A High Country Tale

Chapter 5

Caribbean Chicken Delight

“Tha’ goat bein’ da stud, now, Mon,” said Ambergai Gee, IV, “If’n me hadda’ been so horn-hung, den yu’da been feelin’ it more when me bein’ climbin’ up tha’pretty ass of ya’ own, ma’pussy boi, Luke, Mon,” staring at the craggy height looming up and beyond the back edge of our mountain vale property.  

Fluffy snowflakes fluttered down over my face and I shielded my eyes with my hand, following the man’s gaze.  At almost 12000 feet high, there was an ironic glare even in cloudy weather.

After focusing, I envisioned the magnificent outline of the Rocky Mountain Bighorn ram standing on the edge of a stony outcropping hundreds of feet above, the hugely thick, curling horns giving the beast an almost Luciferian appearance.  One front hoof was slightly raised and the big ram was sniffing the thin air, searching for something.  He looked for all the world like a picture out of ‘The Lion King’, by his regal stance up on the precipice.  Ignoring the fact he wasn’t a lion, of course.

Immediately relieved, I exclaimed, “Wow, am I glad to see that big fella.  Jeremy and I have been afraid all during the ‘bear scare’ that something had happened to him.  Adolpho hadn’t even run across him for the past few weeks, he told us.”  This brought a puzzled response from my big friend and newest family member, “Ya’ meanin’ tha’ ya’ know that goat, Luke?”  He seemed surprised, but he shouldn’t have been.  He was aware of my penchant for eccentric behavior and relationships with animals already.

“That is W.C., Gai,” I enlightened the older gent, “He grew up down here years back, funny enough.  He comes home now and again to check on us and the dogs…and especially the girls.”  This comment did nothing to clear his questioning look, “W.C.?  Now, ya’ be a’tellin’ me dat ya’ are about naming da’ wildlife, too, ma unusual Mon?  And, whaddya’ mean, ‘grew-up down here’, where bein’ da momma, now?  Or da’ family?”

“Oh, sorry, Gai.  It seems like you have been here forever.  W.C. Ovis—William Canadensis Ovis, aka, mountain ram—he’s a sheep, Gai, not a goat… The big boy dropped in on us one day about three years back and we adopted him until he grew up and decided to own the mountain.  He must be in rut and, I’m guessing, back from making babies, now,” I thought out loud.

“Dropped in?”  He stopped the sectioning of the hay bales being spread, in complete bewilderment at this point, hay pieces flocking the man’s long dreadlocks.  We were in preparation for the elk who commonly took shelter under the overhang of the rocks during bad weather.  

There were two yearling elk cows patiently grazing a hundred yards away, picking through the snow for any remaining mountain grasses left from autumn.  The females would lift their heads our way intermittently, knowing there would be a soft padding to rest on once we had finished.  While not tame, the cows were familiars, recognizing benevolence in this mountain dale.  Gai was still getting used to this elk thing; with this new quirk the questions multiplied.  

“An’, now, I’ma s’posin’ dat ya’ gonna tell me dat da elk ladies there, awaitin’, are gonna be a’havin’ names, now, too, are ya’ not, Luke?” His indulgent sarcasm was transparent, now playing along. 

“Yup, that is Wapiti on the left, and her sis on the right is Sambara.  They’re twins.”  The rolled-eye look I received was priceless.

I kept pulling apart the timothy hay, mounding it thickly back under and away from the falling snowflakes.  It would stay dry here, I knew, so the yearlings and whichever others showed up would be protected should the snow become a storm.  We would sometimes find up to six or seven sharing the rock-shrouded acclivity.  The salt licks close by kept them happy, and by eating their bedding they remained well-fed and occupied during bad weather.  I had constructed a cedar cabin with a small front porch nearby years before and stored extra there.  Inside were upwards of fifty more bales.

Winter had begun early this year, what with the El Nino effect.  We were in for a wet and cold season, I could tell.  So could the other resident fauna, all of whom were busily readying for the onslaught in their own manner.  There were black squirrels and chipmunks busily hoarding above us and several wrens twittered amongst the tree branches as well.

Ambergai resumed helping spread as he realized I had internalized and patiently awaited my mental return, in the way Jamaicans are so adept.  When we finished the five bales, we wordlessly headed over toward the outdoor cedar hot tub, a six-foot diameter traditional barrel and hoop design.  I had planned ahead by turning on the heat mode earlier, so it was already up to 102 degrees F, and almost perfect for the weather.  We pulled off the cover and switched on the jets.  

 Bumping and grinding good-naturedly, we stripped and hopped in, leaving our clothing hung from pole hangers next to it.  Our easy togetherness was a result of the intense closeness developed over the preceding weeks since this gent had burst onto the scene and alighted in my and Jeremy’s midst.  

Gai had taken to our mountain lifestyle readily.  He had grown up at 5000 feet above the Caribbean Sea level around the main Jamaican island, like my Jeremy.  Having been a native-born Hagley Gap, Blue Mountain, Jamaica boy, it wasn’t that much of a stretch.  The only stretching involved, I was noticing, arose from the bulging homunculus between the man’s legs.  The hot, roiling water in an outdoor venue tended to trigger it, at least I so hoped.  

Within a few moments, as we sat across from each other in the agitating bubbles, the foreskinned dick sure enough peeked his bobbing head from the depths, peering at me in expectancy.  “I hadna’ thought to put ya’ t’more work ma’fine boii, but there’s no J-Mon lips to be a’seen, and the little mon here seems t’be a mite insistent…”  He smiled and nodded downward as he made me aware, in the endearing way I had come to know, that the ‘anything-but-little-man’ was ready for some slow, deep head.  

Exactly what I had been waiting for, I thought, and crossed the gap to grasp the hard thang in a second.  I must have been drooling, because Gai told me, “Now don’ya be a-rushin’ through this work, LukeMon, we be gottin’ us all the day to get things correct, now, mindya’, youngsta’.  Slow it down, and enjoy da’ ride, now…”  The animalistic grin always wowed me.  I was sure the man had been a woodland satyr in a past life.

 I loved the way the man gave orders and got right down on the hard piece, my nose dipping below the water surface as I warmed up.  Wishing I had a snorkel to stay submerged longer, I nevertheless managed to get a nice, comfortable motion all the way up and down the XXXL shaft, no doubt making headway in my mission.  His soft, lilting banter lessoned me on the best way to get cum from it.  I slurped noisily as I came up off the granddaddy-sized cock, diving right back to the root in search of treasure.   

Only a scant few minutes passed before I could feel helping hands and the obliging ‘little man’ begin exhibiting symptoms I recognized to be telltale for an underwater eruption.  I backed off, leaving just a grasping hand (almost) encircling the flare, smirking up at the chagrined duo of heads before me.  Each were threatening desperate measures should I not get back on it, tout suite.

As the eye opened up, I tongued the gooey globule appearing there and then submerged again with the satisfying nestling of my nose into his pubic hair where I rotated slowly.  I had only recently become good enough to be able to swallow the thing this deep—I had been practicing…hard.  The big head squashed inside my esophagus.  It delivered the viscous load I had been striving to make coat my throat.  

Hating that I hadn’t gotten but the barest taste of the sweet Caribbean jism, as it had been shot so far past my taste buds, I had to be satisfied with resuming my efforts.  Accustomed to Gai’s multiple load abilities, to which both my husband and I were habituated, my second favorite dick soon swelled up and pulsed me the next load.  I bobbed around on just the huge head, tasting the cum to contentment this time.   

Ambergai clucked in Lyaric-dialect euphemisms above me as I aced my homework.  Finally raising up, I found his wet dreadlocks cascading around me like a fishing net.  The seasoned older man abruptly swung his head back, throwing the mess of them backwards, drawing me into his shoulder.  I cozily fit under his long arm, fingers on the familiar dark hand finding and cradling my own phat white boy prick.  We enjoyed the heat together awhile, luxuriating in the jet action hitting our skin.  

As I had anticipated, upon resting back with him, there but ten yards distant from us we saw the big coil-horned head of William studying our peculiar activities, slowly munching his cud in profound concentration.  “Believe it now, Luke mon, tha’ we do sure ‘nuf have another man-watchin’ freak in the yard, here.  Did ya’ by any chance have summin’ t’do with that, too?” 

I chuckled at the wit as I picked up again on the delayed explanation of William’s descent into our lives.  Three Junes before, I explained, we had arrived for a summer sojourn here with Elle and Elle, Jr.  The third morning after we had arrived, all of us were sitting right where we were now, I told Gai, when suddenly, a racket far up in the tall, old Douglas Spruce thirty feet from where we sat, interrupted us.  As we all watched, there appeared the tiniest, emaciated form of a week-old mountain sheep baby.  He tumbled down to the ground, hitting one after another branch on the evergreen, thereby breaking his fall and preventing surely fatal injuries.  Upon hitting the grassy lawn, he laid dead-still and we all thought he must surely be that—dead. 

 Little Elle, Jr, only four at the time, and her mama, our grown-up Elle, launched from the tub, scooping up the miniscule six or seven-pound waif, both pouring crocodile tears over the thing.  At the touch and the wetness, the shocked little kid came to and bleated one long, mournful wailing cry then sank into Junior’s arms.

All of us went into hyper-mode, opening an air passage, checking vital signs, looking for wounds, gathering warm towels and pillows as we sought to save the little being.  We concocted a milk, yogurt, egg, honey, lemon blend and procured a baby bottle from the co-op, then the girls proceeded to spend the next three weeks nursing, massaging and basically adopting him to our nascent family. 

 The little thing wasn’t responding well, slowly dwindling and fading, so I got online and searched baby-formulas, dietary needs, hydration formulae and such.  The information I gleaned did not paint a rosy picture for the orphan, I discovered.

  Jeremy and I had next driven all the way to Boulder and the Vet school there.  Some fast talking convinced the hesitant neonatal staff into selling us some precious sheep colostrum and goat’s milk, probably because of our promise of a sizeable donation to the institution…  Upon returning, we found the girls beside themselves at the weakening state of the tyke.  

Apparently we had hit the mother lode of luck, because over the next week the baby began suckling again, taking the proper formula into its sorely ravaged little body.  He made a slow, steady turn-around. 

 Another month saw the little cuss turn robust, engineering feats of manifest disaster inside the log house, until we constructed the cabin I now used for the hay, fencing a good-sized area around it.  We showed him to his new home, then bonded and watched his woodland faun free-spirit antics… the little booger stole all of our hearts.  And, boy, did he grow. 

 We named him William in honor of the Goats’ Gruff, which was the bedtime favorite of little Elle at that time.  She insisted on William over Billy, citing his extreme good looks.  We inverted the mountain sheep’s genus and species names for a more personal touch, giving him permanence.  

“Well,” said Gai, following my explanation, “that story be all well-an-good, LukeMon, but for one tiny little t’in.  Where in da world di’ the bebe come down from, and how di’ such a t’in ‘appen, now?” He eyed the big animal as if he expected the thing to join us in the hot tub.

I told him that we couldn’t ever be certain, but with all of the high cliffs surrounding us, we figured that either he had been a poor-doer baby, or maybe even a weak twin—it had been, after all, late in the eweing season for bighorns to drop babies.  So maybe, we rationalized, he had been sacrificed by mama and drop-kicked off a high ledge from somewhere in an attempt to humanely (what a misnomer of a word) let him go…  Nature could seem hardly cruel at times.

We also conjectured that perhaps he had been absconded with by an eagle.  One could have nabbed him and then dropped him in flight.  Either way, the spruce that saved his life in heralding his descending arrival seemed imprinted on W.C. Ovis as much as we were.  Jeremy or I would often find the grown bighorn cuddling up around the base of it or scratching himself against the bark when he would return.  

Elle, Jr., learned an important life lesson from the whole affair, as did we grown-ups for that matter.  About how the twists and turns in Life can lead one on strange paths.  When the hairy, bearded, seven-month-old kid reached puberty it was time, and he knew before we did.  He came to Junior one morning during the Christmas break and proceeded to bathe the little girl over most of her body with his tongue, doling out tiny ‘love-nips’ along with it.  His favorite friend and playmate answered with shrieks of laughter and endearing hugs.  

After that expression, W.C. Ovis had kicked up his heels and bolted to the edge of the surrounding woods.  He turned and bugled a heartfelt ‘adios’ and ‘gracias’, thence breaking all of our hearts again by answering the call of the wild.  Thank goodness.

 We all pined for a week, but then began sighting him in the upper reaches of the heights directly above, alerting us to his presence and the establishment of his dominion there by his trumpeting call.  Over the succeeding two years, we heard more than one cracking clash of his horns with the horns of other bighorn competitors, and were fearful for him.  But now, he seemed to be in full control of the surrounding area, coming down periodically, in search of his girlfriend, little Elle.  

The two of us sufficed for stand-ins, we supposed, but the time he came down and actually found the six-year-old version of his little sis, the two exhibited an amazing interspecies display of prolonged and boisterous renewal.  The big ram knew intuitively the gentleness required to be with her. They fell asleep together under the big spruce, curled up together, and we have the framed photo in our bedroom to this day.  YouTube went nuts over it. 

 Our little girl had one great show-and-tell back at school that fall… no one could rival it.  Now, we were hopeful that a snowy reunion might once again happen with the girls scheduled to arrive in a few days.  

As we observed the big ram, he tired of us and parked himself at the trunk of the old spruce.  Vigorous scratching and rubbing followed and we induced that he was wiping off the smell of those yucky, now-useless ewes- ho’s that they were—by the activity.  His odoriferous emanations did rival an old goat, to be sure.  We laughed at our anthropomorphic bias, reckoning he was now on the lookout for his best girlfriend, Junior. 

During the wooly show, we were abruptly distracted by the voice of my man rounding the corner of the house.  “Wassssuppp, my two fav men?”  He was ebullient even by the standards of his normally upbeat personality.  As he approached, he began lasciviously disrobing, a-la Magic Mike, hilariously break-dancing our direction.  Upon reaching the cedar tub, he jumped, turned and bent down, sliding his drawerless jeans down in the movement and presenting us a broadly waxing full double moon.  

He badly miscalculated Ambergai’s wingspan.  One long arm reached over and slapped a hard, handsome glute.  It startled William by the sharp report.  The big ungulate jumped up and assumed a head-down charge posture, apparently translating the sound into a challenge.  

Answering the dare, the curled horns launched toward Jeremy, who freaked at the sight.  He somersaulted in a backwards flip, up and over the side of the cedar tub, plunging head first into its security.  His jeans bound his legs, shoes still on.  The picture of his legs sticking up out of the water, hanging over the edge of the tub in that condition, provided a memorable ending to his erotic entrance.

William, the transformed Goat Gruff, with no discernible foe to be butted, quickly subsided in his blitzkrieg, assuming the placid, curious lamb we had nurtured.  Reaching us, he nosed, then mouthed the jeaned legs still extruding from the vat.  Dragging the legging from my man’s shapely ankle, he backed up, pulling hiking boots and pants completely off.  Jeremy finally surfaced, bubbling and spewing water, the antithesis of that previously boisterous self.  

Gai and I attempted to control ourselves, but failed miserably.  We did manage to slap the sputtering heartthrob on the back, allowing him to expel the water he had swallowed.  In the doing, we both got our hands all over the prime object of our desire.  He sunk down in the warmth of the jetting water spouts, only his neck visible.  Obviously the hunk was not too shocked, as attested to by the nature of the response his dick was affecting in my squeezing palm.  

He leered over at me and popped off, “try and beat that entrance.  The tuberosity lives…”  Gai’s hand must have been penetrating his delectable little hole as Jeremy’s voice abruptly raised an octave.  “Billy’s eating my favorite jeans,” in a falsetto that broke us up again.  We all three watched as the horned devil proceeded to appetize on the expensive boots, as well.   

I finally controlled myself enough to stand up, waving at the ram and distracting him into sniffing my hand in greeting.  The lovable beast was clearly wondering what all the hub-bub was about.  Neither of the two Nubian princes were stoic enough to show more than their faces above the froth.  Even while viewing my hand being slathered in gentle sheep saliva.  

It dawned on me how off-base my assessment was upon noticing Jeremy shudder— and not one that arose from fear.  That excessively long middle finger of Gai’s had successfully implanted itself in the asshole the finger’s owner had first entered in its virgin state thirty-two years before.  That same dexterous phalange was now stimulating the sensitive dumbell-shaped prostate gland hugging his colon. 

 In one fluid act, Gai lifted the buoyant butt, slowly working it closer to the familiar reggae dick.  Upon reaching the still leaking tip, the other hand smeared it, then slowly lowered the sphincter down over the sponginess.  The effort met very little resistance.  With another shudder and an audible sigh, Jeremy sunk eleven inches deeper into the 102-degree water.

  As always, when I was near, his eyes locked on mine to share his pleasure and I wrapped my fingers around my man’s now fully erect piece as it convulsed with each descending inch.  Standing up again, my unsated cock bobbed in front of his mouth.  It slid over his lips and was immediately sucked into the moaning throat.  I patterned with the two fucking men of my life and once again, we solved the puzzle of finding holes enough to go around.  This time in the company of a moon-eyed bighorn.  

The snowfall became intense and we three melted all that touched us, on contact.  Fade to white…

“I skyped with the boys this morning, and they seem like they’re having a great time,” I was filling Jeremy in about Adolpho and Bryce.  The two young lovers and close friends had decided to visit Adolpho’s family in Florence and we all missed them.  In just the short time since the two had met, a solid bond had been wrought. 

 Adolpho had finally figured out his difficulty committing to women.  He hadn’t met the right person.  Commitment had turned easy upon setting eyes on Bryce.  The amorous Italian had just known.  Bryce, also.  The rest of the details kind of fell into place.

The sommelier was now on a trip to Italy for business—stocking his reserves for the upscale clientele on the mountain with his native country’s superb vintages.  He had convinced Bryce to accompany him.  To carry the wine bottles, he had been teased.  Like bulk shipping did not exist…  

Adolpho, quintessential straight man, somehow reasoned he hadn’t shifted lifestyles.  The free-spirited young man felt deeply that he had simply come upon his true life partner.  Chromosomes had not been a relevant factor. 

Now, however, the two had chosen to present their decision to Adolpho’s family in the old home country…

“You mean they were accepted?”  Jeremy asked hopefully.  Having been ostracized by his own folks, a young Jeremy had self-exiled from Jamaica two and a half decades before.  He knew of the contention involved in relationships with family firsthand.  “Well, you know how Italian families are, J,” I replied, “They put up with ‘youthful indiscretions’ up to the age of thirty.  Then, duty calls.  By that measure, there are about four years left until tithing time.  So, I am guessing the jury is still out, baby.”

“BeBe?” Gai walked into the kitchen at that last word. “There be a’pair of those bein’ in the fronta’ me eyeballs right here, and we’s a’stuck in da indoors by da big snow, now.  And no beastly spittin’ goat a’watchin, so…” pointing to the crotch of his slacks with two long index fingers.  He sat down at the big marble island after pouring himself a glass of wine, joining us.  

Ambergai was still thinking about the hot tub sex in the snowstorm two days before.  W.C. had apparently sensed the testosterone-on-steroids during our session and at the moment of cum, the rascal had copiously spit his cud over the three of us.  Interesting end.  We had to drain the tub.  

“Gai, you know your Jamaica goats were worse than that sheep, my man, and those goats slept in bed with you,” JK offered, surprising me by that odd tidbit.  “Ya’, but da’ goats were precious and got demselves stole if’n they di’nt, an’ I’ma knowin’ ya’are rememmerin’, now, ma’ good boy bitch.  Dey seemed ta’ like ya’, alot, should I be thinkin’ on it right now.” The big man grinned at the thought.

Seeing an opening, I reached in the drawer and pulled out a head high doobie.  Good for storytelling, I surmised, and I was infatuated by my man’s still enigmatic past.  Lighting it, we watched out the big plate glass windows at the swirling snow.  Over two days, we had seen more than a foot of the stuff, drifts up to four feet were piling at the base of things. 

 The malodorous spitting ovine had been spied camping out with no less than six elk cows in the protected grotto earlier, proving the seriousness of the forecast.  “Looks like the critters out there are sharing a bed, now,” I observed, “and I wager the strange bedfellows are suckin’ up their differences under the circumstances…kinda like goats and farmers, huh?”  A bit transparent, my men traded tokes and looks while we enjoyed the wine in the quiet of the late stormy afternoon.

Getting no more rise from either, I resorted to junk adjustment.  My minds-eye was picturing a high Jamaican mountaintop and a crowded bedroom full of valuable goats and a young boy.  My piece liked the possibilities, especially upon extending the scenario to the arrival of a then-younger dreadlocked coffee-grower.  Sure enough, the white dick began growing at the idea.  It did not go un-noticed by Jeremy.

Always the voluptuary, he slid down to his knees, pulled my sweats down around my ankles and swallowed the only white cock in the room.  Gai came around the corner from putting in an Enigma CD, then eased himself back on the sectional to keep an eye on the action.  “Ya be perfectin’ da technique dat I been taught me little bitch all back der in dem younger days, J-Mon,” he stated.  “Me bein’ vera glad for you’s two o’ me boiis’ figgerin’ out where t’other one be in all this big world, now.”  He sounded profound, but I noted that the drawstring of his preferred hemp pants had somehow come untied, and the thick piece inside was showing interest in the present goings on.

As I enjoyed the purposely slow mouthstrokes, Ambergai pulled a small clear packet from a hidden pocket, tapping it with a finger.  He glanced over at me and gestured questioningly whether it was cool to put a bit out.  “Our boi, Paecup, donated a tiny bit o’ Peruvian last time me been seein’ da mon,” he explained.  Seeing my nod, he came up on us, scooped a small fingernail bump and sprinkled it down on my hard, slimed piece.  Jeremy held my dick head in place waiting for it, then descended on a downstroke, absorbing the powder with his lips.  I was served a similar scoopful into my nostril, Jeremy closing my opposing nostril with a free finger while continuing the slow strokes.

Ambergai did himself one as well and sat back on the divan, now stroking slowly on the longmeat centering between his long legs…  

…He began a story about his fourth wife and him fucking in their mountain farmhouse when a boy burst in the door without knocking.  His wife was pissed by it, he said.  Not enjoying the sex and worried about another pregnancy, she left in a huff, pushing by the kid on her way out. 

The story was coming in subdued tones but with increasing energy as the blow kicked in.  He was relishing this reminiscence, obviously.  As the monster dick stood straight up now, dark fingers stroked its length, matching with J-man’s rhythm and the music…  

…After the wife left, he told, young Jeremy stared at the big stick in front of him for a long time, then finally crept forward to touch his first dick. 

 My man was all ears hearing the remembrance but never once did he pull off my dick, tacitly good with the older man’s memories.  His own cock told the same thought, standing up between his legs.  He slowly slid his hand down on it, enjoying both our dicks. 

 I was amazed at the control of the two.  There was no ribald three-way unfolding, per usual.  Gai continued, now describing the first awkward blow job of Jeremy’s career…

…The thing just wouldn’t and couldn’t fit inside the immature mouth, and a lot of licking and slobbering resulted.  I couldn’t help laughing as he told of the first eruption drenching the boy’s nappy head.  He had jumped up, totally grossed out, and run all the way home.  It took three weeks and a chance meeting on the road down the mountain before the two tried again.  Things progressed from there.  

Ambergai was elated to find a non-impregnable partner, overly young though he was. After the sucking technique was deemed acceptable, the boy gradually learned about taking dick.  That would take a year, at least, I found out.  At his junior high graduation, he took his first full-blown fucking with a load, and found he halfway liked it.  He just couldn’t walk upright for a week.

 Gai was able to avoid an eleventh child and Jeremy grew up knowing nothing different.  With twelve siblings and parents too busy to find time for all, it pushed the young man toward Gai, who became mentor, confidant and de facto family. 

 His own children were by three other wives and all lived elsewhere.  His then-wife finally had her tubes tied to avoid anything unexpected, which was fine with Ambergai.  By then, however, he was ‘stuck’ on Jeremy.  So everyone seemed ignorantly satisfied.

 No one even noticed the development of their bond:  Gai hired Jeremy to help around the farm.  Their liaison was never discussed.  The affection between the pair grew over the years as Jeremy’s home life continued severely lacking…   

Just hearing the story, I came twice, figuring out the two were re-living it for my benefit.  Jeremy popped off each time I did and we both watched the huge cock ooze a rarely seen load as he related the virgin fuck scene.  Most of the mature man’s loads were deposited out-of-sight, you see.

…At 17, the explosion occurred.  One of Jeremy’s older brothers happened in on the two in the middle of cumming--- the big dick in tiny ass, young dick close to shooting.  The irony of the affair was that the brother went down on Jeremy, taking the blast of adolescent cum down his throat.  Then, the big jerk of a brother went straight to his father with the dirty details—all, of course, except for the part about swallowing his little brother’s load.  The damage had been done.

Now, a veritable leper in the eyes of his own family, things became progressively toxic.  He found he was persona non grata at Gai’s home on the mountain—Gai’s wife banned him from the place.  Gai was forced to give only surreptitious support, securing a small, secret apartment for him in Kingston, where the finishing of high school occurred in a different parish. 

 This actually turned out to be fortunate, because the teenage Jeremy had been sorely under-challenged by the mountain school.  He blossomed academically his final two years, finding some stability with the daughter of a Kingston preacher.  He graduated with honors. 

 Gai, his reggae band and career now taking off, stood in as his ‘godfather’ for all ceremonies and finally, served as his best man when he married the pastor’s daughter.  So continued Jeremy’s ‘straight period’ and a fast rise unforeseen before. 

Both of our lives may have shaped up differently had not a couple vagaries of fate occurred.  

For two years, my man had lived a fairly satisfying life with his new bride.  He became a church-goer and college student in Kingston.  Gai’s celebrity sky-rocketed and they gradually drifted apart, rarely speaking.  Two years in, little Elle was born and Jeremy knew true love for the first time in his life.  He was totally into fatherhood.  The man doted on his baby girl.

All seemed good, until one day, his wife’s mother walked into her daughter’s home to find her little girl buried tongue-deep inside another woman’s pussy.  The shit hit the fan.  Jeremy was understanding of the situation, having been caught in an unsavory situation years before.  He was never the jealous type anyway, but the pastor and his wife hatefully disowned their blasphemous daughter.  On the spot.

The coming fall school semester found the young family in Austin, Texas.   Jeremy was determined to follow in Aristotle’s Greek footsteps as a philosopher.  He had applied for and been granted a scholarship at the University of Texas.  

After another year, he and his wife had finally come to grips with the fact that there were no longer feelings between them and went their separate ways.  Baby Elle split time with them. 

Then came the fateful day a few years into single parenthood in the bookshop when the little girl knocked me off my ladder and her daddy swept me off my feet.  Our fates were sealed.

Much of the latter story, as added by Jeremy, was new to Ambergai Gee, and he hungrily absorbed filling gaps of his own.  We ended the evening with both dogs up on the sectional, five bodies warmed by a flickering fireplace and mutual affection.  Dozing together as the storm swelled outside. 

The cloven-footed man—if one could call him that— towered over me as I wakened foggily in a bed of pine needles.  My eyes opened to the goat-like hooves and worked their way upward, taking in the furry legs, the animal skin waist wrap, the hairy stomach, then the likewise hirsute pectorals and arms.  The man’s head was covered by thick, bristly growth over both it and his saturnine face.  His ears were long-tipped at the tops, like a horse, and two curling horns exiting his temples completed the fearsome vision.  

I raised up on one arm, holding up my other in front of me as if to ward off a blow.  The anatomically mixed-up being sneered down on my prostrate form and spat, “What in Hades do you think you be doing here?”  Not having a clue, I looked around for anything family.           

I was in a mountain setting, to be sure.  But, the flora evoked a tropical climate rather than a Rocky Mountain setting.  Equatorial conifers, plantains, paw-paw plants, frangipanis…coffee plants.  And, I smelled goats.  Unsure whether the presence before me was the source, I wondered if this place was, possibly, Blue Mountain.  

As if to feed both my senses of fantasy as well as that of confusion, there arose a distant, wavering warble that was distinctly mento-calypso in its melodic style.  I suddenly realized that I was completely naked.  And my dick was rigid.  The form above me had apparently noticed it already.  His goat-foot reached out, nudging my member and it jumped at the touch.  His deep, unfriendly chortle at its response disturbed, yet excited me.  

While we continued sizing one another up, a raindrop hit my face and within a few seconds, we were being deluged by a summer-like squall, drenching us.  It did nothing to improve the funky smell wafting through my nose. 

 To compound the unusual scenario, as we were soaked by the rain, four or five Jamaica goats ran into the small clearing and the Faun-like man drew a lute of some kind from a leather bag over his shoulder.  Putting it to his lips, he sounded several staccato notes.  That stopped the goats in their tracks.  The group stood still, hypnotized.  This ‘man’ was undoubtedly the boss.

 At the same moment, a very youthful Satyriskoi boy rushed forward out of the surrounding thick bushes in chase of the wandering goats, bumping into one of them.  The dark boy was totally nude, and boasted a completely aroused uncut dick.  A very pretty one, I noted.  

The goat-man broke with a lewdly lecherous, lip-smacking acknowledgement of the stumbling youth, which left no doubt whatever as to his new aim.  I was weirded out by the entire situation, but also glad to no longer be under the intense scrutiny I had felt up to now.

Indeed, the tall woodland man-creature forgot me, turning in a twirl that flapped open the loincloth covering his groin.  I glimpsed a huge priapic appendage resembling a stallion—huge overhanging prepuce of foreskin, a girth larger than Ambergai’s erect thickness…and this one was floppily un-aroused.  Scary.  The bucket of balls underhanging the thing was covered in enough hair to weave a basket. 

 But I lost concentration in the fraction of a second of its appearance as I found myself staring at a coarse-haired horsetail arching out and over a very prominent donut-sized anus.  The backside of this creature was in my face and overwhelming, as the cascading ponytail whisked ardently back and forth.  My mind channeled a mountain lion ready to spring, tail switching in anticipation.

The satyriskoi youth froze as he realized upon who—or what— he had inadvertently stumbled.  His dark green eyes widened in surprise, and I thought, fear, as he focused on the satyr now planting his hooves directly facing this absolutely Adonis-like little embodiment.  

If his eyes were wide open at the first sight, as I watched, they grew powers larger.  The youth and I saw an absolutely humongous stallion dick steadily rising, directly at the diminutive sprite.  At a slight angle to me, I saw it boing steadily upward in exact mimicry of the thoroughbred stallions I had seen on Animal Planet during the “Mating Season” presentation last spring.  Those horse dicks didn’t waste time, now.  When they spotted their objective, those bamboozlers were stiff within seconds.  This one did that.  

The final arch upwards had to be a good twenty inches and bigger around than my forearm.  The foreskin was so long, I think I might have fitted my foot in it.  For size perspective, only, of course.  From the opening, there drooled a long string of ropy precum.  An elephant would have been proud.

Through these few moments, I noticed the youth sported deer-like feet, himself, and a furry lower half, from upper thighs downward.  Above that, he was hairless.  Except for the mop of unruly curls very similar to my own, crowning his head.  More ringlets than curls in the steady downpour, the well-hung, yet distinctly adorable androgynous creature stomped his hooves, splattering mud around.

 I must’ve mistaken the fearful look earlier, for while I watched, the sylvan youth responded to the goat-man’s erectile behavior by flipping his own turgid curve with a stubby finger.  It seemed to hone in on the bigger one like a radar.  In relation to the body size of the owner, the boner was outsized in its own right.  Its accompanying fat, snug balls sucked in tightly underneath.

The Satyr-stud, now fully, proudly displaying himself, issued a sharp arm motion toward the smaller being.  Submissively, little Pan-man turned obediently around, proffering a delectable little set of globular cheeks up and toward the behemoth.  He looked over his shoulder at it, pulling the globes apart enticingly with his hands.  The larger hooves took three strides across the clearing, butting the baseball bat right up to the little winking rosebud. 

As I spectated, now more curious than worried, I saw what, in human terms, amounted to a veritable fist-fucking play out before me.  That was just how large the penis was.

I had heard tell of women strapping themselves to the underside of horse stallions in Mexico and collecting ticket money from goggle-eyed American frat boys visiting the border towns for the weekend.  The fuck episode I saw now reminded me of what my mind pictured that would be like.

Except, in this case, the big fucker grasped the small one by his hips with those hairy hands, lifted him off the ground and proceeded to pummel the round little ass deep and long.  The youth neighed and whinnied like a mare in heat.  And begged for more. 

My dick amazed me by the fact that it was turned on by this action.  It throbbed its reaction exuberantly.  Just as I felt certain that the big priapus was destined to poke up through the satyriskoi’s mouth, so deeply was it embedding, the two turned in tandem (like the fuckee had any choice in the matter), facing directly toward me.  

The twenty-incher pulled out from that tiny ass as it reached climax and both of the two woodland creature’s cocks showered me with more cum than a blue whale.  At least, that was all I could compare it to.  A crack of thunder struck as I was being showered and I felt suddenly submerged in the copiously gooey fluid.  It dawned on me that I was drowning.  The stallion dick leaned in toward me and began slapping me across the face, sloppy thing smearing my face and nostrils…  

…So, I thought, this was it.  I was butt-naked, drowning in a flood of cum from a mythical couple of satyristic beings in the Blue Mountains during a thunder and lightning storm with Jamaican goats in audience. On a coffee plantation.  And the horsedick was going to slap me to kingdom come… … …”Luke,” I faintly heard a voice I recognized, and felt at least gratified that someone I knew had found me and would know what had happened to me…I could hear the melody of ‘After the Goldrush’ wafting across my subconscious now, and perceived the strangest feeling of otherworldliness overtake me…”Luke…Luke…my man, wake up, honey…”

 And, squinting my eyes a tiny bit open to avoid the shower of spewing sperm hitting me in the eye, I found both my men staring worriedly down at me from my spot on the big leather divan, my own log home fireplace crackling in the background as the receding thunderbolt rumbled away across the canyon outside and beyond my safe Telluride Mountain home.  

“Where you been, Luke…you were deep-dreamin’ something mighty big by what you been acting, now…You OK, baby?”  I winced up at the two and said, “I was down in Jamaica, J, on Blue Mountain…and it was raining and there were goats and a coffee plantation and a big storm and…you were there… and so were you, Gai.  And it was beautiful and scary, but I wanted to come home and I couldn’t. 

 Damn, I suddenly thought, who was I…Dorothy?  I looked around for Auntie Em.

 “You need to get up, now, honey.  Gai has been cooking and we are having Caribbean Chicken Delight—it’s a curry chicken mountain dish we grew up with.  You’re gonna love it.  Luke, my man, wake your ass up, now,” Jeremy kept gently jiggling me and slapping my cheek. 

 Been there, done that already, I growled groggily… metaphysical metaphors and similes abounded.  

Damn, I thought, where were those ruby slippers when you really needed ‘em? 




[email protected]


Rate Story Choose rating between 1 (worst) and 10 (best).

Bookmark and Share

blog comments powered by Disqus