A High Country Tale, Chapter 3
Mighty Tungsten Tuberosity, Part 2
Hallowe’en morning. All Hallows’ Eve. All Saint’s Eve. The beginning day of AllHallowTide, the Western Christian Feast days signaling the liturgical dedication to remembering the dead. At least, that is, those dead that were saints, martyrs and all the faithful: those who existed in Purgatory until the Day of Reckoning or, modernly, the Rapture.
All those not waiting there were already partying in Hell. I had sometimes wondered to myself exactly how those in Purgatory spent their time. Hmmmm. Maybe I would review Mr. Milton’s take on it. Paradise Lost. Published in winter, 1667, it came out within a year of the Great London Fire…plenty of pre-burnt and freeze-dried souls to contemplate.
So, anyway, different strokes for different folks, I reasoned, by the variance in ways for observing the date… My mind dwelled on the ancient days’ rites, before and after being hijacked by religiosity, as I lay watching out the undraped bay window, head on my lover’s smooth, muscled pectoral. His nipple, always erect, tickled my ear. My dick got hard as that nipple wobbled, inviting me with each deep, regular breath. My phattening white shaft climbed the smoothness of his thigh.
Brushing softly downward over Jeremy’s luscious skin, I lightly fingered the black prick lying there in wait, turgid as usual. He didn’t even stir, also per usual, but that dick sure did. The thing sprang up at my touch. I could stroke the beautiful thing while that nipple continued harassing me and he would likely only awaken to the flood of emissions at the ending, if then.
I was certain his dreams entertained a ribald world where continuous rapture and climax held dominion. What else, I reasoned, could Heaven be about if not that? Could true religious believers fail to understand that their Lord, in all His infinite wisdom, hadn’t made orgasm so sweet just to prove it a curse? The doings of the Devil Incarnate? Any extant Creator was surely getting a good laugh at the stupidity of that illogic. This basic non-sequitur really bothered me.
With that, I slicked up that pretty ebony dick, closed my eyes and climbed on for a classic holiday ride. My hard dick bounced on and off the taut belly beneath it as I contemplated the concept. Rapturously. My climax accompanied the epiphany that any caring Creator had, indeed, meant orgasm to be a gift. Never a curse.
That curse thing had to have been part of a nightmare of sterile old, balding, impotent men who forced all priests and monks to dress alike, tonsure themselves and act the same, calling it “Holy”, so they wouldn’t have to suffer alone in their misery…
I opened my eyes to find Jeremy’s hand swiping up my load, smiling up at me as his own piece flooded my guts, “what the hell were you thinking about inside that curly head, Luke?” We pulsed pleasurably together in our personal religious atonement exercise… call it gay communion.
Yup, the old geezers were just pissed because they didn’t have Cialis back then.
A soothing communal shower later, we two descended wrapped in towels to find our adorable pair of guests cuddling together on the fireplace hearth, apparently comparing tongues. Lip-locked as they were, it was a bit difficult to tell. The two freshly showered and combed boys looked up as we entered with our coffee cups, shy at the interruption. Hard dicks poking unshyly from the fronts of their towels told another tale, for sure.
Adolpho appeared much more at ease now—multiple orgasmic experiences tended to do that to a person—and his pinkly cherubic cheeks attested to the fact of the successful addressing of the gay question regarding he and Bryce… entwined bodies would seem to bear the fact out.
Limerence would appear to be in ascendance, if body language was any indication…Jeremy and I exchanged smug glances at the overnight change. The two were absolutely beautiful together.
Let the bitter, rancorous, oath-keeping, sanctimonious side of the spectrum marinate themselves as they liked. Just leave the rest of us enlightened ones the hell alone, I philosophized… These two had melded under our roof and considering our own disparate beginnings along with a solid two-decade track record, naysayers may happily go fuck themselves silly. With my blessing.
While meandering through a congenial breakfast of granola, yogurt, berries, honey and buttered toast, we four compared notes for our hopes in the coming evening, should the Mash Bash materialize. Jeremy laid out his da Vinci-of-a-costume and I described my own makeshift personification of a cubic zirconium, at which all three chuckled in the visualization. The boys went off to their now-shared bedroom to pow-wow over their own. We gave them free rein over the abundance of extra clothing and other packed-away contents in the downstair closets, should it be of help.
The best laid schemes o’ mice and men…oft go awry. An apt quote, with much truth to it.
A short hour after that, the door banged at us in announcement of visitors and the dog boys went racing to it, yipping their proclamation. Upon opening up, we found two grim-faced law enforcers, aka keepers of the peace, in the forms of none other than ‘Deputy Fife’ (we didn’t really care to know the man’s name) and his boss, Sheriff Hamlin Delmar. Rod thin and irascible, Jeremy and I had always found it hard to believe this progressive community had actually elected the cantankerous old codger into office. Nonetheless, it would seem to be so. Here he stood.
The two scrutinized us both from head to feet there on the porch. From our perspective, a whole lot longer was spent seeing the skin parts then the towel parts…just sayin’… The transparent projection of their disdain for the minimally clothed, biracial duo with whom they apparently had business to discuss was plain.
Ever the raconteur, my studly man pulled me closer to him, draping his long, muscular arm over my bare shoulders. He looked from the wizened little deputy to his stern-faced boss, all the while smiling cordially so as to clarify things. His body language spoke volumes. Out loud, he looked down on the uniformed face of the law from his six-foot-three frame and innocently inquired, “What may my husband and I do for you, Sir?” The ironic sarcasm fairly dripped from his mouth.
Deputy Fife visibly chafed at the action and words, but in an attempt to keep things professional, Sheriff Delmar ignored the obvious yet benign provocation. He cleared his throat and tipped his cowboy-style hat, “Well, Mr. Kell, we are trying to locate a gentleman who has been reported to be staying at this address: a Mr. Amber…Ambergay…errr, Amberger Gee, IV. We have an interest in speaking to Mr. Gee and are hoping to do so now, that is if you might be of help.”
By the calm example set by Jeremy, I butted in, “We would be glad to, Sheriff, but for the fact that we, ourselves, have been perplexed by his disappearance three days ago. DOCTOR Kell and I haven’t heard a word from him, and we’re both quite concerned.” In my most professional voice, I added, ”May we ask to what the matter might pertain?” Ignoring the query, the law man obtusely deflected by asking if we would call and let him know should things change and we did hear from him. “Of course, Sheriff, and we would likewise appreciate the same courtesy should either of you. The man is a dear family friend.”
Jeremy was enjoying making the little deputy uncomfortable. He upped the ante by airily smoothing his free hand over the patch of peeking pubic hair showing above his towel, thence upwards from bellybutton to pecs, offhandedly tweaking his nipples lightly...the insouciance of this action was punctuated by never taking his eyes from the deputy’s, who couldn’t look away.
The behavior rattled the man, leaving him nonplussed and blushing. Evidently on a short-leash, Fife was unable to bring the power of his badge to bear here in the presence of his overseer. My man had read the situation perfectly. He had been livid at hearing of the tactics used on Adolpho at the sheriff’s office and more so when Gai’s name had been bandied. His unspoken retort to that treatment here by only body language had been classic.
Memory of the deputy’s demeanor in this same spot the previous day had left me with the impression of a pugnacious pug, shrilly barking his power at my man. Today, the man was more the picture of a submissive cocker spaniel upon being caught peeing on the new carpet. I had to control myself.
The ‘conversation’ was apparently at a conclusion and the lawmen curtly backed down the steps, turning to re-enter the waiting cruiser, then disappearing down and around the bend as we stood watching. Jeremy reached down now and spanked me on the butt, deadpanning, “Well, now, that went well, don’t you think?”
I let go the laugh I had been holding and we went back inside, wondering what that encounter had really been about? The landline we kept in case of lost power was ringing in the kitchen and upon answering, I heard elderly Mrs. Chastain’s voice on the other end. She had seen the police cruiser pass three times on the way to our place the last three days and she couldn’t hold her curiosity any longer, she told me.
Worriedly, she asked whether we had had any word about Gai, rightly surmising that the official visits might be related.
When I let her know what had happened, she and Mr. Chastain, who was also on the line, regaled me with their own news: there had been another bear attack the previous afternoon. They had just heard from Lady Carlotta that the three bears allegedly involved had been tracked down, tranquilized and corralled at a wildlife preserve on the next mountain over, just this morning. The good news was that the bash was a go, they added, and were we still attending?
Concern for our friend was overshadowing our focus on it but I assured them that we didn’t want to miss it… wait a moment, my mind suddenly reeled as I caught the comment, and I asked the old couple to back up a bit. Had they said there was another death-by-bear?
“Oh, no, Luke, there was an attack— another outsider again— but it hadn’t killed the man, only maimed him. He is at the San Miguel County hospital now, comatose in the ICU. An arm and his…thing…had been ripped off. Poor soul.” she added. We ended with mutual hopes for any news regarding our missing mutual dread-headed friend.
Hanging up the old-fashioned solid state rotary desk telephone I looked at Jeremy in disbelief. “Wassup, Luke? You look like you just talked to a dead person,” he asked with concern.
“J, there was another attack—over on the far side—yesterday afternoon. I think I saw it—or, at least, the after part.”
I recounted the sighting of the three bears while on the gondola the previous day and the pink trail I was unsure about in the snow. As I filled him in on the other details and the tele call, the first things in our minds were: why hadn’t the sheriff spoken about any of this? And, where was Gai? He was, indeed an ‘outsider’ as Mrs. Chastain had called the victim. We were now officially freaked.
The next hour saw the two of us hurrying over the mountain to the county hospital, burning up our iphones calling everyone we could think of in search of details and answers. Nothing proved forthcoming and we fretted.
Getting admitted into the ICU proved tricky, as we were not relatives to an unidentified comatose patient. I finally prevailed on the nursing staff that even without privileges at this hospital, I may be able to offer help or advisement due to my ER status in several Austin and Texas hospitals. That worked.
Upon first viewing the close-cropped person-of-color lying almost full-body bandaged, my relief at the lack of dreadlocks was mitigated by the poor stats he was exhibiting. The right arm was obviously missing at the shoulder, blood seepage was evident around the midsection and every orifice plus some newly made ones had been plugged by supportive devices. I conferred with the clinicians on duty.
We discussed a new regimen of innovative shock remedy interventions developed at the burn center in San Antonio and recently instituted at my medical center. The protocol was accessed and begun. Regardless, the prognosis would remain grim for the patient due to the copious loss of blood and severe hypothermia suffered before being found. He had been over-long in the snowy exposure.
I promised to keep in touch on the case if they would like and returned afterwards to the waiting area. Jeremy was uncharacteristically fidgety and very jumpy. In surprise at my touch he nearly bolted from his seat, “Damn, Luke, you scared me—how is he?” He had convinced himself that his older mentor was the victim and tears appeared when I let him know it wasn’t so. He blubbered awhile into my shoulder, then we thanked the nurses and left a number should they need it.
Leaving the quiet confines of the small mountain hospital ER, we made our way back to the gondola station. The discussion between us was one of mutual assurances that Ambergai Gee, IV, was a hardy and resourceful soul of much experience. He hadn’t just fallen off the proverbial turnip truck and we resolved to keep positive about his safety and abilities.
Our pep talk relieved us more than we could’ve hoped, knowing we were right. As we bucked each other up, we arrived at the station to find no less than our friends Sheila E and her spouse, Cat G, awaiting a car. The chance meeting provided us a needed diversion from the fraught past hours and we joined them on the trip back over the mountain.
The svelte, cutting edge couple were relieved to hear that, at the least, no bad news had been learned about the singer with the Mighty Diamonds, though the mutual concern stifled our normal upbeat tone when sharing time with these special ladies. The two were partiers. Sheila was glad the bash was still on. She and Cat were scheduled to perform, they informed us.
We hadn’t known, as the surprise was not to be unveiled until they were introduced last-second by the imported San Francisco DJ. They swore us to further secrecy by spilling it that a close friend and maybe two were flying in later in the afternoon to join them, and we both zipped our lips in mimicry of losing the tattle key. Little could we know…
The music was going to be unbelievable this evening, Jeremy whispered to me when Cat also let it out that the theme was ‘Music of the Night’. The knowledge raised spectres of The Phantom of the Opera, and it seemed appropriate what with the old mine venue. Both of our spirits were lifted and I was happy to see a smile perfuse my man’s face.
We parted from the couple on our different ways up the ‘hill’, their chalet in a secluded glen a mile from our log home, trading promises to meet later during the celebration. In trudging homeward, we attempted levity to boost each other by teasing about the coming hijinks sure to occur at the Mash Bash and compared guesses as to the refurbished venue in the old Pandora Mine from the nineteenth century mining period. Just about nobody was privy to the upgrades undertaken there and not a hint had slipped out. The girls must’ve known something, but had not talked.
Absorbed with one another, we missed the hushed approach of a sleek silver automobile from behind and both nearly died of fright when the short tap of the horn signaled its presence just feet from us. We twirled around in midair to see the capped visage of Paecup Andropov grinning by his surprise materialization. We dropped back as the chauffer lowered his window and razzed us unmercifully as ‘pussy-boys’ for our apparently comical shrieks at the surprise.
“I’m guessin’ that Lady Carlotta isn’t in the back considering your low-rent thug talk, Paecup,” Jeremy teased back, regaining a semblance of dignity. “How’s it hangin’, bra? You gonna be seeing us up at the mine tonight?” He obviously liked the Russian man and we had agreed to try to get more acquainted after the previous impromptu get together at our place.
“Ya. The Lady has invited me to escort her ladyship this evening and I have been forced to acquire appropriate attire for the affair. My first Amer-ee-kan par-tee,” he informed us. “She is quite a lady, and the be-est employer I have ever had—will you two be dressed, as well?”
“Ha”, I thought, “will we ever.” We assured him it was so. The man then offered Lady Carlotta’s greeting and asked if we might acquiesce to joining the two in the travel to and from the bash, seeing as the gondola would be no doubt stretched to capacity by revelers. She had sent him on the errand to personally invite us.
We were delighted with the offer as the idea of Jeremy’s cumbersome get-up was presenting a daunting challenge for traversing the mountain, and our Benz was not nearly large enough. So, we merrily accepted and climbed in, allowing the Russian to carry us the rest of the way to the log home. We were already nearing the time for beginning Jeremy’s assemblage. The afternoon was getting away from us.
Inside the cabin of the auto dazzled in its aristocratic appointments and Paecup pushed buttons which caused the drop of a small marble serving table and the appearance of a compact refrigerator below it. Another button rendered a partial rotation by two of the six facing Italian leather seats toward each other. Foot supports arose to push us into a position we had not experienced in a car—except maybe a remotely similar contrivance in the new Benz Maybach S600 Pullman test-driven back in Austin.
I facetiously inquired if the Geisha girls would sit in front with him, to which Paecup replied, straight-faced, “the girls would always enter from the rear boot to avoid contact with the passengers until the proper time…” Jeremy snorted at that.
The efficient chauffer then asked if we would prefer refreshment before unloading. Jeremy’s disbelief was evidenced by his wry comment, ”Why yes, good man, I do believe I will have a single malt and a couple small bumps before we deplane.” We were feeling mirthful at the unexpected ride and opulent ‘accoutrements’.
That is, until Mr. Andropov clicked three successive switches which ejected three tiny silver spoons from the facing seat back, each heaped with pure white powder, a bit floating extravagantly down to the marble surface. “Would the Sirs prefer Columbian, Bolivian, or perhaps the absinthe—that on the right?” We exchanged shocked looks and Paecup chuckled in the rearview mirror at us, “We keep the traveling sedan well-stocked, monsieur’s, per the Lady’s instructions.
Jeremy almost choked in trying to respond and I finally managed, “but Paecup, who might the third spoon be for, exactly?” My provocative tone brought the quip, “Uh, boii, that would be for moi, but only should the two gents desire a short interlude before our parting…”
That did it. Jeremy unhooked the small spoon on the left, raised it to his flared nostril and inhaled it in a sharp intake, rubbing the sides together while raising his head, like he knew what he was doing. My turn to be astonished.
He turned to me, checked to make sure Paecup was watching in the rearview, then blatantly licked my face from chin to forehead, “Honey, we shouldn’t act like thankless guests—get the middle one.” His grin as usual, disarmed and reassured me. He grasped the middle spoon himself, held it up high, affirmed with the driver, ”the Bolivian?”
Then he wedged shut one of my nostrils, raised the engraved (of course) spoon to my other and directed me to, “suck……Honey, don’t blow, it’s a euphemism…” I replicated J’s technique and caught sight of the Russian man ejecting his own private dispenser next to the steering wheel. He raised the chauffer’s copper spoon there and did the same with a cheery Russian exclamation meaning, ”Salud”.
We all sat chatting for a minute while ‘absorbing’ the party favor. Then, upon pulling into the pebbled drive, we floatingly unloaded from the vehicle, skipped up the steps and entered our abode.
The Russian man was stripping as he crossed the threshold. Jacket, tie, cap all disappeared over the couch; his shirt, undershirt, pants, boxer briefs, socks and shoes next left in quick succession, ending with him spread-legged, proudly naked and boning up in split seconds. The rising member was very ethnically Slavic: big, long, thick and uncut.
Jeremy whistled his appreciation, “you move fast Paecup. What else are you good at?” In reply, Paecup reached out and thumbed my man’s pants down to the floor. I continued getting myself undressed, enjoying the view. His face contacted and followed the contour of the strongly built ebony body as he lowered the jeans.
Slowly and with intent, so as to feel as much of the beautiful visual as possible, his nose slid from the thick neck downward between the mounded pectorals, over each ripple of the six-pack, all the way to the exposed crotch.
Since Jeremy seldom restricted himself with underwear or drawers—he did sports straps occasionally—he had only to lift each foot out of the leggings and raise his bulky crew sweater over his head to be stunningly, rigidly nude. His nine inches matched the white Russian. The thing levitated bobbingly upward over the parallel plane, foreskin coyly shrouding the bare edge of the spongy, curving base of the corona.
The fat, round, snug nuts hugged the flaring base like lovers and it was a very good thing that I was familiar with its details as I managed only two blinks before it nestled to the short curly geometric pubic curls in the back of that Slavic throat. Slavic nostrils deeply inhaled the muskiness emanating from it.
The man must have studied Houdini’s techniques for holding one’s breath, or perhaps the dick stroker simply had the lung capacity of an orca. Either way, I nearly passed out as I watched with my own breath held, waiting for him to back the thick thing out of his gullet.
Basically, it never did. The whole head job. Jeremy stood staring directly into my eyes the entire time, his sexy gray eyes dilated with the Go-Fast bump and glazed by the blissful longevity being accorded him via the deep throat. He shared the effect with me.
Obviously possessing no gag reflex, Paecup’s throat had visibly expanded by the outline of my man’s swallowed shaft embedded in it but the pro never once winced, hiccupped, or hesitated in the delivery of the most unique blowjob I had ever witnessed. Or that J-Man had ever experienced. Jeremy, gentleman that he be, denied it was so later, in deference to me, but the truth was what it was.
What the sucker did do wasn’t actually sucking. As the blossomed dickhead stretched down that throat, Paecup set his swallowing mechanism into a repetitive glugging motion. The effect caused a continual wavelike effect of his Adams’ apple to roll for minute after minute.
Over and over the super-sensitized spongy head was massaged until a deep pirate sound, like ”arrrggghhhh”, escaped from Jeremy and the dick I loved began pulsating to the rolls as the extreme throat action forced his eruption without a single other stroke.
Jeremy’s eyes rolled up in his head, his fingers clasped the close-cropped blond hair, holding the man in place--- as if that was necessary--- and the giant orgasmic release quaked through my man’s senses.
Every perfect muscle in his body appeared to be on high-tension squeeze mode. Had I only walked in at the moment of climax, I would’ve thought Mr. J- Kell were suffering a grand mal seizure…of utter euphoria.
As my pleasure rose in seeing the extended effect my Jeremy was deriving now, I could feel the pre-cum drip from my own dickhead. It stood straight and long in quivering readiness for my hand to stroke it, but I felt a hot tongue suddenly wrap around the tip and nurse the drippings.
We three had been so intent during our entry that we had failed to notice that the two young men sharing our home were lounging together on the recliner by the fire.
The two had stayed silent, voyeuring us through the entire hot event. But upon seeing the unique climax and my own ropy oozing, the two had soundlessly settled before me on their knees. Obviously intending to prevent my drippings from messing the floor…
Now, the duo set to licking and massaging my hard-on, making it and me jump in delectation. I watched as they enjoyed themselves, each exploring the other’s tight young body as they slobbered over my piece.
My eyes quickly raised right back up to the satyr in paroxysms before me just as he lowered his head to gaze over at me again, conveying the gratification he was feeling. He got to see my longmeat give in to the fervor as we experienced, in series, the other’s amazing cums’.
The boys’ newness to each other and their youthful libidos allowed for a stroked mutual boy-orgasm while licking and swallowing my juices. They lip-locked together around my shaft and then sprayed all over each other in their enthusiasm.
Four sated men stood or knelt with man-goo covering us--- oh, wait, make that five men--- we all four watched the still impaled Russian erupt in multiple jets of Eastern Orthodox bliss, too. I think that made for a straight flush or five-of-a-kind, or something, in poker vernacular.
We all grounded with some more time and reveled together in the best pre-Hallowed Eve rite of passage ever. If they’re watching, those saints and martyrs must be cumming, too, I figured.
That’s it. I had finally hit on what all those inhabitants of Purgatory do, whiling away all that time in their long wait for the pearly gates to open up: they voyeur. Pearly—get it? But, I digress.
A little embarrassed— like, not at all--- we five enjoyed the big upstairs shower together after Paecup’s ‘short interlude’ and planned for the coming evening. The new couple accepted an invitation to join us in the Pierce-Arrow. Paecup extended one in Lady Carlotta’s name, knowing she would love the company of four virile men.
Jeremy leaned on the steaming wall jets under a cascading rain head while I massaged the sore muscles after all that constricting and contracting. I was a fortunate man.
We finally descended to sort out mixed up clothing, playfully bombarding our new driver friend with his uniform. My black stud jested, ”Nice of you to stop Andropov a load, now Paecup your uniform and get back to work.” Tucking in his shirt, the chauffer jounced down the front steps to the auto and waved that he’d be back…
I felt like a scene from the Walton’s, all four of us on the front door deck waving good-bye to Paecup, half-waiting to hear a voice from the open upstairs window call down, “Goodnight, Jonboy…”
How homey we looked. Except for the facts that Jeremy was butt-ass naked with dangling going on and the two boys were in towels, draped all over each other, there was no discernible difference between us and the old TV series family. My wisecrack, “Well, let’s go in and have a little helping of ‘the Recipe’,” got me some mighty weird looks… Jeremy and I got it, anyway.
In the great room, we hunkered around the fireplace, as always, nursing some of the Recipe…errr… Old Fashion cocktails. Jeremy had pulled Adolpho into his confidence about the coming costume attraction dubbed “The Mighty Tungsten Tuberosity’ and the two were animatedly planning the transport and logistics over the mountain to Pandora Mine. Bryce, meanwhile, snuggled over to me on the huge leather sectional with his drink and asked, “could we talk, Dr. Cevennes?”
Uh-oh, I thought, those words never had a good connotation, and I braced for a broadside. Were his parents suing us, or had he strained something helping me haul packages? Was he pregnant? With the recent tragedies, I was kind of expecting something else bad.
“Of course, my man, but…what exactly is the thing with Dr. Cevennes?” I asked him. “I mean, yeah, I am older than you and that is very respectful, and all, but good grief, Bryce, we have been suckin’ each other’s dicks and showering together…aren’t we a little past the formalities?”
The wavy-haired youth colored a little and he stared right at me, “OK, sir…uhh, Luke (that was better), it’s just that, well, I haven’t ever known a real doctor—I mean, as a friend—or anything like that, and you guys have been so nice to me and everything…” he was stuttering through a prepared speech it sounded like to me. What is up, I wondered? He went on, “It’s just that I’m so happy right now, even with all of the shit that’s been goin’ down, and…well, I’m just figurin’ that this bubble has to burst pretty soon—am I gonna owe a bill, or something…?” I burst out laughing at the serious look on this cute boy’s face. The others looked over at us hearing my reaction.
“Well, Hell, Pearl, what are you thinking,” I posed, “that you’re checked in to the Hotel California?” His blank look let me know that that had gone right over his head, so I took a breath and wrapped my arm around his shoulder, drawing him to me, “Listen, Bryce, I know that Jeremy and I are new to you, and this ‘thing’ going on with you and Adolpho must be confusing, but don’t think for a minute that there is any foot about to fall, here. JFK and me, we are just in love with Life, so when the unexpected rolls our way, we just accept the serendipity of it all and make the best of situations. We both are convinced of the ‘Tree of Life’.”
“Are you worried how your parents are going to handle this—do you even still live at home?” I shut my mouth like a fuckin’ kissing gourami suddenly. “For that matter, by the way,” and I straightened up across from the youth for this, sticking my hand out, “I am Dr. Lucas Laughlin Cevennes, and this is my husband, Dr. Jeremy Fallsworth Kell. We are from Austin, Texas, and stay up here in Tride for as much of the time as we can. I am on sabbatical from my hospital for a few more months and Jeremy teaches, Philosophy, at the University of Texas. How do you do? Would you care to join us in Life?”
I had pulled up short upon realizing that we knew next to nothing whatsoever about this person. That should be changed, post haste. Life is, indeed, a party, but there should at least be invitations, after all.
The young man fairly melted into me at this soliloquy, and when he looked back up, a single tear was somersaulting down his cheek. “Yes.” Nothing more came out. I realized in a moment that he really couldn’t talk, so we just sat there quietly for a little. Over my shoulder, Jeremy’s big hand suddenly appeared on it. Adolpho had stood and come up behind the boy, putting both hands on him.
My superman looked down at the both of us and softly said, “Bryce, I am so sorry. May we know who you are?” Adolpho’s dark hands gently massaged his shoulders, and finally, Bryce took a deep breath, “I am Bryce Adams Canyon. I moved here to Tride a year ago after my grandfather passed away in Seattle. I am working to get my degree in computer programming, I love mountain biking and I don’t have any family. At all. I’m not sorry about that, it’s just what it is, is all.” And with that, the tow-headed Adonis leaned into me and bawled.
I think my heart swelled all up and burst at that moment. Jeremy, along with Bryce, sat down with us and we all just lost it for a while. Even Elvee and Suture, sensing the profundity, came up and lay down at our feet, communing with the pack. Hmmmmmm.
My drink tipped over between J-Man and me where I had forgotten it and we both jumped up, shattering the deepness. We went to get paper towels and on our return, found Adolpho and Bryce whispering together. Much as we didn’t want to interrupt, the mess needed clean up, so we did. Jeremy managed to trail his middle leg, for once unintentionally, over Adolpho’s leg in reaching by him and the Italiano reacted by slapping it. The thing boomeranged over and sideswiped Bryce’s leg next, and the oppressive atmosphere evaporated.
Wow, I thought as I perused the triad. How funny, the way that families are made.
An hour passed by and we finally roused ourselves from the spiritual reverie, realizing that ‘the car’ would be coming by for us in an hour or so. The youngsters disappeared into ‘their’ bedroom and we two hustled up to our own, spending a talkative shower time, again, just because we wanted to, discussing the situation in which we found ourselves.
Coming out, we put on matching silver lame thongs over our wedding cockrings and donned mountain boots with wool socks all sprayed silver, then descended to get the grand assemblage underway. Magic lollie-pops for all were laid out to usher the four of us into the mood of the eve but not before Jeremy and I ogled the stunning young pair. Upon exiting their lair, they were now transformed and inhabiting the characters of Alexander the Great and his lifelong lover, Hephaestion Chiliarch.
The two were radiant in their mirroring attire, having appropriated matching calf-high sheepskin-lined leather lace-up boots, old ones from J-Man and my Santa Fe Days. The briefest of matching bikini underwear sporting an over-sew of gold-hued aspen leaves minimally hid anything of their lean physiques. Matching evergreen brow-rings encircled their wavy hair. Bryce’s flaxen blondness contrasted sexily against Adolpho’s sepia tones. Various temporary thigh, belly, dorsal and bicep indigo tattoos complemented the look.
The two set a mood of Bacchanalian mindset by the sensuality oozing from their pores and they joined the two of us, singly. We figured if we could separate them we might be able to keep their pants on and hands off each other long enough to help us.
Adolpho aided Daddy Jeremy with the intricately complicated Tungsten Tuberosity, while Bryce helped me clip together the clear plastic wedged shower door guards I had accumulated from the three hardware and bathroom supply stores in Telluride town.
We shaped the pieces into a geodesic diamond shape that would easily fit over my head and enshroud my body from neck to crotch. Heavy-duty clear rubber-banding would hold the contraption in place, attaching to my neck, arms and each upper thigh. We covered the geometric beehive-like surface with a tight-stretched cover of sheer Glad Cling Wrap, then emptied the hundred other rolls of the sticky stuff, wadding them all into loose translucent balls which would then be stuffed strategically into the interior, capturing me inside.
Not see through, but enough so that it left a shimmery impression of my body, I looked in the mirror as Bryce positioned all of it evenly. The faceted appearance of a ‘cubic zirconium’ now personified itself. We fashioned a ring of thin, tawny (my skin color), moldable straws from the hobby shop to snugly encircle my neck, then extend behind and above my head to a rounded hoop wrapped in tinfoil, make-shifting a halo, and I was ready.
I could put it all on and off, with a little help, in a matter of a few minutes at the mine entrance so as to allow free mobility, especially on the ride there. I was sure we would need the room with the five of us.
We came out of the spare bathroom to an extraordinary sight. An entire human skeleton grinned at us, suspended on bony feet a few inches above the ground. As we came in, the spooky wraith began walking toward us, quite dexterously, arm, leg and neck joints working in synchrony.
Shadowing two feet behind it followed Jeremy, the managing puppeteer, supporting and controlling the skeleton by attached equestrian riding crops. His own dazzling body was sparklingly phosphorescent and golden. Head to toe. Every supple tendon, muscle and ligament were on magnificent display. His head and face were similarly glowing, the left half hidden by a skull mask of a pearlescent finish. His eyes had been outlined in Pharaonic manner, above and below in stark black kohl, his lips were blackened as well.
A set of spectacularly feathered silver wings lay enfolded behind his back, curling over and above, then down behind his head from the strapped attachment between his shoulders. As Bryce and I oohed and aahed at the aura of the whole vision, some controlling spring caused the up and outward spreading of the functional pair, ending in a glowing umbel, as widely arching as my man was tall.
How in the world had my innovative man ever dreamt this up, let alone brought it to fruition? Adolpho stood at the back corner looking like a woodland elf as he peered from behind the thing he had helped put together, almost as wowed by the effect as us.
“Honey, you look amazing. I am sooo blown away,” was all that I could come up with. “But, I do not even want to know where Mr. Bone came from.” The wide grin wasn’t giving anything away, as he preened through this unveiling. “How in hell are we going to get you there all in one piece, baby?” I exclaimed next as the size of the final product came into 3-D focus.
“Don’t worry, Luke-man, this ain’t just a fly-by-night show. I can get this thing on and off in five minutes flat, and I made it so it can even fold up. As long as you can put up with my gilded ass for the night. I may need some help getting the dye off, later. We covered…everything,” winking at Adolpho.
“You’ve got to be kidding, JK, I am not letting you ever wash that off-- you are a damn god. I fully intend to suck my first god dick tonight.”
Bryce drew in his breath next to me and exhaled in total disbelief. “How did you two do this?” he finally managed, as he cooed at his new lover behind Jeremy.
“Oh, newbie, you hain’t seen nothin’ yet. Wait ‘til we get up to the mine,” was the cocksure reply.
A triple-tone automobile horn interrupted, bespeaking the royal’s arrival. It pierced the dusk outside, and we all busted ass into disassemble-mode, forgetting to be curious.
Sure enough, we got Jeremy down to his glowing, gilded self by the time the Lady of the evening arrived up the steps. My golden man glided gracefully over to the heavy arched door. Opening it, he reached a gilded hand out to welcome now be-ringed fingers.
We all stood back as first the fingers appeared, then the rest of the Lady Saxe-Coburg inched forward, revealing none other than Liza Minelli in her transformed guise for the special night.
Short, spiked black hair with silver tips mohawked her heavily made-up, blood-red lipped doppelganger Liza face. A silver lame (how convenient) full body spandex leotard graced her torso and arms, high neck hugging her tight-skinned chin. Mid-thigh black leather spiked-heel boots stepped authoritatively over our threshold, coming to a sharply loud, staccato halt before Jeremy.
Her similarly black kohl-outlined eyes widened as she perused the puppeteer’s 24K envelopment, beginning at his face, stopping for a pregnant pause at the snake-stuffed silver thong, finally traveling downward to the exquisitely sculpted thighs and calves with silver-shod feet. “It would seem that our tastes tend toward a parallel, Dr. Kell,” Liza wryly observed, “yet we obviously fill things in differently…don’t we?” As Jeremy’s clothing consisted of a very minimal few square inches of cover, it was fairly evident to what she referred.
Ten long, silver-tipped aristocratic fingers had arrived this evening decked out with every sort of silver ring and tinkling knuckle charm. They raised up and virtually outlined my man’s form like a murder scene cutout. “My, but you do fix up nicely…” she thrummed seductively.
Jeremy raised one hand to hers again and turned her slowly to face the rest of us. Until that moment none of us had existed. She arched a single eyebrow in scrutinizing the three of us.
One side of her mouth rose up, lips parting in a Liza-esque smile-to-kill. She stepped forward. “My God and Save the Queen. Mr. Andropov informed me that we were to have company for the ante soiree send-off but he did not let me know we were up-classing the ‘Arrow… This entourage glitters more than a popinjay in the court at Versailles. How did I get this lucky, young men? Do we all wear the same dress size?”
That broke the ice for the bedazzled Adolpho and Bryce who had never traveled in an automobile of the sort we had described, let alone escorted the thirteenth person in line to the throne of England. This naughty vixen humanized the whole affair and I brought the boys forward to greet her.
“Lady Carlotta Saxe-Coburg of Annenberg, Saxony and Mecklenburg, it is my pleasure to present to her ladyship the Messiers Cosimo Adolphus De’ Medici, XIV, of Florence, and Bryce Adams Canyon, the original, from Seattle.” Adolpho reached out to kiss her hand and I thought for a moment Bryce was about to curtsey. Or pee.
He was not prepared, and all four of us broke up seeing his tangible confusion. “Bryce, this is Tride. The Lady is our friend, Carlotta, and we are all about to par-tay together, young dude. C’mon, let’s get our game face on.” And with that, Jeremy brought out the hookah for the special hash we had procured, while I passed out the vintage Bordeaux with a tray of fruit and brie.
As dusk waxed upon us, the boys donned their black capes with red silk lining, each fastening one another’s neck clasps. We all helped load the costumes into the spacious boot of the ‘Arrow. The lady was suitably in awe of the Mighty Tungsten Tuberosity, if not a little bewildered. Just as Jeremy preferred. Mysteriously, he poked a large black bag in last, leaving me wondering, what else?
Paecup, in full Russian Cossack garb, grinned at all of us knowingly as he loaded all into the warm interior. Carlotta, now comfortably medicated, was familiarly touchy-feely. Who could blame the woman, what with the succulent manflesh surrounding her? All of the same dress size, I would have to remember. Her court was in session and her courtiers were in thrall. And enthralled.
After a small familiarization period so we were more knowledgeable of her traveling palace, her next order of business was to instruct Mr. Andropov to dispense the ‘international fare’. The tiny spoons appeared and the boys had yet another choice to maneuver through.
Our comfortable banter made the ride around the mountain along the San Miguel River byway through the township intimately enjoyable for all as. We zoomed pleasurably upwards in mental states of jocular camaraderie. Jeremy, in rare form, entertained us in his own gilded cape. I snuggled next to him and the boys balanced Carlotta’s sides. To her delight, she got to play more the role of ‘Liza Cougar’ than her ladyship this night.
Approaching the old entrance to the 19th century silver mine, we were caught up in the traffic coming together for the Hallowe’en Bash. The local police, including ‘Deputy Fife’ and Sheriff Delmar, helped in directing the parking for those coming by vehicle, looking fairly askance at the opulent vehicle as we passed by them waving.
Several hundred more were streaming up from town and the gondola on costumed feet. We safely secured any evidence of the ‘implements of destruction’ as we had named the partying accessories while Paecup navigated to a site separate from the masses, per a perk allowed by Carlotta’s friend, County Judge Rickenmeier. We ended up in a secluded cul-de-sac populated by only a few other cars and some security guards.
Upon exiting the car with thanks to Paecup for the safe passage, and a remonstrance to join us soon, we commenced to reassemble the two costumes of mine and Jeremy’s. Lady Carlotta was absolutely taken by both, though the Tuberosity was ‘stupendously fabulous’, as she called it.
Leaving the parking spot and heading for the mine entry point, we began feeling the distant pound of the music beat inside. The sounds reverberated at us from diverse sources, probably vent and adit openings, I figured.
Jeremy had Adolpho carrying the mysterious bag as his own hands were busy with the ‘puppet’ controls and Mr. Bone preceded our entourage. The characters we encountered boggled the mind what with the wide-ranging imaginations populating the area, but our own arrival set off a rumble of wonder by the group we brought. We soon had a flock of varied ghouls, celeb mocks and fantastical figures following in our wake and we looked at our own selves like, “What have we wrought?”
The recently enlarged hangar-style gates were wide open and welcoming this eve. Reaching them, we halted. All five of us were virtually afloat, already levitating by the party favors. Now, we were additionally enveloped by the pot smoke billowing out from inside.
Jeremy signaled Adolpho, and the hunky Alexander the Great unzipped the big black bag, extracting a carefully bundled head cover of woven hemp dreadlocks. They had been painstakingly sprayed shimmering silver and embroidered by hundreds of glittering sequins.
Then, he extracted a snowboard with foot bindings. At least, that is what it appeared. But the thing sat off the ground by some tubular mechanism mounted underneath.
While the duo fit the ornate dreads onto his head, fastening them by some pre-arranged plan, Carlotta passed out to each of us a set of wireless earbuds. The devices would not only diffuse the sounds inside, they should also allow for inter-personal communication with one another while partying. Something new from Harmon-Kardon, she told us. How fly, I thought.
Looking back at my man, I saw him now pointing a small remote at the ‘snowboard’. After programming the thing, he caused the board to suddenly begin glowing, then very slowly rise up about a foot off the ground, hovering obediently in place. He grinned up at me, mouthed the words, “physics department prototype” and stepped up into the rubber foot grabs attached on to it.
He needn’t have mouthed them as the ear buds made each word clearly distinct.
The Mighty Tungsten Tuberosity was now complete. The exclamations surrounding us were audible in their disbelief. This silver dreadlocked, golden-glowing, ‘Magic Mike’ , Cirque-esque character, once known as my husband, towered above us all. Balancing on the magnetic-levitation hover board, he looked every inch the image of a Greek God. With a skeleton vanguard.
By some pre-set signal, the trendy hip-hop music suddenly changed to the rhythm and lyrics of ‘Monster Mash’.
The Mighty Tungsten Tuberosity, along with the four of us and followed by dozens more, all made our entrance into the now cavernously spacious re-do of the Pandora Mine. Those partiers already inside were drinking, mixing and dancing. All turned to see Jeremy in his glory as a murmur of acknowledgement grew at the spreading spectacle.
He pressed a button and slowly the silver wings spread, arching upward and outward. The effect was breathtaking and silenced the cavern. Then, a growing roar of acclamation built and I took Carlotta’s hand. The boys followed suit, and we entered the cavern in ancient Roman Procession style. I felt goosebumps welt up all over my body. Glancing over at Carlotta, we knew we were experiencing the coolest Hallowe’en we would ever possibly imagine.
Inside, the dance floor stretched out over the edge of an under-mountain lake, the gloom swallowing its far shore. A bartender had delivered each of us an order of drinks sent courtesy of a certain Russian Cossack now leaning on the bar hugging one rock wall.
An attractive female buttercup blossomed next to him, obviously into uniformed men by her look. Paecup raised his pint of ale in toast with a grin, and we raised ours in reply. The party had now increased in energy level and the multitude gradually got over the grand entrance, gathering to smaller groups for the onslaught that was the Tride Mountain Monster Mash Bash.
The renowned San Francisco DJ of Castro District fame spun round- after- round of danceable tunes, keeping many attendees on the dance floor without pause. We five joined in, Jeremy disembarking from the mag lev to wiggle that thong-enhanced golden booty.
Carlotta was in her element, accepting well-wishes from most everyone as a true royal would expect. Her Gordian knot boys, inseparable and interlocked, kept guard over the lady while magnifying her pleasure just by their presence.
We all danced together with abandon, passing the constantly circulating blunts going through the crowd. We saw Paecup disappear with his buttercup and knew another of the man’s ‘short interludes’ must be occurring. Good for him, I rooted.
Jeremy lowered his wings and came over to me, drawing us away from the others, as a slower song allowed the reveler’s to catch their collective breath. He removed both of our earbuds, nuzzling into my ear, “I am in love and lust with you, Luke. You make me good.” I was amazed at the beautiful man’s ability to surpass himself in every situation, and, indeed, he did so now.
As we joined together for a bit, the lights dimmed over a few minutes and we took to the side bar for a break. As we ordered another drink, the ladies, Sheila E and Cat G, mounted the far steps to the stage, followed by two male figures with whom they were conversing and sharing a joint.
JK pulled me along as we wove our way toward the four, vagrant hands reaching out to feel of the Tuberosity passing by. It looked as if the silver lame might be stretching its limits in recognition of the attention…which made my own answer in mimicry. By the time we arrived at the stage, we were both sporting boners and knew it was something only acceptable under the present circumstances. We luxuriated in each other’s tumescence, silently signaling a pact to address the predicament in a little bit.
Climbing the stage, Jeremy turned back to me, squeezing my hand. He lipped into my ear, ”Honey, it IS Robert Cray and Prince—I knew it.” Some band members had begun setting up for a live concert. The four heavyweights continued conversing, amazingly not causing a riot by their presence on the stage. Only in Tride, it crossed my mind.
Cat spied us and came over, giant grin congratulating our earlier arrival. “That was some entrance, maestros,” she said as she pulled up to us and Sheila E, now following her wife’s path, brought the two superstar talents with her.
We were humbled by their affirmation and the group of us chatted over their intentions to wow the celebration with true star power, all together here for a set. I felt a shoulder tap and glanced back to find ‘Liza’ and the ‘twins’ next to us. By our questioning look, she said, “Dears, you glow,”
The music legends all acted like typical humans, taken aback to be presented to a royal personage. They not only joined us in conversation, they even shared a hash vape cig that Adolpho produced from somewhere.
The lights blinked three times, signaling the cavern, and we left them as the band warmed up. Everyone finally realized what was about to be up…almost. Over the next hour, the evening was crowned by the exhibition of surprise, impromptu talent serenading the audience like none of us would likely ever forget.
After classic songs led by each of the four luminary performers, the crowd was crazy in its preoccupation with the star power before them. Then, the band went low to a pianissimo undercurrent like an on-hold freeze-frame.
The lights abruptly blacked out completely and the only luminescence was provided by the multiple phosphorescent entities and fluorescent devices around the subterranean theatre. Umbrella’d by the golden glow put off by Jeremy, all five of our intimate group were together in front of the stage. Thanks to our earbud communicators courtesy Lady Carlotta, we collectively huddled around one more vape cig share, able to converse privately amidst the cacophony.
J-Man was the first to recognize the new undertone beat, his senses switching to high alert. The rest of us listened, finally hitting on the fact that the band had picked up an island beat. As the lights crescendoed into strobe, our eyes latched on to an immensely tall, lean figure with a mike who was smiling and pointing directly at us, having picked us out beforehand by our glow. We all just about collectively shit our britches as the dreadlocked crooner launched into a lilting lyric made famous by the Mighty Diamonds. The crowd went delirious.
Ambergai Gee was back…
I lay in the big polished cypress bed inside our log cabin nestled amid the high mountain vale overlooking Mountain Village on Telluride Mountain situated in the San Juan Mountains of southwest Colorado, America, Western Hemisphere, Earth. Latitude 37.93 degrees North. -107.85 degrees East.
My legs were pinned back over my head, spread wide open by two huge ebony hands. The long fingers of each encircled my ankles, securing the clear path below. There was an eleven-inch-long, large diameter slick black dick slowly and methodically pumping in then out of my excessively lubed bare asshole. It was fucking purposely slow, all the way in and all the way out, to the ridges on the phatted mushroom head.
Each stroke was separated by a pause, necessary to prolong the slowly warming and rising approach to the long-delayed volcanic, eruptive, climactic edge being savored all the more by this manner of the mature fuck. As the big dick contemplated the long, propulsive release of baby-infused, Creole creaminess, it knew the pulses of ejaculatory ecstasy would be passed to me by the energy.
In the coming release and by the knowledge of the adjacent sensuous pluggings now unfolding within inches of my union, I knew that the patience involved would reward four people with whom I was inordinately close. With whom I desired to share the magnified effect by this way of doing the deed.
I held the dark brown glass cylinder in my fingers as I used the opposing fingers of my other hand to close off the manly nostril of the nose on the man now staring deeply into my eyes. He inhaled slowly, then I switched the like action to the other nostril.
Having just served myself to the popper high, I was reveling in the view of Ambergai Gee and the feeling of his long, swinging dreadlocks caressing my skin. I listened to and felt the slow plugging fuck coming down next to us. My stud husband, Jeremy, enjoyed the same sensations we were as he passed along the feelings to his fuckee, Bryce.
Bryce, who was slobbering hungrily on the rhythmically synchronous Italian curve sliding down his throat to the same beat of the two fuckers. His new life lover, Adolpho, made sure to hold his boy’s legs wide open for Jeremy as he matched the two black dicks’ rhythm. We desired mutual arrival at the doorway of elusive five way bliss.
Indeed, after many moments of suspended time passage, the low grumbling throat sounds by the Jamaican set my Jeremy, and Bryce’s Adolpho, into take off mode. Within seconds, all five of us came collectively, the only sperm to be seen was from my and Bryce’s cocks, as the other three spent their loads deeply embedded in the cavities of choice.
Jeremy and Gai vied for the cream afterwards, Adolpho too new an initiate to gay methods for partaking yet. At least in the view of anyone other than his baby, Bryce. Scooping the pearlescence, the two ritually smeared each other’s mouths, allowing the licking clean of both men’s long fingers by the other’s tongue and lips. The ultimate expression of domination by black men over white men.
If ever the religious right feared the expansion of their concept of sinful manifestation, our group perception of gay consummation was it.
We all luxuriated in the camaraderie of our communalism, sharing collective intimacies as we recovered our wits and backed down from the peak just scaled. Should others desire to understand our bohemie, then get high, do a hit of poppers, multiply by fifty while climaxing during a thunder and lightning storm in the middle of a hurricane, and then one might possibly understand…it was exhilarating.
Jeremy scooched over to me as Gai arose to get towels and washcloths, whispering nothings-at-all into my ear. I giggled back at him. Adolpho covered his tow-headed blond bombshell with kisses because he could and we awaited Gai’s return.
When he walked back into the room, his big dick swinging possessively at us all, we pounced. Bombarding him with questions for which we had been awaiting answers since Hallowe’en night, when he had returned to us.
Jeremy, the man’s protégé and long lost confidant, took the lead. “OK, my man, Gai, where in hell did you disappear to and why did you leave without a word?” Among the multitude of questions, these two were the most perplexing.
Gai slowly, deliberately, washed and toweled himself as we all watched his big dick. Then he smirked and clod-hopped downstairs. Size 17 quadruple E feet tend to do that. On returning, he held a Chimay Blue Ale bottle by the neck, classic blue vapor spreading over the lip of the bottle and descending around it like dry ice. It was an ethereal effect. I bought Chimay Blue to see it. The ale was stellar, but the vapor effect was better.
Clearing his throat, he asked to light up some ganja so Bryce got a blunt out and we did. After taking a long toke, he began. “Ma’ pussy boys, ya’ all need t’know a bit a’ the few t’ings I does before ya’ may unnerstan on th’appenin’s around o’late. So, I’m a’gonna tell ya, now, Mons. Be listenin’ close.”
And Ambergai Gee, IV, did tell us, and we did listen, stonedly rapt. But, as I am not him, I will relate it in this language, for ease of unnerstannin’, as he would say…
The statuesque denizen of Rastafarianism explained to us that the Rastafari Sect began in Creole Jamaica, during the early days of Western slavery. It was a way for the slaves to empower themselves. They adopted some tenets of the Bible and developed their own dialect of English, called Lyaric. They lived by the basic creed calling for treating one’s body as a temple: never cut one’s hair, eat only that which is good for one, never tattoo oneself…
They did hold to some macabre beliefs, too, though. After vanquishing their enemies in battle, they would save some bones of enemy bodies. Upon going to fight the next time, they pulled the bones out and gnawed on them symbolically. To bring strength and courage.
Like all religions, internal divisions developed over differing interpretations of their beliefs. Squabbles turned into blood feuds and now, a fundamentalist off-shoot, the Rasta, had deemed the time right for purging the unpure others.
He said many other things, too, but these ideas are enough to explain to us what had happened. Gai told us that he had gotten word at the opera house reggae concert (the one Jeremy and I had attended) that agents of the Rasta fundamentalists had put a ‘hit’ out on the band called ‘The Mighty Diamonds’ because they believed the music group had corrupted the true beliefs the Rasta held dear.
The victims of the mountain attacks, far from being tourists, were instead, stagehands from the reggae group. When members from the Rasta underground had caught up with them, the victims had been chased. They had attempted escape by a high mountain route but were caught and horribly murdered. The two were dismembered according to ritual cleansing rites to bring atonement for the bands’ drift away from the ascetics’ beliefs.
The bears had only happened along afterwards, apparently by chance, dragging away some of the body parts. Their tracks left the appearance of them being the perpetrators of the killings.
The night of my frightful experience in our bedroom, the Rasta had tracked Ambergai Gee to our home. Somehow reaching the balcony entrance, the assassin for some reason had aborted that attempt in the religious vendetta, or perhaps it was only a scouting venture. Regardless, he had retreated, jumping down from the balcony and escaping into the night, leaving the torn patch of burlap clothing stuck to the tree where I had discovered it.
Gai figured he had been startled, maybe by me, but having also seen the disappearing figure, he had rightly identified a threat to his ‘family’, Jeremy and me. He had resolved to leave us to ensure our safety, and try to avenge the wrong while ridding the threat...
He spent the next days pushing forward to do just that. Using Adolpho’s remote, abandoned house as a base, he had convinced another stagehand from the band, who had also remained in the area, to help him. The stagehand had tracked down the true murderers, but had been critically attacked and hacked in the confrontation.
During this assault, the bear clan had once again shown up, maybe drawn by the smell of the blood, Gai reasoned. They succeeded in terrorizing the terrorists themselves before they had finished. While interrupting the gruesome deed, their presence had furthered the public’s fear that marauding bears were attacking humans.
Gai had happened on his cohort afterwards and was aggrieved to find him alive but partially dismembered by the Rasta. He had taken the man to the hospital in hopes of saving him, and then left to go after the zealots.
The day of Hallowe’en, Gai had caught up to the perpetrators and ‘brought an end to the rampage’, as he put it. He would not tell us the details of what had happened, only that the threat no longer existed. As well, he had gone to the Sheriff with the evidence, proving what had occurred. The assassins and their ilk would not make menace again.
His critically injured friend had regained consciousness long enough to verify Gai’s explanation. The Sherriff, along with the town officials, had decided to allow the bear attack story to remain intact, relocating the bear clan to a remote area of another mountain range away from humans. The case was now officially closed, the cover up was to persist, the truth never to be told… We were all sworn to secrecy and must agree to hold the knowledge close amongst just us, he had insisted.
Our agreement sealed the ending of the whole affair, and the ritual lighting of the hookah hash pipe provided both closure and then levity after the sad tale.
Ambergai Gee, IV, informed us that by taking turns bringing the Daddy Rastafarian of the domicile to climax, while the rest of us watched, we could all be sufficiently atoned for our knowledge. Well, we all ‘sucked’ it up and did the penance. Now, If that didn’t seem like the kind of religious ritual I could embrace, then I didn’t know what ever would.
Boy, did we sleep like pussy babies that night…