As the setting sun's golden rays gave way to amber, pink and scarlet the magic-like tapestry of ornate tents was undergoing another metamorphous. With the flip of a light switch the dazzling colors of the intricately woven carpets seemed to burst into life.

With a spectacular sunset as backdrop, Pat and his houseguest set cross-legged on a Persian rug and watched the exotic tableau morph into another spectator vision.

Pat sighed. 'When I'm circling the drain on my last leg, I want to be dragged out to the desert at sunset so I can witness one last miracle.' He took a deep drag on the joint and passed it to Joe.

In the distance they could see Antonio lighting torches that lined the pathways leading to the various tents. He had already changed into his desert sheik costume consisting of a gold turban, gold jewelry and a short white wraparound that barely covered his privates.

Joe's eyes followed Antonio as he walked toward them lighting the row of torches. Pat and the others were watching Joe, they noticed there was seriousness to his intense stare, also an unmistakable lust. Unconsciously Joe felt his semi-hard cock; it had started to tent his jeans. Suddenly Joe was aware of hungry eyes devouring him and he snapped out of his trancelike fixation, blushed and turned away.

Travis put his arm around Joe. 'Hey bud, don't get embarrassed for checking out Deadwood's resident hottie...for what it's worth, Antonio has been checking you out, he even asked me what you're into! I can't tell you how deflating that conversation was...I thought he was coming on to me, then he starts with the questions about you.'

Joe was uncomfortable; he squirmed trying to find the right words for an apology. 'Travis, I'm sorry! Man I don't know what's gotten into me...I'll stop looking at him...I'll...'

Travis laughed and hugged Joe. 'Baby, you have much to learn! Believe me when I say Antonio is as hot for you as you are for him...go for it stud!'

Pat opened a small round tin of pills. 'Let the festivities begin! Now guys, the first appetizer this evening is Ecstasy, served with a side order of Viagra. To paraphrase Juice Newton, 'One pill will make you happy...and the other pill will keep you hard...' Take just one white pill and one blue pill...and, I can't stress to strongly. Always carry a good supply of condoms. Especially if you're one of those special-needs studs...Joe, Tom...I've made these little Indian beaded leather pouches, containing four Trojan Magnum rubbers, you can hang it around your neck.' Pat handed Travis a tiny red nylon backpack. 'You strap it on your wrist...you know, like a wrist corsage! All the surfer-dudes are wearing them this year.'

Antonio finished lighting the torches and walked over to Pat. 'Hey guys! Pat I've finished everything on my list...anything else? I've checked with the caters and studio crews and they didn't need me...aside from the innuendoes how I could really help them out.'

Pat laughed. 'Antonio, you've done a terrific job, in your usual exemplary manor, but I do have one last request. Would you help Joe with his costume before a certain tattooed wild man stakes his claim and starts into the mating dance?'

Everyone was doubled over laughing, all except Joe, the image of the young Marine being carried around staked on a fierce warrior's shaft brought a chill down his spine. He would have to make sure he didn't get drunk and suffer the same fate as the solider.

Tom asked. 'Pat, what ever became of that young stud? He was a keeper! Killer body...he looked like that guy in the Marine recruiting commercial...square jawed and chiseled, man they should use him on a poster.'

Pat grinned and looked in Tom's eyes. 'I just had the most diabolical thought. We could produce a tongue in cheek recruiting poster...have one of those Conan the Barbarian artist work up a beefy illustration oozing with virility using our own pictures. And it just keeps getting better. No royalties, the Marine is not gonna own up to being the model...as for giant tattooed one, even if he had the desire, which he doesn't, he's still wanted in New Zealand for that indigenous people uprising thing...'

Travis groaned. 'I don't know where Pat comes up with this stuff...it's not his upbringing, he's from Montana! But you can bank on the profitably of his wild imagination...everything the man touches seems to turn into gold!'

Pat eyes twinkled. 'Guys, what can I say...sick sells! People are just inherently mischievous. Take the 'Mr. Bill' cartoon, poor guy, he gets it over and over...people can't get enough of 'Oh no, Mr. Bill!' This reminds me of another of my mad propjet I put on the back burner. A homo-erotic claymation cartoon. It could be riot, gratuitous violence, woven around an insipid love story. So far production cost makes the project untouchable...however, the people who work in Claymation have a cult-like mentality. If they feel passionate about the project they'll work below scale, which is the only way this project will ever fly.'

All eyes were on Pat; he had a pied-piper effect on people, and whenever he started into one of his wandering anecdotes they gravitated closer, mesmerized by his story. His voice was strong and masculine, with a barely perceptible vibrato that had a mellowing effect, almost hypnotic. As Pat held everyone spellbound with his humorous stories he had his hand up Antonio's short tunic fondling his beautiful cock.

Pat looked at the attentive faces and almost laughed. 'Guys! Snap out of it...Tom, how about some of that good weed you scored? Antonio, we have a few hours before the first guest arrive, why don't you help Joe with his costume and take a little tour of our lovely town.'

The effect of the pills were beginning to show on Joe, prompting Antonio to test how far along Joe was, he moved his hand from Joe's shoulder and felt up his firm ass. Joe didn't seem to be aware that a hand was feeling him up, Antonio smiled, remembering Pat's 'Joe vs. bootie-bandits' story, the ass groping he was giving the boy would normally make him come out swing. He had thought about tapping Joe's fine little ass for weeks, ever since Pat downloaded the 'Indian Joe' prison file of candid shots, Joe in shower, Joe struts his stuff, and dozens of Joe gets blow-job.

Joe shook his head and pounded on his right temple. 'Man I don't know what's going on in there...feels like I've got water in my ears. Ever since I busted out I've been lightheaded, sorta numbing in the brain...think maybe I caught some flu bug that makes you stupid?'

Antonio howled with laughter and pulled Joe's face next to his. 'Nothing wrong with you...and you aren't stupid. It's just that everything is new for you and moving at whirlwind speed...things will start to level out...you'll see.'

Antonio's cock was throbbing, hard, and long and very thick. It hung down his leg peaking out from under his tunic, Antonio's libido was operating at warp speed and the only way to cool his engines would be sinking the old driveshaft in sexy Joe's ass and fuck his brains out. He had watched the bedroom cam video of Joe's deflowering by Tom and Travis; and had pounded his meat so many times he worried about blisters. Joe was everything he looked for in a potential male partner, lean rock hard body, rippling with 'baby muscles,' the start of manhood, and of great importance, a super cock.

Travis passed the joint to Pat. 'Say what's going on tonight with Joe around...still gonna have the camera people record the late night raunchy sex party...assuming we are still on for the rough stuff.'

Pat exhaled a cloud of smoke. 'As long as you guys keep Joe on the magic-elicitor schedule...two drops in the morning, two at noon, and four drops in the evening everything will be cool and we'll ease the boy into his new lifestyle. Trust me, I've been doing this for years, it'll be a smooth transition, slick as owl snot.'

Tom wasn't convinced. 'Well, so far he hasn't questioned things, but he's a sharp cookie, and sooner or later he'll start probing and asking questions. Wondering about his easy escape, although throwing in that nasty redneck, Jimbo, demanding a blow job was a nice touch. The biggest hurdle will be the question, what was an eighteen wheeler doing on that remote highway early in the morning. He's bond to know that highway 666 is nothing more than a reservation road, connecting the prison and Interstate 40, and how about those big fucking sings advising motorist that it is a felony to pickup hitchhikers?'

Pat shook his head. 'Tom...Tom, you're getting all bent out of shape over Joe...maybe you should take your pills now.' Pat's suspicion that Tom was getting in too deep with the new prodigy had a ring of truth. 'I know the boy is a hot property...Jack Daddy can really spot the winners... said he had never seen anything like it, half the prison wanted to get in Joe's pants.' Pat chuckled. 'And not just for that big cock! Some were offering to pay double to have a go at his ass. Thankfully JD stuck to our arrangement and delivered us a cherry...ah, nothing like busting a straight dude, ain't that right Tom?'

Travis was getting strange vibes listening to Pat and Tom. He sensed the emerging of Pat's dark side; he had even given this evil entity a name, 'Mr. Slither.' Almost a Jekyll and Hide, in a flash good-natured Pat could turn into the Slither, and concoct these cold truly reptilian acts. Travis had witnessed Pat in all his treachery at last year's gala.

After the high-class film industry guest had departed another party began, where expensive liquor and drugs flowed freely, and unbridled sex ran ramped. About twenty-five hot young men, fresh out of boot camp had been invited to milled around, occasionally getting hit on by guest who had one to many glass of champagne, otherwise they were polite, if not terminally dull. After the first party ended the Marines moved out, in typical fashion like a platoon. However, eight remained for the after-party, they got completely wasted on good booze and drugs, and became party favors for the staff and caterer.

The theme was 'Under the Big Top,' complete with high-wire act, clowns and an elephant. Some of the circus performers stayed for the late party, quickly joining the caterers in taking down the young soldiers and having their way with them.

Travis had passed out under a table, he heard shouting he peeked from under the white tablecloth and saw Pat manhandling a very drunk Marines, taunting him and feeling him up. Butch O'Neill was his name, he was from Georgia, and narcissism seemed to ooze from every pore. He pretended to object to Pat's fondling his god-like body, obviously straight and probably thought he had been invited as eye-candy, something for the guest to ogle over. Before Butch's stewed brain could figure out what was happening, Pat had him stripped, forced on his knees demanding a blowjob. The muscular young Marine had never had a dick in his mouth and was gagging big time as Pat held his head in a vice-like grip and rammed his big cock down his throat.

Queequeg walked in on the Marine getting face fucked and ran over just as Pat was shooting his wad. Queequeg pulled Pat's slobber coated cock from the guy mouth and starts sucking the head like someone possessed. Now it was Pat who was screaming, he yelled out 'Oh god! You fucking homosexual manic...you're sucking out my cum!' Travis almost blew his cover laughing out loud; one of Pat's often uses politically incorrect expression, as used by the folk back in Montana when talking about gays.

The next event would be forever burned in Travis's mind. Pat and Queequeg carried Butch to the table that Travis was hiding under and placed him down on his back, Queequeg pulled the soldier's legs up and Pat held them over the guy's head. Next Queequeg spit the mouthful of Pat's sperm he'd saved in his hand, dipped two fingers in the cum, then shoved them up the Marine's virgin ass. The screams were chilling as the tattooed hulk reamed the hole of the young shoulders of misfortune.

In a flash the screams turned into moans as Queequeg started rimming him, forcing his tongue past the anal ring. The Marine was really getting into the act now, and started pulling his pud, begging for more. Pat bent down and started French kiss, they were really getting into it, sucking tongues and moaning, when Queequeg slapped Pat on the shoulder and said he was ready. Pat took Queequeg's place between the Marine's legs. He leaned forward and smooth-talked the nervous Marine while his big cock was lubricated with his own cum. Queequeg held the Marine tight as Pat plunged in, this time Butch fought with all the strength he had left but it was short-lived after a volley of bitch slaps from Queequeg.

Pat experimented with his strokes until he found the Marine's prostate; it was down hill after that for the soldier as Pat turned him into a slut, begging for it as he jacked off. Queequeg tried to get Butch to suck cock but the Georgia boy violently objected, and foolishly used the 'N' word. Queequeg went ballistic and bitched slapped him until he screamed and begged for him to stop. He did stop but was warned he'd better suck good if he didn't want more bitch slaps. If choking and gagging were any indication of how good it was, it must have been first rate, even Queequeg was moaning.

Pat climaxed deep in the soldiers bowls seconds later the Marine shot off. Queequeg pulled his slobber-coated cock out and changed places with Pat. Unceremoniously he rammed his gigantic fuck stick in the Marine's ass; the screams and pleading were the loudest volume he could muster. The tattooed giant grabbed the soldier's balls and twisted. With his fierce looking tattooed face just inches away from Butch's face, he threatened to rip them off and stuff them down his throat if he heard another peep out of him. The only sounds now were flesh to flesh pounding and whimpering. Finally Queequeg lifted the Marine up, telling him to lock his legs around his waists; he paraded the stunned soldier around impaled on his mammoth tool. As he started walking away a voice out of nowhere told him he was leaving camera range. It was like a National Geographic special, the camera crew had been stealthily hidden the entire time and had recorded everything.

Queequeg finally released the young stud and he staggered around collecting fatigues, he wasn't thinking clearly or he would have grabbed his clothes and run as fast as he could. While lacing up his last boot a pack of crazed sex fiends swooped down on Butch, stripping off his clothes and dragging him away.

The muscular stud muffin became the 'fuck du jour,' eventually getting tagged by everyone. Several of his Marine buddies became repeat offenders, boasting they had a new barracks bitch, and to reinforce their claim on Butch the camera crew was only too willing to produce pictures, provided the soldiers would do a little studio work for them later.

Antonio and Joe reached the tent used to store all the costumes; they were the first to arrive, about two hours early. Joe was told to strip completely; hesitantly he stopped short of that goal and wouldn't remove his jockstrap. He fidgeted and stammered finally telling Antonio he had an eructation.

Antonio sighed. 'Joe, look at my costume...see anything out of the ordinary? Like my dick is hanging below my tunic and I've also got a hard on.' He wanted to hug the young stud, squeeze him and kiss every inch of his body. 'You really don't know what's this party is all about do you?'

Joe blushed and slid his jockstrap off. 'Man, I really don't know anything, it's like everything is spinning so fast I never get a chance to figure things out...don't get me wrong, I'll always be grateful that Tom and Travis found me...Pat has been like family. But...and I hope this comes out right, they treat me like the family pet and I find myself doing everything they want...I don't have a will of my own. Does any of this make sense?'

It made perfect sense to Antonio, reminding him of his own arrival at Deadwood. 'Joe, you have described my early years to the letter...I would love to fill you in...unravel the tangle in your mind...you must believe me when I say my life would be over if I talked. I'm like you, sort of an indentured servant, yet treated like a guest.'

'Antonio, haven't you ever tried to get away, maybe start a new life have a wife and kids?

Antonio sat cross-legged, his thick nine-inch cock stretched out on the carpet. He motioned for Joe to set in front of him as he pondered over what secrets he could revel and escape the full wrath of Pat.

'Joe, thirteen years ago I arrived at the front gate of Deadwood, a fugitive of the Federally and a illegal immigrant from Mexico. I had been beaten and robbed by my own countrymen, I'll explain the class thing later. When I tried to cross the border at San Pedro Valley, they threw rocks at me and chased me away. I walk miles in the rugged desert looking for a place to cross; finally I found a hole in the border fence and crossed over. I didn't have a clue where I was and stumbled into Deadwood.'

Joe took Antonio's right arm and held it up. Long scars ran down his side. 'You got cutup by that damn razor-wire!' Man, your life sucks as bad as mine...I'm sorry about the interruption, please continue.'

Antonio chuckled. 'Joe never for a moment think you're slow, your mind is like a PC running at top speed, processing and analyzing. Yes, I was running on empty and the sun was coming up, I needed to find cover fast, so I looked around and found part of a rusty car fender near the road. I'm like a monkey when it comes to climbing, so the ten-foot fence was a piece of cake. I put the scrap metal part over the razor wire and it covered about a two-foot wide path for me to slide over. I was on top of the fence when the brittle metal crumbled beneath me and the wire sprang up catching me under the arm, I had no choice but to let the razor-wire slice my side all the way to my belt.'

Joe was projecting again and blurred out. 'Pat found you? Did he stitch the wound...I bet it was him...he looks like somebody that can do everything...' Joe blushed. 'Sorry man...'

'Quite all right, and yes, Pat was just returning home from a trip and spotted the rusty scrap on top of his fence and started to investigate. I had left a trail of blood leading to the old livery stable. When he found me I was too week move, all I could do was watch him set a quick tourniquet and carry me inside the restored old hotel. After cleaning me up and dressing my wounds he ask me if I was wanted by the police, he didn't have to ask if I was illegal alien, that's how scuzzy I looked.'

'Yeah, in Pat's Vietnam pictures he had a medical insignia on his helmet.' Joe looked at Antonio's zigzag scar. 'Pat stitched you up really good...' Joe held out his arm and pointed to the long crosshatch line on the side. 'On the reservation when you're cut they treat you with what ever is handy...poured kerosene on my cut and sewed me up with red knitting yarn...you never see a real doctor on the reservation.'

'Folk medicine!' Antonio said. 'All over rural Mexico they do the same thing... for thousands of years they've been doing it, so I trust the wisdom of these old Shaman.' Antonio stretched and looked outside the tent flap. 'Joe we better get the show on the road, We'll talk later.'

'Antonio, I gotta ask one last question! It's been bugging the hell out of me...if you came to Deadwood thirteen years ago...how old are you?'

'Joe, I'm thirty-one. I know you find that hard to believe, but 'tis true my friend...the youthful appearance is a mixed blessing. Since the Mexican Federally and their US counterpart are looking for someone older, I've been passing as a teenager for years...the downside is always being treated like a teenager when I have a grown man's desires.' Antonio cocked his head and looked in Joe's eyes. 'Joe, I want to make love to you like the man I am...not as another teen just out for quick sex. Do you understand?'

'My grandfather told me life on the reservation starts early and ends fast...and it's true, most girls are pregnant by fifteen...my own mother was, she ran off with a white dude, maybe my father...grandfather's not sure. Anyway, he must have been crushed when my mother left, I think maybe my grandmother had done the same thing, he was determined to make sure I didn't follow in the same footsteps, he didn't allow me to date girls like my buddies had started doing. So to answer your question...probably not, I've always dreamed of making love...like with a girl. Actually, the only time I've been with anybody was with Tom and Travis...was that love?'

Antonio's chest tightened, he sensed the dangerous path his heart was following, as if compelled, unable to contain his desire he held the naive boy and showed him with kisses. Joe had ignited a passion in the Latin lover, rekindling urges that had lain dormant for many years. After caressing Joe for a longtime Antoine said. 'That was love.'

To Be Continued.

 

Tyl

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