Sam asked, "What happened?" "They threw her into the slammer!" Nicky shouted, then pumped his raised arms. "Wooo Hooo! For six whole months! "You should'a seen it, Sam! She called the judge names n'stuff and he had her hauled away, kicking and screaming. It was so cool! Huh, Owen?" Owen gave his young friend a pensive nod. "She was certainly in rare form. I'll have to say that." Sam glanced from Nicky, who was brimming with excitement, to Owen, who seemed exhausted. "Well, um . . . now that Nicky's told Sam everything that happened, we'd better head home," Will Saunders murmured, gathering his son to him. "I'm glad things turned out well, Owen," he added. "Maybe she'll realize the error of her ways." Peg Saunders rolled her eyes and shook her head, but said nothing. Nicky gave Owen a hug then waved at Sam, as he and his folks left, the sound of the young boy's words, "Is Owen gonna be okay?" trailing behind. When the door to the building closed, Sam eased himself onto the sofa at Owen's side. "So . . . it was pretty awful." Owen leaned against Sam, resting his head on his lover's shoulder, as Sam held him close. "You could say that." Owen took a shuddering breath. "Sammy, there was so much yelling, that I could barely stand it. Maxine was callin' the judge and me names, and all sorts'a stuff. The room was like an oven, and, other than everyone who was there to answer questions, the place was full of people who wanted a show. They didn't care about Maxine, or Nicky, or me. They loved all the shouting and finger pointing. It was spectacle for them, nothing more. They'd have been even more happy if there'd been a fist fight, or, like with Pops, someone had had the courtesy to die, so they could have something really exciting to talk about when they went home." "So, it was awful." Sam murmured, as he ran his fingers through the short hair at the back of his lover's head. "It was hell. I felt like everything bad in my life was in that room, just waitin' t'get at me. I wanted to run, or scream, or both. All I could think of was Pops having one of his seizures, or whatever they were, shouting at some unseen monster, as he writhed on the courtroom floor, screaming as he died. I can still see him, lying there, with his mouth open in a silent scream, his eyes still wide. It was like he could see those monsters, even though he was dead. "I knew it was crazy, but I just knew someone like Pops was in that room who wanted to hurt me. I mean, other than Maxine. I'm sort'a always walking around wondering when someone I thought I trusted is going to haul off and hit me, or back me into a corner and trap me." He lapsed into silence. "I'm not so much afraid of being hit any more, since I've grown up, but being shouted at or trapped . . . or touched!" He shuddered. "That's how I felt, in that courtroom. I didn't like having people behind me that I couldn't see, 'cause I knew, I mean I really knew that one of 'em was gonna be like Pops and lash out at me. I wanted to duck, or climb under the table, or run, but there was nowhere to go. I had to be there, and I didn't want to start acting all weird 'cause'a Nicky n'all. "I'm scared, Sam!" Owen cried, clasping his lover's hand. "I'm scared of being trapped, or hit, or shouted at. I don't think I'm gonna ever get over what he did to me. I don't think it's possible for me to live anything like a normal life. I don't feel like I can trust anyone, but Jonah and you, and," Owen looked away, lowering his voice, "maybe . . . Lucas." "Then, to make matters worse, I'm afraid of how I'll react if lots of stuff is going on at the same time, and I feel like I'm backed into a corner, with no place to turn. Will I lash out? Will I break down and cry, or let whoever it is bash me, physically or verbally? Or . . . and this is the worst thing of all, will I beat whoever it is, to a pulp, taking out all'a my frustrations n'stuff on 'em? "I've always kept how I feel, a secret. I was ashamed. I thought I'd done something to deserve being treated bad. Geez, Sam, I didn't even talk to Jonah about it, until the beatings n'stuff became real bad. Then, I had to. "Oh, you always knew Pops and I didn't get along, but it took a lot of trust for me to finally tell you how bad it really was. Same with Lucas. Even then, I think I held back. Even . . .," he gulped, "now." "Y'know, Jonah never one time told me that everything would be okay. That would have been meaningless." Owen snorted, "Or worse than meaningless. What he did tell me, was that he was there for me . . . that he would always be there for me . . . He never judged me, or teased me 'cause I was crying. He just . . . loved me . . . silently. That . . . that's why I feel about Jonah, as I do. Can you understand how I feel about him?" Owen asked, on the verge of tears. "Shhhhh," Sam murmured, as he tenderly ran his fingers through the hair on the back of his lover's head. "I understand. So . . . so does Lucas. It's okay." "Y'know, you were my first male friend. Pops didn't like me seeing you, not because I was seein' you, but because I was growing up and was no longer completely under his control. Remember that first time we hugged, when you grabbed at me and kept me from falling in the river? I was scared stiff, not 'cause I was afraid of falling in the water, but because you grabbed at me. I was afraid you were gonna hit me or something. "When you didn't . . . hit me, but hugged me instead, I couldn't believe it! You held me till my shaking went away. Somehow you knew, Sam. Somehow, when you told me that you'd never do anything to hurt me, you knew what I'd been going through. "Y'know, that was the first night I remember not crying myself to sleep. Y'see, after that hug, I knew that there were more good people in the world than just Jonah. You stuck by me, like he did. You never judged me, or told me that I should stand up to the man, or run away, or kill him in his sleep, or something. You just . . . loved me. "Love . . .," Owen softly snorted. "Y'know, that's one thing Jonah and I never said to one another . . . that we loved each other. Love wasn't a word we had any experience with. We didn't know what it meant, any more than we knew what Christmas meant, or birthday parties, or gifts . . . or laughter, or teasing, or a kind touch. Those were alien things to me, and I still feel uncomfortable with many of 'em. Mama did her best, but she could only go as far as Pops would let her." Owen lowered his voice. "It wasn't far enough. "Y'know, no matter what I do, Pops is there. I can hardly do anything, without hearing a comment, or looking over my shoulder. I know I'm not alone thinking like that. I've watched Mama, or Abigail, or Opie, and Jonah. They haven't said anything, but we all feel like we're doing something really daring, when we laugh, or tease one another. We'll suddenly stop, and look around, wondering when he will come storming into the room. "I don't feel that so much whenever I'm not at Mama's, and since she's married Daniel, I feel it even less. Maybe it's 'cause I think Daniel will handle Pops, or something, but it's getting easier to relax. "Still, I have to have my guard up all the time to keep things under control. If I don't, I know he will get to me. Then, today at the courthouse, I felt him there, reaching out t'touch me. I saw him on the floor. I heard him screaming at whatever was tormenting him. And . . . Sammy, I'm scared t'death that what happened to him is gonna happen to me. That I'm gonna become him." Sam held his lover until the trembling stopped. 'Oh, Owen,' he thought. 'What are we gonna do with you? What will it take for you to realize that you are not your father? As much as you may think otherwise, you do not have it in you to hurt another person.' Owen rested his head on Sam's shoulder, and heaved a trembling sigh. 'What will it take for you to realize that you are creating the very things you claim to fear?' Sam thought of one of the only true argument he and Owen had ever had, and knew better than to suggest his lover seek professional help. It was the only time Sam had ever heard Owen shout in anger, and he hoped it would be the last. "No, Sammy, NO! I will not go to a professional, only to have them sift every aspect of my life, and have them make me relive it all, over, and over, and over, just so I can try and figure out why Pops acted like he did. I don't care why. All I know is that he did, and that, no matter what I do I will never be free of him. There is no way that will ever happen!" "Then, what's gonna happen?" Sam remembered asking, cursing his rising voice. "Are you happy to live in fear of a dead man? Are you happy to let that man rule your life? What about the nightmares? All the people who love you are afraid for you. Not of you, but for you. Sometimes it's like you're walking on a knife edge. No matter which way you fall, you're gonna get cut. I don't want that to happen, Owen. I love you. Lucas loves you. Jonah loves you! You've got to do something!" "Of course I'm not happy. I never have been, other than my relationship with Jonah and you . . . and Lucas. Of course, I'm not happy about people being afraid for me, and there's no need to tell me about balancing on a knife's edge! But, I will not . . . no matter what . . . have someone messing about in my head, stirring things up! No one will ever be able to convince me to do that . . . not Lucas, not you, not even Jonah! So . . . leave it!" * * * "D'you think this picnic-thing is such a good idea," Bailey muttered, out of the corner of his mouth, as he, Riley, Owen, Lucas, and Sam, left the town's main street and headed for the row of trees lining the riverbank. "I mean, it's going to be dark soon. How're we supposed to get back to our beds?" "You aren't." Sam grinned, without turning around. "What?" Bailey exclaimed, stopping in the middle of the grassy field the men had been crossing. "What . . . precisely . . . do you mean . . . we aren't?" "Ummm," Bailey." Riley hesitated, wondering how to impart the news. "I don't think they intend to go back to the bed and breakfast tonight." "What!?" Bailey's eyes widened. "Ohh nooooo." He turned to Owen, and pointed a finger. "You! Look at what you've done to me! I am willing to do . . . almost . . . anything for you, but . . . I thought I might be able to handle sitting on the ground to eat, but . . . to sleep?" He lowered his voice, looking from side to side. "Aren't there wild animals, or something, which roam the riverbank, in the darkness?" Lucas laughed. "The first time these guys brought me out here they warned me of the alligators." "Oh geez," Riley bowed his head. "Do alligators climb trees?" "I don't think so," Bailey answered, after a moment. "But, neither do you, so what are you talking about?" "If I had adequate motivation, I might be able to." Bailey looked at him, with a skeptical expression. "Well, I might!" Riley insisted. Bailey shook his head and made a throw away gesture before planting his fists on his hips. "Well, this is just dandy. I may end up on some animal's dinner menu, and I'm not even wearing my good clothes. If I'm going to go, I intend to go in style," he added. "I doubt the alligator will notice what you're wearing," Lucas laughed. "Besides, what sort of attire is appropriate for . . . ahem . . . appearing on a wild animal's dinner menu?" "Oh geeeez!" Riley groaned, turning to look over his shoulder. "I think I'll go back to the apartment." "Watch out for the bears," Sam said. "And, they do climb trees." Riley opened his mouth to comment, thought about what he might say, then closed his mouth, slowly, looking none to pleased with the situation. "All right! Out with it! I want the truth, before either Riley or I get upset, and set out to establish a new pecking order . . . with us . . . as the top . . ." he hesitated, "ahem . . . peckers." He shot a medium glare in Owen's direction, in reaction to the snort of amusement. "There aren't really any alligators, or bears, or any other sort of wild animal, out here, are there?" He rested his fists on his hips. Owen leaned forward and lowered his voice to a confidential tone. "Ahhh . . . no." "What'd he say?" Riley anxiously asked. "What'd he say?" "He said, no." Bailey gave the three smiling men his very best scathing glare, the same one which his mother and father had turned upon him, so often. "What? They were playing with our heads?" "We're sorry, guys," Lucas said, laying an arm across Bailey's shoulder. "I am moved by your insincerity. But," he sorted through a couple of tempting responses before deciding on a simple grin. "You certainly had Riley and me going. So . . . when do we head back? I'm ready, now. Let's forego eating, shall we? Animals or no, I don't fancy stumbling around in the dark." "No way! We're going to have a campfire, and eat a meal, and roast marshmallows on the end of a stick. Then," Owen concluded, "I'm hoping we can all get nekkid and fool around." "Outside? On the dirt?" "There's no dirt . . . Just grass. And flowers, and fireflies." "Bugs," Bailey shuddered, "Ugh." "Noooo. They aren't bugs." Owen laughed, cajoling the two reluctant . . . picnickers . . . to resume their walk toward the river. "We'll have fun." "C'mon, Riley," Sam laughed. "There's no need to be looking around. We apologized for teasing you." "Yeah, right," Riley muttered, allowing himself to be led. "Trouble is, I'm not sure I believe you were teasing. You're probably wearing some sort of alligator and bear repellant. You should have asked Nathan along on this joy ride of yours. He's more outdoorsy than either Bailey or me." "Have you ever made love beneath the stars?" Sam asked, as he and Riley followed Lucas, Owen, and Bailey, across the grassy field, heading for the trees silhouetted against the purple sky. "There's going to be a full moon tonight. It'll be wonderful. I'm not joking." "As someone we both know and love would say, 'Truly?'" Sam smiled, patting Riley on the back. "Truly." * * * Corey looked up, at the hesitant knock on the door frame. "Nathan! Come in!" He returned the slender man's smile. I thought you probably went picnicking, with the guys." He chuckled. "I understand even Bailey was persuaded to go." Nathan laughed, as he crossed the room and flopped into one of the apartment's large armchairs. "Owen and Sam managed to convince Riley n'Bailey that it'd be cool to have a bonfire and picnic, out in the wilderness. Neither Bailey or Riley are the rustic back-to-nature sorts, but they agreed to . . . try, to have fun. Bailey wanted to know what sort of clothing was, "appropriate attire," when going picnicking. " Riley was laughing so hard, he could barely talk, but did manage to tell me they had to go through a couple entire . . . attire . . . changes before they were even close." Nathan snorted. "As if he'd know. Unless he's done something he hasn't told me about, Riley has never sat on the floor to eat, much less the ground." Nathan thought a moment. "Well . . . same could be said of me, really." He made a face. "I'm sort'a glad they didn't ask me along. "I'm not real crazy about anything one would loosely classify as a bug. I thought Riley and I were the only weird ones. When I met Bailey, and found out that he was even worse, when it comes to enjoying the out of doors, I felt better." "We've gotta get you some grubby knock-about clothes," Riley laughed, at Bailey's question. "When things settle down, you n'I are gonna make a trip to the second hand store." Nathan threw back his head and laughed, recalling Bailey's indignant squawk. "I'm never going to wear someone else's cast-offs!" he shouted. "Not even Owen could convince me to do that, and he can convince me to try almost anything. I mean, look at me! I'm planning on sitting on the ground to EAT! Riley, be realistic. What more can you ask of me?" "What'd your brother say?" "He tackled Bailey, and they rolled around on the floor, making enough noise to wake the dead. When the pants started to come off, I decided to leave." Nathan shook his head. "Those two have absolutely no inhibitions, and I'm not quite ready to play around with my brother . . . or Bailey." "Well, if you've come here seeking folks who are more modest than those two, you've come to the wrong place." "Hey, Nathan!" Jonah, smiled, in greeting, as he walked out of the bedroom, naked, vigorously drying his hair with a towel. "I heard Corey say you've come to the wrong place. You're not asking him to go on a big game hunting safari to kill a couple innocent baby deer, or anything, are you?" He snapped Corey with the wet towel, then jumped away, with practiced ease. "The only sort of meat he likes is this," Jonah laughed, holding his flaccid penis at its base and shaking it from side to side. He's a closet vegetarian!" Nathan made a face. "Eugh. I hate vegetables . . . especially overcooked ones, 'bout as much as I hate bugs." He shuddered. "Well . . . we don't make a habit of eating bugs," Jonah murmured, turning a wary look in Nathan's direction. "Is that a big thing, back where you come from?" His wink caused Nathan to laugh and wave a dismissive hand, then turn serious, his expression intent, as Jonah stood behind Corey, who remained seated, and rested his half-hard penis on his partner's right shoulder. "So . . ." he asked Nathan, as he rubbed his cock across Corey's neck. "Why have you come to the wrong place." "I told him, if he was looking for someplace to escape from Bailey and Riley's lack of sexual inhibitions, he'd come to the wrong place," Corey said, in a droll voice, as he leaned his head back and looked up at his lover. "You've just proven my point." "I'll say," Nathan murmured, "but then, I already knew that. You guys are just way sexier than my brother, or Bailey. I thought they were pretty hot, then I spent the evening with you." He shook his head. "Whew!" and laughed. "So . . . Nathan . . ." Jonah said, continuing to rub his, now, totally erect penis, over Corey's neck and ear. "How's it hangin'?" Nathan grinned, squirming uncomfortably. "Um . . . it's not, and you know it isn't." "It was doing just fine until you paraded in and started playing with yourself. I'm convinced that seeing you naked would be enough to give a corpse an erection. Um . . . Don't you guys do anything but parade around naked and have sex?" Corey made a point of appearing to think for a moment. "Yeah, once in a while, but when this is close-by, it's tough to do anything but wanna lick it. Wouldn't you like to lick it, Mister Stud?" he grinned, when Nathan looked up, taken by surprise at the name. "Yeah, I'm talking about you." "So . . . it's settled. Mister Stud can lick it and get it all wet, then you can sit on it," Jonah commented. "Damn," Nathan sank back in his seat, and groaned, as he spread his legs wide and played with himself through his shorts. "What you see turns you on?" Corey asked. "I'll say!" "Then, what are we gonna do about it?" Nathan looked toward Jonah and took confidence from the evening he and the two lovers had masturbated with one another. He stretched the waistband of his shorts and tugged it beneath his balls, then wagged his erection. "Or . . . you both could get on your knees and take turns sucking this," he suggested. Then . . ." his gaze slipped to Corey, "I could watch as you sit on Jonah's thing. Maybe I could stand next to you as he's pumping you full of his sperm, and shoot my own load into your open mouth." He raised his brows. "Sound good?" "I see you've been giving this some serious thought." Nathan rubbed a fingertip over the head of his penis, then grinned at the two men as he licked his finger clean. "You could say that." "So, you wanna see a guy get fucked?" Corey grinned, as he reached out and began to slowly masturbate Riley's brother's erection. "Yeah," Nathan responded, on a ragged exhaled breath. "I've been jerking off thinking about watching you sit on Jonah's thing. Imagining it sliding into you, stretching your asshole as it does, is . . . geez . . . it's so hot. I can pop just thinking about seeing that happen. When I imagine seeing Jonah's sperm leak out around his cock, 'cause he's pumped you so full . . . well . . . I drain myself so dry, I'm surprised I can shoot again, in only a few minutes. Thinking of that gets me going, every time." "You've never seen a guy get fucked?" Corey asked. Nathan shook his head, unable to take his eyes off his own penis, as it was slowly being stimulated by the muscular dark haired man. "What about a guy's asshole? You ever seen one . . . close up?" Jonah's question was answered by another jerky shake of Nathan's head. "Fuuuuck, I never thought I'd want to see a guy's butthole, but now . . . Geez, that'd be so friggin' cool." "Sounds like an invitation t'me," Corey smiled. He released the sitting man's penis, and told him to scoot off the chair cushion and sit on the floor, leaning his head back against the cushion. Nathan looked at him strangely, but followed instructions, and in only a couple seconds, was in position, this time, with Nathan kneeling between his spread legs, and Corey standing astride him, his bare ass cheeks only inches away from his face. Corey reached back and spread his butt cheeks as he bent forward. "Touch it," he ordered. "Imagine your dick sliding into me," he said. "That's what you'd like, isn't it . . . t'be fucking a guy, shooting your stuff up his hot hole . . . feeling your erection surrounded by your own sperm?" Nathan watched Corey's hairless butthole, tighten then relax, mesmerized by the muscular ring, and all the pleasure it promised. He extended a finger and felt the muscles respond to his touch. "Ah yeah," he sighed, suddenly not content to merely be touching Corey. "Fucking you would be so hot. Can I . . ." he hesitated, "Can I lick it?" Nathan leaned his head against the chair's cushion, opened his mouth wide, and licked across Corey's hole. After the first tentative touch, he attacked the opening with a vengeance, as Corey mashed his spread cheeks against Nathan's tongue. After his first experience with the two lovers, Nathan had given up trying to figure out whether he considered himself gay or straight. 'I'm enjoying myself. That's all I need to think about. Now, with his tongue buried in Corey's hole, and Jonah madly sucking him, all Nathan could think was, 'Wow. There's no tentative movements here. These are men, who know what it takes to please a man." Without warning Corey pulled away, turned around and held Nathan's mouth open with his left hand. After only a couple agonizingly slow strokes, his entire body jerked, and his cock erupted, pumping out some of the thickest semen Nathan had ever seen. As the white-hot liquid splashed against his tongue, and cheek, he groaned, and blasted into Jonah's mouth. "Ah, fuck," he groaned, as he finished emptying himself, and licked his lips, doing his best to capture any of Corey's load which hadn't hit him square in the mouth. Before he could say anything more, Corey stepped aside. Jonah took his place, and, like Corey had done before him, held Nathan's head back. Nathan expected Jonah would shoot into his mouth, just as his partner had, but instead, Jonah leaned forward, opened his mouth, and drooled out Nathan's entire load onto the sitting man's tongue. "Fuck, that's hot," Corey murmured, as he watched the thick white liquid slide back into Nathan's mouth, to be joined a few seconds later by Jonah's load. "Aw geez," Jonah loudly groaned, as the muscles of his legs jerked and his sperm splashed against Nathan's tongue and cheeks. To Nathan, it seemed as if Jonah would never stop shooting. It was as if time had slowed and he saw everything with unnatural clarity. Jonah's hand slid forward, engulfing the head of his penis. Then, as his hand slid back, the piss slit opened wide and a thick strand of sperm shot out, scalding him with its heat. The first blast splashed against the back of his throat, causing him to involuntarily swallow. The second, hit his cheek and nose, and the third left a white streak across his chin and extended tongue. 'I've swallowed three men's sperm!' he wanted to shout. 'One of 'em was my own, but . . . geez . . . what a way to have it delivered!' He wanted to laugh, and tell everyone what he was feeling, but, before he could utter a single word, both Jonah and Corey had dropped to their knees and began to lick his face, neck, and chest, slurping up any juice which had escaped. 'I never knew,' he thought, as the two men finished, then pulled him into a comfortable position on the living room rug, with Corey on one side, and Jonah on the other. 'I never would have imagined it could be so good. Now, if only I could be in love with the man whose sperm I'm tasting, life would be just about perfect.' * * * Franklin Pruitt looked up, at the diffident knock on his office door. "Ahh, my new Personal Secretary!" he smiled, as he stood up and held out a hand in greeting. His smile faded, as he and Micah Sutton shook hands. "My condolences, son, on the death of your grandparents. Gene told me how they reared you, in the absence of your mother and father." He gave the young man's hand a final squeeze. "Remember, Micah, everyone here at Pruitt is family. If you need something, don't hesitate. We'll do the same," Franklin's conspiratorial grin, drew a flicker of a smile from the man sitting opposite him. Micah Sutton gulped a breath of air, and nodded once, barely able to speak. He and his grandparents had been extremely close, and it was still difficult for him to imagine that he would never see either one of them again. "Thank you, sir. What I think I need is to get back to work. I've been knocking about that empty house, trying to tend to all the details, but . . ." He shook his head. "I need to stop thinking about the past and start thinking about the future. Like I said, the best thing for me will be to get back to work. "I . . ." he hesitated. "Gene told me of the circumstances which led to my promotion. I'm sorry that Mister Kaiser abused your trust . . . and . . ." Micah hesitated, studying his new boss . . . "and, made an attempt on your life. Such a reason is not the way I've imagined being promoted, but," he tentatively smiled. "I'll give you my best, sir. That's all I can say. Well . . . that, and, thank you for the opportunity, and, for trusting me." * * * Lucas swatted at Bailey's hand. "Stop that!" "They're bugs, Lucas!" Bailey complained, gesturing to the flickering fireflies. "I don't care that they flash signals to one another with their butts, they're bugs, and I don't want one of them landing on me." Owen burst into laughter. "They're probably signaling one another, exchanging bug-type plans of attack." He did his best to sound like a Mafioso. "Hey, Franco! Dida you see howa thata prissy guy ova there, swatted at Sophie?" Owen's voice reverted back to his normal soft drawl. "Those are great bug names, Franco and Sophie, right?" "Lovely couple, I'm sure," Riley dryly murmured, from where he sat at Bailey's side. "Hey, Sophie! Take'a easy. We gonna stomp'a on'a the guy." Owen, continued, his voice changing back to that of a stereotypical member of the Sicilian Mafia, as he imitated Franco, the firefly. "Yo! stop with all'a the buzzing. You guys listen'a me! No one'a treats my babe lik'a that! Listen'a a'me. Dat prissy blond ov'a a there, just'a tried feel'a up Sophie's . . . ahem . . . tail. We gotta teach'a him some'a manners. He probly wanna run'a da business n'cut'a ya out'a your share." Owen lapsed into a series of short, frantic, buzzing sounds, joined by Sam and Lucas. "Certifiably insane," Bailey muttered. "All'a dem." Owen made a playful swatting motion, in Bailey's direction. "Nah, Luigi, I'm not'a talkin'a about'a the incredibly good looking blond, with'a all'a the muscles!" Owen paused a moment to flex, in case there was any doubt to whom he was referring. "Da other blond'a one is'a da target. Send out'a the signal. We're gonna walk'a all over him, and teach'a him some manners." "Oh, Franco!" Owen's voice changed, to his version of a female Mafia bug's. "Oh, Franco! You're my'a hero! Promise me, once'a you walk'a all ova him, I can dance'a on'a his'a nose." "Euwww!" Bailey squirmed. "I feel soiled, already! Do you really think they can communicate like that?" he asked, glancing warily at the random flickering which was largely confined to the trees surrounding the meadow. "Footprints!" he shuddered. "On my nose! Ick!" Owen rolled to his knees and, with a banshee howl, launched himself at Bailey, knocking him onto his back. "Let's get him, guys! We got'a get these clothes off him to protect them from all those bug footprints," he teased, as he walked his fingers over Bailey, who laughed and squirmed. "Wait!" Bailey squealed, as he tried to fight off the other men. "Why don't you guys attack Riley too? He doesn't like the bugs either!" There was a moment's hesitation, when everyone turned to Riley, whose eyes widened, like a deer caught in oncoming headlights. He knew what was coming but had no way to stop it. "Yeah!" Lucas laughed, as he grabbed Riley and wrestled him to the ground, amidst much shouting and laughter. "What are you trying to do, strip me, or kiss me?" Riley howled, as he squirmed beneath Lucas. "Both!" "Bailey! Help! A crazed man is attempting to ravage me!" "Good!" Bailey laughed. "Want me to tell them where you're ticklish?" "Noooo!" Riley wailed, as he continued to squirm. "No tickling! Bring on Franco and Luigi! I'm man enough to handle 'em!" "Wait, Owen!" Bailey shrieked. "You're going to catch my weenie in the zipper." "I got his shirt off!" Sam hollered, pausing a moment to shed his own T-shirt and toss it aside. "Oh no!" Sam called, as his shorts and underwear joined the T-shirt. "Here come Franco, and Luigi!" "Euwww!" "Never fear, Prissy! I'll protect you!" Sam cried, as he climbed on top of Bailey and began kissing him, at the same time Owen finally managed to free Bailey of his slacks and surprisingly grubby leather shoes. "Hey!" Bailey protested, between kisses. "Who are you calling Prissy?" Lucas glanced over his shoulder and saw Owen, kneeling astride, Bailey, who was naked, and was and madly kissing Sam. When Owen saw Lucas watching him he smiled crookedly and made a helpless gesture. "Um," excuse me, Riley," Lucas murmured. "Need t'take care of someone." He disengaged from Riley, who nodded once, and crawled toward Owen, whose eyes lit at his approach. "Hey, Cowboy," Lucas smiled, holding out his arms. "Let's swap some spit." In the background, he heard Riley's voice, and a moment later, Sam joined Lucas and Owen. "Am I too late to join the party?" he asked, kneeling close to both men. Prissy's nice, but I love you guys." A log on the campfire broke apart with a hush, releasing a swirl of sparks, which competed for attention with the fireflies."
Distant trees awash in pale moonlight |