Date: Sat, 18 Aug 2018 11:43:30 +0200 (CEST) From: jonkent69@tutanota.com Subject: LITTLE MINERS - GAY - ADULT YOUTH LITTLE MINERS by Jon Kent DISCLAIMER Everyone should accept the laws of his country, reserving the right to strive democratically to change those he disagrees with. Therefore, if the laws where you live say that you should NOT be reading stories like these, you are legally obliged to leave now and read no further. It does not matter if these stories are fiction, made-up, only written to entertain, instruct, engage, and inform. If for any reason, the law where you live says you are NOT allowed to read them, you have to go. So off you go. Live a healthy and happy life, and come back, if you want to, when your laws say. And remember: these are only stories. They are made-up. They did not happen. And the writer does not believe they should happen. The first responsibility of adults is to protect children and their innocence. It doesn't mean some adults won't enjoy reading stories like this, but it doesn't mean they should go out and do things like this. Who knows? maybe reading stories like this will actually stop them going out and doing these things. This is a revised version of a story I wrote over ten years ago for Nifty. I have substantially revised it (a) because I'm a much better writer now than I was then, and (b) because it deals with some aspects of sexuality, especially scat, that I couldn't handle them. I needed to write this story to get it out of my system, and that, as they say is that. SUPPORT NIFTY Nothing comes free, so remember we wouldn't have the massive treasure of Nifty if these good folk were not keeping it up and running year after year. So, dip into your wallet, find something for Nifty and send it to them. Every little bit helps. LITTLE MINERS It was a thoroughly despicable April. The wind blew in sharp gusts from every quarter of the compass by turns. It seemed to take delight in rushing suddenly around corners and taking away the breath of anybody it could catch there coming from the opposite direction. The dust, too, filled people's eyes and noses and mouths, while the damp raw April air easily found its way through the best clothing, and turned boys' skins into pimply goose-flesh. I sat on my sheltered patio and puffed on my pipe. I thought of the orphan boys, and puffed on my pipe. The eldest , Charlie, as I remember him, was a bright fellow, wild as an Indian and full of mischief. The next, Theo, was a boy of ten, the minister's favorite, and he was wild enough too. I thought of Theo, swimming naked in the pond, and puffed on my pipe. The youngest was Oscar. Poor, timid, starved Oscar! But he was the baby of the boys, short in the legs, short in the body, short in the arms and neck but cute as a button with eyes like surprised saucers. I thought of the times I washed him down and puffed on my pipe. Oh, you don't can't imagine how hard the old Plains were on everybody, when we crossed them in ox-wagons, and it took more than half a year to make the journey. The children, those who did not perish, turned as brown as the Redskins, in that long, dreadful journey of seven months, and stopped growing for a time. I puffed on my pipe and thought of old Miss Crawley, taken in the chest by an Indian arrow, flying through the air to land spread-eagled in the dust. "What are they doing to Miss Crawley?" Oscar had whispered to me, oblivious to the arrows singing past our ears. "They be having their wicked way with her," I grunted. "That be why they've got their pizzles out." His eyes shining with curiosity the boy whispered: "Their pizzles are huge, like Dory, the donkey." I puffed on my pipe. "Cos they be Indians," I explained. "But where are they putting their pizzles? There's three of them. I can see one in her mouth and one in her cunt..." (Boys earned the correct names early way out West.) "...but where is the third Indian's pizzle." I cuffed the boy, lightly, in the ear. "You be too curious by far," I grunted, and puffed on my pipe. Later when the Indians rode off to enjoy their spoils at leisure, dragging Crabby Crawely behind them - they must have been surprised when they tried to scalp her and her old grey wig came off in their hands - Oscar confided he'd never liked the old bitch anyway. "When she washed me in the river, she always took a long time to wash my pizzle. She rubbed it till it hurt and finished off by kissing it again and again. That wasn't so bad but her finger up my bumhole really hurt, so I hope the Redskins did the same to her." I handed him my pipe and said: "Hush, hush, now lie back and puff on this. It'll make a nice change for you." I took the boys under my wing, after the survivors of the wagon train handed over Miss. Crawely's wagon to me and a weekly stipend to ensure we would not starve. The minister, the Reverend Jonathan Crowe, took a special interest in Charlie, taking him into his own wagon some nights to hear him say his catechism. Charlie seemed to thrive on the spiritual diet on those nights under canvas under the stars. Even when we arrived in Los Olivos, Charlie continued his visits once a week to kneel before the old churchman and show what he had learned. Rev. Crowe said the turns of Theo and Oliver would come soon enough, and, perhaps, he could take them together. We were blessed to have a churchman amongst us in the Santa Ynez Valley. Things moved on well. Theo cooked simple meals, and Oscar clung to me with his little pinched brown hand wherever I went, while Charlie whooped it over the hills and chased jack-rabbits as if he were a greyhound. He would climb trees, too, like a squirrel. And, oh!--it was deplorable--but how he could swear - though I notied how he amended his "Fuck you!" to "Fuck me" after a few sessions with Rev. Crowe. At length some of the mothers, seeing the boys must come to a bad end if not taken care of, put their heads and their pockets together and sent the children to school. This school was a mile away over the beautiful brown hills, a long, pleasant walk under the green California oaks. Charlie would take the little tin dinner bucket, and his slate, and all their books under his arm and go booming ahead about half a mile in advance, while Theo with Oscar clinging to his side like a burr, always fearful that the Indians would get him like they got Crabby Crawley. But if a jack-rabbit, or a deer, or a fox crossed Charlie's path, no matter how late it was, or how the teacher had threatened him, he would drop books, lunch, slate and all, and spitting on his hands and, rolling up his sleeves, would bound away after it, yelling like a wild brave. Some days, so fascinating was the chase, Charlie did not appear at the schoolhouse at all; and, of course, Theo and Oscar played truant too - young boys will copy older, so into the woods they would disappear. Sometimes a week together would pass and the boys would not be seen at the schoolhouse. Visits from the schoolmaster produced no lasting effect. The boys would come for a day or two, then be seen no more. The schoolmaster, Mr. Humpernickel, and the minister, the Reverend Crowe at last put their heads together. Experienced as they were, they knew how to handle unruly boys. "What can I do with him?" said Mr. Humpernickel. "Let's take him camping," said Rev. Crowe. "Two hands are better than one, and we've done it before." Mr. Humpernickel licked his thick lips as he recalled Rupert and Robert, the twins they'd taken camping before. Oh, how much they had learned in so short a time. And learned to make a living out of the experience. As far as Mr. Humpernickel knew, the ten-year-olds, now fourteen, were safely settled in San Francisco and earning their keep with a number of men eager to have their services. "Yes, I guess what the boy wants is some honest means of using his strength. He's a good boy, Mr. H. Don't despair of him. Charlie could be as valuable as Rupert and Robert..." Had the minister read the schoolmaster's mind? "and he will be fortunate to have men like us to train him." The Reverend Crowe puffed out his considerable stomach and continued: Charlie's a good boy; and Theo is good, Mr. Schoolmaster; and little motherless Oscar is good as gold. I want to be a mother to 'em--I want to be minister and mother to 'em all, to all the boys in town who need my spiritual guidance. Already I have Charlie in the palm of my hand; all I have to do is tighten my grip." "Oh, you are so wise," said the boys' teacher. "I never knew how young boys could be moulded until you taught me how they could learn to enjoy - no, they could live for the experience! Camping it shall be. We'll put 'em all to work pannin' for gold." He paused for a moment. "Let us take two tents. You have Charlie. I'll have the younger boys." "Grand idea, Mr. H. Two tents it shall be . I have yet to finish catechising my boy!" The very next Saturday, away up on the hillside under a pleasant oak, where the air was sweet and cool, and the ground soft and dotted over with flowers, the tender-hearted man that wanted to be "minister and mother both," located a claim by a babbling brook. The flowers were kept fresh by a little stream of water from the ditch that girded the brow of the hill above. Here the men set up a sluice-box and put the three little 'miners' to work with pick, pan and shovel. And how they did work! And how pleasant it was here under the broad boughs of the oak, with the water rippling through the sluice on the soft, loose soil which they shoveled into the long sluice-box. They could see the mule-trains going and coming, and the clouds of dust far below that told them the stagecoach was whirling up the valley. But Charlie kept steadily on at the work. Even though jack-rabbits and squirrels appeared on the very scene, he would not leave lay down his pan, until the sun began to slip closer and closer to the hills on the horizon. The Reverend Crowe sat down at the head of the sluice-box and gave directions how they should turn off the most of the water, wash down the "toilings" very low, lift up the "riffle," brush down the "apron," and finally set the pan in the lower end of the "sluice-toil" and pour in the quicksilver to gather up and hold the gold. "What for you put your hand in de water for, papa?" queried Oscar whose 'work' consisted mainly of pulling flowers and putting them in the sluice-box to see them float away. He was sitting by his 'daddy's's side, and he looked up in his face as he spoke. "Hush, child," said the man softly, as he again dipped his thumb and finger in his vest pocket as if about to take snuff. But he did not take snuff. Again his hand was reached down to the rippling water at the head of the sluice-box. And this time curious but obedient Oscar was silent. By sunset, even Charlie was ready to rest from toil, and together men and boys lit a campfire by the tents and roasted chipmunks and squirrels in the embers, together with a variety of vegetables and fruit. Then they sat and sang softly till Oscar, falling soundly asleep, had to be carried and laid gently in the tent of Mr. Humpernickel. Theo msoon followed though he protested he was not the least bit tired. "You soon will be," murmured the teacher who soon thereafter wished Rev. Crowe and Charlie good night. "Is Mr H. going to teach them the catechism?" Charlie asked his mentor, his emphasis on the word 'catechism' carrying his meaning. "He surely will," smiled the minister, "though he may start with Theo as Oscar is a little young. But every boy deserves favour in time." A smile and a yawn from the shirtless Charlie told Rev. Crowe that he too was ready to be catechised, though Charlie had already moved onto advanced tuition. For a moment, let us let Theo take up the story. His powers of expression may not be as well developed, but, dear reader, we are sure you will get the gist of things, as Theo surely did. Theo I got in the tent. Oscar was sleepin'. I pulled off my clothes. They was a bit sweaty. Kept my underpants on and get under the blanket. It was a bit itchy on the skin but nice. I was tired but not sleepy. Mr. H. got in the tent. He pulled all his cloths off 'cept his big underpants. They was like ladies' bloomers. He got in between Oscar and me. He was whispering in my ear but I wasn't listening. I never listen to teachers. His fingers was on my belly making circles. It was a bit strange but nice. Not tickly just nice. He started blowing in my ear. I don't know why but it felt nice. His fingers got lower and my pizzle (cock) began to get hard. It did that all the time then. That was strange but teacher didn't seem to mind, so I didn't do anything. Then the top of his fingers went under the top of my underpants. I knew that was wrong but it was exciting so I didn't do anything. I even rubbed my bottom on the mat so that my underpants got edged down a bit. The fingers was making circles around the bottom of my belly right at the bottom where my sex bits start. The top of his fingers brushed the head of my cock. It was really hard by this time. The head was right out of the sheath. I don't know what sir wanted me to do, so I didn't do anything. Then his fingers slipped round my cock and he started moving the skin up and down. The skin that covers the head of my cock was going back and forth over it. It was getting more and more exciting. His other hand was still circling round my belly but sometimes it went up to my rosies - that's my nipples - and played with them. "Is that nice?" "Yes, sir." "Do you want me to stop?" "No, sir." "Do you want more?" "Yes, please." Mr H. pushed my underpants down to my knees. His fingers kept on sheathing and not sheathing my stiff penis. (I know the correct word.) His other fingers played with my balls. His fingers moved up and down, faster and faster. I started lifting my bum up to meet them. Then the stopped. Why did he stop? Go on. Go on. His mouth was on my chest. He was kissing my chest - my nipples - belly - and lower - lower - lower until... his lips closed over my cock and I was inside his mouth, inside my teacher's mouth. He was sucking up and down just like with his fingers but ten times better. Then he took my balls inside too! All my private bits were inside my teacher's mouth! Warm, wet. "Up, Theo, up." He eased my bum up and slid his hand underneath. What was he doing? The tip of his finger was pressing on my hole - you know, where the s**t comes out. Half his finger was inside my hole, inside me! Dirty. Dirty. But wonderful. He took it out. I didn't want that. I wanted more, more. He put his finger against my lips and whispered "Open, open." I didn't have time to think. I opened my lips, my mouth and his finger slipped inside. The same finger that had been up my bum! And when did he let my cock and balls out of his mouth? Everything was whirling now. Everything was wrong but everything was right. "Over, Theo, over." I couldn't think anymore. I turned over. His hand under my hips helped me get my bum up in the air. Was he going to do what boy dogs do to girl dogs in the street? I got scared. It must hurt it must hurt real bad. His thumbs opened my cheeks wide but it wasn't his big man's pizzle that touched my hole, it was sir's mouth. Sir was sucking my hole. One hand held me up, the other was back on my cock that strained so hard it ached hurt. I wanted to scream but I couldn't. I didn't want to wake Oscar up and I didn't want to distrub Charlie who was doing catechism with the minister in their tent. Mr. H. kept on sucking - sucking - blowing - and I'm not sure but I think he was spitting into my hole. Why would he do that? Didn't he like me? I'm not going to tell anymore, not here, not now, maybe later, and I'm not going to tell you what we did to Oscar - What sir made me do. That's not fair. I did what I did because I wanted to do it. And I wanted to do more because once you start you always want to do more. Don't you? ... Suddenly there was a shout, such a shout from Charlie as the hills had not heard since he was a schoolboy. He'd found the "colour." "Two colours! three, four, five--a dozen!" The boy whooped like an Apache, threw down the brush and scraper, and kissed little Oscar over and over, and cried as he did so; then he whispered softly to him as he again took up his brush and scraper. The little miners were now continually wild with excitement. They were up and at work Monday morning at dawn. Reverend Crowe and Mr. Humpernickel congratulated the boys heartily and took them to their tents earlier to celebrate. In this way they kept steadily at work for a whole month, and on what proved to be the final weekend of camping, Charlie struck a thin bed of blue gravel. The men, who had been happily chuckling and laughing among themselves to think how they had managed to keep Charlie out of mischief, began to look at each other and wonder how in the world blue gravel ever got up there on the hill. In a few days more there was a well-defined bed of blue gravel, too. That's when I was summoned to give my opinion. It was arranged I would take Charlie into my tent, the teacher taking Theo, and the minister taking little Oscar. That very afternoon I weighed the boy's little nuggets caught my breath, started, and stood up straight, straighter than I'd stood since I had crossed the Plains when I was but a lad. I hastily left my tent, went up the hill to the boys' claim almost without limping. I took a pencil and an old piece of a letter, wrote out a notice and tacked it up on the big oak-tree, claiming those mining claims according to miners' law, for the orphaned boys. A couple of miners laughed as they went by in the twilight, to see what he was doing; and I laughed with them. But as I limped on down the hill I smiled. That night as I lay beside Charlie, I told him his life was going to change - and Theo's, and Oscar's. No longer would they depend on others to supoort them; others woulc mcome to depend on them. "Then I won't have to..." whispered Charlie who stopped there unable to complete the thought. I hugged him to me and whispered "Tell me, Charlie. Tell me." "Then I won't have to... be 'catechised' anymore." "Nope, that's all over." "Oh, I don't mind being 'catechised'... I like it. But not by him." I pulled the boy tight against me and felt his erection against my belly. A few moment later, he felt mine. "Tell me, Charlie. Tell me everything." Charlie It started out okay. Then Rev. Crowe said I had to kneel in front while I was making the responses. He was sitting in his rocking chair. His legs were wide open and he pulled me in between them. I wasn't sure what to do but I did nothing. The Rev. is 'a man of the cloth', as Crabby Crawley taught us, and we must always be obedient to a man of the cloth. He will humble our pride. So I was obedient. But on the third session, when I was kneeling between his legs, Father Crowe pulled his robe apart, he was naked, and his cock was standing up against his fat hairy belly. He's a 'man of the cloth' but he has a huge cock. "It's time for you to receive the Holy Seed," he said, took me by the ears, and pushed my face down onto his cock. "Open your mouth, Charlie, and receive the gift of the Lord." What was I to do? I opened my mouth wide, took his cock in, and began to suck and blow. I've done this before, in the orphanage. Our guardians there liked to help us too. The men there gave us their Holy Seed - that's not what they called it - and some of the ladies made us suck it out of them too. One of the ladies wanted me to put my Holy Seed into her back passage. I tried my best but I couldn't make the stuff then. (Charlie stopped for a while). I can your Holy Seed, or you can put it into me, back or front, I don't mind, I'd like it actually ... Next morning, I told the boys that as they had been such faithful and industrious miners, I was going to give them each a present, besides a little gold to spend as they pleased. We went up to the store and bought Charlie a red shirt, long black and bright gum boots, a broad-brimmed hat, and a belt. I bought each of the other children some pretty trappings, and gave each a dollar's worth of gold dust. Theo and Oscar handed their gold back to me to keep it for them. But Charlie was crazy with excitement. He put on his new clothes and went forth to spend his dollar. And what do you suppose he bought? I hesitate to tell you. But what he bought was a pipe and a paper of tobacco! How could a man--he spoke of himself as a man now - how could a man be an "honest miner" and not smoke a pipe? That night I informed the Reverend Crowe and Mister Humpernickel the boys would be sleeping in my tent, that Charlie no longer needed to be catechised, and that none of the boys would be returning to their church or school. As they protested, I puffed on my pipe and faced them down with two words: Holy Seed. Both men were gone before sun up. Sunday morning Charlie was up with the sun and ready for his work. He filled his brand-new pipe very leisurely; and with as much calm unconcern as if he had been smoking for forty years, he stopped to scratch a match on the door as he went out. From under his broad hat, he saw little Oscar watching him, and he fairly swelled with importance as the youngest boy gazed up at him with childish wonder. Leaving Theo to wash the few tin dishes and follow as he could with Oscar, Charlie started on up the hill, pipe in mouth. He met several miners, and puffed away like a tug-boat against the tide. His bright new boots whetted and creaked together, the warm wind lifted the broad brim of his sombrero, and his bright new red shirt was really beautiful, with the green grass and oaks for a background--and so this brave young lad climbed the hill to his mine. Ah, he was so happy! Suddenly, as he approached the claim, his knees began to smite together, and he felt so weak he could hardly drag one foot after the other. He threw down his pick; he began to tremble and spin around. The world seemed to be turning over and over, and he trying in vain to hold on to it. He jerked the pipe from his teeth, and throwing it down on the bank, he tumbled down too, and clutching at the grass with both hands tried hard, oh! so hard, to hold the world from slipping from under him. "Oh, Charlie! you are white as snow," cried Theo as he came up. "White as 'er sunshine, an' blue, an' green too, sisser. Look at brurrer 'all colours,'" squeaked Oscar pitifully. "O, Charlie, Charlie -- brother Charlie, what is the matter?" sobbed Theo. "Sunstroke," murmured the boy, smiling grimly, like a true Californian. "No; it is not sunstroke, it's--it's cholera," he added in dismay. "It took my ma, it took my pa, and nowm it's come for me. I am undone!" A couple of miners came up, but Charlie feebly begged them to go. "Sunstroke," whispered the Theo. "No; tolera," piped little Oscar. "Leave me!" groaned the young red-shirted miner of the Sierras. The biggest of the two miners bent over him a moment. "Yes; it's both," he muttered. "Cholera-nicotine-fantum!" Then he looked at his partner and winked wickedly. Without a word, he took the limp boy up in his arms and bore him down the hill to my tent, while Oscar and Theo ran along at either side, and tenderly and all the time kept asking what was good for "cholera." The other old 'honest miner' lingered behind to pick up the baleful pipe which he knew was somewhere there; and when the little party was far enough down the hill, he took it up and buried it in his own capacious pocket with a half-sorrowful laugh. "Poor little miner," he sighed. "Don't ever swear any more, Windy," pleaded the boy to the miner who had carried him down the hill, as he leaned over him, "and don't never lie. I am going to die, Windy, and I should like to have been good." "Hush," growled Windy. "We know what 'tis We've all had a touch of it first time round." The boy turned his face to the wall. The conviction was strong upon him that he was going to die, The world spun round now very, very fast indeed. Finally, half-rising in bed, he called Oscar to his side: "Oscar, dear, good Oscar, if I die don't you try to be a man until you're ready for it; for that's what's the matter with me. No, Oscar--dear little brother Oscar--don't you never try for to go the whole of the 'honest miner,' for it can't be did by a boy! We're nothing but boys, you and I, Oscar--Oscar." He sank back in bed and Oscar and Theo cried and cried, and kissed him and kissed him. "I'm going to die, Windy," groaned the boy. Windy could stand no more of it. He took Charlie's hand with a cheery laugh. "Git well in half an hour," said he,"and never puff on a pipe until you've got hair on your..." The men around the boy laughed, but it was a kindly laughed. One of them whispered in Theo's ear and he laughed too. Theo bent and whispered in Oscar's ear, but the youngest boy simply looked confused and asked if Charlie was going to die right away. "No, not right away," I told him. "Maybe in fifty or sixty years, but not right away. Charlie's just got the puffing poison," at which the men, and Theo, resumed their laughter. Charlie sat bolt upright in his bed. "The puffing poison... you mean smoking my pipe?" And he fell back on the bed trying to laugh as best he could while the tears ran down his cheeks. By next morning, Charlie was sitting up eating breakfast as if nothing had happened. But he never tried to smoke again as long as he lived. The mine? Oh, I almost forgot. Well, that blue dirt was the old bed of the stream, and it was ten times richer than where the miners were all at work below. Struck it! I should say so! Ask any of the old Sierras miners about "The Orphans' Claim," if you want to hear just how rich they struck it. ...... Thanks for your kind comments on some of my stories over the years. Some of you have asked if I've written any others. I have indeed. Here are those I have been able to locate. The rest are somewhere in the Nifty archives. Only God knows where and He has yet to divulge their whereabouts to me. By the way, only the email addy atop this story is functional. https://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/young-friends/jason-carter/ https://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/adult-youth/once-upon-a-time https://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/first-time/true-colours https://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/first-time/true-fiction https://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/young-friends/beautiful-game https://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/young-friends/loving-boys https://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/adult-youth/oscar-my-love/ https://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/adult-youth/sweet-william-mine https://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/adult-youth/still-life-water-colours https://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/urination/kaleidoscope https://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/young-friends/suddenly-that-summer https://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/adult-youth/rescue-me https://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/urination/life-with-the-darlings https://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/adult-youth/falling-in-love-again https://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/urination/boys-like-us https://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/young-friends/sweets-to-the-sweet/ https://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/young-friends/you-never-can-tell https://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/young-friends/sandhaven