A High Country Tale: Chapter Three
Mighty Tungsten Tuberosity, Part 1
“OK, now I think I get it,” I responded to Jeremy’s detailed explanation about the idea for his Hallowe’en costume being ‘assembled’ for the coming weekend. I continued massaging the meaty, dark-skinned foot resting across my lap as we chillaxed intimately on the rich mahogany leather divan in the cozy low-beamed great room. The fire log was still radiating heat on the nippy early evening, as was borne out by the comatose dogs before the crackling fireplace on the sheepskin rug newly covering the hearth. Oh, we were butt-naked too, but not goose-pimpled. So, yes, it was still burning comfortably.
I dearly loved the stark contrast of my husband’s big feet, the top surfaces almost matching the color of the couch while the white undersides were paler than my own skin. The dichotomy had always stoked my curiosity by the puzzling two-toned affect. While sexy as hell in my eyes, the color scheme just seemed upside down to me for some reason.
Jeremy tossed kernels of popcorn into his mouth by launching them in a high arc and catching them on the descent, a satisfied look permeating his face now that I seemed to grasp his concept. I couldn’t help eyeing the thick sausage reclining in the crevice of his nearby groin as I watched his adept hand-to-mouth action. My fingers contemplated dropping the toes and upgrading to that master piece.
Damn, I thought, this man still had me whipped even just lounging here, innocently smushing BaddDick. His nickname for my cock. While J-man feigned ignorance of it, the intermittent pressure exerted by the foot alerted me to his recognizance of my piece’s taut posture…
“Ya’know I couldn’t just use ‘Gai’s band’s namesake, honey. It would feel sacrilegious or something. So, since tungsten carbide is the second hardest substance known to Man after diamonds, and the hardest metal,” he accentuated the last word with a noticeable prod to my crotch, “it just seems right.”
Jeremy had a funny way of rationalizing sometimes, I mused, kneading each toe methodically while mentally visualizing the intricate outfit gradually coming together for the upcoming ghoulish celebration Saturday night.
Different pieces of it lay spread around the house and porches. It had been plainly tough to understand when he had first described his intent, and I was still perplexed at the complexity of it but I wasn’t letting on about my doubts at this point. He was approaching exasperation with me after three days of explanations, so I had decided the better part of valor was to simply claim comprehension and await the final product for its full effect. Pictures versus a thousand words, I had deduced…
Mighty Tungsten Tuberosity: why was my man naming a costume, anyway? Loosely translating to ‘hard, round protuberance’, the mixed metaphor and double entendre just didn’t lend credence to a spooky factor for the Tride Mountain Monster Mash Bash scheduled to occur up in the old Pandora Mine this Saturday night. Wrapping my mind around it had left me a bit abashed…smile. Pun intended. I sniggled inwardly at my own wit.
Jeremy glanced my way at that moment, a popped kernel bouncing off his wide nose. Supposing my smile indicated a completely different subject—and no doubt the same one on his mind-- he wrenched the size 13 hoof from my hands, dug those toes at my midsection and in an athletic motion pivoted his sinewy body around until I was suddenly holding the sides of his smooth bowling ball head instead. He went to licking on my now freed hard-on. I certainly wasn’t about to argue that decision.
His excessive hormonal displays were never really surprising to me at this stage of our relationship. I had received superb head in the confines of aloft jets beneath sleeping blankets, grocery store bathrooms, and tennis court bleachers at midday over the years. There had also been that time at a symphony performance when the electricity went out. The symphony had kept playing via battery-lit music stands and I had cum during the cannon shots of the 1812 Overture. It had given a whole new meaning to the word cummerbund.
I never tired of the attention and felt gratified that my man was attached to my dick as much as he was to my ring finger. He had, after all, fitted both our fingers and our dickstaffs with matching—yup, indeed: size 10-1/2 and 12 finger rings and 2-1/2 and 3-1/2 inch diameter dick rings— 24 K gold-dipped sterling silver bands on our wedding night.
Very attached to both, I wore them now, and my man wrapped his hand around the precious metal cock ring as he commenced with his second favorite pastime. Swallowing turgid dick. Mine fortunately topped his list and I laid back now, feeling the hot mouth and tongue set to work riling me further up. Apparently Jeremy had additional ideas in mind, too, because the other hand’s middle finger wriggled its way directly up my puckered asshole, edging my prostate and expanding things.
He gradually switched to swirling his fingers over my stomach in increasing arcs, ending up at my nipples, while inching his knees up under him and thereby narrowing the gap between his dick head and my holeway highway. The steady mouth strokes distracted me until the tip of his piece tentatively brushed against the ass ring he desired. Those nipple tippling fingers erotically reached up and fucked his mouth, collecting enough spit to smear the engorged dickhead’s entry into my warm and waiting chute. His favorite sexual pastime…fucking.
Jeremy was the only man I had ever known who was hung enough and limber enough to be able to suck my dick while sinking his long pole into me simultaneously and he pushed it now while continuing the oral action. The sensations were wonderful and my eyes rolled back in my head as he penetrated more deeply.
Upon bottoming out at the thick-rooted nine-inch mark, he held stock still all at once, letting my ass get used to the filled feeling. His pelvis arched backward while he pulled my globes along with the retrograde rotation. As I was still acclimating, the thought of his gentlemanly nature endeared me more to this indulgent action.
That is, until opening my eyes to the view of big Ambergai Gee, our houseguest, looking down at me from over Jeremy’s shoulder. I realized then that the reggae man had snuck in without a sound, coming up on my man from the rear. That must’ve presented an alluring picture…Jeremy’s high, round, curved melons were unignorably perfect.
He was now doing a bit of his own penetrating right up into the opposing buttface of the arched pelvis whose house anaconda was piercing my ass. The knowledge that that huge prick of ‘Gai’s was sliding up into my stud man completed the ménage-a-trois. We had been perfecting it since the temporary addition of the mature Rastafarian to our happy home.
Jeremy continued bending his beautiful butt in acceptance of the familiar dick and upon seating itself completely, we three reveled in the state of things. The two of them began a slow, rhythmic, undulating pattern which progressed to a blasting three-way fuck. Damn, I was a lucky man, I thought, amidst the pounding and likely all of us were of similar mind as we enjoyed the conjoined intimacy.
Gai’s hands grasped my man’s waist as he deeply stroked the ass that he had broken in as an adolescent so many years before. The tall, older man’s dreads tickled his back. Jeremy’s mouth rose up off my dick, meeting my lips as we sucked face amidst the double fuck. I could feel the spasms of J’s dick pulse through my innards with each forward stroke by the Jamaican. Both worked their way to climax until the heat of an erupting load suffused my gut and a cascading effect capped us, all three groaning in a collective cum of paroxysmal pleasure.
Mr. Ambergai fell forward against J’s back, the long dreadlocks brushing up and down over my face now, in post-coital satisfaction. Jeremy tongued me deeply as the sensations ebbed. All three of us lay in flushed fulfillment during the regaining of our grip on reality. The two big dicks stayed right in their warm holes and mine wasn’t wilting a bit. Jeremy fingered it possessively, gathering my creamy globules.
“Methinks ma’two pussy boys be vyin’ for ma’ttentions by the way I keep a’findin’ the buttcheeks a’tuggin’ at ma’ eyeballs on each o’ ma turnarounds, now,” Gai contentedly drawled. Jeremy turned and looked up at his mentor, noting that he didn’t miss too many chances. We tended to find ourselves in this situation rather frequently nowadays.
Ambergai Gee had invaded our sanctuary since the autumnal equinox weeks before, inveigling himself into our routine, our music playlist, our diet and, of course, our big bed. We were both good with the company since variety was, indeed, our spice…and most assuredly made the most of the mind-bendingly beautiful ass-stretcher between the man’s legs. Either one of us was likely to come upon the other sucking on the insatiable tool and each such discovery inevitably led to variations on the three-way such as had just finished… horn-doggery abounded.
As we backed off and toweled each other, the subject of the Hallowe’en party re-emerged and we queried our friend about any intent regarding his attendance. He responded circumspectly once again as he had when we first told him of the annual bash.
It seemed the Jamaican community did not view Hallowe’en, or All Hallows’ Eve, in the same manner as we Americans did. He had informed me of the solemn and macabre history it symbolized in the Caribbean nations. The religious as well as the pagan undertones of the day and night still took precedence over any light-heartedness. Even to the point of high anxiety for many. Morbidity and mortality were more commonly associated memes of their season.
All Saints’ Eve. Dia de los Muertos. Day of the Dead. Samhain. All were a part of the three day Allhallowtide observance for remembering the dead. And preceding that, the harvest festival. America had managed to divorce itself from the seriousness of it through the generations. Ahhh, the low expectations of casino capitalism…
We hoped the man would commit to attending, even should we not know what way his presence might manifest itself. Hence, our enlivened curiosity. Settling back to the spacious sectional sofa with hot buttered rums, I nested into Jeremy’s body while receiving one of his exquisite head rubs. Gai (we pronounced it: Jye) took his place at the opposing end, proffered a size 17 foot toward my lap in replacement of Jeremy’s and we popped in a DVD to enjoy ‘vegging’ for a while: the old spoof cult movie, Hocus Pocus, starring the divine Bette Midler.
I loved giving foot rubs, having been raised in a family of ‘touchers’ and massages had been a mainstay throughout my childhood. Besides, the huge appendages of both the men in my home provided exceedingly sexy ways for bonding…as evidenced by my almost constant half-hard state. The men seemed to enjoy both the attention and my sexual readiness. So we were all happy.
Half an hour later, when replacing one huge foot for the other in my lap, we all jumped upon hearing a sudden rap on the front door.
Being dark, and the weather in flux due to a descending Norther, we had not expected company during the evening, but Gai retracted his leg, arose and nudely made his way over to our entranceway, big languid dick dangling and rocking as he did so. Our heads both bobbled with it as it bobbed back and forth… go figure.
Twisting the knob, he unashamedly opened the heavy wooden fixture and smiled seductively outward as we heard a soft, refined exclamation, “Well, now, Sir Ambergai. Don’t you just look so…healthy?” We recognized the articulate manner to be no less than the personage of the Lady Carlotta Saxe-Coburg, a neighbor from one of the opulent chateaus down the mountain. Jeremy pushed me up in front of him, pulled on a pair of baggy boxers and threw a like set at my face in an unspoken instruction, then went to greet the unexpected guest.
She stood under the porte cochere, still mesmerized by the au naturel state of Gai, perplexed as to what way to proceed. Jeremy rounded into the doorway, chesting Gai aside with a big hand and inviting the true Lady into our log home. I looked out through the wood shutters of the tall windows behind the couch to the pebbled drive, spotting the Pierce Arrow touring car Carlotta most commonly used for travel, discerning a barely visible driver through the gloom of the misty evening. The precision classic automobile idled almost noiselessly, answering the unheard nature of the neighbor lady’s appearance.
I reached over and gathered up the three fluffy robes next to the fireplace where we had dropped them after the shower following the sexcapade earlier. The the dogs finally roused themselves to the intrusion, sleepily going to sniff the English peer now entering our domain. She acknowledged them each with a pat and I wondered if she might replicate the action toward we men should another nude male happen upon her.
Lady Carlotta did relax somewhat upon the breaking out of the robes, though noncommittally eyeing the fact of Gai’s insistence at leaving his untied, the big piece still lolling visibly. Such a Jamaican, I thought. The human anatomy’s visual presence seemed a granted state in his island mindset and I busied myself corralling the boys back to their hearth sites as cover for my grin at the candid display.
Carlotta wore an evening dress of all black silk, cut low over one shoulder, dark hair coiffed up and framing her attractive face, ringlets escaping, showing off her long, swanlike neck and simple pearl choker. Obviously coming from a dressy affair, her matching black high heels wrapped in crisscross fashion up around slim ankles, complementing the understated outfit. The woman exuded great fashion sense. A faux fox silver stole hung low around her arms and no jewelry adorned her aristocratic long-fingered hands. The effect only accentuated the class dripping from her presence.
“Upon leaving the Devon’s dinner party,” she was saying, “I had Paecup drive up directly to see you boys.” Ambergai extended a long arm and taking hers to his elbow, led her into the warmth of our home, sitting her down in an overstuffed easy chair close by the fireplace. The man bowed, as did his proud island dreads and long dick, then backed away.
The picture of the well-dressed lady and the dread-locked, partially robed, dick-dangling giant with humongous clodhopper feet waltzing through the room nearly had me bursting with laughter as I channeled Bilbo Baggins and the elven queen of Lothlorien. My man, seeing my look, stepped decidedly on my foot as warning to curb it…ahem, he signaled. So I bit a lip and behaved, snugly securing my own robe belt. Darn it.
“Because of the disturbing subject of conversation over the digestif,” Carlotta went on, “I wanted to check on you boys to assure myself that all was well with the three of you.” Her look over at Gai made me think she might as easily have said, ”the four of you.” Curious, Jeremy questioned her concerns and she continued by informing us that there had been an alarming development from high up the mountain. As our secluded home was one of the most highly placed, she had worried over our well-being, she told us.
It seems that Adolpho, the wine sommelier, had been hiking the high ridge earlier in the day and had come across a dreadful scene. An apparent bear attack had left a tourist couple visiting the area sorely ripped to bloody pieces, the lady brokenly apprized us. The bodies had been so disfigured that the sheriff’s department had only made an identification by dental records in the past hour and word was now spreading around the small, close knit mountain community.
Miss Carlotta had stopped first at her close confidants, the elderly Chastains, to make sure of their safety, before coming to see us. Hmm, I pictured the Lady popping in an hour earlier had she not stopped there…Gai’s excitatory state then would have made her present discomfiture seem tame by comparison. I had to again curb myself at the image of Gai nonchalantly plopping the homunculus out of Jeremy’s ass and opening the door in that moment… Slap that thought from my head, I warned myself. This was serious.
While relieved to hear none of our neighbors had been victimized, we were all three horrified at the prospect of death-wreaking bears marauding through the area. Gai, ever the gallant, disappeared for a moment, reappearing with a snifter of Drambuie for the Lady, which she accepted graciously. We discussed the ramifications of the development and decided it best to proceed carefully until the murderous beasts were tracked down and trapped.
It was extremely rare to have black bears act aggressively, unless cornered, so we were all taken aback by the violent episode so close to us all. Adolpho was apparently very shaken up, per the sheriff, Carlotta informed us, and Jeremy went to call the boy he was so fond of to ascertain his mental state. I hollered after him to invite the young Italian to come stay with us for the time being, what with the man’s flimsy house a mile away from ours. The place was very remotely located.
Carlotta settled herself by sipping the sweet liqueur and we gradually led the conversation away from the catastrophe, attempting to further calm her frayed self. Gai’s protuberant dangling did seem to draw her attention periodically, I noticed. I asked the English woman if she had heard anything pertaining to the coming costume soiree set for the old mine up the heights on the other side of the mountain. She answered that the ‘constabulary’, as she referred to the law, was assessing the situation for the safety implications over the next days. Depending on what occurred, she surmised, would make the decision of the event going forward or not. But, of course she would be attending.
Peering out again into the deepening dusk, I noticed the driver leaning on the long hood of the touring car smoking a cigarette and asked if Carlotta wouldn’t prefer him to come inside under the circumstances. She concurred this was a good idea so I went to bring the man to join us.
The handsome young man appeared surprised at my request, usually being content to stay with the automobile that he babied and cooed over, keeping its pristine condition up to standards. Nevertheless, he acquiesced to my invitation. After turning off the engine, we came into the warmth and Gai, again acted the bartender, brought the chauffer a balloon of Louis XIII cognac.
Paecup was not immune to the haphazard dress of the tall man and couldn’t avoid evaluating the startlingly large, fat piece the two of us were usually happy to see flop around. The Lady herself seemed resigned to the uncovered beast by now, still glancing it’s way periodically. The driver inadvertently licked his lips at its sighting and I wondered how long it would take for the RastaMon to acquaint himself better…a wallflower, the man was definitely not. And, his interest in the young Russian was palpable. The big dick waggled just a little more than normal when delivering the best cognac in the house, I observed.
We spent another half hour catching up on the news and getting details about the ‘episode’ up mountain, then decided it was time to call it a night. Jeremy wanted to accompany Lady Carlotta home but she informed us that Mr. Andropov was ‘quite accomplished in the pugilistic arts’. She felt quite safe with him escorting her, thank you.
So we bid the two out to the Series 36 dual valve 1927 model icon of touring cars, delivering the Lady into the plushness of the embroidered Italian leather seating and the gold trimmed interior. Paecup secured her inside and took the driver’s seat as they gracefully purred away down the mountain into the darkness. I licked my nose as a large snowflake alighted on it, contemplating yet another of this high-born woman’s peculiarities. Who else might have a handsome Russian chauffer named Paecup Andropov…?
The windows had all been secured and draped, the doors all double-locked and rechecked before we had retired to the polished cypress king bed we called our own and I now lay, my head on Jeremy’s stomach, gazing into the dying embers of the bedroom fireplace listening to Gai’s low breaths and feeling the slow rising and falling of J-man’s familiarly slow, deep sleep breathing. Jeremy’s warm palm covered my bare back and It was safely comforting as I brooded over the probable final minutes of the unknown tourist couple torn to shreds on the top of the majestic mountain I so loved. I didn’t want to associate it that way from here on.
It must be close to 3 AM now, a common time for me to awaken. I internalized things during that dark-of-night time: mountains from molehills were conjured in the sterile stillness of the hour and I worked at knowing that the conjured things would be reduced to nothing…mental ashes…by the breaking dawn. I missed the night sounds with all of the windows shut this night. The silence stifled me. My man put up with the weird need for openness and outdoor sounds, even in the dead of winter. Its susurrus hypnotized me to sleep and I wanted to hear those sounds now…
Out of the stillness, I picked up on a light scuffling sound outside our French doors to the balcony. At first I thought it to be the lisping sound of overhanging tree branches. But the sound persisted in regular pattern and I quickly determined it was animal or human-made sound. A slow scrape accompanied the scuffling and I experienced a wave of gooseflesh as warning of something not right.
Raising up carefully so as to not waken the sleeping Nubians, I separated myself and left the bed, tiptoeing to the double doors. Tipping back the blackout curtain so rarely used, I peered into the darkness outside. The sky was low. No moon or stars lit anything what with the weather system enveloping us. The first snowfall had magically changed the world out there. Everything was shades of silver and gray, shadows and dark spots pocked the several inch white blanketing.
The trees stood guard in stark contrast and I could make out a set of some kind of tracks just outside on the balcony. Unable to tell anything more, there suddenly came to my ears a soft ‘pfluffmph’. I inferred something or someone having just jumped down over the bannister around the corner and landed in the snowy covering a floor below.
It was disturbing, especially with the marks in the snow just feet from me. They led around the corner toward where the sound had arisen. My goose pimples multiplied. Padding over to the side bay window alcove preferred for reading, I pulled back that curtain and was further dismayed to envision what I thought to be a bent figure loping away into the woods surrounding the house. It moved with a limping shuffle and the figure seemed large…bulky. And dark. A bear, I ventured? Not something I wanted to see after the gruesome occurrence the afternoon before.
It occurred to me that the ‘mountain’ in the dead-of-night might no longer be a molehill.
Unbeknownst to me, the Jamaican had quietly awakened, watching from the bed behind me as the ominous limping figure disappeared into the shadows. The wise man’s eyes narrowed to slits at the sight and he shuddered silently before resuming a sleeping position, forcibly controlling his breathing.
Not brave enough to venture outside under the circumstances, I scoped the perimeter for ten minutes or so before the chill to my skin subsided. Seeing nothing more, I nevertheless canvassed the darkened house. The dogs dutifully followed me as bodyguards while checking all of the doors and windows a third time.
The boys normally sounded off at anything unusual and as they were both quiet, I concluded that I must have transfigured some familiar night creature out on its nocturnal curiosity trek. After all, bears were common visitors…Suture and Elvee had long since ceased signaling their presence, sensing no inherent danger there.
On the other hand, however, it hit me that the elk were absent and I had heard no night hootings from the owl, either. Both were uncommon events. The elk liked our property due to the salt licks I put out regularly and over next to the pond, under the protection of the looming mountain, there was fresh hay during the winter. I had just put out two bales the day before. And the big elk were not there. Things that make you go, ’hmmm’.
Well, I was ‘hmmmmming’ all the way back upstairs at these contradictions, slipping back to the warmth and safety of my lair. Weirdly, the dogs both climbed up and in, also. That was unsettling in itself. And eerie. Jeremy turned over on to me and covered me in a sleepy embrace. I fell into an uneasy slumber.
The next morning dawned dark and smotheringly quiet. No breezes, no animal sounds. No tittering birds. The snow muffled almost everything. I arose from under Jeremy’s muscled arm and torso where he had protectively concealed me a few hours before. Whether consciously or not, I was unsure, but I had melted into his smell and warmth. Now, I hated leaving the cocoon. And the boner.
The Rastafarian was gone. Rumpled bed makings and an indented pillow were the only trace of him. The amiable Rastafarian had proven mysterious in some ways during his weeks with us. The man would awaken at times in the night and pull one of us to him in a possessive bear hug. Never voicing a word, just seeking intimate proximity, we had surmised. Other times he would perform a deep-of-the-night blowjob on one of us. Something that never occurred in the light of day. He was big on the macho thing.
Some mornings, the Jamaican would slip out of bed an hour before my 5 AM arising and we would find him deep in contemplative repose somewhere in or out of the house. Still other times, the swarthy gent would sleep far into the morning, arising in a dazed state of mind, seldom communicative at those times…No set routine seemed strange to both of us, as we were very habitual. Not in our pastimes, mind you, just our awakening and retiring patterns.
I showered in cool water to jumpstart myself, toweling off as my man entered to take a turn. He nuzzled me on the way in without a word. The quietude of the snow and the repressive atmosphere that I felt was apparently affecting him, as well. Pulling on clean jeans and my preferred choice of turtleneck sweaters, I descended to start coffee and put on an Enya CD to match the pensive mood of the morning.
Ambergai Gee was not in the house from what I could tell and that was unusual as he had demanded dick attention from one of us sometime during every morning since his arrival. Hmmmm, again. Jeremy followed me down after a bit, looking for coffee and still sleepy-eyed. His warm up bottoms barely covered his crotch and the residual morning engorgement was sticking down the leg straining to be seen. And noticed. Nothing else covered him except the towel around his neck. He stopped short upon eyeing me and I marveled at the absolutely stunning physique of the man I called my own.
At 44 years old, not a strand of body hair except a trapezoid patch above his endowment inhabited his entire body, no crease or wrinkle indicating age. I teased him that he was a black Dorian Gray and kept an eye peeled for the alter-ego painting that surely must be absorbing his years… seeing him like this every day was a most treasured indulgence. That he returned the affection made me feel I inhabited a novel—real life couldn’t be this good.
The AM horn-dog squinted across the room at me, gestured down at the now ascending tent inside the warm-ups and made plain his expectations. I listened to Enya plaintively lyricize as I pulled off my sweater and descended to knee level by the time I had reached him, by now adept at the assumption of my favored morning position.
The coffee percolated on the counter as I rounded down on the now extruded boner, its hardness rising to mouth level, foreskin inching back from his fine spongy crown. I settled into the awakening callisthenic which the black stud needed, either passively or actively, every single day. In eighteen years, I could count the number of times on my left hand that this man had not erupted in an ejaculative ‘good morning’ and still have fingers left over.
My right hand was occupied cupping the hairless balls and massaging the cum up the cumchute, of course. His marriage ring was sexily encircling the entire package, per usual, and it grounded my strokes. Within three minutes, the erect nipples hardened under my fingertips, signaling his coming spurts. I kept time to Enya through the explosion and shudders.
Following his hard smoothness downward to the sensitive toes, skimming him all over with my fingers and then working my way back up, engendered my own eruption. I had early on discovered this one human that could set me off without touching myself. The oversized white dick of mine just pulsed it out as I enjoyed his body under my hands, and he leaned down to cup the babies, razzing me that someday he would get pregnant by the method, like an immaculate conception. He licked his fingers lasciviously while basking in my feel of him.
Yup, between his need for sucking dick, mine firstly, and my own weakness for the art of fellatio, we certainly sucked a whole lotta dick.
Good thing his little girl had knocked me off that ladder so many years back. Little Elle was now grown up and had Elle, Junior, to love on. The image of the pigtailed imp with no front teeth brought me a full-mouthed smile. It be hard to smile with a mouth full of dick, especially the size of Jeremy.
I wondered why the hell girl babies weren’t accommodated by numeric nomenclature like boy children were: Junior, the third, the fourth, etc. Seemed mighty strange to me, and I was glad Elle had broken down that particularly stupid wall… We expected to have the two best girls in our lives present with us in a couple more weeks for the Thanksgiving period. Even if it did restrict our lewd ways a smidgeon.
We both swallowed at the moment that we looked at each other, sending us into gagging fits of giggling. We were aware of our peculiarities and reveled together in them. After getting cups of coffee, we conspired together on barstools turned toward the steepening mountain outside our windows, feet entangled with the other’s.
Commenting that Ambergai was nowhere to be found, I then related to him the disconcerting occurrences of the night. Jeremy was mightily perturbed that I hadn’t wakened him, as if that would have helped anything. My knowledge of his reactions under stress were well documented and the last thing I would have wanted was to see him confronting whatever I had spied in the effort to act the hero. Which he would have done. I kept my mouth shut.
We went upstairs and examined the scratch marks in the snow on the balcony and then followed around to the side, viewing the abrupt ending to the marks. Prints on the handrails and a pronounced depression in the snow below seemed telltale. So, I was not imagining something or someone up here. By the reinforcement, it was likely that I had, indeed, seen the large, limping figure disappearing into the woods, as well. Now, my prickling skin was contagious—J-Man ‘s forearms were goose bumped, too.
Not seeing our long-haired housemate on any landing around the house or on the visible property around us raised my hackles further and I insisted we make a call to the sheriff. JK wasn’t as upset over his friend’s absence. “He leaves for the boondocks on a regular basis to do his secret things wherever he stays. I think it’s religious stuff, or something,” he posited. But he agreed and we called anyway.
I hand-walked Elvee and Suture with their hated extend-a-leashes. The boys felt the devices were instruments of restrictive torture. Not desirous that curiosity might take them roaming, they had to accept the control for the time being. The duo found multiple other tracks in the snow, but it was hard to determine similarities or differences now. Following the prints of the limping figure’s path up to the point where the rocky heights held no snow at all, I lost them, though it did solidify the evidence.
There were no size 17 footprints to be found anywhere. Of that I was sure. And, still no sign of the elk… On the way back in, I spotted a branch on a big evergreen tree contrasting in red and found a piece of snagged material. Some sort of coarse burlap. I freed it and brought it along.
Coming back inside, I was elated to find a revived, crackling fire. Jeremy was busily working on the long strands of hemp he had collected for the costume he planned. He was weaving and braiding the pieces into some sort of wigged-dreadlocks using his stretched out legs and toes for anchors. I was beginning to see the described endgame in real time now, at least somewhat. The collection of bones and wiring and various other pieces were still baffling.
Jeremy looked up excitedly and called me over while I was liberating the furred beasts, “Hey, Luke, look at this, honey.” He held up a big leg bone, which I had seen before. Unsure where or by what method he had procured the thing, I was staying clear of questions there, as well. it was a true human tibia, that I knew after examining it. “Look close—see, right there below the bony knobs—the ones you call tuberosities, right? There are teeth marks. Something’s been gnawing on this one,” Jeremy was hyped over this discovery.
“You don’t think a critter took a few swipes at it during the night?” I asked innocently. “It was laying outside the past three days, J.”
He responded with a conspiratorial look, “Yeah, my boii, but these gnaw marks were made by human teeth, Luke.” He was dead serious, so I looked closer. There was, for sure, mostly blunt indentations and no sign of ‘wolf teeth’ marks, the big hooked teeth that look like a vampire’s, which all non-humans have. All predatory animals, to be precise.
“Well, Jeremy, that does look unusual, but what about baby animals or herbivores, or something like that?” I was still playing devil’s advocate, but Jeremy wasn’t having any of it.
“My dude, you may know anatomy, I will give you that, but I grew up in ‘The-Jamaica-Lond’,” devolving into the sing-song Island lilt left behind years before, “and I am telling you, Luke, these are human teeth marks. I’m gonna show the sheriff.” When I showed him the burlap shred after that, we both hummed the ‘Twilight Zone’ discord theme.
The visit by the law a bit later proved less than helpful. The deputy merely glanced at our evidence and barely listened as Jeremy related his gnaw-mark theory. The little tinhorn half-heartedly took the material shred I showed him, but when he laid it down on the porch outside the front door and proceeded to ignore it, I pocketed it. He didn’t even notice.
‘Deputy Fife’ was shutting the conversation down, letting us know that the bear culprits had been sighted, were on the run and expected to be apprehended very soon…translation, “Fuck you very much, we have everything under control. And, keep the dogs in the rest of the day, too.” I almost expected to hear him tell us ‘little ladies’ not to worry our pretty little heads because HE was on the case.
I had to step on Jeremy’s foot this time. He was puffing up in his indignity. Had the deputy not excused himself, the steam would have been visible from my man’s ears…I knew him too well. We were both frustrated by the outcome afterwards and finally decided to blow it off. So we lit up a head-high doobie. Sure enough, the whole thing became hilarious within 15 minutes. And Jeremy’s costume assemblage was back on.
Two days had passed and we had still not seen nor heard from our friend, Ambergai. The evening was coming on, the fireplace was lit, the dogs were in their normal position at the hearth and Jeremy was enjoying the hearty soup I had made earlier, sopping up the French bread accompanying it. His feet were raised toward the fire and the wind was whistling around the chimney above. Another weather front had delivered a second snow and we were glad that no more tracks had been found on the balcony, or our property. So far as we could tell. The bear culprits had not been captured and everyone on the mountain was nervous.
Jeremy was fit to be tied over the non-decision about the next night’s party. He had spent a good part of the past week working up the costume he was ‘wearing’ and there was now seemed to be a good chance the bash would be cancelled…I kept him medicated with gummy bears to defray his angst. Which also kept his dick hard.
The hard-on thing actually hadn’t been too much of a feat, considering the arrival of the handsome young sommelier, Adolpho, to our home. Jeremy and he had a close bond of friendship. After being the harbinger of the bear attack news and hearing from Jeremy that he should vacate the shrimpy ‘lean-to’-like cabin which he inhabited for the sturdier confines of ours, the Italian boy had accepted the offer. Arriving the same evening with a large backpack, extra hiking boots and his mountain bike, the attractive youth had taken up abode in a spare bedroom downstairs.
His state of mind had been frazzled when we answered his arriving knock. After unpacking the few belongings brought along, the young man then begged off from further conversation due to a need for rest, he told us. Even the pooches failed to draw him out. We left him to himself.
Adolpho persisted in a stubbornly taciturn approach toward us the following morning as we gathered in the kitchen. While we understood the boy not really desiring to relive the ghastly scenario on the top of Telluride mountain, he inexplicably accepted our hospitality in typical single straight-boy fashion. Which is to say: he didn’t. Not even expressing appreciation for a ‘port-in-the-storm’.
Upon exiting the bedroom door, it appeared he had donned almost every piece of clothing in his sparse wardrobe. It crossed my mind that if he could’ve gotten the second pair of hiking boots on over the first ones, it would have happened. He seemed to be showing several symptoms of PTSD.
His flannel plaids contrasted oddly in layers and made more mismatched by the haphazard buttoning job. At least three color schemes blossoming around the neckline, long underwear showing beneath that. I observed that there were multiple buttons missing on the outer one so that might be the case with those underneath. We could discern uneven tails sticking out at the waistline, all untucked as they were. The bulkiness to his otherwise slim waist and legs led us to believe he had layered the bottom half as well. Barely ten words left his mouth as he almost gulped three cups of double espresso, which did nothing to relax the almost frenetic body language.
“That was just strange,” exclaimed Jeremy upon the boy’s hasty departure on his bike down to the wine shop he owned. Coffee time, normally so easily laid back, had been awkwardly tense with Adolpho. The attractive man had been unshowered and greasy-haired, his eyes bloodshot… and he smelled. Not in a good way, either.
To that point, we had only known the well-groomed and outgoing youth who was both a good conversationalist and a cleanly put together, if un-imaginative, dresser. I allowed that he was a single straight boy and we only knew him from his work-mode world, so there was that. “But, honey, he never went in to work like that before…ya’think he needs to talk to a pro about what happened?” Jeremy had said, and we had worriedly wondered together about the situation.
Because of our busy agendas, neither of us had the time to stew over it, me with readying for winter and my man tunnel-visioned on helping, plus finishing up the costume he was obsessed over. And then, there was the added concern over the disappearance of our friend Gai, who had left without a word days before, right after my night-fright with the eerie visitation. We had to just let it drop and proceed with our schedules.
I had to go into town for a few hours of meetings with our lawyers relating to the Austin, Texas, property. We had decided to stay here in the high country for several months. My concentration on Austin and gathering needed supplies for the coming time here in the highlands had kept me from worrying too much. Anticipating the company of Jeremy’s girls had expanded my lists—girls most definitely had needs uncommon to gay men.
My day culminated that late afternoon with a bulky trip on the gondola, weighed down by enough boxes and bundles that I had to travel alone in order to fit everything on it with me. It had taken three trips from stores in town, dropping packages and sacks off at the station by intervals, to gather everything together.
On the townside gondola ascent, I had been totally immersed in my planning and thoughts, setting an itinerary and mentally ordering the plans for our extended stay, along with the concerns over the Texas issues, so it brought me up short as I stared at the snow-covered meadow below and realized I was viewing three black bears, a mother and two cubs, loping across from a copse of spruces to a rocky abutment covered with bushes and aspen trees. The three entered what looked to be a cave or some such, through an aperture between two large boulders.
After the fact, I realized that the mama bear had been carrying something in her mouth and as the gondola continued upward, away from the scene, I thought I noticed a pinkish trail in the snow coloring the tracks left by their passage. The last rays of sun disappearing over the far west peak shrouded my distinction as to whether it had been the sunrays and light reflections, or something more ominous.
I arrived at the Mountain Village Station and hired one of the boys just leaving his shift there to aid my traverse to the lodge. Our arrival found Jeremy in discussion with ‘Deputy Fife’ on the front steps. My man was gesticulating in a fashion which led me to know the homecoming was probably timely.
Sure enough, as the station kid and I climbed the steps, depositing the day’s acquisitions, he was puffing up his chest in a manner I knew portended a vocal tirade uncommon to my easygoing man’s nature. Placing myself between the two, I forced their separation, the banty rooster of a law officer backing off and down the steps with a whiney withdrawal comment, “Well, you just better mind that you do that, son, and just so’s you know, your dog is a coward, too!” With a cap-straightening huff, the wiry man smirked my direction and turned, stomping his little-booted feet down to the big cruiser awaiting him.
“Little dick bent out of shape, huh?” I posed, as my stud glared after the disappearing vehicle.
“That’s about it, for sure, the little snot-nosed prick,” he gritted out between clenched teeth. The faintest of smiles arose as I reached up to kiss him hello, “That little turd started pullin’ my chain because I had too many questions about ‘Gai and the bears, I guess, so I told him that he and the Sheriff sure did seem to dither and cower in the face of adversity… How does that make my dog a coward?” He was perplexed by the simplemindedness of the man, but that made me laugh out loud.
He softened upon noticing the blonde ski-bum kid standing there in bewilderment at the scene. “Sorry, Bryce, pay us no mind, now…” looking at me he gestured we could continue it later, and we all picked up bags and packages and sacks, bringing them inside. The wonderful smell of simmering rabbit fricassee broadsided us and the young man almost salivated his acknowledgement of the dish—absolutely no idea what it was, nevertheless he was orgasming at the smell.
Jeremy and I laughed at the boy’s reaction and my man mopped his 22-year-old tow-headed waves in familiarity. I wondered at that and watched as the two exchanged pleasantries like old buddies. ‘Six degrees of separation’, I thought…the early Will Smith cult-genre movie with scenes exposing that stud’s naked stuff crossed my mind. Casting Stockard Channing and Donald Sutherland, the story had posed the theory that every person in the world from the Pope in Rome to the dirtiest waif in New Delhi could follow a random chain of connection separated by no more than six people… to me, a mind-boggling concept.
My look brought an edifying reply from the J-Man, “We met a month back, going down on the lift together while he was mountain biking…” Jeremy then looked at the boy and asked if he’d like to stay for dinner. “There’s plenty—it’s like a stew, and Adolpho should be home anytime to join us, too.” The kid responded vehemently in the affirmative, perking up at Adolpho’s name, which left me speculating if the energetic reply was even food-related. Six degrees, indeed, I thought. Though the delicious aroma on its own would have been justification aplenty.
I took the multiple items upstairs while Jeremy took the other things to the kitchen, bedrooms and storage pantry. With the puppydog-eyed blonde’s hypnotized aid. I laughed to myself as I pictured the boy on the gondola with my man, full well knowing his effect on men and women alike and the ends to which they would go upon first meeting him. I fully agreed—the man was almost irresistible. The phrase: ‘going down in the lift together’ easily could have taken on a different meaning if Jeremy wanted it to. And this boy—Bryce, did he say? —did meet pre-determined qualifications for happenstances Jeremy encountered.
I was repeatedly rendered glad to be void of jealousy, what with the hormonally heightened realm Jeremy thrived in. Since the 21st century had augured in the era of jungle-fever proclivities more common amongst the younger set than ours, I had found that the movie-star looks of my husband kindled a startlingly sexual undertone with these millennials. I couldn’t count the number of times that younger men—and women—had thrown themselves at him in the most de-basing of manners. Panting and drooling seemed to be the typical counteraction to Jeremy’s animalism. The man simply could not hide the drop-dead sensuality, nor did he much try.
I opened the ‘magic stuff’ drawer in the side table by the bed, removing four 10 mg THC-infused gummy bears and a body-high joint. Making my way downstairs, I heard the front door creak open and upon reaching the landing, glimpsed Adolpho’s apprehensive face peering tentatively up at me. I welcomed the attractive youth and let him know dinner was just about ready. Like he could be in any way unaware by the savory aroma. The lip-licking look and nervous swipe of his dark shoulder-length waves let me know he was famished.
But, more, he obviously wanted to discuss something, so I drew him into the great room and we sat by the fireplace as he broke into a gushing tirade of apology for the way he had acted earlier in the morning and previous evening. My acceptance of it and the lighting of the joint, followed by a couple of tokes each had us chatting as amiably as we always had, and I was happy to see the boy letting it go. He seemed relieved.
He had been freaked by the experience on the peak the day before and what’s more, the ‘interrogation’ by the police had cowed him—he even wondered if he, Adolpho, was somehow implicated in the mess, especially by the way ‘Deputy Fife” had third-degreed his ass while at the police station for several hours. He told me that the sheriff and the other officers were all talking like this was a murderous rampage by a person or persons rather than the bear-mauling being officially put out by their office. There had even been a reference to the reggae musician’s name. Ambergai Gee.
No wonder this boy was totally messed up, I thought. First, coming upon the bloody scene, then being treated like a person-of-interest, then having to stay alone in a lonesome up-mountain place such as his own, unsure of what or who may have him in their sights. And, what the fuck was this crap about Gai?
When Jeremy had called him, Adolpho continued, he had jumped at the chance to join us. Then he had revolted himself by the thought that my man probably thought he had responded for sexual reasons…silly man. Jeremy might be a lot of things, but by no means was a lech or perv among them. My man had a nearly two-decade track record of upstanding character traits by my first-hand knowledge, who happened to be overly-endowed with both bodily and psychologically magnetic qualities. Inherent to his being. There was nary a less-than-gentlemanly bone in the man’s body. Including the nine inch one.
Never did he stick that beautiful thing anywhere close to where it wasn’t invited. The man had proven the fact umpteen times over the years. Horn-doggery and lechery were not worthy of comparison. Jeremy epitomized the difference. I assured Adolpho of all this over the coming minutes and we went to the kitchen to gather things for the upcoming impromptu stew fest…it was making everybody hunger-cum, if that was even a term.
Popping open a couple of Belhaven ales, which I knew the young Italian enjoyed, we finally thought of finding where Jeremy and young Bryce had gotten themselves off to. Those turned out to be prescient thoughts. Upon opening the second bedroom door, our curiosity was answered. Adolpho was, while I was not, surprised to find the two locked in a sweaty fuck down right there beside the bags they had managed to get placed on the bed before ripping each other’s clothes off. Literally.
Bryce’s shirt was in two pieces on the floor, his jeans were tossed on the potted plant by the window, shoes were nowhere to be seen and his Under Armour briefs were hanging in multiple pieces between the lampshade and the credenza. My man’s clothing was similarly arrayed around the room. The two were lip locked and tonguing each other through audible groans and moans. The big fat black dick of Jeremy’s was buried balls deep in Bryce’s ass so that it wasn’t visible.
By the spasming I could see going on at that level, it was evident that eruption was now in progress and as we watched in spellbound fascination, Bryce’s white boy dick started squirting sperm onto Jeremy’s ripped stomach and chest. Naturally, my man’s hand was cupped for the reception. Bryce was straddling the prone black man, one leg on the ground, the other bent upon the bed, the boy rocking deeply on the thing in his hole. Jeremy’s big hand clenched one of the two white melons he was pole holing, still kneading it as the barely visible root of his piece emptied jism into the hot cleft between the matched set.
Adolpho couldn’t suppress the guffaw that passed his lips and the sound brought the rutting pair out of their trance. Jeremy’s guiltless grin came visible as the blond ski bum—bum being the relevant term—bumped up from the bottomed-out state of his sperm absorbing crouch and swung, red-faced, around to face us as his ass and dick both dribbled cum. Jeremy’s pretty piece spewed a last couple of weak jets upward and onto the round buns just vacating the geyser.
I just sucked in another toke at the sight, feeling my own piece respond in typical fashion to seeing my own guy in the writhing state of ecstasy I so well knew. I totally got off on viewing or sharing his pleasure. Turning to Adolpho, I offered a power hit and the stoned straight boy reacted by accepting it.
Bryce, not well-versed in our open ways, sputtered his apologies to everyone and no one in particular. Jeremy reached up and seized the still bouncing-- and cumming-- cock of the boy, squeezing his attention long enough to let him know all was OK. That silenced the kid and he slowly relaxed, finally smiling self-consciously at the three of us. The sexy boy transparently reflected shock that he wasn’t about to be beaten or shot. Or strung up.
Rather than that, I stepped into the adjoining bathroom and brought each slimed man a towel and warm washcloth. Adolpho was simply not sure what to make of the whole scenario. No women were present, so he evinced the vibe that this shouldn’t be right, yet the telltale tenting to the front of his multiple layers of pants told an entirely different story…
Reading this rightly as bullshit (his take on the matter had always been; “Yeah, right, and male hustler’s dick’s get hard at the sight of the money…uh-huh…”), Jeremy rose from the bed, wiping the spume off of his delectable self, licking it shamelessly. Then he went over to the Italian and sat down on the side of the bed while he deliberately pulled Adolpho toward him, unzipping first one jean zipper, then a second, and finally, unbuttoning the last pair. Under all this two pairs of boxers resided, wrinkled and crumpled, against the dark-skinned youth’s ripe groin.
Stoned and happier since his and my talk, Adolpho allowed the action, no doubt remembering what came after the ‘unwrapping’ part of this process. “Maybe you might be wantin’ to cover this all up just a little less for the next time, straight man,” Jeremy grinned at him, removing the somewhat shy, but very stiff Florentine hard-on waiting to be unveiled. It had grown up to be a large, curved, cut beauty. And it strayed toward my man’s succulent lips. Bryce couldn’t look away from it, I noted. Jeremy neatly pushed all three pairs plus the drawers to the triply-socked ankles.
Jeremy’s legs were now spread around Adolpho’s from where he sat and that mouth drew the dick in like a Hoover deluxe, ebony hand pulling the brown Italiano butt to him, not stopping until just the dark brown curls and the tight balls were visible. And being licked by the long tongue inhabiting the black stud’s multi-tasking mouth.
He slowly worked his way around the shaft with that tongue snaking out from the full lips between slurps, until the whole of it was slimed to his satisfaction. Then, he backed off completely, leaving Adolpho’s face wearing a look of bereft abandonment.
J turned to me in silent request of a power hit. Which I gladly provided. Then, I provided the straight boy with one and then the ski bum. Finally serving myself, we were sufficiently saturated. The four of us proceeded to perform or voyeur the ongoing group thing. Adolpho’s mouth succumbed to the ski bum’s tongue and I fastidiously cleaned both the ski bum’s and Jeremy’s cocks. Between the group, everybody’s tongue got a work out and with the delicious smell of rabbit fricassee enveloping us, we swallowed our choice of aperitif…
Adolpho was amazed to find that male tongues were more athletic than those of the persuasion to which he had been heretofore inculcated and ended by actively tangling with his first masculine linguist. Probably not his last. At least, so hoped the young ski bum. And his little bum…I mean butt.
Hunger or sleepiness inevitably invades after orgasm; the two senses being served by the adjacent cranial nerves. The former extended precedence in this case. Jeremy’s rabbit stew was just what the doctor ordered. I signed the prescriptions personally. The freshly baked, warm buttery rye bread and Depeche Mode’s Violator CD provided us filling nourishment and ambience.
After cleaning up both the kitchen and ourselves, letting the dogs go out, and banking the fire, the four of us headed to the warmth of our respective beds. Each of us enjoyed a gummy bear as non-liquid digestif…
Jeremy nudged me upon noting Bryce’s surreptitious U-turn when he thought we were safely upstairs. The boy slipped into Adolpho’s sanctuary for who knows what kind of conversation. The two certainly had the time to hash it out. We both smiled that the sommelier’s door opened from the inside on Bryce’s approach. ‘I told you that boy just needed some good ass, honey,” I poked my stud.
To which, he threw me over his broad shoulders and headed upstairs, concurring, “Me, too.”
In the privacy of our lair, Jeremy first filled me in on the good deputy’s visit, telling me bad things which I had feared and didn’t care to hear. In the process, my good man worked himself up to the point that I had to resort to slapping him. With my dick. He was distracted by the subtly nuanced move and forgot the subject as soon as my rigid prick hit his tonsils. Would I never learn, I asked myself? Minutes later the man was asleep with it and my load filling his mouth. I didn’t have the heart to take it away. He lay there so angelic and pacified.
For the first time in days, we both slept uninterrupted, falling into the arms of Morpheus as softly muffled sounds emanated from the bedroom below us.
Stay Tuned for Part 2