Discoveries

“Well, I guess church didn’t agree with you,” Ben Carter said to Nick Scarpelli, reflecting on the younger man’s demeanor when he picked him up to drive him to the morgue on Tuesday.

“Guess not,” mumbled Nick. And that was the end of that conversation until they arrived at their destination.

“Yes,” said the coroner to Sheriff Scarpelli and Chief Carter when they met him at the morgue. “The blade on the weapon found at the scene does match the incision in the victim’s chest. There’s no doubt about it: that knife is your murder weapon.”

“What about the prints we found on the knife handle?” asked the sheriff.

“There was one set, and they match your suspect, Randy Dawkins.”

Sheriff Scarpelli paced in a circle for nearly a minute before he spoke again. “Lemme ask you…could Mr. Pipkins’ assailant have attacked him from above…say, from a ledge…maybe eight feet up?”

“Absolutely not,” replied the coroner.

“You seem very sure of that,” chimed in a surprised Chief Ben Carter.

“Look here,” explained the coroner, removing the sheet to expose the corpse of Carl Pipkins. “This is the entry wound. Given the angle of entry and the selective bruising, the fatal blow could only have been delivered by someone standing directly in front of the victim and, I would say, by someone of approximately the same height.”

“Well, there goes your theory,” Chief Carter said to Sheriff Scarpelli.

“Not necessarily,” replied Nick. “Randy still could have jumped him from the hayloft, grabbed the knife, and then stabbed him.”

“No, he couldn’t,” said the coroner. Then, responding to the puzzled expressions on the two lawmen’s faces, he added, “The prints on the handle show that Randy gripped the knife with his thumb and forefinger up against the hilt, the back of his hand away from the blade. Holding the knife in that fashion—underhanded, so to speak—he would have to have swung upward, most likely striking the victim in the stomach rather than the chest. No, the prints on the weapon belong to Randy Dawkins, but those are not the prints of the man who stuck that knife into Carl Pipkins’ chest.”

After giving Sheriff Scarpelli and Chief Carter a moment to digest this new information, the coroner continued, “Don’t you think it’s a bit odd, Sheriff, that there was only one set of prints on the murder weapon? Not even the victim’s prints were on it, and it was his knife. Now, I’m no detective, but it seems to me that someone—most likely, the person who stabbed the victim—wiped the handle free of prints, including his own, and then placed the knife in the hand of Randy Dawkins to throw suspicion onto him.”

“But who would want to frame Randy Dawkins?” asked Police Chief Carter.

“I don’t know,” replied Nick, “but I sure as hell intend to ask him.”

Checking in at the hotel in the Bahamas, Jeremy explained that he no longer needed the honeymoon suite, but it was the only room available, and since he had already paid for it, he accepted it.

Brandon looked forward to swimming, snorkeling, sailing, and golfing, but all Jeremy seemed to want to do was mope around. Brandon tried to allow Jeremy his private moments, but he was also under strict orders from Ford to keep an eye on the jilted lover. Of course, Brandon was hoping for a repeat of their sexual experience, but Jeremy’s heart really wasn’t in it. Though Jeremy did not say so, Brandon could tell that he mostly just wanted to be held, and Brandon was happy to oblige. He really cared for Jeremy, and he wanted to be there for him—in whatever way Jeremy needed him.

Brandon suggested that they hit the beach, and Jeremy grudgingly gave in. Jeremy had brought rather plain swim trunks, but Brandon insisted that they wear the new N2N thongs that he had bought in the hotel gift shop with the money that Ford had given him. (He also bought Ford a pair of Andrew Christian Police Boxers as a souvenir.) In another life, Jeremy’s modesty would have prevented him from wearing a swimsuit that openly displayed his bubble butt and barely contained his impressive family jewels, but after what he had just been through, modesty was no longer an issue and, frankly, he didn’t give a shit what anybody thought. He needn’t have been concerned anyway. Every woman on the beach fantasized about sinking her teeth into the G-string and peeling off the threads, and every man wished that he had the balls (both literally and figuratively) to be so bold.

As they strolled along the beach, Jeremy and Brandon chatted about farming and ranching and about growing up in the country. Brandon talked about looking forward to college, and Jeremy shared the benefit of his experiences. As the warm sun softly baked their nearly naked, beautiful bodies, Jeremy’s mood slowly improved. He turned to the teenager, looked him squarely in those darling eyes, and said, “Thank you, Brandon.”

“For what?”

“For coming here with me. For sticking by me. For listening. For just being you. We may not be cousins, Brandon, but I feel like we are more than that.”

Their bodies leaned toward each other like magnets. Their lips met in a tender kiss. Jeremy looked around and led Brandon behind some bushes, where he lowered him to the sandy beach and lay beside him. He gently ran a single finger over his face, tracing the beautiful features. He loved him with his eyes. He planted butterfly kisses across his forehead, his cheeks, his neck, his ears, and even his eyelids and the tip of his button nose. He ran his tongue lightly over his delicious lips and then bit down on them softly, sensually. It was not so much lust as adoration, and Brandon felt it, but his hormones took over, and he grabbed Jeremy and, breathing heavily, thrust his tongue into his mouth. He rolled over on top of him and ground their crotches together. Brandon was already hard as a rock, and Jeremy was quickly getting there. Brandon scrambled to remove Jeremy's thong and dive at his cock. He lapped it up like a starving puppy before impaling his mouth with it.

“Oh, Brandon. Oh, God! Fuck! Ohhhh! Ohhhh!” Jeremy didn't want the sensation to end, but he also wanted to return Brandon's love. He swiveled around and took his cock into his mouth as the teenager continued to suck on his. Beachcombers caught the moans and groans coming from the bushes, but Brandon and Jeremy didn't care. Let them listen; hell, let them watch if they want. Our love is no secret.

“Take me, Jeremy. I want you inside me.”

Brandon ripped off his own thong and bent over on his elbows and knees. Jeremy leaned forwarded, parted Brandon’s ass cheeks, and sank his tongue into his rosebud. “Oh, shit, Jeremy! God damn! Damn! Fuck!”

After several minutes, Brandon screamed, “Now, Jeremy! Take me now!”

Jeremy spit on Brandon's ass and rubbed the saliva into his hole. Then, he spit again and rubbed it on his dick.

Brandon screamed as Jeremy punctured his sphincter ring and then settled into bliss. “Oh, God, yes, Jeremy! Yes! Yes! Fuck me, man! Fuck me good!”

As Jeremy accelerated the pace, he reached around and grabbed Brandon's throbbing dick. “Oh! Oh! Damn! Fuck!”

Jeremy pumped with both his cock and his hand until neither man could hold back any longer. As Brandon shot his cream across the white sand, his ass muscles squeezed Jeremy's dick tighter and forced the life out of it, sending burst after burst up Brandon's pipeline. Instinctively, Jeremy squeezed Brandon's hose tighter, driving him to the point of hysteria. The blood drained from their now-useless brains, and their bodies imploded into the black hole of euphoria.

Just on the other side of the bushes, three inquisitive kids beat off to the organic rhythm of Eden's primordial dance.

Jeremy and Brandon lay side by side, speechless, for 20 minutes. Then, they petted each other and resumed their conversation. “Have you and Brad…uh, Ford…always been so close?” asked Jeremy.

 “Well, it’s kind of complicated.”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to pry.”

“No, it’s OK. I don’t mind telling you. Truth is, even though we’ve only known each other for a few days, Jeremy, I really like you. You seem like someone I can trust, only I don’t know how much you really wanna hear.”

Jeremy placed a reassuring hand on Brandon’s shoulder. “I wanna hear whatever you feel comfortable telling me, Brandon. You have my word I won’t repeat any of it to another soul.”

Something in Jeremy’s touch and the tone of his voice persuaded Brandon that he could, indeed, trust his new friend.

Brandon took a deep breath and began. “First, I wanna emphasize that Ford is a really great guy, and you couldn’t have asked for a better brother-in-law. But he wasn’t always that way. When he was a teenager, he fell in with the wrong crowd—drugs, gangs, petty theft, and even some violence. Uncle Pete and Aunt Marie tried everything—counseling, tough love, boot camp—but nothing seemed to help. They just knew that if something didn’t give—and soon—Ford would end up either in prison or the morgue. Finally, my folks suggested that Ford come and live with us for a while. ‘Get him out of the city, away from all those bad influences,’ they said. ‘Give him a chance to make a fresh start.’”

“And I guess it worked, huh?”

“Mmm…not right away.”

“I was 13 when Ford came to live with us, and he was 16.”

“Wait a minute,” interrupted Jeremy. “You mean Ford is only 21? He seems so much older, more mature.”

“Our birthdays are very close together. In a couple of months, I’ll be 19, and he’ll be 22, and you’re right; he is very mature, but it came at a price.”

Jeremy edged closer to Brandon and leaned toward him to show that the young man had his undivided attention.

Brandon took another deep breath and continued. “Ford was mad as hell about being sent away. He looked around for someplace to vent his anger, and he found it. Me. He always stopped just short of really hurting me, but he did make my life miserable for a while. Coming to live with us was supposed to help straighten Ford out, but it had the opposite effect. He was just as bad as ever…if not worse…and now I was starting to slide too. My grades went down—way down—and I started getting into fights and drugs and alcohol.”

By this point in Brandon’s account, Jeremy was furious with Ford. He couldn’t believe how badly he had misjudged the asshole.

“I know I promised not to repeat anything you told me, Brandon, but—”

“No, wait, Jeremy, there’s—”

“...but I didn’t promise not to rip out that goddam motherfucker’s balls and shove ‘em down his throat when we get back.”

“But he’s not anything like that now, Jeremy.”

“You’re telling me that he all of a sudden just up and changed...overnight?”

“Well, yeah...almost. Ya see, one day I missed the bus because I had to stay after school for detention, so I had to walk home. I was about half way home when three guys in a pickup asked me if I wanted a ride. ‘Sure,’ I said. When we got to my place, they asked me if I wanted to go in the barn and smoke some pot. ‘Fuck yeah,’ I said. ‘Let’s do it.’ Only, there was no pot.

“After they beat the crap out of me, they stripped me and bent me over a bale of hay. Two of ’em held me down while the third unzipped his jeans and came at me. It was pretty obvious what he intended to do, but he had a surprise coming. Ford heard the commotion, and when he came into the barn and saw what was going on, he charged at the guy and decked him before he even got a chance to pull his dick out. It’s a good thing too. Ford probably would’ve ripped it right off. Even though he was outnumbered three to one, he took ’em on and whipped all three of ’em. I think he broke one of ’em’s arm, and another one barely made it back to their truck. He probably limped for weeks. We never saw hide nor hair of those guys again. I’m not sure, but I suspect that that experience had something to do with why Ford became a cop.”

Jeremy nodded in concurrence, and Brandon continued.

“Ford became my guardian angel. Not only did he look out for me, but he helped me with my chores and even my school work. His grades and mine both went up...a lot. He’s actually very smart; he just hadn’t applied himself before. When I started dating, he taught me about girls, and he always stressed that I should treat them with respect. It wasn’t until after he moved back to New Orleans that I came to realize I was really more interested in guys than girls. He started showing my folks a lot more respect too. Uncle Pete and Aunt Marie couldn’t believe the transformation.”

Jeremy realized that he had not been wrong about Ford after all. In fact, he now appreciated him even more.