Blackwater

by JohnFoxe@protonmail.com

Other stories by me (JohnFoxe, AKA fritzcatt) :
  Amazing Mike
  Easy Money
  Little Colombian Bean
  Super
  Trinity
  Sparks Plantation

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Blackwater

Okefenokee Swamp, Charlton County, Georgia
September, 1912

"How much?"

"For you Roger, tree dolla for a quick one... five for a de-lux," Eugene made his pitch. "Best suck you ever had!"

"Five dollars? Hell, there's a whore in Folkston will do it all night for five dollars, plus throw in a shot of whiskey."

"But you didn't come deep into the blackwater lookin' for an old whore (he pronounce it ho-ah)... you came a-lookin' for a boy... my bruda, Lijah, in par-ticular."

I looked down and put my hands in my pockets, embarrassed. He spoke the truth — the boy was exactly why I came.

"Besides... the whore in Folkston can't suck a nob like Lijah can... he got a talent, that'un."

I felt a twitch in my groin as I tried to imagine this talent.

The man I was talking to, Eugene, wasn't actually a man, but somewhat of a boy himself. Seventeen.

My own boyhood was behind me. I was twenty-four and had initially thought I was mature and experienced compared to Eugene, but I was wrong about that. He was a natural salesman, whether it was selling catfish to Matilda's Supper House or hawking his brother's services to fellers like me who stumbled upon his wicked little trade.

His appearance was a little different from other folks. Most in the area were Scots. Eugene looked more Dutch, or maybe Nordic. I didn't think to ask.

Deeper into the swamp, in the quiet areas, you were more likely to see folks of different heritage or even of a mixture — a Scot man with an Injun wife, say. A man like that was less likely to bring the wife and young'uns into town, although a few did. Other sorts looking to hide in these swamps might include wanted criminals, looking to hide from the law, or the now-grown children of escaped slaves, all legal and proper now, but who stay here anyway. Only God knew why.

Where I now stood, in the thickest, most isolated area of Okefenokee, I was not likely to see any people at all, only various critters, some of which might consider me as their supper. And yet, here stood Eugene's little house, right in the thick of it.

I'd met him in town at Riley's Grain Elevator where I worked. But it was through someone else I'd heard about his brother (a very hush-hush scrap of gossip only a handful of locals were privy to) and I'd worked up the nerve to ask about him, delicately, in hints and whispers.

Now though, standing here with him in the blackwater, listening to his pitch, it struck me as sinful and wrong — not the act itself, but the way he was describing his own brother.

"suck the bark off a tree, that boy."

Yet, his words made my body tingle, especially between my legs.

I'd heard their parents were dead, these boys. Yet they survived here without being chased out by gators, bears, snakes, or the fever. I myself lived a few miles up the channel, in a tamer, drier area, closer to other people. And even there, I had to stay watchful of snakes and other creepy-crawlies.

But here, deep in the swamp, just hunting or walking around without getting lost in the overgrowth, thick with cypress, water-oak, the endless brush, and the quiet, still, black water — was a challenge. All the fearful stories I'd heard growing up, took place in these thick swamps.

The strong odor drifting from Eugene was no doubt his own home-made mosquito liniment, which probably worked better at keeping the bloodsuckers away than my store-bought concoction. I had only rubbed a little bit onto my arms and neck. I didn't want to smell offensive. In fact, I'd taken a long hot bath before I came, just for the occasion.

We stood on the dock attached to the front of the house with a row boat tied to a post. Even though the old house was on stilts, the back end was perched above dry land. A crude old sign was propped into the window listing fresh meat for sale: catfish, crawfish, frog legs, snapper and catch-of-the-day. The word gator looked to be crossed off the menu a decade ago.

"Who is the sign for?" I nodded my head toward the window.

"Used to be a few families over yonder a ways, and a few more, further down. All gone now. Fever took some... same as our ma and sister. Me and Lijah didn't catch it. Our pa was shot year before that, kilt by a drunk neighbor down the channel, hunting. That same man got et by a gator, just a few months later, drunk again. The rest of the folk skedaddled, so they not be et up by gators and whatnot."

I lowered my head, not wanting to see if his pleasant face had changed to despair.

"Me and Lijah all that's left now, round here anyway."

Eugene earlier mentioned he sold catfish to Matilda's, in town. There were many other eatables here though. Besides the many types of fish and fowl, there was muskrat, raccoon, possum, deer, marsh-rabbit, wild pig, and more damned squirrel than you could ever eat in a lifetime. A man didn't have to worry about starving in Okefenokee.

A sudden shriek made me jump... I almost yelped in surprise.

It wasn't a shriek though. It was Eugene's high-pitched whistle, impressively loud. Various swamp noises stopped for a moment in eerie silence, then resumed.

After a calm minute, I had a question, but I couldn't think of a polite way to ask." Do you... I mean, does Lijah... get much business?"

"A couple of regulars, most Saturday nights, and the occasional visitor, like yourself." he grinned. "But one of those regulars... he not like you and me... he a high-dollar businessman, so he need to pay a bit more." he chuckled, then made a shhh gesture with his finger.

I smiled and winked, in agreement.

"Beside that, he bring Lijah presents... he's taken with the boy... love-sick maybe," Eugene rolled his eyes. "Wouldn't surprise me if he tried to steal the boy away. I'd never let that happen, though. Don't matter how much money he have."

It was about then I saw someone walking on the path. As he gradually got closer, I realized what I was seeing: a small boy, blond-headed, butt-naked except for boots and leather leggings that covered up to the knee, his golden-tanned skin contrasted against his sun-white mop of hair. A gunny sack was slung over his shoulder and a large hound dog followed him close behind.

"Yonder, the little varmint there," Eugene said warmly.

"That's him? That's Lijah?"

"Yep," was Eugene's only reply.

I was caught off guard. "He can't be more than... nine or ten."

"Yep, turned ten last week," Eugene answered. "Brought home sweets from Matilda's, for his birthday. Et those right up, boy howdy."

"But I heard..." I caught myself. "But I figured he was fourteen, fifteen, or some-such."

"Naw, he a little fella, but don't let that fool ya."

Right away, I changed my mind and was working out an excuse in my head to take my leave from this place.

Eugene's previous words echoed in my head... 'suck the bark off a tree.'

The boy flipped his hair from his eyes as he made his way from the path onto a wide wooden plank that connected the bank to the dock. "Jack, come on." He clicked his tongue a couple of times at the hound, a Bluetick.

As he stepped up from the dock to the porch, I saw how dirty he was — 'need a good scrubbin,' I thought Eugene might say.

The lumps in the sack were moving, He'd been hunting. Now the smeared patches of mud made more sense. He held a long stick in his other hand, sharp on one end. He was stickin' frogs, I surmised — a boyhood memory swirled around in my head. And judging from their sound in the bag, they must have been the big'uns. They don't die so quick from being stuck.

He eyed me suspiciously — I looked him up and down.

So unusual, this blond-headed boy, and handsome — beautiful, some would say — not the fancy picture-book kind, but a mussy and tousled sort of beauty. I'd once known a lovely, attractive girl who didn't know, or care, that she was attractive. This boy reminded me of that sort.

His confident expression fit well with his home-made leggings made from thick skins and tucked into his boots, obviously to protect him from snakes, the thick brush, and a variety of other slithering critters here in the swamp. The way he stood naked, without shame, reminded me of a young savage I'd once seen in a painted picture.

"Look at you," Eugene spoke up. "Not presentable at all... did you wrassel them frogs? ...and why you nekked? ...where's ya draws?"

"In da sack, wid da frogs," the boy answered.

I chuckled at Eugene's frog-wrestling remark.

"Roger is here to hand over a five dollar note in exchange for... your services. Go clean yourself up."

"No," I interrupted. But the longer I stared at this unusual little wild-boy, the more my heart fluttered. I'd meant to say, No, I changed my mind. Good day to you both.

But what came out of my mouth was,"No... need for all that... you're fine the way you are." And as soon as I said it, I wondered if I sounded like a smitten schoolboy who was flirtin' with a pretty girl.

We all three went into the house. The hound followed close behind.

I looked around at the dim cluttered room. Besides a couple of old stuffed chairs that I would have to think twice about sitting in, if I was offered, there laid a stack of young'uns picture books on the floor, some lanterns, several home-made fishing poles and nets, and a dismantled hunting rifle, the parts lined up in a row. I knew for a fact Eugene also carried a pistol, though I hadn't seen him flash it so far.

Lijah disappeared toward the back of the house and a minute later returned with a small gray cloth wrapped around his middle, to cover his boy-parts, no doubt, but minus the boots, leggings, and sack of bullfrogs. Then he stood in front of me, looked up and held out his palm. I reached into my pocket and produced the five dollar note and placed it in his hand. He passed it to Eugene who put it in his pocket.

The older brother set a small tin cup on a table next to a corked jug. He opened it and poured liquid into the cup and handed it to his little brother. The boy tipped back the cup and swallowed down the contents. His lips formed a hooo... as if he'd drank something hot.

"Helps put him in the mood," explained Eugene. He took the cup from the boy and again poured a small amount from the jug. "Try a sup."

I took the cup from Eugene and smelled the contents. Some sort of grain alcohol, I guessed. If it's safe enough for the boy...

I tipped the cup back and swallowed it down in one gulp and concentrated on keeping it down which was probably obvious to the brothers, judging by their smiles.

"Not quite as smooth as Matilda's whiskey," I wheezed, "but I thank ya just the same."

The boy poured more into the cup and swallowed it down, then responded with another hooo followed by a raspy "ding-dang-shit-hell."

"This batch turned out a might strong," Eugene explained with a chuckle.

I wandered around the room for a bit, looking closer at the various odds and ends, asking Eugene "What's this?... and where'd ya get that?"

He showed me a new addition to his back porch, which was built over dry land. Off to one side sat a big wash tub. "For your bath?" I asked.

"Among udda tings." he answered.

A short while later, back inside, the boy was a little friendlier, less suspicious-acting and less business-like, thanks to the swallows of strong drink, I guessed. He showed me more trinkets and gadgets in his collection.

Then he pulled a book from a small stack and showed me. American School Reader was the title on the cover.

"Guess what," the boy said.

"I don't know, what?" I said in return.

He didn't answer but opened the book to a worn page with an illustration of a boy and a big dog. Someone, Lijah, I assumed, drew some extra spots on the dog to closer resemble his hound, Jack.

Lijah covered his hand over the bottom of the page, hiding something from me. Then he read:

     "Look...at Elijah and...his dog,"

(the name "Tom" was scribbled out and replaced with "Elijah")

     "The dog has...a black spot...on his back.

     "Do you...think...he is...a good dog?"

"Guess," Lijah said, grinning at me.

"Hmm," I rubbed my chin, "I'd guess... Yes! He is a good dog."

The boy moved his hand from the bottom, revealing the large word YES he'd drawn on the page.

I could see he was trying not to giggle, "Funny, huh?" He seemed quite different from the boy I'd met twenty-minutes earlier.

"Yep, that is funny!" I chuckled. "And you're a clever young man! ...I hope you'll read me a whole story, one of these days."

Eugene looked warmly at his little brother. "We practice reading at night, or when there's rain."

Lijah left the book on the chair, took my hand in his, and guided me into a smaller room. This room had a cot, a cluttered table next to it, a pile of old clothes, and shelves filled with more odds and ends.

'Here we are,' I thought, taking a deep breath. To no one in particular, I said, "I feel a might nervous about this... even after the drink."

"Nervous, what for?" Eugene responded from somewhere behind me.

"Dunno. Maybe afraid the Good Lord is gonna strike me dead."

"Naw," Eugene answered. "He ain't struck me dead yet. Besides, even the Good Lawd think twice about steppin' foot into the blackwater."

I thought for a second and wondered if Lijah had practiced on his older brother.

"Easier if you take off your boots," Eugene said.

I quickly pulled them off then turned to Eugene. "Will you be leaving us in private?"

"Nope," Eugene answered. "I look out for Lijah... not that I need to worry about you, Roger," the older brother grinned wide. "But some fellas forget their heads and get a little too rough."

I looked down at the small boy then nodded back to Eugene, understanding what he meant.

"Besides," Eugene grinned, "I don't mind watchin'."

This struck me as both lewd and... interesting.

The boy had a collection of cushions and pillows on the floor next to the small night table. He stacked some of the cushions then knelt down onto them in front of me, making him instantly a few inches taller. He waited several moments, looking up at me. I didn't catch on right away. He finally sat back on his heels, still waiting.

I assumed we would lay down on the small cot or even on the floor.

The boy rolled his eyes with a patient smile, then pushed up onto his knees and took it upon himself to unbutton my drawers. They dropped right to the floor. I kicked them aside. My long shirt covered down to my parts, so I unbuttoned it, exposing myself to the boy. I was immediately embarrassed. I was displaying my butt to Eugene and my front-parts to a ten year-old. "I'll keep my shirt," I declared with a nervous smile.

The boy looked me over. Usually, I got hard if someone so much as smiled at me. This time was different. I was nervous.

"Had a hot bath just before I came here. Fresh as a virgin on Sunday." I suddenly realized I was rambling.

The boy brought his face closer to me, smelling me, maybe to humor me, then he squinted an exaggerated wink. Was he teasing me or was he trying to be seductive? Was this what Eugene meant, in the mood? I tried not to laugh and just grinned instead.

Finally, he reached over to the night table and picked up a mason jar. It contained a clear liquid. He opened the lid and poured a little in an old tin bowl. He put his fingers in the clear liquid then reached out with his wet glistening hand and wrapped his fingers around my limp piece of meat. I flinched and shivered at being touched. The liquid was oil of some kind. Thick. Not cold, not warm.

His hand was now as slippery as an eel. He first massaged me then slid his closed hand up and down my flesh. At the same time, he palmed my balls and coated them with the oil. It felt delicious. Within just a few moments of this, I was absolutely stiff.

The feeling was wonderful as his small, slippery hand pumped me and milked me. My skin was tight and the purple nob-head fully exposed as his other hand held and moved my balls.

The boy leaned forward until his lips touched my nob. He moved and smeared his mouth over and around the tip until his lips were as slippery as the nob he was about to slide into his mouth.

And that's just what he did next.

His head moved forward and the nob slipped between his lips, parting his mouth open. He engulfed the swelled purple head like a plumb, and sucked on it. Apparently, the clear oil was harmless.

I felt his tongue, warm and wet. I shivered again, marveling at the feeling, and at the sight of him. He slowly pumped my pole with his hand as he sucked.

'This boy,' I thought. 'this ten year-old... doin' this... Good Lord!... me lettin' him do this... me payin' him to do this...'

His lips slid father forward, down the pole. I shivered again and my previous thoughts and fears blew away.

In, out, in, halfway down the pole. The feeling caused my mouth to hang open, focusing on the boy's tousled head of blond hair, his sweet face, his busy little-boy hands.

In, out, in, out, the nob disappearing, then reappearing, over and over, his other hand holding and massaging my balls. He knew what he was doing and was so good at it, this wonderfully unusual boy.

He went even further and deeper, and more of my bone vanished for a moment — so much desperate pleasure in my groin! His lips slid back out to the tip, then in again, engulfing me even further. Most of my cock slid into his mouth. I was truly amazed.

Then back out,

And in... all the way in,

until the entire length of flesh disappeared.

His glistening o-shaped lips were pressed against my groin.

I gasped.

I heard Eugene chuckle. "See? Told ya... he has a talent!"

Lijah slid out then back in — again, down to the hilt.

The older brother was no longer standing somewhere behind me, but was right next to me, watching. His own stiff bone was sticking out through the front opening of his drawers. He played with it as he watched his little brother work on me.

This boy was somehow able to swallow the entire length of my cock down his throat. But how? I would have gagged furiously if I had tried such a thing. He didn't seem bothered at all... it looked effortless for him.

Most amazing of all was how it felt — his lips circled tight around me, his top lip pressed against my patch of hair. I felt a strong urge to grip his head in my hands and hump him, but I feared he mightn't like that, nor would Eugene.

"Jesus!" I groaned. I was almost speechless.

The boy pulled away, releasing me completely, then looked up at me and grinned, shiny oil smeared around his mouth, obviously proud that he'd caused me to gasp, moan, and take the Lord's name in vain.

"Land sakes! How did you do that?" I asked the boy. But he didn't answer. He just arched his eyebrows, playfully.

Not only how, but who had taught him this trick? His brother? Or did he figure it out on his own? As curious as I was, I didn't want to push.

Again, Lijah dipped his fingers in the bowl, then slathered more of his wonderful oil on my now-throbbing bone.

The cloth that had covered his front parts had since fallen away and now he fondled himself.

"Jack," he called and clicked his tongue a couple of times.

In response, the hound hurried to him, maneuvered his head down and licked and lapped at the boy's stiff little bone. Apparently, Jack knew what the boy wanted — or possibly, the boy merely gave him permission to do what he was already waiting to do, judging by the hound's enthusiasm.

Eugene chuckled and shook his head.

The boy calling his dog to lick him... while the boy pleasured me... would not have occurred in my wildest dreams. But at the moment, all I could think was, 'I would have done that for him, had he asked me.'

Lijah leaned forward and once again slid his lips over my nob and sucked on it for a few moments, then slid his mouth halfway down my pole,

then back out, in, out, in... and every few times, he slid all the way forward again, to the hilt, then out again. Every time he did this trick, was almost more than I could stand — intense lust rose in me, again and again

...as did the urge to grab the boy and ravish him. I understood even better now, Eugene's instinct to look after his little brother and not leave him alone with guests. So, I did the only thing I could do — I caressed his lovely face with my hand. "Lijah, sweet boy. What you're doin'... feels... heavenly."

Watching his lips slide on me, in and out, over and over, while from the corner of my eye, seeing Eugene stroking his own bone as he watched — and below, the hound enthusiastically licking the boy's little nob and balls as if they were sweets from Matilda's — it all struck me as dream-like, making me wonder if I might have slipped into another world.

I felt it then, building, rising from my balls,

I wasn't sure what I should do, or say, if anything.

All my muscles went tight. Against my will, an odd breathy noise moaned in my throat. I felt my entire cock expand.

The boy must have sensed I was about to blow and, instead of pulling away, he sped up. In-out-in-out-

I thought that the swelled plumb in the boy's mouth might burst. I felt my face and my eyes turn warm with blood.

At the last second, the boy pushed forward, again swallowing my entire length of flesh, his lips pressed tight against me, just as I shivered and shuttered and

...released an intense load of semen from my balls. I felt my eyes trying to roll back, but I forced myself to watch the boy.

I felt his throat moving, milking me, his muscles actually swallowing, even while his lips were pressed tight against my groin. I didn't know how Lijah was able to do this, but I'd never, ever, felt anything like it. This one single extreme feeling lasted several moments before it subsided, all at once.

Finally, he pulled away, my long bone magically sliding out of his mouth. He wiped his arm across his shiny face and chin.

I hadn't noticed until now, but I was out of breath, as if I had just run a race, huffing and puffing.

With rubbery legs, I picked up my drawers and slid myself back into them "Lijah..." I stared down at him, still out of breath, "you were... I am... that was... " I couldn't think of an adequate word. "Lijah, that was just... the best."

He smiled and stood up, "Felt good, huh?" His little bone was sticking straight out. Jack the hound moved out of the way.

"Very much", I answered. I reached over with both arms and hugged him. He hugged me in return, maybe out of politeness, maybe because of the drinks from earlier, or maybe he was just a genuinely good-natured boy. Either way, I loved hugging him and I loved everything about him.

Eugene had already buttoned up and was pushing an old rag with his foot, back and forth, mopping up a small wet spot on the floor in front of him.

He saw me looking. Our eyes met and we both laughed.

We left the small room and returned to the front of the house. Eugene offered me another swallow from his jug.

"Naw, that first swallow gave me a little kick. But thank ya."

Eugene described the ingredients of his recent batch but I had to fight to pay attention.

A minute later, I looked down into the boy's eyes. "Eijah, thank ya. That was a real treat for me, I tell ya!... I'm so glad I came." I noticed his little bone had grown stiff again, for no apparent reason.

He smiled and gave a little nod. That was all. But it was a warm smile and I believe it was sincere.

The thought occurred to me again, 'I actually paid money for this.' Not only for the pleasure the boy gave me, but for the friendship. I would have to work two full days to make up for the five dollars I spent.

Was it worth it?

Yep!

Besides, as much as I need the money, they needed it even more.

I thought about the high-dollar businessman who was love-sick for the boy — although I didn't feel much sympathy for the man, I did understand it now. Yes, I could even imagine being in such a predicament.

I turned my head sideways at an angle to see the window. "I hope you don't think I'm rude for leaving already. I don't want to be in these swamps after dark. I know you boys are used to it, but..."

"Naw Roger," Eugene waved it away. "It's alright. We stay close to home too, after dark." Then he added "Did you ever hear a gator growl at night?"

"Yep," I answered, "first time when I was about Lijah's age. Shat my drawers. Yep, I surely did!"

Lijah surprised me with a loud snorting laugh.

"I'm glad you find that's so funny," I said, giving him a little poke with my finger.

I tried not to stare at his stubbornly-hard little peg which still pointed straight out. I wondered if he would deal with that himself, later. Or maybe he'd enlist Jack's help again.

I didn't even know for sure if they would invite me back, but 'next time,' I thought, 'I'll offer to assist Lijah with his stubborn little peg.'

Eugene walked with me the quarter-mile back to the main trail which led to the stable, and my carriage, which was the farther way around, but quicker than rowing up the channel, despite the still water.

Before I left though, from the dock, I had waved to Lijah who stood on the porch with Jack. He was still butt-naked but his little bone had finally gone soft.

As I stared at him, his handsome face, his perfectly formed young naked body, his golden skin — I tried to think if I'd ever seen a boy as beautiful as him, or even a girl, for that matter. Maybe I had... but right then, none came to mind.