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Colby, the boy I left behind.
Part 1 of 2.
By John Teller.
(Thanks to L for the editing and the colloquialisms and for seeing things I should see but don't.)
This story is dedicated to a guy named David, and to a very special young man named Colby.
"The only thing worse
than a boy who hates you: a boy that loves you."
― Markus Zusak, The Book Thief.
But before we start, I have a coupla things to say. Hey David, Our Boy Colby says he loves you something really special. I could go on, but he's asked me to play this song for you. He says the song and the words are just for you. So this song is your reward for loving him so much and for keeping him (as best you could) on the straight and narrow during those difficult early years of his life. You are one very lucky old fart tart. Enjoy. So, Nothing Else Matters!
Let us begin...
The well-armoured Humvee turned into the compound and we all disembarked. The end of another uneventful but tense day in Iraq for us.
Us. We were the leftovers from the shit of Operation Iraqi Freedom... a name obviously dreamed up by some testosterone splurged kids who had never tasted war at its worst.
Us. We were dropouts of Special Forces; Brits and Yanks and others who had left the army and joined one of the many security firms that were thriving in a vacuum of sectarian and tribal violence that Operation Iraqi Freedom had created. The pay was good. Better than good. Add on gratuities and some looting and we were wealthy blokes. Well, I was. Why not? The Yanks stuffed a bankless Iraq with billions of dollars after the fall of Saddam Hussein. Hush money? Payment-in-kind for the countless deaths after the invasion, including some very brave coalition soldiers who lost their lives there? Most of the planeloads of dollars were siphoned off by tribal leaders... and the odd ex-SF guys who knew how to launder it away to banks in Panama.
Jake Arrowsmith knew how to do it. Oh yes... I knew how to do it alright.
So why take a job as a security guard in the hellhole of Iraq after the invasion, especially when the best and fittest years of your life are behind you? Why not, is a better question? What else was there to do for blokes who were crazy? We didn't join SF for the money. That was shit pay. We did it because we were crazy and enjoyed the adrenaline rush. But even crazy guys get fed up of being crazy. And that's where I was when I got out of the Humvee and went to clean up.
Later. Beers, cards, and I asked Coco (who had joined us just under a week earlier) where my old Yankee mate Dave Sanders was these days. We all chuckled when he told us that Dave was running a refuge for kids and down-and-outs; an anything-goes thing down in Utah. That didn't surprise me and I asked him if he had his address and phone number. "Just his phone number", he said, and he would give it to me later.
Dave Sanders. Although Dave was a Yank and I was a Brit and he was ten years older than me, we hit it off big style on a shared op down in Oman some years back.
Our friendship was sealed when just he and I were out on the town. We were in a coffee shop sharing a hookah. A boy of about fourteen was serving us. He was gorgeous. Brown doe eyes and a sexy mouth. When we were well into the hookah he came sidling over and asked if we required anything extra. I looked at Dave and he looked at me. We studied each other for a few seconds, and then, with a mischievous grin on his ugly mug, he said, "We'll toss up for it." He flipped a coin. He lost – I won.
Thirty minutes later and ten bucks lighter in the wallet and I'd been turned on. No penetration, but everything else was the anything extra.
And that was the sealing of a great friendship. Between Dave and me that is. We shipped out a few months later, but I've never forgotten Bahi. The boy actually enjoyed himself that day, and a few more times before we left. Maybe that was because he was a lucky boy. I've never in my life made a boy do anything he didn't want to do. It isn't the way I work. It isn't the way Dave works either. He swings either way and is partial to a bit of young male if the opportunity pops up. Me? I like boys thirteen to eighteen, and I'm not into the female version of my species.
Late March. Back home in Blighty. Pissed up on the King's Road in London Town I was. Pissed up and nowhere to go. I walked down Paulton's Square, into Danvers Street and crossed the road and leaned against the embankment wall and stared at the Thames below me. The river was like my life... going nowhere fast, and aimlessly.
After I left SF, I wandered. The US; Canada; Mexico; South America; The Middle East; The Far East; Oz; The Philippines. Billy No Mates I was. Pissed up on every continent. A boy in every town... almost. I'd lost count. Just one special boy might have broken my travels. But I was never lucky that way. But that was my fault. Emotions are a drag. They tie you down and then most often spit you out in a mess. I've seen it happen to many blokes. I wanted none of that shit. Love `em and leave `em and let the devil take the hindmost, Jake Arrowsmith!
I poured the remainder of the Johnnie Walker's into my throat and slung the bottle into the Thames. It didn't sink. It stayed upright and bobbed its way to obscurity. I giggled drunkenly. I should have put the top back on and put a letter in it. Message in a bottle. But who would the message be to? I giggled some more and took out my mobile phone.
******************** ********************** **********************
A Saturday in Early April.
I started giggling as soon as I walked out of the airport late afternoon after my Air Midwest flight to Cedar City from Salt Lake City and saw Dave Sanders. He'd not changed a lot apart from being older... just put on a bit of weight in the wrong places. But he was not alone. Grouped around him were eight kids; five boys and three girls, none more than ten years old. Amazing! They looked like hillbillies. (Beautiful hillbillies and not the Deliverance type of inbreed.) Dave was the odd one out. Despite the temperature being around 50F, he was wearing a vest, and his muscular and hairy body displaying his tattoos and scars made him look like a war-torn Shrek. (The fact that he was well over six feet tall added to the analogy.) But he was beautiful to me, too. I loved this guy. That's what being in Special Forces does to you: you get to love some of the guys around you. You need to. They're the reason you come through whatever shit is happening around you.
Shrek came forward with a massive grin on his face, and the grip of his hand in mine as we shook, spoke of shared precious memories.
I'll never forget that journey to Dave's place at Panguitch City in Utah until the day I die. Hugs and chaos. Six kids and a small dog were with my luggage in the back of the Dodge pickup; I had a chattering seven year old bespectacled lass on my left on the bench seat, and sitting in my lap was the soft, denim jean clad bum of a gorgeous, blond-with-a-hint-of-red haired, blue-eyed ten year old kid named Colby. We shared a seatbelt, and when we were on a rough track, Colby was bouncing up and down in my lap and giggling fit to burst. (I wasn't. The crevasse of that cute bum was nestling nicely on something that loved cute boy bums.)
Dave's place. He was running a sort of retreat/shelter place for kids who were disadvantaged; and single mums who'd been left in the shit by their menfolk. There were a few golden rules: never inflict any harm; no under-age sex on the premises, but away from the place you could do what you wanted provided it was consensual and you were prepared to pay the price for breaking the law.
"I am free, no matter
what rules surround me. If I find them tolerable, I tolerate them; if I find
them too obnoxious, I break them. I am free because I know that I alone am
morally responsible for everything I do."
― Robert A. Heinlein.
Great stuff from Heinlein, but this was the USA and God help you if you followed his thinking and got caught breaking the greater rules of the ambrosial morals of a small but powerful minority in that great country. That's why Dave had his rules. He also had to protect his own backside. That was for the common good. No Dave... no refuge!
But back to Colby and the reason why he was giggling? Because Dave had told his lot that I was gay and partial to the odd boy or two... or three, and before the mad hillbillies set out to pick me up, Colby insisted he was the one who would be sitting on my knees when we were on the way back after Dave had shown him some photographs of us in the forces together. (It was only later that I discovered why Dave called Colby his Little Horn Dog. Although he was only ten years old, he knew exactly what turned him on, and he was as horny as hell.)
So, before I even arrived at Dave's place just as it was going dark, I gone and got myself a boy buddy who fancied me. (Little did I know then the shit impact that little boy would have on me or I might have asked Dave to turn the truck around and boarded the first flight out of there.) And as well as liking me for my fondness for young men's bodies, Colby had taken a fancy to the brown leather WW2 RAF flying jacket I was wearing. Why shouldn't he? It was one I'd bought out of Christie's in a militaria memorabilia auction. It came with immaculate provenance. It once belong to the fighter ace, Johnnie Johnson, who was credited with 34 individual victories over enemy aircraft, as well as seven shared victories, three shared probable, 10 damaged, three shared damaged and one destroyed on the ground. That's why I paid five grand for the jacket and the documents that came with it. All paid for by Iraqi hush money, of course.
But Colby was to be disappointed? Ten years old is too young, even for me. I like them a little older when they really know what's what. But I had never met a Colby Stewart before. The little monkey was about to teach an old soldier a thing or two!
******************** ********************** **********************
Panguitch City! Hell, the population was around fifteen hundred souls. I'd just left a real city where the population was over eight million! But Dave's place was `outta town'... about four miles north-west of the city; a small place nestling in the foothills of a mountain range. A dirt yard; a couple of old cars rusting away beside a couple of others that were used; an old RV covered with tatty tarpaulins; some wooden outbuildings; two dogs, and a long wooden house that was aptly named and made me giggle when I saw the sign: Poker Ranch. It reminded me of one of those places in the cowboy films with its long veranda and a couple of rocking chairs each side of the main door. Or maybe a single storey version of The Waltons house? I could easily imagine John-Boy sitting on the veranda... but he would have tidied the place up. Dotted around, nailed to various posts surrounding the yard were a few spoils of war... a stuffed wild boar's head on a shield; a squirrel or two or three hanging by their tails; antlers, and flying proudly at the side of the ranch house was the Stars and Stripes.
We disembarked. The kids and the dog jumped out of the back of the truck and the kids hauled my luggage unceremoniously across the yard and into the house. (I winced when I saw them dragging my Briggs and Riley suitcase across the dirt.) A couple of women in their mid-to-late-twenties came out of the house and were introduced to me. That's who most of the kids belonged to. With them was a boy of about fourteen. Cute he was. Dead cute. Dark hair and nice features and I knew that beneath his Levis and heavy check woollen shirt he would have a body that was curvaceous and soft and sexy. His name was Shane. Just my type. That's why I did a double take on him. But he didn't bite. Maybe he was Dave's special boy? I'd find out later when we chewed the fat. But right then I'd got my own boy. Oh yes... Colby was making sure of that. He'd never left my side.
Into the house. Through the hall with more antlers and another boar's head. Into the big room. And it was big! Lots of soft chairs and sofas and rugs and a varnished wooden floor and a big roaring log fire; a big old TV in the corner; more stags heads and antlers, and against one wall was an old upright piano with a guitar leaning against one side of it. It was damned cosy... and I liked it.
Colby showed me to my bedroom. I insisted I carry the Briggs and Riley, so he took my shoulder bag. I was to be bedded down on the left side of the house. (Four bedrooms and a bathroom that side; large kitchen and a couple of storerooms the other side.) He opened a door to a room that was on the back of the house with a view to the mountains. It wasn't a big room: maybe 14 by 10, and just a four foot wide bed and a wardrobe and a pine chest of drawers and a washstand with an old fashioned jug and bowl on it. When he put my shoulder bag on the bed, he looked at me and grinned when he said, "This is your room. I sleep in here when I have a stayover."
I looked into his eyes. It was a stupid thing to do. In hindsight I should have ignored him and kicked his arse and booted him out after thanking him for his help. But I didn't. I was stupid! I looked into his eyes.
He'd got Bukowski Eyes!
The free soul is rare, but you know it when you see it - basically because you feel good, very good, when you are near or with them. Charles Bukowski.
I could hear those words when I looked into the beautiful blue/grey eyes of the small boy and I discovered the truth of what the great writer and poet wrote, and felt, for the very first time in my life, the real pain of love. It snuck up on me when I arrived at the airport; had fun on the drive to Poker Ranch, and then began to sink its sharp blade into my heart when I looked into Colby's eyes.
But how to handle this predicament? I grinned at the boy and said, "New rules. You sleep on the sofa, or I do when next you have a sleepover."
He giggled. "I'm on one tonight. Mom is out with her boyfriend and I'm staying here. Do you want me to help you unpack?"
I shook my head. "No thanks. Just show me where the bathroom is so I can clean up and take a pee."
We went out of the bedroom and he opened the door to the bathroom and pointed at it. "It's there. There's a shower over the bath and the water should be hot." Then he grinned and said, "I'll wash your back for you if you want. And other places if you can't manage."
I flipped his small ear and pointed down the hall. "No thanks. I can manage. Leave me alone! Go and play with yourself... or whatever."
The cheeky sod! He turned, waggled his cute bum, and said, "This is whatever, and it's yours when you want it", and walked away laughing. When he'd gone, I couldn't stop chuckling. Three or four years older and he wouldn't have got away with his comments. I'd have had those denim jeans off and he would have had a different kind of smirk on his cute face.
Bowels emptied and showered, and I wandered into the big room. Again I could have burst out laughing, but I put on a pretend scowl and pointed at Colby, who was sitting on one of the sofas with my flying jacked wrapped around him, and said, "Be careful with that, Boy! That cost me five grand!"
His laughing eyes twinkled at me over the top of the fur collar when he said, "Five thousand dollars! You been robbed. You can get a decent one down in town for fifty dollars."
My finger was still pointing at him when I retorted, "Not one like that you can't! That belonged to a British fighter ace in world war two. He shot Focke Wulfs down while he was wearing that!"
More laughing eyes. "No swearing in the house. Dave's rules. Cussing only allowed outside."
Dave laughed and I giggled, and I told the little man, "F O C K E space W U L F, boy! It was one of the fastest and best German fighter planes. Almost as good as the Spitfire that Johnnie Johnson, the guy who owned that jacket used to fly. Now just be careful with it or you'll be in trouble!"
Dave's turn to point a finger at Colby. "Just do as you're told! You don't know who you're messing with when you're dealing with Jake!"
A little nose popped above the fur collar and was wrinkled at Dave when he replied, "I reckon I do. I snuck in when he was having a shower."
Dave picked up a shoe and threw it at him, I giggled, and Dave pointed at a beer on a side table. "A beer there for you there Jake. Grub will be up soon. Tacos okay for you?"
I sniffed the air. "Smells good." Then I looked at Colby again. His nose had disappeared but his eyes were still grinning. I shook my head at him and grinned. The fur collar dropped down and he licked his tongue out at me.
I picked up my beer and wandered off towards the kitchen area, following the smell of cooking. I expected one of the women to be doing it, but I was wrong.
I leaned against the door jamb, drank my beer, and watched him for a few moments. Shane was stirring a large frying pan with a flat wooden spoon. He seemed lost in his task... anywhere but frying the food. He was profile on... far away in his thoughts, and that suited me fine. It gave me time to study him.
He'd shucked his shirt and was naked from his tracksuit bottoms upwards, and the tracky bottoms were sitting so low that I could see clearly see the top of the crack of his bum, and also down the front of his belly, well below his belly button that led to boy-heaven. He really was a cutie! Maybe a bit of puppy fat on him, but apart from that, he was all boy! My dick appreciated him. It moved up a notch or two as I studied him. Lovely features; nice neck; good shoulders; curvy, especially the lovely boy-orbs that are my favourite part of a boy. I would have liked to have snuck up on him from behind, grabbed his waist and pulled those two buttocks against my hardness. But I didn't. Instead, I said to him, "Nice and spicy?"
My words shook him out of wherever he was and he grinned at me and said, "Oh, it's you. You shouldn't sneak up on folk."
I took another swig of my beer and winked at him. "Gave me time to study the menu. Be careful with that stuff you're stirring. Don't want it splashing on that cute body of yours, do we?"
He giggled. "Dave says you're an old pervert. Looks like he was telling the truth."
Again I winked at him. "That's me... the old pervert from England. And I like my tacos hot and spicy." I pointed the bottle at him. "You should wear tight shorts. Make you even hotter."
He half turned away, but when I saw his belly shaking, I knew my comment had amused him. And then, without looking at me, he said, "I'm not into old perverts. I prefer them a lot younger."
Time for me to get something straight to what I'd been thinking. "So you're not Dave's special boy then?"
I saw him shake his head. "I am one of his special boys, but not that way. He don't go anywhere that way until it's lawful, and only then if we want to." Then he turned and grinned at me, and added, "But watch out for Chimp. He'll have his pants down for you if you blink the wrong way."
I giggled. "Chimp? Colby?"
I winked at him. "Thanks for the advice. He's a bit too young for me. I prefer my tacos more like the one I'm looking at now. So if you change your mind..." I decided to break the encounter while I was half-winning and wandered back into the big room.
The log fire was blazing and it was obviously too hot for a fur coat covering. That's why Colby was now using my flying jacket as an under-blanket on the sofa he was lying on.
That first night at Poker Ranch I did a lot of people-watching. I did some under-cover stuff in Northern Ireland back in the troubled times when the IRA was the enemy, so people-watching was second nature to me.
Dave. The gentle giant loved kids, and they loved him. He'd shuck them off his knees occasionally if they got a bit feisty, but he soon allowed them back on when they'd quietened down. Girls and boys both. Shane was a permanent fixture. He was stretched out on the sofa and leaning into Dave and content as a bear with honey when the big man gently stroked his hair or shoulders. Lots of love there... both ways. But knowing Dave as I did, I knew that behind the platonic caresses he would be enjoying the sexual aspect of one of his special boys. Maybe it was a no-go area at the ranch, but thoughts and deeds need not necessarily clash. No harm in naughty thoughts.
And I'd got my own special boy. Chimp had adopted me, along with his comfort blanket, my flying jacket, which was moved to wherever it was comfortable for him.
After tacos, one of the women left and took a couple of the small boys and one of the little girls with her. Shane was the one who saw her off, together with some tacos and stuff that he'd wrapped in foil. Dinner for the next day? I didn't ask. I just assumed that Dave's benevolence went further than the boundaries of Poker Ranch. That left Sheila and her three kids, Dave, Shane, and me and my new buddy, Colby. Then Sheila left with the rest of the small kids
The log fire was blazing; the beers were flowing and me and Dave were telling tales of the times we'd had together. By the time we were halfway through telling our tales, the place was filled with laughter and giggles, My Boy Colby had shucked his shirt and was naked from the waist up, and just as Shane was leaning against his man, he was doing the same with me. But there might have been one awkward moment... I thought, and one that was to put me firmly in my place.
At one point, Colby got up from the sofa we were sitting on and went across to the one where Dave and Shane were sitting. Then he pushed Shane out of the way and snuggled into Dave. I thought there might have been an argument, but my thinking was wrong. That's when something beautiful happened. While Colby was snuggled between them, they both put an arm around his small shoulders and settled him in. He stayed there for about fifteen minutes until he decided it was time to move again, so he kissed Dave on the cheek and came back to sit beside me.
Actions speak more than a thousand words, and Colby's actions told me where his heart was... with the gentle giant he loved. Yes, he might have wanted me to satisfy his boyish desires, but no way would I ever be able to take his soul. Right then I didn't know how their association had begun, but whatever... the bond between them was unbreakable, even for an expert old pervert like me. Was I jealous? No. Seeing a child with someone they love is one of life's greatest joys. There's more to kids than their bodies. Their souls are much more important.
So Colby settled against me again, pulled my flying jacket over his lap and shoved his hand down his pants to fondle himself. (I was later to discover that it was par for the course with him. Wherever he was he would have his hands down his pants. He really enjoyed playing with it. My biggest problem would come when I was trying to get him to stop pestering me to do it for him!)
More beers later and Dave asked me to sing. Shane and Colby couldn't stop giggling. (Once the women and small kids had gone, they'd had a couple of beers too! Well, Shane had two beers and Colby had one. Hillbilly etiquette? Apparently it was. At least it was Budweisers and not root beer. And smoking was allowed at Poker Ranch. That was good. I smoked like a chimney... and Shane snuck a few drags from Dave occasionally!) At first I protested that I was a rubbish singer, but Dave was insistent and told the boys that I was a brilliant singer and that I sounded like Tom Waits when I got going (well, I have had a voice like gravel since it broke when I was thirteen), and that I could play the piano and guitar. Then Shane said he could play guitar and he would join me if I did. Anyway, I eventually gave in and went to the piano and sat down and tested the keys. Shane picked up a stool and sat by the side of the piano with the acoustic guitar on his knee, and grinned at me. So, while Colby was snuggled in with His Real Man, with a fag hanging from the side of my mouth, I gave them a version of Tom's All The World Is Green.
Shane was good. (I play by ear, and so does he; and he soon picked up the rhythm and was going great with the instrument. It also amused me because the duelling banjos scene from Deliverance flashed through my mind when he was trying to outdo me.) When we'd finished, I picked up my beer from the top of the piano, winked at him and told him he was very good. That's when he looked into my eyes too long. Silly boy. I've forgotten more about boys than most folk ever learn in a lifetime. No, I knew I might never get to taste him, and maybe an old pervert was not his fancy, but I knew whose mouth would be sucking his dick and balls in his dreams that night.
I know most of Tom Waits's songs off by heart, so I gave them his I've Been Changed, next. Shane could hardly play the guitar for giggling, and Colby was laughing so hard that I thought he might have pissed in his pants. Dave had drunk enough beer to join in with me and it reminded me of the old times when we were billeted under the stars in Oman with a few other crazy guys. They were good times; mad times; fun times.
Wrong Side of the Road; In Between Love; Hold On, and then one that I knew Shane would remember all his life. Before I began it, I took a large swig of my beer, lit another cigarette and let it hang from the side of my mouth, and looked right into Shane's eyes. I closed the lid of the piano, turned in my chair and took the guitar from him, played a few chords of one of my favourite songs on it, and told him to stay where he was before pointing a finger at Colby, and I called him over to join us. When he got to me, I pulled him onto my knee. He wrapped an arm around my neck and settled himself against me with his head resting in my neck. Why did I do that? No way was I going to make my Chimp jealous. I looked at Dave. He grinned. I winked at him. Then I said, "This is for you two beautiful boys. From an old Brit pervert."
Colby's hold around me tightened, and then I sang Hope I Don't Fall In Love With You.
I saw all the signs... the slight flush in Shane's cheeks; his breathing became shallower; the extended time our eyes locked together; the number of times he had to swallow because his throat was dry. Oh yes... I got to him then. He would remember that moment all his life; the night an old pervert sang a love song to him because more than anything at that moment I wanted to be in bed with him. Maybe he wasn't into old perverts, but I'd have bet all the money in my Panamanian bank accounts that, had we been alone that night, he would have been in my bed, and it would have been his choice to do it.
But Jake Arrowsmith cares more for boys' souls than he does for their bodies, so time to let Shane off the hook. That's why, after I'd finished the love song to the two boys, I decided what my last song would be, and I pushed Colby roughly off my knee, turned around to face the room and almost breaking the strings on the guitar, sang at the top of my voice after I'd pointed at Dave and yelled, "This one is for you, Buddy! For the old times!" And I gave them Cold Water with every bit of craziness as I could!
After the first couple of lines, Shane was laughing his head off, and then Dave was on his feet dancing around like an Injun, and Colby was doing crazy stuff with him. And when it was all finished; I'd broken the spell. What had gone before... the sexy stuff, was long gone.
But I wasn't about to let Shane get away without some serious damage, so when I'd finished the song and we were all laughing and walking back to our respective seats, I had my hand on his naked shoulder, and just before I broke contact, I slipped my hand from his shoulder and ran my fingers down the entire length of his beautiful spine, including going about three inches inside his tracky bottoms; right down to that sweet crevasse of crazy passions, and then I took a handful of those naked soft buttocks and squeezed them. He didn't blink an eyelid. I knew why. In a different place and in different circumstances we would have then been on our way to a bedroom. Either his or mine. I wouldn't have been choosy.
When I sat down, Colby settled into me and then, with fawning admiration in his beautiful eyes, he looked into mine and said, "You're the craziest guy I ever met."
I winked at him and kissed his hair and told him, "And you're the horniest little bugger I ever met. But keep your hands out of your pants or you'll end up wearing it out."
His answer? He lifted the flying jacket and pushed his jeans away from him and showed me his hard little dickie nestled inside his underpants. So I giggled and ignored him.
The evening slipped into night. Just me and my sexy little Chimp on one sofa and Dave and Shane on another. The kids had stopped drinking a while back (Dave's orders, and they didn't argue) and I was just getting started. We spoke in lower tones. This was man stuff. Nothing really personal to upset the boys, but they would have got the general idea of what was what. Very probably they were learning some new things about the man who was their protector... and about me. I held very little back. Why should I? They already knew I was an old pervert. Colby mostly giggled while he was tucked under my flying jacket and leaning into me while my fingers did a hidden holding pattern on his little tits, and occasionally down to his cute little belly. Although I couldn't see it, I knew where his hand was. In its usual place... down the front of his jeans.
Turned midnight; Colby had fallen asleep and Shane said he was tired and was going to bed. The cheeky little bugger got up, looked into my eyes and grinned, and then gave me a middle finger when he said, "See you in the morning Jake."
I winked at him. "Lock your bedroom door or you'll see me before then." Dave laughed; Shane giggled, and he was gone. And when he was, I looked at Dave and said, "Where's this one sleeping? He says I've got his room."
Dave grinned at me. "You have. You got a choice. You can bed him down in here or put him to bed and you can bed down in here."
I grinned back at him. "Would you trust me if we both bedded down in the bedroom?"
He shrugged his shoulders. "He couldn't be in a safer place." Then he cocked his head to one side and asked, "Unless he's got to you?"
I grinned back at him. "Oh, he's got to me alright, but he's too young for me, as you know." I grinned some more. "I've been teasing him all night. I reckon he's done it a coupla times under the jacket."
Giggles from Dave. "I've seen that jacket moving on its own. I reckon more than a coupla times. The boy is a proper horn dog. But he'll try to get you to do it. He's been testing me since he was eight years old. I usually kick his ass. What will you do if he tries it on?"
I leaned down and kissed Colby's rough hair. "I'll kick his ass, but if I do slip up, you'll know about it because I'll be on the next flight outta here."
Dave nodded. "Fair enough. I wouldn't bet either way at the moment. He can be a persistent monkey. Keep him at bay for at least a coupla months. Don't want you gone before we get time to share some old times together. I'll show you around; do some fishing; some camping trips up in the mountains; take in a Rodeo down in the city, some hunting, and campfires under the stars."
I nodded. "Be like old times, but more dangerous if this little sod keeps it up."
And we both laughed and tipped up our beers. Then I eased Colby away from me and got up and went to the bedroom. When I got back I gave Dave a thick envelope. He looked at it and then looked at me with a puzzled look on his face when he asked, "What's this?"
I grinned at him. "Yankee tax dollars. I siphoned a few from the billions they sent to Iraq. Thought they would be better in my bank than some of the tribal chiefs out there. Just bringing a few home to you. There's twenty grand in that envelope. It will help out."
His face was serious when he said, "It wasn't necessary. You got free board here until forever if you want it."
I nodded. "I know that, but it will help out. Buy a few tacos that will. Just stash it away and be done with it."
And Dave put it on the side table and grinned at me. That grin told me how he felt. No need for more words.
It was turned two in the morning when we called it a day. Dave asked me if he wanted him to put Colby to bed. I shook my head and got up, gathered the sleeping child and my flying jacket in my arms, grinned at Dave, and took Colby to the bedroom.
I laid the sleeping boy on the bed and went to the bathroom. When I got back, I looked down at him. He was on his back with his arms outflung. The beers had got to him. He was mine to do as I please. I chuckled.
I undid the press-stud and pulled down the zip of his jeans and yanked them over his small feet. He was wearing only tiny Y-fronts. I shucked my own shirt and Levis and sat on the edge of the bed and looked at the gorgeous creature.
He was a small boy... a perfect miniature of those I desired most. Thank God his Bukowski Eyes were closed. Had they not been then I reckon I might have crumbled. But they were shut. Just his long eyelashes to delight me... to tease me.
I placed a warm hand on him and let it have its own way. It caressed the features on his cute face, his breasts and his lovely neck; spanned across his slim waist; and then it went under the tiny Y-fronts and fondled the hairless crumpled penis and his growing balls. I was surprised. Most Yank kids are circumcised. Colby wasn't. He'd got a foreskin and it hung limply over the end of his amorphous head, which my fingers squeezed a few times to have a bit of fun. My first mistake. Although he was fast asleep, his nervous system wasn't, and I felt it harden between my fingers. A few more squeezes and a few gentle caresses and all three inches of him was hard. I giggled and pulled my hand away and leaned down and sucked the hard little dickie into my mouth and slurped my way off it. The saliva on it made it glisten. Then I kissed his forehead and shoved him roughly across the bed and pulled the duvet over us.
I lay back on the bed with one arm under my head. The other was around Colby. I'd snagged him to me and was holding him close with a firm hand down the back of his Y-fronts. Two gorgeous boy buttocks are a pervert's best pacifier.
I ran the evening through my mind. Where was Shane now? I knew the house rules, but sometimes rules get broken.
"I am free, no matter what rules surround me. If I find them tolerable, I tolerate them; if I find them too obnoxious, I break them. I am free because I know that I alone am morally responsible for everything I do."
It was Dave who first introduced me to Heinlein. Maybe he was breaking house rules and had Shane in bed with him? None of my business, but if he was, then I was wishing it was me doing the rule breaking... with Shane and not Colby. Yes, Colby had got into my heart, but Shane had disturbed the parts of me that made me a pervert.
My last thoughts as I held the beautiful creature that was Colby in my arms, was of the way Shane had blushed when I sang to him. He had surrendered to an old pervert. But that's what love songs are for, especially when they're sung by an old soldier who wants to fuck you.
To be continued...
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