WARNING (in annoying small print because no one reads this stuff anyway)
This story contains descriptions of sexual acts involving men and MINORS, which are an integral part of the story. While the story may appeal to prurient interests, it is intended to have serious literary value. As a friend once said: "Everyone has the right to fantasy. No one has the right to censor an imagination, or dreams." With that in mind, know that this story is not true! The sexual acts described in the story are the result of my inebriated imagination. I have not performed these acts, and I do not encourage others to perform them with minors. The story is not intended to promote illegal acts against minors, but to demonstrate that men and boys can love each other despite the prevalent attitudes of western society. It is my goal to help readers appreciate that love. If you discover deeper meanings, hidden agendas, or political manifestos please keep them to yourself. If the subject of man/boy love offends you, if this material is illegal in your place of residence, or if you are under the legal age for such material, do not read on until you have secured a safe hiding place!
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Grampa always woke up in darkness. The clock over the mantle glowed 5:14. Not pitch dark, eerie grey, the cusp of first light. He closed his eyes again, waiting, straining to hear the faint sounds of dawning. On the other side of the bed, next to the window, Kalani snored lightly. Grampa smiled. Cool air, fresh from the mountains wafted through the open window, but he could still smell it. Like mossy earth and deer musk. It came from under the sheet. From Kalani.
“… Good mornin’ ranchers! It’s fifteen after the wake-up hour on Moooo radio; KCOW, 106.5. If yer not up cookin’ bacon ‘n eggs, well ya oughta be. It’s goin’ to be a big sky day, highs in the low eighties. Lows in the high fifties.”
Growling at the radio, Grampa closed his eyes. The smell filled his head, an aphrodisiac of disturbing thoughts until it was impossible to go back to sleep, like the day before, and the day before that. Every day was the best day of his life.
“… Better bake up some extra buttermilk biscuits if you got ranch brats ‘cause school starts back today. If you don’t got kids, watch out for them school buses.”
Buttermilk biscuits by Pilsbury; the squeaky-clean dough-boy went on and on about how good they were until Grampa was certain he smelled fresh baked bread, yeasty and sweet.
“At the top of today’s announcements, I’ve got a message for Charlie at Broken Butte Ranch to pass on when his grandson wakes up. I hope you're listenin,’ Charlie. It’s from Principal Slade at Black River Elementary. It says, ‘We’re lookin’ forward to havin’ Kalani in fifth grade now he’s taken a bath.’ You got that, Charlie?”
Grampa smiled at the message, mostly thinking ‘tell the whole state, why don’t you.’ He reached out and mussed disheveled hair, far too long for the first day of school. When his fingers caught in a tangle, he smiled again. So what if his boy took some ribbing—he would anyway as the new kid in school. Of course, his hair wouldn’t help matters. He should’ve taken him to the hairdresser last week. Yet, he was glad he hadn’t as he played with long silky curls, yawning in the darkness.
“So I called Bobby Slade last night, wonderin’ what that bath thing’s about. And he done tol’ me that Kalani got baptized last Sunday at Solid Rock Pentecostal. Way to go, Kalani. I was at the Solid Rock fete the day before. Let me tell you, them Deeres cooked up some ginger beer with a bite, if you know what I mean. My wife reckons Kalani’s as cute as our daughter, but that boy does more than look purty and make awesome ginger beer. He’s the tough little dude what came out of nowhere to win the Bozeman Wild West Junior Barrel Race two weeks ago. If y’all saw him ridin’, you know he’s a Deere.”
Letting sleeping boys lie, Grampa eased out of bed. Bought fifteen more minutes of quiet by hitting the snooze button. He peered out the window, hungry and piss-hard, waiting for the glow in the east so he could see his boy’s face. He bent low and traced Kalani’s profile with a fingertip. Smooth small forehead under scruffy bed-hair, little Nordic snub nose, rounded jaw. Worse, he had lips like a girl. Delicate features, pretty enough for the front cover of some kid-fashion magazine. How long had it been since he stopped seeing Martha?
Infatuated, he lifted back the down comforter and feasted his eyes on Kalani’s nude body, a dark silhouette against the white sheet. There was just enough light to see he was slightly paler at his middle, like a Blackfoot boy everywhere else. He smiled and inhaled, murmuring what might have been a wistful ‘so beautiful.’
Then, back in bed with the comforter covering both of them, he was unable to stop himself. He inched closer, finally touching delicate skin, soaking up the warmth from Kalani’s bare skin. With great care, he turned the boy onto his side. Kalani’s faint snoring faded, breathing no more than a whisper. Facing the window, he’d watch the sun rise through the trees before he went off to his first day at Black River Elementary.
For the 63rd morning, Grampa lifted Kalani’s lean legs close to his chest, curled up, and settled behind him with his left arm around the boy’s smooth narrow chest, little bare buttocks squashed against his groin, dreamy breaths as he stroked a bony hip and a long slender thigh. Glowing warmth made blood surge to his cock.
“I love you,” he whispered into his grandson’s small ear.
He nuzzled soft tickling hair, inhaling deeply. Kalani smelled down-to-earth, like a not-yet-eleven-year-old ranch brat should smell. Except for flowers, but it was only a whiff, spring prairie flowers the same as those on the shampoo bottle label. Mabel Adams from Walnut Tree Farm made shampoo from her grandmother’s recipe. She made the labels too. Fancy photos of Goats Beard and Mouse-ear Chickweed printed in color using the library computer. Mabel sold five dozen bottles at the Solid Rock fete, four to him for $24. Of course, Kalani agreed with him. Six bucks a bottle was crazy for shampoo, even if it was homemade with fancy colored labels. Mabel was crazy, even for a Pentecostal. People bought her shampoo to shut her up.
He needed to fondle, yet he held back. Five long minutes restraining desire. ‘A boy with hair like a girl needs my shampoo.’ Mabel said that. Kalani just shrugged, smiled, and gave a head toss to annoy her, shoulder-length hair shimmering in mid-morning sunshine. Gold blond curls in brazen disarray, radiant summer-bronze skin. Gorgeous boy standing close to his grandpa. Looking awkward, not lacking in confidence, just diffident with dozens of baptized-Pentecostal kids milling around. Kalani, despite pending immersion on the next day, still didn’t belong.
Remembering brought a smile to his face. Six months older, Mabel’s daughter towered over Kalani. All she wanted to do was to talk about Dyani, Kalani’s movie-star brother. Dyani was a movie brat, one of the three Grommet stars. Not the smart mouth, Draven, or the wild surfer boy; the shy serious boy with the infectious smile.
Unleashed from her mother who was busy selling shampoo, Mabel’s daughter flirted like a heifer in heat. Long, painful-to-watch minutes batting ebony-black eyelashes at Kalani, who was too nervous to do more than smile and mutter monosyllables.
Another smile, almost a smirk, this time from Grampa as he lay behind his dead-to-the-world grandson, fingertips lightly trailing down the boy’s sleek flank. A lover’s caress in the darkness. Warm and soft like old flannel pajamas. At a bony hip, his fingers spread out, flowing over familiar contour. Like a woman’s breast, his grandson’s uppermost buttock fit his hand perfectly.
Mabel’s daughter had breasts, perky B-cups under her fairy-floss blouse, heading for D like her middle-aged mother. However, Kalani wasn’t into tits, smart enough to keep his predisposition secret. So many secrets between them. Man and boy mating like randy rabbits, three times some days. Having more fun than Holy Rollers should. No one could know about that. Especially Mabel. He’d have to find a way to distract her. Mother and daughter with their in-your-face courting, wouldn’t take no for an answer.
He inhaled deeply, snorting Kalani cocaine. His reason for living was a few inches away. Perfectly happy lying there beside him. His favorite pastime was absorbing enervating boy-heat. So alive, even asleep. What was it that Mabel had said while she was looking for the six dollars in change for his thirty? ‘That boy would make someone a good wife.’ She was sipping Deere Beer at the time. Her third glass. Luckily, Kalani was busy gift-wrapping a cowboy belt buckle at the adjoining stand, and trying to keep his grandpa from seeing.
Charlie Deere laughed; there wasn’t much else he could do. With envious eyes, he watched his grandson doing his best to ignore the daughter. It was then that Mabel said Kalani was too pretty for his own good. Plum crazy in public, but true. Movie-star cuteness dressed Hollywood style, oozing preteen sexuality in loose cotton chinos, blue-like-his-eyes t-shirt, and seen-better-days Nike knock-offs. No socks because he was cool like his brother.
“Yer my beautiful gay boy,” Grampa crooned, remembering what happened next.
Mabel’s daughter had giggled consensus, bestowing sufficient adoration to make a normal boy blush. However, Kalani had looked her in the eye and said in a mocking falsetto, ‘Admit it; I’m gorgeous?’ Unable to think of anything better to say than ‘you’re so gay’, Mabel’s daughter dropped that bomb and turned away. It was way too close for comfort, and for an awful moment, Charlie Deere thought ‘disaster.’ Kalani, who usually had a comeback, gave his patented eye-roll-shrug to show what he thought. Mabel had muttered something that sounded like ‘yes, you are’ before she started on her fourth ginger beer. The only problem was Principal Slade’s doubtful expression. He was exchanging pleasantries with Pastor Fleming a few yards away. It seemed longer than two days ago.
When he couldn’t stand it any longer, Grampa relocated his hand. He caressed his boy’s bare shoulder and thin upper arm. Bony elbows, skin smooth like velvet, firm underneath with growing boy-muscle. Two months on a ranch, dragging hay bales, fixing fences, and chopping a winter’s supply of wood toughened a boy where it counted.
In a rush, lust overwhelmed him. Squeezing closer, he amused himself by pressing the tip of his oozing erection against his grandson’s spine. Rubbing his hot, hard beast against delicate boy-skin.
“So soft,” he sighed, lost somewhere between snoozing and waking up.
Snuggling Kalani from behind was always satisfying. Entertaining too. Remarkable how Kalani’s little bottom fitted with machined precision against his groin, rounded mounds cushioned by grandpa’s firm muscle. Content with cuddling for the moment, he began sliding his sex along the narrow chasm, up and down, sideways, and around and around, smearing his deliciously slippery juice. Trying to squash his big head into his grandson’s bottom came later. Kalani made the best ginger beer.
Deere Beer for the Pentecostals’ summer fete was Kalani’s idea. It was a load more fun than Grampa’s suggestion—splitting ten cords of wood; and it made a heap more money. Twenty crates of ginger beer from a ginger beer plant in the root cellar, a sticky pungent cauldron covered with muslin, rows of bottles popping corks nonstop. No fancy labels. All sold in the first forty minutes at three dollars a bottle. A Pentecostal goldmine, but only after Kalani, the marketing genius, gave out free samples. The yeast made it mildly alcoholic.
They were packing up in the evening when Pastor Fleming approached on a beeline. Confirmation of immersion for the following day. Then, he said, ‘You dote on that boy, Charlie Deere.’ He was joking, at least Grampa hoped so, yet he suspected the worst. The pastor as much as said he was infatuated. Another moment of gut-wrenching panic made his face red. Was it that obvious? Somehow, he took the bull by the horns. He looked the pastor square in the eye and boldly declared, ‘Sure do. He’s my angel. He brought me back to the Lord.’
A few yards away, Kalani giggled, more like a snicker. At the time he was taking orders for more ginger beer. Thirty-two dozen bottles with cash in advance, money that didn’t have to go to the church. After expenses, $690 dollars was enough for a Western Pony Show Saddle, junior-pro-version in brown hand-tooled leather.
“Dote don’t even come close,” Charlie murmured, yawning with his fingers now exploring boy- belly.
No longer a soft city kid; Kalani was rock-solid all over, especially his tummy, as if he did a hundred sit-ups every morning. Sleek like warm velvet. Finding a navel, his finger pressed in. Definitely not the Pilsbury dough-boy.
After the fete, it had taken all of his willpower to keep his hands to himself the whole way home. As soon as the door closed behind them, he’d stripped Kalani. In the mudroom, where everything started, his boy giggling, demanding his grandpa demonstrate ‘infatuation’ for the second time that day. He carried Kalani upstairs, little arms and legs wrapped tightly around him. Like carrying up Martha on their wedding night except his cock was already inside his boy-wife. Making passionate love in their bed for nearly an hour. Surely, it was the best day of his life, but so was the day before. Friday night, Kalani skyped Dyani; and both boys got nude. Ten minutes in, fourteen-year-old Draven joined Dyani, wearing a black leather harness with silver studs. What happened next gave new meaning to ‘homoeroticism.’ Truth be told, Charlie Deere enjoyed the show, online anal sex with vibrator buzz in the background. Even better was waking up the next morning. Gazing up at Kalani, already horny. Repeating the intimate sexual act with Kalani riding him, this time without Internet witnesses.
Entranced by Kalani’s slumbering smoothness, Grampa couldn’t leave him alone. Boy-softness tantalized his fingers. Warm all over, almost feverish in some places. One place in particular. Finally reaching for boy parts. Floppy-soft, circumcised boy-dick. It was small, but generous on skinny Kalani. Truth be told, it was way bigger than pre-teen Dyani’s, the one time he visited his grandparents’ ranch by himself.
“Ain’t nothing comes close to you,” Grampa whispered, a hankering to play with his grandson’s privates overwhelming his willpower.
He closed his eyes to concentrate on sweaty-moist boy-gonads. About like pinto beans, pulled up tight, with a surplus fold of elusive skin underneath. Searching for gossamer fuzz just to make sure. No fluff anywhere on Kalani. Smooth as a baby, even his arms, like someone had shaved every part of him. Back to boy-dick, finding it a little bit stiffer. Still squishy, malleable inside and out, yet shifting quickly into the stiffy he worshipped every morning. He could feel it growing, shrugging off pre-dawn stupor. The miracle of boyhood slowly extending into his palm. Both adult-hand and boy-dick already sweaty. Erection now beyond the turning back point, heat spreading out. He grasped the thin tube between two fingers and thumb and squeezed on the strengthening core, gliding up and down until it was close to full length. Tickling around the plump tiny knob, Kalani-style sex play with only one goal in mind, getting his pencil-dick as hard as a nail.
Suddenly, Grandpa needed to move on. He coated two fingers with saliva, emptying his mouth. There was never enough spit. However, an alternative was not on his agenda that early in the day. His heart beat faster. Carefully, he felt under the sheet, drool-covered fingertips grazing Kalani’s little rump. His grandson had a deep crack. The best kind. Squashed between rubbery melons. Cute butt. He still remembered saying it at the airport. Kalani just grinning. It was definitely weird back then, when a boy having a cute butt meant nothing special. Now, it was more important to Kalani than having a movie star brother.
He spread saliva along the hot crevice, pressing his thumb into the tender buttock. Baby-soft and boy-firm at the very same time. Lifting up to widen the gap, locating the hole before wriggling his slippery fingertips to loosen the rim.
“Must’a drained out,” he muttered.
He felt with his hand, finding a damp spot on Kalani’s side of the bed. He smiled and went back to caressing the sound-asleep boy. Resisting the urge for nearly a minute before he couldn’t stand it. More saliva slathered over his fingers before quickly finding the cleft, flexing his fingers apart to expand the opening. Not even a sigh. Just a bit deeper and he’d be safely inside. Easily loosened with plenty of practice. And spit. His fingertips tasted tangy and sweet, like hot ginger beer. He tasted again, licked his fingers all over. Nothing tasted like boy-ass. Unique before and after. Heart thumping passion. Nothing like pussy.
‘Smells like sardines, tastes like anchovies,’ he’d joked when Kalani had asked about the opposite sex.
His cock throbbed at the thought. They’d been fly-fishing for rainbow trout at the time. A hundred yards up from the bridge. Not quite out of sight, but far enough away that no one would hear his stripped-to-the-waist grandson carrying on about why boy-ass was so enjoyable. No ‘fishy’ smell. Nearly sunset before they stopped joking about fucking one of the cold scaly trout they’d caught. So many good memories.
Smiling to himself, he added even more saliva to the already juicy furrow, not thin and watery like Kalani’s; thick, grown-up spit that made everything slimy. He stroked from boy-balls to tailbone, gliding back and forth along the length of the slicked-up crack. Barely grazing the tender opening. Still slightly puffy. He grinned and dared himself. A tingling finger prodded into the pucker, pecking playfully before it surged deeper, sliding into the fleshy canal, deliciously hot and slippery. So easy. Nothing could hold him back now. When he stopped pushing, he had his finger embedded right up to the knuckle. As good as it was being inside his grandson, he still needed more.
It wasn’t long before he extricated his finger. He pulled Kalani closer, away from the damp spot on the sheet. Nuzzing a soft cheek, pecking a rounded jaw. Nibbled the lobe of his ear. Licked his neck where it joined his shoulder, dipping wetly into the collar-bone groove. Sucking skin between his teeth and biting judiciously, leaving his love bite where it wouldn’t be seen. Nothing to be ashamed about, but still a problem even if a boy had no interest in the opposite sex.
Only seconds remained until consummation. Utter devotion. Hugged his grandson one more time. A kiss on his shoulder before he whispered, “I love you.”
He inserted himself cautiously, mostly out of habit. Holding his breath with one hand lifting a pint-sized bare buttock, separating the cheeks to expose the crack, a thumb guiding the wary tip of his cock. Feeling for the boy’s indentation. Easily found after 63 mornings. It was hotter there than anywhere else. So tiny, he twice made sure he was in the right spot. He kept holding his breath as his glans filled the dimpled opening, rubbing into the pucker ever so gently. In a moment, it wasn’t just spit-slippery—it was slimy, enough to ease the way if he chose to force the head through.
A few times, he took the boy dry. Not even saliva to ease the way. The first time without lubrication was a rite of passage, the second time to prove it wasn’t a fluke. After that, it was a special experience for both of them. The stuff of cherished memories, like fly-fishing nude at Bootlicker Creek.
Aching hard with only a memory, yet he waited for more juice to seep out. Finally, he exhaled in a gasp. He could feel the rim stretched against the tip of his knob, the opening markedly bigger than it was supposed to be. Spongy anus ready to do its elastic thing. Holding back his urge to push in because he was usually careful about getting his grandson ready. Not every time; sometimes it was best done spontaneously.
So much had changed since mid-June. Back then, Kalani had wailed. Not the first time, the second time. Having sex before a boy was ready was the stuff of nightmares. He hadn’t waited long enough. His grandson tried to be brave, making it worse. What transpired was nearly enough to change a man’s mind, yet it was immensely satisfying, like fucking a tightly closed fist.
Grampa pressed firmly, one hand keeping a small hip from moving away. Enough force to make any boy wince. Not worrying because his boy was asleep, plus Kalani’s backdoor was so flexible there wasn’t even a whimper now. He’d trained him how to relax, to accept his role underneath. With just the slightest pressure the muscular knot inverted, little more than a reminder of its usual role. Unnaturally loose after 63 days, however the head of his cock was so large he still had to force it through. It was like putting a cork in a bottle.
He’d helped Kalani put the corks in the ginger beer bottles. ‘Pushing in a cork feels like sticking my cock in your tight little ass,’ he teased his grandson. Kalani grinned back. After nearly two months on Broken Butte Ranch, talking dirty came easy. Giggling like a girl on her first date, he said he knew how it felt to be cork-holed, but from the bottle’s point of view. Nine times out of ten, Kalani was funny when he opened his mouth, but it didn’t end there. For a joke, Grampa yanked down his loose-at-the-waist oversized work jeans and jammed a cork in him too. All the way in, until his hole closed up again. He had squat to poop it out afterwards. They put three dozen corks into bottles before they had sex. First time in the root cellar, musty and cool. Grampa standing with Kalani bent over the rickety workbench, ginger-beer sticky under his belly, Wrangler jeans hobbling his ankles.
He went in slowly, giving his boy’s body time to adjust. Pushed him up against hundred-year-old oak from Ohio, a hand on his back to keep him from squirming. His other hand was between them, multitasking by separating butt-cheeks and locating the target. So used to penetration, mating had become second nature to both of them. Wanton, excited, impatient Kalani relaxed before him. Even then, he was snug, though nothing like the first few times. Inching deeper. Slowly advancing into his grandson’s small body, muted giggles and little backwards shoves luring him on. Inside was hot and alive, squeezing himself into inviting pulses, both man and boy twitching as nerves signaled sensory overload. No rush to finish so they paused, sharing the union. Sphincter and glans locked together until enticing wriggles from side to side forced it through. All too soon, boy-buttocks and grandpa-crotch pressed together, gasping breaths.
‘Cork me,’ Kalani demanded, still giggling about Grampa shoving a cork up his ass.
Grampa pushed into his grandson’s colon with a single hard thrust, stopping when he could go no farther. Stretched him wide. Underneath, Kalani groaned, little fingers grasping the table edge, his entire body twitching around his grandpa’s thick cock. The bright afternoon sun beamed through a gap in the split log walls, cobwebs and glass pickle bottles glinting. Waiting until their hammering hearts slowed down. Outside, the sweltering heat of early August turned clay into dust. Grampa much preferred cool sheets and covert sex in the darkness.
That morning, Grampa paused to catch his breath, but he always paused after he buried his knob inside Kalani. Everything he did was mostly out of habit, but he also relished the power. Proving his manhood. Alpha male dominating his lightly built grandson. When he was fully inside, he had total control. It was always more than sex; but when man and boy mated in passion, he bred him like a bull with a heifer. Doing it while Kalani was asleep was ‘sneaky sex.’ Dead-to-the-world partner, yet brazenly taking what was his for the taking, innocence preserved until Kalani pooped out the gooey mess in his ass.
Fully embedded, he waited a minute the same way he always did. It was no different in the root cellar, except for Kalani’s whimpering. A few whimpers weren’t surprising when his grandfather’s knob was lodged that deep in his bowels. His buttocks were split wide apart by the shaft, little cheeks actually bulging where it went into him. Two months of rehearsals and he still groaned when his grandpa bottomed out, quivering as if he was a stranger to being impaled.
That first minute was always incredible. Most times, Kalani was side-on, looking back at him, and grinning so much there was no doubt he enjoyed receiving-end sex. Eager and horny despite commonsense; something that big turned a boy into a cock-hound.
Even now, in their bed, Grampa couldn’t stop trembling with the sheer thrill of being inside his grandson, although it wasn’t that far. Longing to go deeper, yet somehow managing to maintain control.
“Yer somethin’ else, Kalani,” Grampa whispered.
As good as sodomy was, they were never closer than that sweet interlude in their joining. It was no secret he was in love with his grandson. Kalani came with infectious enthusiasm for life, ready to try anything he suggested, no matter the consequence. It was almost funny how he walked with a cowboy gait after he’d been hammered, like there was still a grown-up cock buried inside him. And he was quieter too, more than just being tired; satisfied deep down. A lifetime of memories squeezed into two months.
Grampa smiled to himself as he paused in cockcrow darkness, enthralled by their intimate union, unquestionably mating’s most precious moment. Joined without saying a word, yet knowing they loved each other. His grandson was as queer as he was. Flesh and blood didn’t stop them. Never a tear since early July. Just heat. Glorious slippery boy-heat, searing his glans. For a not-yet-eleven-year-old boy, Kalani was heaven.
“Making sweet love to my boy,” he whispered into the pillow.
So wonderful—the feeling of being inside his gorgeous grandson—there was no other way to describe it. The resilient sphincter clamped resolutely, readily accepting his manhood, yet able to strangle whenever they wanted. Increasingly urgent desire without even moving, a heart-thumping thrill, needing to go deeper, he traced Kalani’s flat warm belly, tickling slowly, fingers swirling like the creek past the rapids. Headed downstream. No more erection. Just a limp little morsel and two tiny balls. Soft as silk. Still asleep. He could do whatever he wanted. Breed Kalani before he woke up!
He squeezed in just a little bit deeper. So easy now, not like the first few times. Past the muscle far enough that Kalani opened up inside. Still constricted on his shaft where it entered, not tight enough to be more than a twinge if his grandson was wide awake. Sodomy came naturally to both of them.
Barely moving, he smiled to himself. “Fucking my beautiful boy,” he whispered.
Then, cautiously pulling back until rim met rim, ever so slowly squeezing inward again. Feeling Kalani’s pulse. Tiny tremors, like quivering throbs. Delicious pressure where his penis reached maximum thickness. With luck, he had a minute or two to enjoy it before it went away.
His hand cupped Kalani’s sex organs, lightly squeezing immature testes, guiding them back into the boy’s abdomen, two fingers plucking up loose scrotal skin to keep them there. He pinched the tip of Kalani’s limp penis with his first finger and thumb, pressing the spongy knob all the way inside and keeping it there. Like that, his grandson was more girl than boy, though he’d never say so. Relishing the heat where they joined, still not daring to thrust properly. Unless there was still something inside, spit wasn't slippery enough to slide freely. Holding still, waiting for his preseminal fluid to gather before he went all the way.
He pulled back until he had to stop or pop free. Just inside, with the rim of his glans caught behind Kalani’s nibbling sphincter. It was where his cock was widest and Kalani was tightest. There was something special about stretching a boy’s ass a few hours before he started back at school.
“… Corn prices are down one cent a bushel. August Soybeans finished down 1/4 at 1346 1/2, 10 1/4 off the high and 8 1/2 up from the low…. August Soymeal closed down 0.3 at 347.7. Soybean Oil finished unchanged at 56.44. Part of the initial strength in soybean prices came on the heels of gains in Asian prices overnight…”
There was no way Grampa was getting out of bed. He still delayed as long as he could, enjoying the familiar flutter of baby cramps as Kalani adjusted, boy-flesh yielding, opening up inside. Kalani still breathing like the grandfather clock in the hall downstairs. Tick-in. Tock-out. In a practiced ritual, Grampa began to thrust very slowly, tensing within and trying to excrete as much of his juice as possible, gingerly undulating his pelvis back and forth, still penetrating no deeper than necessary to stake his claim.
At 5:30 am exactly, Grampa’s glans reached just past his boy’s sphincter. Two inches was the safe zone, three was past the pleasure zone. Almost half of his manhood. Back to two inches. Timeless rhythm. Always slowly, as gentle as a man could be, staying in the vicinity of Kalani’s special place, if not right on top of it for no other reason than it was fun to make a boy orgasm.
“With corn down, lean hog futures surged into the close, with October contracts closing higher at $92.75 as traders ‘bought the rumor’ that China purchased pork in an effort to control rising prices. Live cattle futures closed mixed. Feeder cattle closed 25 cents lower. Cattle prices received support on spillover from sharply higher hog futures. Outside markets continued to weigh on prices…”
He definitely wasn’t about to get out of bed and turn off the radio, not when he was cornholing Kalani. Opening his ass up by finally withdrawing past the rim with a rude little ‘pop.’ Then, while the little hole still gaped like a surprised mouth, he re-entered. Not in a rush, but not hesitant either. No different to stretching him with two fingers in foreplay. After a dozen times, ‘pops’ became ‘slurps’. Feeling down there. Sweaty butt cheeks. Man and boy joined by his thick fleshy stake.
Penetrating his grandson was stress-free. Maybe too easy if he stopped to think about it, but that was the price a boy paid for having sex with a man. Unable to resist sliding deeper, he did it with a solid, quick thrust. He got it nearly all the way in, right up his grandson’s tight little rectum before he stopped. Mind boggling pressure. Hotter than Hades inside.
Suddenly too close to completion, he stopped, fully embedded, certain he could feel Kalani’s heartbeats among the pressure along his shaft. He inhaled boy-aphrodisiac, flowers, sex-scent, and sweet sweat from the night, until he could no longer stand it. His thighs and buttocks tightened as he sought greater depth, sinking farther into the slick tight tube. He reached between them, fingertips seeking. He felt his shaft at the base, Kalani’s tiny hole stretched wider than seemed anatomically possible. Slippery around the opening, so there had to be some cum left inside. A slow push forward to make sure that they were suitably joined, a few cautious squeezes against an unseen barrier before he began thrusting.
That deep, his thrusts stayed gentle. Making love as he breathed slow and deep. Fragrant Goat’s Beard and ticklish corn silk. One hand cradled Kalani’s boyhood. He had tiny testicles like his brother, not much bigger than jelly beans. He always fondled, holding back his strength, so easily squashed. Used to giggles whenever he rubbed boy-nuts between his coarse fingers. Fingers exploring, hairless, smooth, steamy-hot. Kalani’s penis slowly waking up for the second time that day. Stretching out under his palm. Moving his hips from side to side as he moved in and out of the small rump. No need to worry about hitting that place. Making room to fuck. Getting faster. Squishy sounds from between them, last night’s semen finally oozing out.
“Uhmmmm,” Kalani murmured.
“Just relax and enjoy it,” Grampa whispered, wishing he could see Kalani’s face.
With both hands on Kalani’s hips, he carefully advanced. A final throbbing inch disappearing as he pushed into the colon. A breathy whimper left no doubt that his thick erection had skewered the rectum, and then some. Kalani winced and inhaled, holding his breath for long seconds.
“Yeah… it’s good,” Kalani sighed. Wriggling just enough to demonstrate ecstasy without pushing back.
All of his cock was inside his grandson, deep enough to do serious damage if a boy wasn’t prepared. For longer than ever before, he smothered his grandson’s head and shoulders with devoted kisses before he eased back from that special tightness.
“So good, Grampa…”
“You like it deep, don’t ya?”
Pushing in again as the boy muttered, ‘yeah.’ Knowing he was doing the right thing because Kalani pushed back too. Slowly, relentlessly joining again. All the way in before they stopped. That incredible pressure at the end of the rectum, squashing the glans and enough of his shaft around the intestinal bend that there was no question who was impaled on seven thick inches of cock.
Groaning softly. Flinching but never complaining. Little squeezes to prove it was mutually satisfying.
Thinking Irving Stone’s The Agony and the Ecstasy was never more appropriate, Grampa exchanged further penetration for a slow in-out rhythm, their usual pace when they mated that deep. Discomfort hidden among tender caresses in the soft glow of dawn. Desperately hot under the covers. Bare little boy gasping with each quick shove against his trembling behind. Grampa was getting into his groove, yet still making love. It was much faster than when he’d started, one thrust every four seconds.
“Pull back a bit.”
Both of them aiming for the pleasure zone. An instantaneous twitch. A grunt of surprise as his grandpa’s bulging glans nudged his immature prostate. Man and boy squeezing together to swap pressure for pleasure. A dozen little jerks before a muted whimper interrupted their mutual joy. Kalani needed more.
“Fuck me properly, Grampa.”
A squeak like a mouse, yet lust overwhelmed him in a heartbeat. Gentle love no more. Now, it was all about rutting, grown-up fucking, making his ranch brat gasp and tremble. Finally going all the way in, and as hard as he could, like he’d done in the root cellar. Full-length inside, colon-crushing thrusts, adult pubis bumping boy tailbone every time, seven swollen inches of cock vigorously pumping, fully aware his grandson would never be the same. Grinning, Grampa remembered how the ginger beer bottles clanked each time they walloped the table. Now, the bed squeaked. Hairless huge balls slapping firm little buttocks. Grampa’s loins thumping baby-soft cheeks.
Reaching around the slim naked body before him, lovingly, hungrily stroking Kalani’s taut belly. One hoary hand grasping Kalani’s boyhood to hold him in place as he pulverized juvenile ass. Remarkably, Kalani’s piss-hard pencil dick got even harder. He tweaked the tender shaft, abrading delicate stretched skin, ruthlessly squeezing on the little glans until Kalani gasped.
“I got yer, big boy,” he crooned, his thumb and forefinger now expertly mauling the ruddy bulb.
Delirious gasps mingled with shivery sighs and breathless grunts. Little genitals clamped between Grampa’s powerful fingers. Like peas in a pod. Cupping undersized balls always pleased him. His grandson’s pleasure was his to control. Back to masturbating his beautiful boy, naked with the bed covers shoved down to his knees, now wide awake and sweating, sensitive boner throbbing, shuddering, finally daring to clamp down.
Wide awake, Kalani was never quiet during sex. Distracted or sleepy, he didn’t say much, yet he was still alert enough to part his legs wide. He lifted his upper leg and placed it over his Grampa’s thigh. Offering himself shamelessly. Concentrating on carnal delight, his slight pelvis shuddering and jerking away as Grampa lurched deep into his rectum. Hitting the bend every time. Enough stimulation made him delirious.
“Go harder, Grampa.”
Had it only been 65 days since June 10th?
Chapter 2. June 10th
At 11.35 pm, Charlie Deere waited at Gate 8, Bozeman/Big Sky for flight 703. Delta had a four-hour layover in Minneapolis St. Paul, but it was $129 cheaper than non-stop American. Exhausted Kalani, dragging a battered grey-vinyl carry-on, hanging three yards behind his mother all the way up the ramp. Wide-open yawn. Stone-washed blue denim shorts. Short-sleeved blue, yellow, and white cowboy shirt. Red cowboy hat. Nike knock-offs from China with white ankle-high socks. Montana make-believe boy fresh from a middle-class suburb of Indianapolis.
Charlie Deere waved, fuming at having to wait at the gate check-in counter with an airport security cop a few feet away. Watching them stumble along the corridor. Getting closer.
Kalani raised a hand. Not much of a wave. Another Deere like the tractor, at that moment depressingly like his unadventurous father. Cynthia’s husband, Jeff, had more important things to do than visit Montana, choosing instead to vacation in Myrtle Beach with his burgeoning daughter.
Charlie couldn’t take his eyes off his grandson. Skinny kid. Not short. Not tall like his father. Just right. Denim shorts riding low on his hips. Boy-bulge big enough to be noticed, and Grampa noticed. He thought he was safe because Kalani was yawning, dawdling, but he looked up with a strange sort of smile.
“Storm in Chicago,” his mother was saying, explaining away 33 minutes with three words.
Abandoning his carry-on to shake Grampa’s powerful paw. Hot little hand with almost no grip, more than a hint of… Grampa wasn’t sure what.
“Ain’t a problem, Cynthia.”
Back to bleary-eyed boy, boldly meeting his grandpa’s eyes, as much as saying, ‘I know what you were looking at.’
“Hi Grampa.” Lost for more words, Kalani swapped a self-assured look for an original light-up-the-eyes smile.
That smile got Charlie Deere thinking strange thoughts. Neighbor kids never smiled at him like that. And their voices never sounded so sweet. None of them were downright pretty.
“How are you doing, Dad?”
“I’m fine. How are you?” Automatic response for a father in law trying hard to concentrate.
Not really listening. Looking around as two treble words danced around in his head. No one he knew within sight. Tired of hearing ‘I’m sorry to hear about your wife.’ Especially from Mabel, already courting like some catalog woman and the grave barely settled.
“How’s my favorite cowboy? Good flight?”
Tow-head boy. A few more treble words too garbled for Grampa preceded another yawn. Offering anyone a view down his throat. Hours past his bedtime. Wasted boy. Still cute as a button. Maybe cuter than he was at Christmas. Red elf cap with long blond hair getting tangled up with the fluffy white bobble. Running around in pajamas from Nascar. Barefoot and excited, checking out presents.
“He’s looking more and more like his grandma. Definitely got her eyes.”
‘Delicate features.’ Martha said that about Dyani. Even truer for his youngest grandson.
“And her hair, now that it’s longer,” Cynthia added.
Charlie had already noticed. It was hard not to. Kalani was the only blond left in the family, with more than his share of DNA from the Andersens of St. Cloud, Minnesota.
“His nose could be Martha’s ,” Grampa said, close to smiling, thinking ‘her lips too.’ “He’ll be sleepin’ in tomorrow,” he chuckled. He hefted the carry-on. “What you got in here, Dude? Brought yer own saddle?”
“He’s got clothes for a week, Dad. If he needs anything, buy it and I’ll pay you next Friday.”
“He’ll be doing chores all week. He won’t be needin’ nothing but overalls.”
Sleepy Kalani grin, brushing curly locks from his eyes. He had dimples at the corners of his mouth when he smiled. “I’m supposed to be on vacation, Grampa.”
“No vacationin’ allowed on Broken Butte Ranch,” Grampa teased. Unable to resist running his rough fingers through tousled corn-silk. “I’ve a mind to get him shorn first thing in the mornin’.”
“Feel free! I’m tired of making him brush it.”
Whiny boy. Tired. Blinking red eyes from eight hours of computer games.
“Curly wolf, ain’t he?”
“Dad, my flight to L.A. leaves in twenty. They already started boarding. I’ve got to run. I’ll call tomorrow. Give Mommy a big hug, Kalani. You behave, hear. Think about what we talked about on the plane.”
“Mom, I told you already, okay?”
“You’ll change your mind. I need to talk with Mr. Sterling about your contract anyway. It’ll work out just fine. Don’t you worry about Daddy. He’s just got a lot on his mind at the moment. I know he’ll say yes. Look at the time. Bye Honey. Do whatever Grampa says. I love you.”
“Love you too, Mom. Tell Dy I said hi.” Kalani mutter. Not happy. Abandoned in Big Sky with a grandfather he saw once a year.
They watched her leave through Gate 12, Kalani almost too tired to stand up. Changing feet, blinking eyes, open mouth yawns. He wanted to stay until her plane pulled away. Grampa watched him. Slim and small, and trying hard to be brave. Lovable kid with tears wetting his eyes, as cute and cuddly as a baby.
“So how’s our movie brat doing in L.A.?” Grampa asked. Meaning well, lugging the carry-on, slowing every few yards for Kalani to catch up.
Big brother Dyani was movie brat. ‘Grommet’ was in its second year at the top of the kids’ afternoon TV shows. Co-starring in ‘Pirate Bay’ scheduled for summer release. Working on his third million and living in La La Land at Will Sterling’s mansion.
Kalani shrugged, more of a flinch. “Okay.”
“Girls all over him, I reckon.”
Even cuter than a button when moody boy rolled his eyes. “I guess. He’s doing another movie this summer.”
Grampa nodded. The movie shoot started in June, with a potential role for his brother if daddy agreed. Kalani looking over his shoulder. Pouty lips, full like his grandmother, visibly pissed at the world. Asking himself why he agreed to take him for a week. No secret there were problems in the Deere household. Not a word from Kalani all the way through the airport parking lot. He’d parked in aisle 12, he was sure. Kalani grumbling until he found the Ford in Aisle 14. Dumped the carry-on in the rear, along with hay, tangled barbed wire and twenty splintered fence posts.
“We had a lightning storm a week ago. A bad one. Dumb-ass cows busted out” he explained. “Half up the friggin’ mountain before I found ‘em.”
He opened the passenger door for Kalani. The handle jammed if you didn’t push in the latch just right. Tossed yesterday’s newspaper with a half-finished crossword behind the seat, brushing potato crisp crumbs off the cracked vinyl seat.
“In you get, Cute Butt.”
He hadn’t intended to say it. It just came out. Kalani climbed up sullenly, acting like he hadn’t heard a word since he got off the airplane. Missing his mother already. In blue denim shorts, cute butt was right on the money.
Grampa cranked the Ford. Snake rattle from the exhaust pipe underneath. Waited for the idle to settle down to a rumble. Pointed at the car clock in luminescent blue. Midnight plus a minute.
“Look at that! It’s officially tomorrow.”
Chapter 3. June 11th
Grampa snored for the heck of it. Both eyes closed to slits. Slowing his thoughts to a crawl for as long as it took the motor to warm.
“Wake up, Grampa,” Kalani said, giving him an unexpected shake in addition.
“Huh? We there already, Cute Butt?”
Kalani giggled. Grampa wasn’t nearly as funny when he visited at Christmas.
“Why you calling me that?”
“Fer one thing, as soon as I seen ya, I thought that boy’s got such a cute butt be a shame to sit on it.”
“It’s a butt, Grampa!”
“A girl would die for a tush like yours… nice ‘n round…”
“I’m not a girl, Grampa.”
Long curly blond hair, delicate features, beautiful clear blue eyes. His grandson could pass for a girl if he wanted.
“I reckon yer right about that.”
Then, he nodded, looking down, wondering just what his grandson had tucked out of sight. His staring was as obvious as the bump, but he was too tired to care. After a moment, Kalani had another one of those strange smiles.
“Yer fer sure ain’t no girl down there,” he added as if it was never in doubt.
“It’s not *that* big,” Kalani peeped, yet following Grampa’s gaze down to where he was looking.
“Bet it’s big enough to be proud of?” Grampa grinned, still looking, still trying to decide what it was about Kalani...
Bashful arrived with a quick quirky grin, oozing boy-charm that made Grampa like him even more than before.
“Yer 100 percent boy, by the look of ya.”
Definitely a smirk this time.
“And dang if it ain’t gettin’ bigger too,” Grampa muttered, feeling risqué.
“Grampa!” Kalani scowled.
“Happens to all of us, cowboy. Nature’s way ain’t nothing to be ashamed about.”
Try as he could, Grampa couldn’t take his eyes off Kalani. A Nordic version of his movie star brother. “Seatbelt on tight, Cute Butt?” He gunned the motor.
“Enough with the cute butt.”
“It’s yer Injun name. Cute Butt’s better than Farting Squirrel, ain’t it?”
Kalani grinned from ear to ear, shaking his head as Grampa maneuvered the pickup in reverse . Shifted into high gear, lugging the big Cummins diesel as he searched for his wallet, heading for the parking lot exit.
“I could call ya Surly Fox, I s’pose?” Side on glances at pretty boy, still grinning and shaking. “Okay; how about Randy Rabbit? Pooping Bear?”
So many sideways glances he had to swerve to miss a blond stewardess dragging her overnight bag across the pedestrian walkway.
“This is going to be a really long vacation, Grampa!”
“Yer not on vacation! I got a long list of chores fer ya. First job is to make sure I stay awake ‘til we get off the freeway.”
Kalani felt a warm glow inside. “Dad says it isn’t safe to be out at night where we live.”
When he didn’t elaborate, Grampa just nodded. Only a mile from Kalani’s middleclass home, there was trash in the streets, teenage blacks loitering at the Seven-Eleven, hostile hoodies and ridiculous pants. It was a plaque spreading out from the city. Too close for comfort. Social justice was to blame, politicians stealing from anyone with job and throwing the money into a cesspit.
“True here too,” he allowed.
“Bears and stuff, huh?”
“All kind of danger. If I’m with a scrap of a boy, there ain’t no sayin’ what I’ll do when it’s dark, assumin’ I don’t fall asleep.” He winked. Rubbed his chin sheepishly. Not sure why he said it. It didn’t even make any sense.
“I’ll keep you awake, Grampa.”
Eyes nearly closed, but Kalani kept watch. Every time Grampa glanced at the passenger–side mirror, Kalani nodded back approvingly. Keeping the speed under sixty because Bozeman cops filled their quotas on I-90, even in the early hours of the morning. Flickering eyelids across the seat. Trying hard not to sleep. Losing the battle. Grinning at the drowsy boy. Getting a shy smile back. Dimples like Martha when she was still in her teens.
“How’s school, Cute Butt?”
“You in sixth grade in fall, right?”
Grampa nodded. “Seem to remember your daddy saying preteens were in sixth.”
“You’ve got to be eleven to be a preteen.”
“Yer not eleven yet?”
“I’m ten.” Kalani added his infectious light-up-the-room grin.
“Well, yer smarter than a fifth grader.”
“I’m in advanced reading. We just finished The Turn of the Screw.”
“Jesus! Yer readin’ Henry James? When yer dad was your age, he was readin’ the Hardy Boys.”
“I have to read The Red Pony while I’m away.”
“Steinbeck, right?” Grampa yawned like a black bear emerging in spring. “You sure yer not yet eleven?”
“Bet you don’t even remember my birthday!” Kalani said, mostly to test.
Senior moment for Charlie Deere. Absolutely certain Dyani was 14, born May 27, because he’d seen a two-page spread of photos of Hollywood birthday parties in a People magazine at his last dentist visit a week earlier. In one of them, Dyani had a cake bigger than he was. Eleni, she was a July 4th baby, easy to remember. Not quite a year younger than her movie star brother. Kalani was the baby. Born…
“You still playing select soccer?”
“Dad’s been too busy.”
Jeff Deere went back to school at age 40. A University of Colorado teaching degree was enough for tenure, not for promotion to middle school principal. His master in education fell short when school boards expected doctorates. Five or six years of mind-numbing study to make an extra forty thousand dollars a year. He was getting his Ph.D. because of Dyani, only no one said it.
“What about yer mom?”
“She’s always driving Eleni to dance classes.”
“She’s really into ballet.” Grampa had seen her perform at Christmas, a mouse in Nutcracker.
“She’s doing Clara this year.”
“Yer mom said. What about you?”
Kalani shrugged. Chose his words carefully. “I’m still taking classes, but Dad doesn’t want me following Dy to L.A.”
Naturally talented like his older brother. Movie-star cute, though not dark-haired and sultry like Dyani; corn-silk blond and blue-eyes, and a flute-pitch voice to go along with it. The picture of innocence. Like Martha.
Grampa stretched. “We got a two-hour drive to look forward to, assumin’ the truck don’t break down,” he drawled. Cowboy fun to lighten the mood.
Kalani gave up trying to stay awake and snoozed, even with radio booming at the top of the dial. After a while, Grampa turned it down low, listening to Bob Telford.
“That’s right. Get yer beauty rest, Cute Butt,” Grampa said, stealing sideways glances.
“This ‘ere is fer y’all truckers running the Bozeman Pass on I-90. Keep it at sixty-nine guys ‘cause the bear’s out tonight. The next quarter hour’s from Shoot Low Sherriff, Dallas Texas. That’s western swing like yer grandparents listened to in the dancehalls back in the 30s and 40s. If you grew up in the Southwest, you’ll hear Bob Wills and Spade Cooley, horns and all. First out the Big Sky gate is Rosebud, for the boys at the Lazy J…. KCOW, one-oh-six-five, Cowboy Radio…”
Chapter 4. June 11th, early morning
Grampa carried Kalani inside, the carry-on with a week’s clothes still in the rear of the pickup. Passing the grandfather clock in the hall. Still working perfectly as if to spite being hauled by wagon from St; Louis, Missouri. Thomas Paul of Glasgow made it in 1837. Flame mahogany, standing 7 feet 4 inches high. He hoisted his grandson higher for the climb up the stairs. Skinny boy-thighs insecurely clamped around Grampa’s middle. Cute Butt’s curly head draped on his shoulder, puffing warm air on his neck. One arm around his grandson’s small back. One hand on cute butt. Little feet dangling down, bumping Grampa thighs.
He went up slowly, hoping squeaky ponderosa pine treads wouldn’t waken Kalani. Holding onto the stair rail, just in case. Broken Butte Mountain painted in mist by Thomas Moran. Grainy brown-tinted photos of Broken Butte Ranch circa 1880, cows and wiry cowboys with real dirt, dusty leather, and busted spurs. Navajo woven-wool rugs to keep the chill from getting through river stone. Eagle-feather-plumed headdress. Blackfeet arrows in a bearskin quiver. Remington rifle, 1874 Rolling Block. It brought down buffalo with 45-70 ammo. A peace pipe from when the Plains Indians met at Ash Creek, Montana. At the top of the stairs, another sepia photo of Sitting Bull smoking it. Dated and initialed JPK, May, 1876. Two weeks before Little Bighorn. The pipe and the photo were worth a small fortune.
Grampa carried Kalani through the second door on the right, his son’s old bedroom before it became Martha’s sewing room. Postcard view of the mountains. Placed him on Jeff’s old double bed. New mattress, new sheets, and a hand-sewn quilt from the art center in Bozeman. It looked traditional, all triangles, but the saleswoman went on and on about Penrose series. Not much of Jeff left. A few treasured clothes in the chest of drawers, three spelling-bee trophies, and a plaque for Montana grand finalist in ’83, George Washington teddy bear, a couple of favorite books, everything else discarded long ago . What was left were Gramma’s weaving things, two hand-polished looms, dozens of wood spindles and bobbins, things that antique dealers purchased cheaply at flea markets and sold at outrageous prices in Denver.
Stretching, Grampa straightened a crick. Looked down at the not-yet-eleven cowboy. Under light, his grandson was so good looking he missed a breath.
“Best git your shoes off, pretty boy, so you don’t dirty the sheets,” he muttered.
Untying laces. Removing Nike knock-offs, with laces already frayed, from Walmart on special because his father wasn’t about to spend any of the money from Dyani’s success in Hollywood. Coach-class kid, with his older brother traveling first class, always in the limelight.
Smelling stale boy-feet after being cooped up in sneakers for over 12 hours. Ankle socks too. Feeling funny staring down at perfection, tiny toes on little pink feet, toenails clipped, ankle bones and knobby knees like a yearling colt. Lean legs with skinny boy-muscles and cord-like tendons.
“Be more comfy without yer pants, I expect,” he said softly, stepping close to the bed.
His heart beat faster as he sat on the side, leaning over, fumbling with Kalani’s cowboy belt buckle. No Big Sky boy wore a belt like that with shorts. He inched down the zipper, slowing over Kalani’s boy-bulge.
“Reckon yer a mite bigger than Dyani,” he thought aloud.
Suddenly, he needed a breath. Downstairs, the grandfather clock chimed twice. He slid his left hand under Kalani’s lean back.
“Lift up, Cute Butt.”
Fence posts were heavier. With his other hand, he tugged down shorts and practical-white Fruit-of-the-loom briefs with a tiny pale pee stain in front. Stripped the boy from his waist to his feet. Gazing mutely, telling himself it was grandfatherly interest in the youngest Deere male. Sexy-slim, with a two-finger-wide gap from his knees to his groin. If he stayed to the end of the summer, he’d have lean-muscle thighs.
Exactly when he removed Kalani’s tartan cowboy shirt, he never could remember.
“So soft, Martha…”
He jerked awake. A minute? An hour? His dream of marital bliss fled with remembering his hand cupping Kalani’s crotch, lariat-roughened fingers pressing into delicate scrotal skin, a stiff little pecker captured under his palm. When had that happened? Hot like her pussy. Softer. Kalani’s cut penis was too hard to be not-yet-eleven.
Unable to sleep, Charlie Deere masturbated for the first time in nearly a year. Breathing hard at the end, groaning, then stopping abruptly before quaking it out. The sin of Onan for a Pentecostal, killed by the Lord for spilling his seed on the ground.
‘What he did was wicked in the LORD's sight; so he put him to death also.’ Genesis 38
Harsh ending with that verse in his mind. Desire out the door in an instant. Cock throbbing, cheating himself of ecstasy, unable to stop thinking of skin so soft it seemed like he was touching a newborn. Churning boyhood memories best forgotten. Martha asleep in the room next to his, except she wasn’t. Trying hard to remember her. Cute Butt was ranch-brat funny once he decided to speak. She died before he was ready. His infectious giggle. Tiny balls like Dyani, but not the rest of him. Pencil-dick boy. He had her eyes, or maybe bigger. Beautiful shiny pecker. Morning yawning. Out of nowhere, thinking his youngest grandson was wasted on the opposite gender.
Knowing Kalani was asleep in the bedroom across the hall, nude under the sheet, got Grampa’s face red hot. It was burning up like his hand during the night, just from touching boy parts. He wasn’t even sure when he’d left. How long had he fondled? Ball pouch like a walnut, crinkled up under the stiff little pecker. Only it wasn’t so little. Skinny boy made it look bigger. Oozing sex no matter what he did. Everything mixed up, like a badly spliced movie. Faded images from the barn, lying naked and hot in hay. Never did it in the barn with Martha. Sucking teenager-cock as far back as he could remember, finally being fucked by his best friend four months before he turned eleven. He was an ornery sixteen-year-old the last time he got cornholed.
Kalani’s face kept him from snoozing. Beautiful, blond hair, blue eyes like an angel. Exactly like Martha. Grampa almost got out of bed. The only thing stopping him was her voice in his head, and telling himself it was the room where she died. Jeff’s old room, where she sewed after he headed off to the University of Colorado. She was always happy in that room, surrounded by old looms and sewing machines. One of only a few fanatics in that part of the country, most with arthritis. Finally asleep by the third chime downstairs.
Dreaming of Martha, when they were young and rebuilding the ranch into the lucrative enterprise it had been in the ‘20s. Kalani helping out, not Jeff. Never Jeff. He did his chores, and that was all. Too interested in reading. Kalani was different. He could tell just by looking at him, he was born for ranching. Too scrawny to ever be great at sports, yet not so little there was nothing for a man to hold onto.
“… Here’s the KCOW six-am forecast for Bozeman and surrounding area. Sunny this morning, then turning partly cloudy with scattered showers and thunderstorms in the early afternoon. Then, mostly cloudy with a chance of showers and thunderstorms in the late afternoon. Some thunderstorms may produce gusty winds in the afternoon…”
Balls like a lamb. He had to pinch skin to find Kalani’s. Just once to make sure both were there. Kalani wouldn’t be breeding any time soon. Yearling calf balls were way bigger. ‘Nearly as big as yours, Charlie,’ Martha joked once, watching him slice with his old-fashioned knife. She drew the line at cooking prairie-oysters, not like some ranchers’ wives.
He rubbed his thumb and first finger together, recalling pouch skin so delicate he could barely feel it, snug boy-eggs scooting out of the way. Testicles so tiny that Kalani still had a couple of years before they dropped down, another year after that before he made seed.
Grampa slept through Bill Hicks’ early morning talk show, finally stirring at the end of the 8:00 am news. Bright morning sunshine lit up his bedroom, making him blink like a barn owl. He hadn’t slept in that late for nearly a year. Remembering Kalani was next across the hall brought a smile to his face. Close up, he was nothing at all like his parents. Not much resemblance to his older brother either. Differences were as interesting as similarities. More like his sister, except for the hair and eyes.
Chores waited. Hearing voices, he went to the window, called out to Tony Graybear, part-time ranch hand.
“Be down shortly, Big Hat.”
Tony’s big hat was a grey-brown felt Carlsbad with a six-inch domed crown and a six-inch rim, no dents, no folds, with a scarlet red band. He started wearing it in high school, he said for his image. There was a rumor, unsubstantiated, that Tony, high school senior, stuck his over-sized cock-head into middle-school ass.
Tony grinned. “Your fence’ll be waiting a day, Charlie. Grandpop reckons it’ll be pouring after lunch.”
As the story went, he fucked a horny ranch boy into a stupor on his graduation night. Not bad for a lanky Blackfoot brave. He was lucky he had a kick that took him to Montana U. Now, he was a forestry major, home for the summer.
“Sorry. I slept in. We got back ‘round two,” Charlie explained, more than a little bleary eyed.
“Rabbit’s in the barn. He’ll be out as he gets off his girlfriend,” Tony said, winking like a speck got in his eye.
Rabbit was Tony’s twelve-year-old brother, aka Calvin. Rabbit from the first day he walked. He fell down and jumped right back up. Sturdy legs on the toddler became the fastest runner at Black River Elementary, destined for high school football fame like his much older brother.
Charlie smiled. One hundred percent certain Calvin Graybear was in the loft with his jeans at his knees, beating off thick, dark, Indian meat; still too shy to even talk to the opposite sex, let alone have a girlfriend.
“That boy needs three hands,” he joked.
Standing joke about pubescent ranch brats. No different for Indian kids. Always masturbating. Circle jerks and cornholing required other boys.
“I reckon he’s got his hands full,” Tony chuckled.
Charlie stepped back from the window. Except for shoes he was still dressed in town-clothes. Shedding his blue denim shirt, he found himself thinking of Rabbit down at the creek splashing in mountain-chilled water. It wasn’t that long ago. Late spring, early-for-summer skinny dipping, skinny brown kid with a fat brown dick. No shame to speak of. Letting Charlie see all of him. Still no hair down there, maybe a little fur on his balls. Cavorting around. Doing hand stands in the sand. Charlie looked. Chewed his lip. Calvin had hair past his shoulders. Blackfoot boy with straight, black, thick hair and an extra-wide nose. He was a good looking kid, but he had nothing to interest Charlie Deere. What he wanted was someone like Martha.
He peeked into the adjoining bedroom before he went downstairs. Kalani was face down, lightly tanned arms hugging his pillow, his little bare butt up in the air, plump yet pinched in the sides. The sheet covered his thighs. No wonder women wanted butts like boys. Blond locks nearly the same color as Martha’s long tresses before they were married. He picked up size ten cowboy summer clothes and carried them downstairs, put them in the washing machine in the laundry on his way out the door.
“Where’s the city boy?” Tony asked, flipping through the dog-eared manual to Charlie’s front loader.
“We won’t see him ‘til noon,” Charlie answered. “I figure we’ll muck out the stalls before we change that hydraulic valve we talked about.” He headed towards the barn, Tony in tow. “Hey Rabbit!” he called out a few yards from the door.
Seconds later. “Yeah, Mr. Deere?”
“Close your zipper. We’re coming in,” Tony shouted. Grinning, because everyone knew about twelve-year-old boys.
Graybears lived up the road, too far to walk unless one was in the mood for an afternoon stroll, or wanted a scenic hike along the valley adjoining the Lewis and Clark National Forest. Their grandfather, Joey Graybear countrified his Bureau of Land Management trailer home using throwaway lumber from C&C Mill. It looked like a rustic log cabin except for its flat tar-paper roof. A corral out back and six busted pickups in front, a sight-seeing landmark because of what his son did in Iraq. Luckily, it was mostly hidden by a grove of struggling aspen.
“So this grandkid; he into acting too?” Tony asked while they waited for Calvin to come down from the loft.
“Kalani? Yeah, I guess. I’m not really sure. He kinda dodged that bullet when I asked. Said his dad doesn’t want him in Hollywood.”
“He as cute as his brother?”
Charlie shrugged. Not about to say ‘cuter.’ “Different as cow and goat cheese those boys are.” Then curious. “You seen Dyani’s TV show lately?”
“Yeah, a couple of times. Dyani looks like he’s still ten. It’s creepy.”
Not much different physically to when he came to visit three years earlier. A couple of inches taller, arms and legs a tad thicker, that’s all. Small-boned like his younger siblings, all of them taking after their dancer-mother. A lot more confident than anyone would expect, the center of attention with full color spreads in Teen magazine. And he glowed. Radiated. Charlie wasn’t sure why, but he could tell Dyani was happy.
Calvin scrambled down the ladder, just a little embarrassed, making sure his zipper was closed before he turned around.
“I was looking for Mrs. Fields,” he said, brushing straw from his clothes.
“Cain’t find her, eh? I reckon pussy’s still in the house,” Charlie joshed.
Calvin grinned back, still boned with a bulge any twelve year old would be proud of.
“That your dick or a towel stuffed in there?” Tony said, just loud enough for Charlie to chuckle.
“Eff you,” came the whispered reply. Ambling over to Charlie. Taking his time by picking off straw. “I watch Grommet every time it’s on, Mr. Deere,” he said, smugly rasping in alto.
All of a sudden, for no reason at all except for Cal’s oversized bulge, Charlie found himself wondering whether Tony cornholed his brother. It wasn’t unusual for ranch brats to have sex with their siblings. It was true for Indian kids too. Ten years between them made a difference, but was it enough? Probably not when a day didn’t go by without seeing animals rut. Plenty of opportunity with the nearest neighbors a mile away. Still, a 22–year-old running-back college student and his hundred-pound -lighter twelve-year-old brother; that would be worth seeing.
“…Dyani’s cool. I like seeing him on his surfboard,” Calvin rambled on.
Charlie regarded him fondly, thinking the very same thing. Incredible balance. Agility out the wazoo. Daredevil boy riding waves as high as a barn door. There were always the same snapshots at the start of the show, credits like postcards, coming faster and faster, turning high-def video. The best part was Dyani hanging five, framed by a huge breaking wave.
“You ever noticed how young he looks?” Charlie asked.
Martha said her grandson looked ‘delicate’. It was true, but it sounded so gay.
“My teacher says some kids start growin’ later,” Calvin said.
“You miss him, Charlie?”
“Not like I miss Martha, Big Hat, but yeah, I miss him.”
There was something reassuring about having a boy on the ranch. Having Dyani stay for a week was like having Jeff back again. Not that he saw much of Dyani. Every day, Calvin rode his pony over to play. Just play, as far as he knew. Probably nothing more erotic than two boys pissing together. He’d seen them behind the barn. Not even looking at each other because Dyani turned away so Cal couldn’t see him. Strange for the older boy to be the shy one, although after seeing him undressed, it was obvious why.
Taking a deep breath, he put words to emotions. “You oughta come visit more often, Rabbit... Ya know I’ll pay you to help with the chores.”
“He’s too busy,” Tony teased, jerking his hand.
“Like you don’t,” Calvin barked, glaring through savage dark eyes.
Tony shrugged, still jerking his hand, as much as saying ‘go play with yourself.’
“Nothing wrong with choking the chicken if it keeps him out of trouble,” Charlie remarked, mostly to defuse.
Tony smirked, unable to stop himself. “More fun than doing the Staines’ ewes too.”
Charlie laughed. “I’ll pretend I never heard that, but if some of the lambs look like Rabbit, I reckon Rob Staines will come lookin’ for child support.”
For a Blackfoot Indian, Calvin went remarkably red. “Cut it out, guys. What’s his name anyway, yer grandson?” he asked Charlie.
“That some sorta Indian name like Dyani?”
Dyani was ‘deer’. Every kid who watched Grommet knew that. It was kind of a joke, Deer Deere, and apropos too, because Dyani had doe eyes, big and brown like a white-tail. Girls fell in love with his eyes.
Charlie had to think for a moment. “Hawaiian. If’n I remember right. It means ‘Heaven.’ Something like that.”
Jeff spent a year teaching in Maui after he finished college.
“Where is he? Kalani?” Calvin asked, trying the name.
“Snoozin,’ I ‘xpect, Bunny, or he’s busy with other stuff.” Charlie said with a smirk, wondering if his grandson was old enough to masturbate. “Plenty of time for you to finish whatever you were doing in the loft.”
Calvin grinned back. Impossible not to like the white-haired old rancher. The way he said ‘doing in the loft’ and ‘busy with other stuff.’ He knew what it meant to be a boy, horny 24-7.
“That deal we talked about, I’ll pay you at the end of next week,” Charlie went on, still thinking about the ‘delicate’ boy at the airport, ready to cry when his mom left, the long drive home, carrying him up the stairs. “Twenty bucks a day if he stays out of jail.”
“Told you I ain’t babysitting, Mr. Deere. That’s for girls,” Cal complained.
“I’m not expectin’ you to babysit ‘im. Just treat him like he’s yer buddy will be dandy.”
Charlie leaned back against his work bench, folded his arms. Calvin was a handsome boy in a wild sort of way. Nothing ‘delicate’ about him. Black shiny hair, ochre skin. Serious dark eyes. High cheek bones. Strong jaw. ‘Cute fer an injun,’ Martha would say whenever she saw him, being funny. She was right. Calvin looked like a young Johnny Hawk, rodeo bull rider. Damn sexy, especially for a kid barely starting to grow.
He scratched his ear. “Ready to settle up on our school bet?” he asked. He hadn’t seen Calvin since school let out for the summer.
“Yes sir, Mr. Deere. I got a A, four Bs and a C for the year. There ain’t no grade for Health ‘til next year.”
“So that’d be ninety bucks, right?”
Charlie waited. Surprised that Calvin hadn’t figured what he was owed already. The boy smiled slowly.
“If you say so, Mr. Deere.”
Charlie chuckled. “What do you say it is, Rabbit?”
Calvin glanced at his brother. If he was hoping for moral support, he didn’t get it. “With the A it’s one forty, Sir.”
“Plus a hundred fer ‘sittin’ Kalani all week. Sorry, not sittin’; bein’ his bud.”
“Two hundred and forty bucks,” Calvin said, 12-year-old pride taking over
“Lot of money for a Blackfoot. You’ll probably just lose it.”
“More like he’ll buy his own sheep. Baaa Baaa Bah!” Tony laughed, ending with a surprised look and a jerk of his hips.
“Okay guys. How ‘bout I take care of it fer ya, Calvin?’
Calvin heaved a shrug. “Whatever.”
Charlie laughed. “You plannin’ on spendin’ it on girls, huh?”
“I’m thinking of buying an iPhone.”
“They’re charging two-sixty for the football fee, ain’t they?” Charlie asked.
“Yes sir, but there ain’t no way. My grampa ain’t got it after fixing the barn.”
Charlie nodded. “How about I invest your money in Broken Butte Bank. With interest, you’ll have more than enough come September?”
Calvin grinned and nodded. “I need pads too, Mr. Deere.”
“Pads and shoes are included. Yer own helmet too. Don’t want ya gettin’ more brain damaged than ya already are. Anything else, Rabbit?”
“Um… If I had a iPhone, that would be cool.” He jumped back before Charlie could swat him.
“The stables are waiting,” Tony said, handing his brother a shovel.
Calvin handed it back with a smirk. “Shoveling horseshit is your job. Mine’s babysitting!”
“Teaching him to wack off, more like.”
Charlie chuckled, sucking up their brotherly banter like a vacuum. It made him feel younger.
“That’d be worth an extra twenty bucks. So there’s yer two-sixty fer football, Rabbit.”
“Thanks, Mr. Deere.”
“I reckon its better he learns from an expert than figure it out for himself.”
Tony was still laughing at his red-faced brother as Charlie climbed into the front loader cabin, pulled on cowhide gloves, and cranked the old diesel motor until it spluttered to life. By the time the pall of smoke cleared from the barn, Tony and Calvin were shoveling clumps of manure from the first stall. Charlie scooped up most of it and reversed out of the barn. Calvin followed, shovel ready to scoop up what dropped.
“Why you putting it in the corral, Mr. Deere?”
“Yer grandpop wants it fer his garden,” Charlie called out, wondering whether it’d make more sense to leave it inside the barn with rain expected.
“Um, Mr. Deere, what you said… about the twenty… You were kidding right?”
Charlie winked lewdly. “He’ll figure out what his wiener’s for sooner or later.”
Calvin frowned, thinking he hadn’t heard right. Trying hard to decide if Charlie was joking. Confused by that knowing wink as much as by his ears burning and feeling strange.
“Probably later,” Charlie went on. ”He’s a tad on the quiet side. Maybe spendin’ some time in the hayloft with you will man him up.”
He hadn’t meant to say the last part, but it slipped out anyway. The last thing Charlie expected was to see a growing bulge in Calvin’s jeans. He smiled. Still not in his teens and he had five solid inches of Indian python. After a moment, Calvin shook his head and went back to the stalls, shovel on his shoulder.
The manure pile was knee high when Kalani swaggered up to the corral, feeling Alan Jackson cool, cowboy junior minus a Stetson hat. He climbed the rails and perched on the top.
Grampa turned off the motor and clambered down from the front loader.
“Look who finally got his butt out of bed,” he teased.
“Your cat woke me up.”
“That’d be Mrs. Fields. She lie on yer tummy?”
“Uh huh. She needs to go on a diet,” Kalani grinned, blond hair hiding his eyes.
Grampa surveyed his youngest grandson as he peeled off his gloves. Ranch-brat garb, faded jeans and a dark blue-cotton shirt with copper press-studs for buttons.
“I couldn’t find my clothes from yesterday, Grampa.”
”I took ‘em downstairs to wash.”
“I found these in the chest of drawers.”
Grampa felt strange the closer he came. His grandson had hair like spun gold.
Kalani climbed down to meet him, brushing silk curls, bright eyes meeting his grandpa’s admiring gaze.
“I look like a ranch kid, now huh Grampa?”
“You’ll do. It’s a good thing Gramma kept some of yer dad’s old stuff to remember. Like them there Wranglers. He was scared stiff when he wore ‘em to his first school dance.”
Both looked down. Slim-fit jeans and slender boy legs made a near perfect match. Tattered at the ankles. Worn to threads in the knees. Loose in the thighs.
“What about this shirt?”
“Hm… I seem to remember yer dad wearin’ that to the spellin’ bee. He weren’t much older ‘n you when he won the grand final.”
“Yeah, he keeps telling me how hard it was. He makes me spell ‘fiduciary’ like I care.”
“Ya got a smart mouth fer a runt,” Grampa joked.
Kalani’s bottom lip pushed out. Skinny little boy still looking tired.
“Who’s this?” Tony Graybear said from behind him.
Kalani turned around. Both Tony and Calvin were stripped to the waist, polished-bronze muscled torsos, Walmart blue jeans clinging to lanky perspiring bodies. Sexy males even in Goodwill boots. Blackfeet warriors for the 21st century.
“This here’s Kalani.” Grampa cuffed his grandson playfully. “The big one’s Tony. And the other’s Calvin.”
“Hi!” Kalani said with a gulp.
“Hair white like Custer!” Tony growled, narrowing his eyes menacingly even as he gave the boy a good looking over. Built like a thoroughbred foal, on his way to a yearling.
“We scalp him, Big Hat?” Calvin asked, trying hard not to laugh as Kalani stepped back.
Grampa shook his head. “Injuns ain’t scalped anyone round these parts fer years.”
“Hair like squaw. He take care of Graybear wigwam.”
Kalani edged closer to his grandpa. Not pleased that his grandfather would think it was funny.
“Their Grampa Joe’s a friend going back to when I was your age. They live down there a ways,” Grampa explained, gesturing somewhere beyond the trees.
“Is it okay if I take him riding, Mr. Deere?” Calvin asked, second thoughts about babysitting left in the stable.
Kalani didn’t hear. He couldn’t stop staring, uncertain where to look, 22-year-old or 12-year-old. He focused on Tony mostly. Captivated by broad shoulders and a narrow waist, and thighs like a football player, wondering why there was no hair on his chest.
“Lose the shirt if you wanna look like a ranch boy,” Tony advised. Flexing upper arm muscles shiny with sweat.
“W-what a-a-bout s-sunburn?” Kalani mumbled, stuttering for the first time in his life.
“Cover yourself with bear grease,” Tony said.
Tony grinned. “SPF 40 works better for white boys anyway. There’s some in the barn. Your choice, but this ain’t no dude ranch.”
Kalani grinned back at him, fumbling as he unfastened metal buttons. He had the front open before he glanced at his grandfather. Grampa nodded encouragingly. Reached out to take the shirt as Kalani slipped it off. He nodded approvingly. His grandson was graceful with the promise of mountain-lion power. Taut narrow waist so his jeans drooped past his hips. Skinny enough to have a finger-width gap in front, and another in back. Almost enough room to slip his hand underneath. Like Martha in jeans when he met her in college—she was trim back then. He could get to her pussy without undoing her zipper.
“Someone needs a tan,” he muttered, openly admiring the little bare torso before him.
Pale-skin like a Swede in winter, not pink but almond, so he’d tan fast enough. Other than that, Gramma and grandson were nothing alike, yet he was still lost for words. For the first two years he was the same way looking at her.
Delicate unblemished boy-skin, not a single imperfection, not even a freckle. Prominent belly button that invited closer inspection. No tits like a fat kid, just tiny dot nipples. Nicely built boy. Flat belly with well-defined grooves, the birth of a six-pack, intimating at what he’d look like at 15. Not nearly as solid as Calvin. Football wasn’t for Kalani. Maybe running. Too short for basketball. Swimming was a possibility, but the nearest training pool was in Bozeman.
“You ever bin on a horse?” he asked.
“At a party like two years ago.”
Grampa chuckled. “I’m not talking play ponies, a real horse?”
Before Kalani could say ‘giddy up’, Grampa started into the barn.
“Come on, Cute Butt! We don’t have all friggin’ day.”
Kalani shrugged at Tony and Calvin, and followed him in.
“Rabbit, you ride my mare. I’m puttin’ him on Teacup.” Grampa opened a stall gate and pushed Kalani through. “Say hello to yer gramma’s favorite while I fetch a saddle.”
Bewildered, Kalani stood in front of 1000 pounds of chestnut colt, snorting, twitching. Its back was taller than he was, standing on tiptoes. Teacup sniffed him, wet horse nose nudging his shoulder and chest until he had to step aside. With not-yet-eleven trepidation, Kalani cautiously extended his hand and stroked Teacup on his bristly snout.
“G-g-good boy.” Barely a whisper. Feeling hot horse breath on his bare belly. It sent a thrill through him. Right into his core. His other hand crept down to his groin.
“Ears,” Grampa said from behind him. “Always scratch his ears and ‘e’ll thank ya. Horses cain’t do it themselves. Noses they rub on the rails.”
Kalani shrewdly relocated his hand as he reached way up, standing on the tips of his toes. Rubbing brown pointy ears. Horse smells, leather, manure, hay, sour piss, all of it sinking into him. Swapping the Indianapolis suburb boy for a Montana ranch brat. Watching intently as Grampa placed a red blanket stitched with blue stripes and white stars. A dusty brown saddle with straps and buckles and leather-wrapped stirrups. Somehow, he knew he’d have to do it the next time.
“Teacup ain’t much fer a bridle,” Grampa explained, fitting leather straps and a padded noseband. “This here’s a hackamore. Takes a while to git used to. Mostly, use yer legs with him. Well, climb on up, Cute Butt. I ain’t got all day.”
Kalani used the side of the stall, climbing up three rails to get high enough to put a foot in a stirrup. Grampa grinned and helped him switch feet, boosted him onto Teacup’s back, leading boy and horse back through the barn.
“Not bad, Cute Butt. Yer startin’ to look like a real ranch brat,” Grampa teased, already smiling more than he had in a year.
Kalani nodded happily, grinning at Calvin, sitting comfortably on a sleek grey and white appaloosa, one leg crooked on the saddle horn like a cowboy. Grampa disappeared back into the barn. Kalani not at all certain what he was supposed to be doing. Teacup still twitching, shoulders moving underneath him. Petrified tremors in his gut, inhaling horse smells and old leather, and praying to God he didn’t fall off
“Be real careful up there,” Tony teased, leaning against the corral fence watching the city boy hold on to the pommel.
“Does he bite?”
“Only wimpy boys.” Tony laughed.
“I’m not scared,” Kalani squeaked back.
“Yer skinny as a pitchfork, but that don’ mean crap. We’ll find out soon ‘nough if yer a wimp.”
“He means hold on tight. Teacup’s a gelding, but he’s still lightning fast,” Calvin said, dropping his foot into the stirrup, nudging the big mare with his heels.
“What’s a gelding?”
“He ain’t had balls since he was a foal. I saw ‘em cut off, a couple of years back.”
“Calms ‘em down.” Grampa handed up a thin braided leather cord as long as a shoelace. “Keep yer curls out of yer eyes, Cute Butt. Slow and easy, Rabbit, ‘least fer today. Follow the creek to Beck’s Road.”
“We cain’t let ‘em run, Mr. Deere?
“In the bottom pasture, but that’s all. Just make sure Cutie Butt ‘ere gives Goliath his space.”
“Watch out for them gophers on the ridge,” Tony added. ”They pop their heads up, it’ll scare wimpy boy here fer sure.”
Kalani scowled. “Who’s Goliath?”
“Goliath’s a bull,” Grampa explained, keeping an eye on Kalani, telling himself it was only to make sure he tied the cord to hold back his hair.
“He’s 2500-pound of black angus, worth a whole lot of money, like a million bucks,” Calvin added almost proudly.
“Goliath’s got the biggest balls in the county,” Tony snickered.
“So they say,” Grampa chuckled. “He’s so horned-up right now he might try to breed one of you boys instead of a cow.”
“There was a dozen heifers in heat yesterday. I reckon he’s all wore out; a bit like you, Rabbit,” Tony smirked.
Grampa smiled. “Lots of action down there yesterday, but keep yer distance. If yer not back by sunset, I’m callin’ yer parole officer, Rabbit.”
“Yes sir, Mr. Deere.” Calvin tugged on his reins.
“Keep an eye out fer storms. Yer grandpop’s right. There’s weather headed our way. If it starts to turn nasty, get yer ass back here licketty split.”
“Yes, sir. C’mon Cute Butt.”
Baffled as a bat in bright sun, Kalani urged ‘giddy-up’, bumping his heels into horse belly.
“Best let the reins hang loose if ya want him to move,” Grampa advised. “And press in with yer heels like Calvin’s doin.’”
Teacup surged underneath Kalani. “Whoa! Help! How do I stop?” Grabbing at the saddle horn with one hand and hanging onto the mane with the other, his near-74 pounds next to useless.
“He’s born to buck,” Tony chuckled.
Grampa laughed, catching the drift. “He’s a cutie alright, but he sure ain’t no stud pony. You better walk him around the corral fer a while, Tony. I’ll finish muckin’ out the stalls.”
He swung up and onto the front-loader, still fit for a man turning 60. The loader was 22 years old like Tony Graybear, model 544E in Deere yellow, the smartest purchase he and Martha ever made, way better than life insurance. Switched on the radio, tuning in to what was left of the morning talk show.
Chapter Five. June 11th, Afternoon
“… Tha’ two p.m. on the spot forecast reports heavy rain north of Bozeman, moving fast. Just had a call up near Lewis and Clarke. Cats and dawgs from what I hear; three inches of rain in the last 30 minutes. It’s so heavy it ain’t safe to drive. Git off if you can, or drive real slow. Avoid the gulches. Remember what happened to them poor boy scouts at Sly Fox. And watch them river crossings, ‘specially up near Broken Butte Mountain. It’s really coming down…”
Grampa watched from the porch. The front yard already in rivulets, ponding ankle-deep where it was flat. He couldn’t see beyond the corral, just grey walls, rain streaming down. Water cascaded from the barn roof in torrents. Like a fire hose from the spigot over the porch, splashing onto granite boulders he’d placed there for Martha’s Mini-Yellowstone rock garden.
Still no sign of the boys. Tony had been gone in his pickup for over an hour. He strained his eyes trying to see past the trees. Nothing. Just endless rain. Long enough for Tony to drive to Beck’s Road and back twice. Unless the bridge was washed out. Then, there was that culvert farther on, nowhere near big enough for Sly Fox Gulch. Dead trees jammed it up every time.
“Rabbit…” Grampa exhaled his last breath. “Yer plenty smart enough to find somewhere safe.”
It was only with school work that Calvin had problems. He learned by doing, not sitting at a desk, so the assistant principal told his alcoholic mother he was mildly retarded. ‘Fuck you, asshole!’ Calvin had shouted, right in front her. After that, he was supposed to take special ed classes like woodwork and fixing up cars, but Charlie Deere had talked to Principal Slade after Sunday services at Solid Rock. Got Calvin back in his grade for the rest of the year, and then worked to bring up his grades.
“Come on Rabbit. Where the hell are you?”
The phone rang. Grampa stalked inside, slamming the door, telling himself it was only because the wind was so strong.
“It’s Joey, Charlie. Calvin jus’ got ‘ere!”
Over Calvin’s grandfather, Grampa could hear Calvin shouting in the background. Something about Kalani.
“Mr. Deere, ‘s me, Rabbit. I’m sorry. I couldn’t help it. Teacup got away from him. Yer mare, she fuckin’ slid down the bank, Mr. Deere. She’s limpin’, but I reckon she’s okay.”
“Calvin! Calm down. Are you okay?”
“I… I don’t know. I’m bleedin’ from my mouth. I bit my tongue, I think. Maybe busted a tooth ‘cause it’s loose as fuck. And my hand hurts pretty bad. Papi thinks I fuckin’ broke it.”
“I would’a got hold of Teacup, Mr. Deere, only there was this lightening real close and she took off up the fuckin’ gulch.”
With all the rain, Sly Fox would flood in a flash. The last time, four years ago, three city-boy scouts died. It took a week to find the last body.
“I shouted for him to git out. I think he heard me.”
“We was tryin’ fer the Staines’ place.”
“I figured you might. Their phone lines are down already. Put Tony on.”
“He’s already gone, Mr. Deere. He’s figurin’ to swim the creek.”
“Put yer grandpa on then.”
Then, the phone crackled and died. No dial tone, but Charlie punched in Graybear’s number and waited.
To the west, black clouds swirled up the valley, wiping out Lewis and Clarke. White lightning flashed. Thunder cracked like cannons. As bad as any winter snow storm. Feeling helpless, like he did the night Martha died. Waiting for the paramedics to arrive while she turned grey, barely breathing. Fifty six was too soon. She’d been talking about going back, seeing Sweden and Norway right after the Pentecostal Convention in Orlando, Florida. They had ticket prices and dates worked out. She was dead three days later.
“Feel His Power…. He is my Shepherd… Big fuckin’ joke!” Grampa muttered.
With a missing grandson there was only one course of action, and Charlie Deere took it. Put on his cowboy overcoat like the Marlboro man wore. It was Martha’s present from Christmas five years ago. A torrent of water soaked him before he crossed the yard, work boots already squelching.
“Fuckin’ front loader might get there,” he decided, keeping his face down. There was no point in walking to Sly Fox in ankle-deep water.
When he reached the barn, he was breathless. Rain stung his eyes, splattering like shotgun pellets on his shoulders. Down the road, it looked like night had come until lightning lit up the clouds. Dragged open the barn doors and went inside. Then, on a whim, he went to the far door and peeked outside. Teacup stood in the corral, skittish, snorting, whirling around. Kalani slumped low in the saddle, his little hands clenching chestnut mane, too scared to move.
“It’s okay, Teacup.” Grampa started forward, soaked to the skin, nodding reassuringly. “It’s okay.”
A river of stinking brown goo ran from the manure pile on the far side of the corral. He stepped over it. Walking slowly. Wary, avoiding the slightest wrong movement. Muttering platitudes to a gelding. He was an arm’s length away, reaching out for the dangling reins, when lightning struck the barn roof. The 127-year-old bronze wind cock exploded in sparks, along with Charlie’s new Davis home-weather station.
Teacup bolted, straight for the fence. For an awful moment, Grampa thought ‘he’ll jump it.’ The next moment, the gelding veered away and Grampa thought ‘busted legs.’ Then, Teacup reared up, pawing the air like a stallion, but missing a pair. Kalani flipped out of the saddle on the way down.
A complete somersault. Headfirst into horse shit. He was lucky. He sat up before Grampa reached his side, flopping against the rail fence, black-brown all over and stinking to high heaven.
“Praise the Lord,” Grampa murmured, wondering whether his earlier assessment of the Pentecostal Church was mistaken.
Just a foot closer to the corral fence and there’d be blood everywhere, maybe worse. But Kalani had missed by sheer inches. Pentecostal providence, Martha would’ve said. ‘He watches over His flock.’
Kalani crawled to his knees, spitting out horse shit. Bawling. There was thick mushy manure everywhere, and bits of straw as yellow as corn-silk hair clinging to his face, his abdomen, his jeans. Grampa had never seen such a mess. He scooped up Cute Butt and carried him back through the barn, to the house. On the way, he wiped muck from the kid’s eyes. Horse shit all over both of them
Mrs. Fields took one look and ran for cover when they came through the door. He deposited Kalani in the mudroom.
“Never seen such a mess,” he muttered, sounding like Martha.
Years earlier, when she started gardening in earnest, he’d incorporated a walk-in shower. ‘I want it big enough to wash a horse,’ Martha said at the time.
He began taking off clothes. Shoved down skinny-leg Wranglers with the zipper still closed. No underpants, just bare boy covered in stinking crap. Stooping down to pull off kid-sneakers, dragging fouled denim off little pale feet. Stripping Kalani completely. Gorgeous slim boy, but holding his nose against the stench. ‘Skunk’ was worse, but not by much.
Beautiful, smelly boy whimpering softly under the shower, shaking as trauma faded and after-shock set in. Warm water streaming down his flanks, swirling dark mud, leaving pale skin behind.
“It’s okay, Cute Butt. Yer safe now,” Grampa muttered.
Looking up, seeing Kalani close up in daylight. Like love at first sight. Pencil-dick kid. Maybe even thinner than his son’s slender wiener. Fat little head, made extra conspicuous with the foreskin completely removed. Balls barely visible, just wrinkled skin. Grinning, but keeping his head turned so his grandson wouldn’t see. Finally, making himself look away as he shed his overcoat and took off his work boots.
Grampa stood up to take off his jeans, bracing himself against the tiled wall as he lifted one foot, then the other to remove them. Shedding clothes in the shower until a foul pile blocked the drain. Kalani staring, seeing his first naked man. Thick, long grandfather cock dangling down. Huge hairy testicles. Definitely, the biggest cock he’d ever seen.
His pulse jumped a notch or two, but he was so cold, the rest of his body didn’t react. Any other time he would’ve gotten an erection. His grandpa’s penis was bigger than he ever imagined possible. He couldn’t stop looking at it, totally oblivious to his grandpa’s cheerful grin.
Just standing there shaking, completely dumbfounded. Not even realizing that something had changed. Grampa was soaping his body with soap on a rope, strong rancher hands covered with suds, slipping and sliding over his little boy-body. A sorry sight covered in gooseflesh, tears in his eyes, occasionally sniffling back snot.
“That’s better, ain’t it Cute Butt?” Grampa said softly. “We’ll clean you up, get you in some nice dry clothes… Chow down some soup. You’ll feel like a cow in clover then.”
His hand edged closer to pencil dick, soapy fingers sliding around on Kalani’s taut belly, fingertips grazing tender boy-groin and thigh junction, brushing little boy-balls before quickly moving away. Magnetic attraction, surreal lust as his slippery digits danced around boy-parts, afraid of touching outright.
Kalani just stood there, gazing down. Big yellow glycerin soap on white three-strand cotton rope banging against his knees. Martha bought it at her last church fete, the last thing she bought before she died. Pentecostal soap, handmade by Mabel Adams from Walnut Tree Farm using her grandmother’s recipe. It smelled like sunflowers. Somehow, Mabel had dyed into the soap, ‘Be Clean for the Lord.’
Rivulets of brown coursing Kalani’s abdomen, thighs, and legs. More soap, lots more soap, making foam all over him, then rinsing it off and seeing his grandson’s slender body clean again. Completely naked; it took Grampa’s breath away. Eventually, he inhaled.
“Yer ‘clean fer the Lord,’” Grampa muttered.
With his mind in a whirl, he knelt and picked up a little boy-foot. Kalani balancing with his hand on Grampa’s head. Grampa washed between toes, fascinated by bony ankle, lean lithe leg, knobby knee, slender smooth thigh. He stopped an inch from Kalani’s groin. Heat relaxed scrtum, gonads still tight underneath, superfluous skin sagging slightly lower than the end of his shriveled up penis. Then, he washed Kalani’s other leg, judiciously avoiding juvenile genitals.
It was almost funny how Grampa wouldn’t touch him there. Finally, Kalani giggled.
“Don’t be silly, Grampa. You can wash it.”
Grampa looked up, seeing approval, his hand actually trembling, pencil dick barely an inch away, finally starting to stiffen even as he looked at it.
“You don’t mind?”
Kalani gave a nervous shrug.
“Wiener’s are s’posed to be off-limits,” Grampa joked.
By then, there was no doubt boy-dick was responding. It lifted up slightly, already noticeably longer. His grandson was definitely getting a hard-on, but Grampa thought he was safe. Plenty of time for a quick soap and rinse off.
Grampa winked right at him. “Only doin’ it because of the cow poop.”
His fingers enclosed it, tugging ever so gently on the little flesh tube, avoiding the acorn head. The shaft was firmer than he expected, still a long way from being hard.
Kalani set a new record for the Montana ranch brat 12-and-under boner time. Fully erect in 3.38 seconds, fast enough to enter in the adolescent division. Before Grampa took his next breath he was holding three-point-five inches of not-yet-eleven, completely rigid boy-dick.
“All nice ‘n stiff,” Grampa muttered, his hand shaking slightly, not letting go. “Yer even bigger than I thought.”
“Yours too. It’s huge, Grampa,” Kalani said with a nervous giggle.
Grampa chuckled, and didn’t dare look at himself. “I bet yer girlfriends think yer weenie’s big, especially when it’s all boned-up like this,” he teased, of the mind that a boy’s self-esteem began with his penis.
“No way! No girl’s ever seen my boner before.”
“Well, I wouldn’t go showin’ it off at school, but it’s a nice one,” Grampa admired, his thumb caressing the tender knob very gently.
“You really think it’s big?”
“It’s big fer yer age, I reckon.”
“My best friend at school; I think his is bigger.”
“There’s always a bigger one, Cute Butt. It’s what ya do with it that counts,” Grampa winked, erecting pride with a compliment. “I reckon in a coupla years the girls’ll be chasin’ you to get their hands on it.”
“Grampa!” Kalani shook his head in mock exasperation.
Grampa couldn’t let go of it. Not super-glue, something else. His fingers eased up and down the thin stiff tube, testing skin elasticity—there was almost none—all the while telling himself he was washing off cow poop. Finally, he strayed onto the glans, began gently squeezing the little red bulb.
“Like a cherry on top. Yer definitely a Deere,” Grampa mused.
“Huh?” Kalani looked down at his grandpa’s fingers fondling the bloated tip of his erection.
“Yer dad’s the same way. All us Deere’s have got fat heads.”
“Yours is huge compared to mine, Grampa,” Kalani said, looking at his grandfather’s penis with renewed interest.
Grampa smiled and returned to soaping and rinsing boy genitalia.
“I think it’s clean now, Grampa.”
He shuddered as if waking up, jerking away his hand, suddenly realizing that he’d been masturbating Kalani. How long? A minute? Two? Maybe longer. Long enough that the head was crimson, verging on purple. For a moment he tried to tell himself that maybe it was happened with Pentecostal ‘Be Clean for the Lord’ soap. Or maybe it was the boy’s natural color, but it was pink when he started. Definitely rubbing for more than a minute. Kalani’s penis was more like a rail spike than a kid-sized cock.
“Just look at yer little boner. It’d poke out a guy’s eye if he got too close,” Grampa joked, giving boy-dick a playful flip.
Kalani giggled, using the muscles inside to make it jerk up and down. “He’d have to be really close. It’s not that long.”
Grampa grinned down at him. “Yer plenty big enough to do serious damage to a girl’s virginity, if’n ya had a mind to.”
“Like I’m going to have sex any time soon.”
“Ya never know. Ranch brats tend to start early, not always with the opposite sex though.”
Grampa smirked. Obviously, no father and son talk about the important stuff, but Jeff was like that. Just the basic birds and bees. He gave the safe answer.
“Ya know about masturbatin’?”
He reached out and made the motion.
“Every kid knows about jerking off, Grampa,” Kalani smirked.
Taking what was surely the biggest risk in his life, Grampa took hold of three-point-five inches of very stiff boy-penis. Impossibly, it felt even stiffer. If he pushed it down, it might even snap off like a twig. Kalani kept smirking even with Grampa touching his penis, or maybe because of it. After a second or two, cowhide fingers glided back and forth. Like rubbing a baby’s finger, silky smooth skin with a bone inside.
Kalani stared down, still uncertain even though his grandpa’s fingers were sliding slowly up and down his throbbing boy-flesh. He glowed all over.
“It feels nicer when you rub on the tip,” he murmured.
Grampa adjusted the motion, still up and down, but including an extra half inch of travel. Kalani squirmed as his fat little glans came under assault, delicious sensations surging through his stiff soapy penis, making him tremble erratically.
“Like that is good,” he muttered.
“Yer sure yer not twelve?”
“Makes me wonder, ‘cause ya know what ya like.”
“I practice every morning, Grampa,” Kalani snickered.
“What would yer mom say if she knew her baby was jackin’ off before school?”
“I’m not completely dumb, Grampa.” Kalani smiled, as much as admitting he knew there were some things best kept secret. Then, completely at ease, he stretched, arching his belly to push out his penis. “Don’t stop till I tell you.”
“You like me pulling yer lever?”
“It feels nicer with you doing it.”
Suddenly embarrassed, Grampa snatched away his hand. “I best do yer hair next.”
No shampoo in the mudroom shower. Soap on a rope again, working up a thick creamy lather. He rinsed out foam and a few flecks of brown goo. About then, the lights flickered and went out.
“There goes the power,” Grampa grumped. “We’ll be eatin’ by candlelight tonight.”
“No TV huh?”
“I keep meanin’ to fix the generator. It ain’t the end of the world assumin’ the kerosene lamp still works. If it does, I’ll beat yer ass at Monopoly.”
“What’s Monopoly?” Kalani asked, grinning back.
More soap on a rope, more foam and a rinse, with a third repetition before sunflowers replaced cow stench. Grampa began to think ‘Be Clean for the Lord’ worked miracles.
“Just one more thing to clean and we’re done,” Grampa joked, adding a playful swat to Kalani’s pert little rear.
With no more warning than a wink, he grabbed Kalani around the waist and turned him upside down, head and knees dangling, feet and hands trying to keep the rest of him from hitting the floor. With his other hand, Grampa lathered, working soap on a rope deep into Kalani’s ass crack, forcing miniature round buttocks wide apart, getting his first glimpse of virginal hole surround by specks of manure. Then, running his fingers up and down the dividing line, cleaning out anything that might still be there. Finally, Grampa poked his finger at Kalani’s tight anus.
“Be Clean for the Lord,” he said under his breath, thinking ‘miracle’ of an entirely different kind.
“Owww!” Kalani shrieked the second time he did it.
Grampa’s finger hadn’t gone in very far, maybe an inch. Never-been-cornholed tight. Kalani struggled and laughed simultaneously.
“We gotta get the crap cleaned outta this hole,” Grampa teased, wriggling his finger inside his grandson’s posterior.
When he pulled his finger out, Kalani went ‘Umph.’ Despite his struggles moments earlier, he didn’t move, just hung there suspended upside down over the tiled floor, and trembling.
“Am I clean now, Grampa?”
Crystal voice. Excited voice. Waiting. Expecting more. Too scared to ask.
“Hm. Not yet… I think I see cow poop way up inside you…”
“Either relax yer ass or push out like yer tryin’ to poop, Cute Butt.”
Kalani pushed. Grampa slid his soapy finger inside again. Right past the second joint in a panicked moment. Boy-sphincter clutching tightly but unable to stop determined ingress into the rectum. Holy Sanctum of boy. Grampa kept the pressure on, resisting the instinctive spasms. Tight. Hot. Slippery as an eel. All the way in, right up to his knuckle, certain Kalani was groaning.
He kept his finger there long enough to think, ‘Feel the Power.’ When he tried to withdraw, Kalani clamped down. Surely, it wasn’t deliberate, but it might’ve been. Without thinking, he curled up his finger. Pointed up, bending it inside his grandson’s small rectum, primal instinct seeking the magic place inside every boy.
Kalani gasped instantly. The pressure inside him intensified threefold. Before he realized, he was pulling inward with the muscles inside him. It made his grandpa’s finger feel even better, ten times better. Grampa crooked his finger into the thin rectal wall, feeling a tiny bump right away. He was certain he could feel Kalani’s heartbeat, his not-yet-eleven-year-old body throbbing from inside. He rubbed it impulsively, harder that commonsense directed. Kalani twitched and groaned, not having a dry orgasm, but one was definitely on the way.
Grampa stabbed his slippery finger back and forth, all the way out, all the way in, once, twice. As much as he wanted to, he wasn’t game to try a third time because he was certain Kalani pushed back at him both times. Enough excitement to bring on a stroke. If he wasn’t careful, he’d end up cornholing the kid before dinner. Without saying a word, Grampa eased out his finger and stood red-faced Kalani on unsteady feet.
“Did you get it all out, Grampa?”
No mistaking the tone of Kalani’s voice—he wanted more. Then, he giggled, uncertainty looming, stealing a glance up at his grandpa. Yearning in his eyes. Boy-penis throbbing mightily, pink skin pulled tighter than ever. Barely understanding what he was feeling, other than he liked the sensation, and he needed more of it.
“If there is, it’s way up there. Best flush ya out with yer gramma’s hose to make sure.”
Another big risk. Another uneasy giggle, though Kalani was certain his grandpa was joking. But Grampa wasn’t joking, not with Martha’s enema tube still draped on the rail where she’d left it. In her later years, she was adamant about being regular, bowel movements like clockwork once every day, as soon as she came in from gardening. Weird, yet no weirder than constantly saying heavenly things. She sounded like Mabel Adams. ‘Be Clean for the Lord.’ ‘Feel His Power.’ Maybe the Pentecostals made her a crazy. Maybe they made him crazy too. What was he thinking? But the more he thought about, the more it excited him.
“Ya know, I probably oughta. Just to be on the safe side.”
Trying hard to be serious, but it came out like a snicker. All the more exciting with incredulous Kalani swapping feet nervously.
Still uncertain that he would actually go through with it, Grampa unhooked the hose, already attached to her special 100-degree-preset spigot, rinsing the tube out before soaping the slender nozzle. He bought the nozzle for Martha, a gag gift for their last wedding anniversary, a Made-in-the-USA copy of Young's Rectal Dilator of 1905. She’d used it for a week before she died.
Grinning, he pointed to the shower wall. “Bend over and brace yerself, Cute Butt.”
Kalani wasn’t certain about anything at that point, other than his grandpa was acting weird. But weird was fun, and way more exciting than most anything he’d done in a year. It was in the same category as being naked with his best friend, or getting an erection in class, or being touched in the bad-touch place. It sent a thrill through him. The whole enchilada was going down in the shower. Yet everything was natural. Everything was fun. All part of their game. He had nothing to be scared about, no longer worrying what his parents might say.
“You’ll know in a minute, ‘cause an enema don’t take but a minute.”
Although he’d never seen an enema tube before, Kalani easily guessed where his grandfather was going to put the finger-width tube.
“You really going to stick that up my butt, Grampa?”
“Ain’t no other way to make sure yer clean inside. I don’t want ya getting sick from cow germs.” Then, winking like it was just a game, Grampa rinsed off the hose and rubbed more soap on the nozzle.
Kalani hastily assumed the position, bending at the waist and bracing himself against the tiled wall with one hand, reaching back with the other to part his buttocks. Something inside him made him bolder than ever before, totally compliant a man who he saw only one week a year. Looking over his shoulder, smirking, having more fun than a middle-class city boy should.
“Ya think I’m kiddin’, don’t ya Cute Butt?” Grampa muttered, stepping closer.
“I dare you, Grampa.”
Before he could have second thoughts, Grampa slipped in the bulbous tip. Kalani gulped and clenched his buttocks. A moment too late. He felt something squishy going in, 100-percent weird, although it was only a little bit thicker than Grampa’s finger. The rest of the nozzle soon disappeared from sight along with a few inches of flexible shiny metal tube resembling electrical conduit.
“You dare me to turn it on?” Grampa teased.
Kalani wasn’t sure of anything at that point. It was creepy, not nearly as nice as Grampa’s wriggling finger, but it still felt good. He smirked back at his grandfather. “Grampa, I double dog dare you.”
With one hand on Kalani’s lean back as if to steady him, but really making sure Kalani didn’t escape, Grampa turned on the spigot. The flow was set at the manufacturer’s recommended setting, a cup every five seconds.
“Yeeeooowwww! Ahhhh…. Ahh… Ooooh… I can feel it filling me up inside, Grampa.”
“But are ya enjoyin’ it, Cute Butt?” Grampa croaked.
“I guess,” Kalani murmured. “It’s…. hot… feels funny… nice…. Feels like it’s getting way bigger.”
“The end expands kinda like a balloon. Don’t want anything leaking out.”
“Sheez… How much more?”
“Just a few more seconds.”
Wriggling boy, buttocks clenching, growing inside him, hotter all over, feeling his belly swelling. “Grampa?”
After twenty seconds, Grampa turned off the spigot and tugged out the tube, popping the now-deflated nozzle out of his very distracted grandson.
“Try to hold it in fer as long as ya can. Get all that cow poop out the first time.”
He pulled Kalani into a grandfatherly embrace, rubbing his back, caressing his buttocks, unsettlingly smooth and soft, much softer than Martha’s. He felt Kalani tremble, the pressure building inside him.
“Keep holdin’ it in, cowboy.” He hugged Kalani even tighter, squeezing naked boy-body against him, unyielding boy-dick jabbing his thigh, belly bloated and taut like a drum. “It helps if yer squeeze yer butt cheeks together.”
“Grampa… I can’t go much longer.”
Grampa released his hold on the suddenly desperate boy. Hot-faced, Kalani scampered out of the oversized shower, one hand clutching his butt. He sat down just in time. Grampa laughed. Water and poop pellets splattering loudly. Kalani’s hushed sigh of relief.
“That didn’t sound like a few bits of cow poop, Cute Butt.”
Kalani muttered something that sounded like ‘shit really stinks.’ A minute later he was back in the shower. Embarrassment forgotten.
“I haven’t pooped since before we left Indianapolis,” Kalani said with a smirk.
“And now ya won’t need to poop again til ya get back home,” Grampa teased. “Ya wanna dare me again?”
Kalani grinned. “Yeah, I dare you.”
He’d scarcely finished before Grampa spun him around and inserted the soaped-up nozzle for a second flushing.
“What happens is up to you,” Grampa said hoarsely.
“Do it, Grampa. I double dog dare you.” Eager now that he knew what to expect.
Grampa flicked the spigot. This time, he counted to thirty, three pints of warm water filling up Kalani’s insides, fondling little genitals to take his mind off the sensation, mostly concentrating on the fat little acorn because it made the boy quiver. Suddenly, belly bulging, Kalani was getting uncomfortable. Shifting feet and ready to burst at the seams. Time to empty. He rushed to the toilet with a second to spare, splattering water all over.
Back in the shower, Kalani couldn’t stop laughing.
“It whooshed out like Niagara, Grampa. You can enema me again if you want.”
“I figure yer as cleaned out as yer gonna be,” Grampa laughed, already thinking he might be up for it again in a day or two.
He rinsed off both of them. Then, he tickled Kalani, giggling and writhing buck-naked. Two enemas completely forgotten. No shower curtain. Exposed for the whole world to see. Just the two of them having innocent fun after sharing a shower. Fifty years difference in age didn’t matter.
Then, suddenly Grampa realized something was distracting Kalani. He glanced down. Both his and Kalani’s cocks were sticking out, stiff little boy dick bumping his thigh. Being humped by his grandson. He was no better, the big rounded head of his phallus rubbing boy nipples, leaving snail tracks. He hadn’t intended for it to go that far.
“Your boner’s huge compared to mine,” Kalani declared, seeming unaware of the slime on his chest.
“Full growed, you’ll likely be big as me.”
However, the difference in size bothered Grampa far more than he expected. Like seeing Goliath next to a new-born bull-calf, but it didn’t seem to bother the boy. If anything, it amused him, something to aim for when he zoomed in for an attack on his grandpa.
Grampa mostly fended him off, allowing only a couple of self-esteem-building gonad grabs. Pretending agony, which sent Kalani into hysterical laugher.
“We better get dried off, Cute Butt,” Grampa declared after a particularly successful raid on his hair-covered testicles.
“Aw, do we have’ta?”
Kalani expected retaliation, his hands over his groin. Grampa had scored dozens of times, winning giggles with every flip at his skinny boy-dick, adult fingers playfully flicking at his little boy-balls, once or twice hard enough to sting, but mostly tickling him. Montana ranch brat whining for fun, his Grampa like putty. Being remolded the way Kalani wanted. Almost as if he knew Grampa was unable to keep his eyes or his hands off his grandson. Just fun so far. Even when he was masturbating the boy. Harmless really. At least, that’s what Grampa told himself.
“I’m hungry, Cute Butt. And I’ve still gotta get a message to the Graybears and tell ‘em yer okay.”
Grampa turned off the shower, pushing Kalani ahead of him, one hand on his shoulder, the other cupping near half of his plump little butt, adult fingers daring to press into his crack. Kalani giggling endlessly as Grampa rubbed him down like a horse. Pink and tingly all over, erect boy-dick slapping his belly.
“Looks just like your daddy’s,” Grampa observed with a grin.
There was something out of the ordinary about a long, thin penis, especially if it was circumcised correctly. Like Martha had said when their own son was born, ‘if we’re doing it, we’re doing it right.’ The result wasn’t just ‘tidy’; she wanted ‘no frilly collar.’ No particular reason other than it was looked more hygienic with the head completely exposed all the time. Hygiene for a reason, because before the Pentecostals came into her life, she used to say ‘what boys do in the barn is their business.’
“Yer as hard as steel.” Grampa gave it a squeeze.
Kalani had been circumcised so tightly that his already conspicuous helmet flared out more than normal. It was a sight to behold, a plump pink acorn, a finger-width shaft with no excess skin, near-invisible scar, skin texture changing about halfway down, exotic low-maintenance. Kalani was as close to perfection as a boy could be, though he’d never be over-endowed like a porn-star. Grampa nearly pointed out that his penis was twice as long as his brother’s. Dyani was at a definite disadvantage with his puny thing.
“So are you, Grampa.”
Grampa chuckled. “At my age, it won’t go down by itself. I might have to ask you to lend a hand.”
Hard to believe he said *that*, or that his grandson grinned back like the Cheshire cat.
“You mean… this… right?” Kalani exaggerated the motion to make sure, eyes wide and staring at manhood.
“Can’t do it myself, ya know. Pentecostals call it the sin of Onan,” Grampa said, smiling at blushing Kalani.
“So if I pull your lever you don’t go to Hell?” Kalani chortled, thinking it was a great joke to make fun of his grandfather.
“Depends on how good you are.”
“I do okay.”
Grampa couldn’t believe they were having a conversation about masturbation. Way out of bounds, but he couldn’t stop. A single glimpse of his grandson’s sex organs would’ve been ample to ensure arousal, prolonged staring and talking about it openly was driving him crazy.
“All that practice every morning, I expect. Ya want to show me?”
Kalani giggled, hesitating for the few seconds it took for him to get brave enough to masturbate in front of an adult. Grampa was all eyes, watching the little hand sneak down that sleek little abdomen, teasing fingertips circling the target. Neither of them interrupted the moment of contact. With a handful of boy-cock, Kalani finally glanced up, the proverbial kid caught with his hand in the cookie jar. After a few seconds, he suddenly fluttered his wrist, boy-style masturbating. He might have been practicing half of his life.
“I reckon you got it down pat.”
“My friend’s dad told him every guy does it, not just kids.”
Grampa smiled, resolving right there and then not to touch his grandson’s private parts again.
“You’ll have to listen late at night, won’t ya?” he joked.
“I do it in bed before I go to sleep too, Grampa.”
“I’d be surprised if ya didn’t.” He extracted a quilt from the closet. “I reckon this’ll warm ya up, Cute Butt?”
He wrapped up Kalani, just loose enough for him to walk. Flag inspired, with red, white, and blue stars and stripes, all mixed up like his thoughts. Sexy, All-American ranch brat.
“Yer gramma won first prize with this at the Bozeman County Fair. Yer dad was in high school back then.”
Kalani snuggled into cotton washed so often it felt like fleecy pajamas. “It’s nice,” he said, suddenly tired, seduced by the quilt against his bare skin.
“Only problem is ya might need to wear it for a couple of days, ‘cause yer bag’s still in the pickup,” Grampa went on.
“Everything’s soaking wet by now, Grampa.”
Grampa scooped up Kalani, bundled up in the quilt, giving him a hug in the process.
“Ya could always go naked, Cute Butt. You’ve got nothin’ I ain’t seen well and truly.” He winked meaningfully.
Kalani grinned back. “And I saw yours so we’re even.”
“Neither of us have got anythin’ to be ashamed about. ’sides, it’s not like we’re gonna have visitors with the road washed out.”
He carried Kalani through the kitchen and into the living room, still hugging, glancing down, thinking how attractive his grandson was. Movie brat cute, just like his brother. And then his thoughts shifted into dangerous territory, which was what happened when a boy was too good-looking for his own good.
“Yer a handsome little dude, ain’t ya?” he muttered.
Downright pretty, especially when Kalani beamed up at him, which he did at that very moment. Grampa’s knees weakened, jellified just like his resolve. A single smile released something he’d carefully concealed for the last 50 years. It struck him like a horse kick in the gut. He couldn’t stop thinking how nice it would be to have the boy running around buck-naked for a couple of days. What on earth would Martha say about that?
“’course if bein’ bare-assed is a problem, I s’pose you could ride Teacup over to the Graybears and pick up yer suitcase.”
Kalani shook his head vigorously, showing what he thought about that idea, although he was certain his grandpa was joking.
“Grampa, um,…” He grabbed the bull by the horns. “I rather stay here and watch you pull the lever.”
Then, he burst into uninhibited giggles. Almost too funny for a grandfather to deal with. Playful and witty, but there was something else. Excitement tinged Kalani’s sweet voice. Not-yet-eleven was too young for that.
“Um, I reckon that’s not such a good idea…”
Grampa carried Kalani over to the window. More rain coming down. Holding him close, feeling warmth through the quilt, more than thirty years since he’d felt so protective.
“See playing around in the shower is okay. That was fun, though it’d be fer the best if no one else knows.”
“A secret, just between us.”
“That’s right. Now, yer friend’s dad was right about guys masturbatin’. Getting’ yer rocks off is perfectly normal, only you probably ought not watch me do it; that’s kinda private, ya know.”
“You did it to me in the shower.”
No hesitation, as if Kalani had everything figured out in advance, or maybe he was ready for more advanced games. Something about him screamed willing and able. Still, his blue eyes made him look so innocent that his grandpa decided otherwise.
“I was washin’ poop off yer penis.”
This time, Kalani thought for a while. “You were rubbing it the same as jerking off, Grampa, so it’s still a sin, isn’t it?”
“I don’t know about yer Baptists, but fer Holy Rollers, the real sin isn’t masturbatin’. It’s from Onan leaving his seed on the ground.”
Kalani looked at him strangely.
Grampa went on regardless. “Seed’s only a problem if yer growed up.”
“The seed that makes babies grow in a woman.”
“I’m too young to make sperm, Grampa.”
“Course, if a boy was making it, ya might contend there’s no sin if he’s cornholin’...”
Kalani gave Grampa another odd look. ”How does playing cornhole stop you from sinning?”
Grampa didn’t hear him, or maybe he did and chose to ignore it. He dumped Kalani on the cowhide couch by the window. Outside, the storm raged, sheets of water cascading from the gutters. Like a snow storm, it was almost romantic. Just the two of them alone in the 156-year-old house, rain beating down, thick grey clouds darkening outside like the sun had gone down, near constant lightning flashes making everything seem luminous. Only a few thunder claps, eerie almost.
Feeling much younger, Grampa rearranged hand-woven pillows under his grandson’s bedraggled head, and loosened the quilt from around his shoulders. Seeing warm, pink boy-skin, wanting to see even more. Tugging the quilt away, opening it up just a little bit farther. Seeing the promise of pectoral muscle in later years, perfect pale skin dotted with baby-sized nipples, no breasts at all, but Martha wasn’t large breasted either.
“You comfortable, Cute Butt?”
Grampa had to make himself stop staring—the boy’s rib-grooves were gorgeous. Breathtaking beauty in mysterious amber light. Dazzling steel-blue eyes. His gaze lowered despite his best effort. Bare chest and a few inches of belly. Slender and shapely, not like most city boys. He concentrated on not looking. Wet-brown hair starting to dry, enough for Nordic blond highlights to appear.
Kalani smiled, trying to figure things out. He barely began to understand why he liked seeing his grandfather nude. It made him feel funny inside. Same way he felt in the shower when Grampa was soaping his private places. Some of it was Grampa’s ever-present huge dick. It was covered in hair, mostly dark, but some grey sneaking in. So big. Enormous compared to his boy-toy. An indelible impression even when it was limp.
“Our things are really different, Grampa.”
Grampa’s thick dick was a lot darker than his. And his balls too, big, and wrinkled, and purple-brown.
“Mostly ‘cause of size, and I’m all hairy.”
In the middle of staring, Kalani gulped saliva, finding it increasingly difficult to breath. He wanted to put them side by side so they could touch. Instead, he stared at it, certain it was even longer than a few moments earlier. Wanting to reach out, even though he knew he shouldn’t. Both circumcised, but there was a frilly collar around Grampa’s fat plum-colored head that his penis didn’t have.
“Grampa, um… what you said… about… um… jerking off… It’s really a sin?”
“Ain’t nothin’ to be nervous about, Cute Butt. Like I said, masturbatin’ is normal fer boys yer age. The real sin is lying about it. Heck, when I was a boy I did it at least once a day. See, girls talk a good game, but they don’t give it up, not unless yer a football jock. What I’m gettin’ at is there ain’t no stall open, even fer a cutie like you. Either ya choke the chicken or ya cornhole with yer buddies.”
Kalani frowned, not understanding sexual complexities. It was a part-revealed mystery, beckoning him to discover for himself, never stronger than at that very moment.
“I get choking the chicken, Grampa,” he said shyly, “but… um… like how does cornhole fit in... I don’t get it?”
“Well now….” Grampa took a deep breath. A weak smile, but sincere. Confused. Unable to restrain his hand from reaching out and stroking Kalani’s smooth chest. “Yer so soft,” he whispered. Another deep breath. “I know what yer thinkin’, but cornholin’s really pretty harmless, if ya don’t do it too often.”
“I reckon most ranch brats try it before they get hair on their balls.”
“Huh?” Wide-eyed Kalani. Interest finally diverted from Grampa’ genitalia.
“Boys are smaller, so it’s no big deal.”
“But everyone has the same size bag.”
Then, Grampa frowned. “I reckon we got us a communication problem.” He looked Kalani in the eye. “What’s cornhole in yer neck of the woods.”
“Huh! Cornhole, Grampa. Bag of corn. Hole in plywood. Toss bag in hole?”
“Ah, that cornhole!”
“There’s another game with same name?”
“Hm… yeah, ya might say. There’s still a hole to get into, but there’s different rules.”
Kalani played with the edge of the quilt, his other hand hidden underneath, finding it next to impossible not touch himself down there. Feeling funny all over again and getting to like it, shivery and tense with his thoughts racing ahead. Angelic-blue eyes meeting Grampa’s brown eyes. Silently searching, like he was trying to find out what life was about before he was ready. Big expressive eyes like Dyani’s, not romantic doe eyes, but innocent eyes, honest, constantly roving. Martha’s eyes.
“That’s probably something yer dad oughta tell ya.”
Grampa tried to keep a straight face at the same time as he tried to stop his eyes from drifting down again. Kalani’s arm made a hump under the quilt, his hand poised right over his crotch. Martha would’ve laughed and told him to stop playing with himself when people could see him. Grampa kept his mouth shut. He much preferred watching his grandson pleasure himself.
“He plays cornhole all the time. We were in Cincinnati last week, watching some championship game. Talk about bore-ring.”
Grampa laughed out loud. “My cornhole’s not that. You’d be doing it wrong, if it was.”
“So can we play your cornhole once the rain stops?”
“Rain or shine, day or night fer my cornhole, Cute Butt. All ya need is someone ya like and somewhere you won’t be disturbed.”
For a not-yet-eleven-year-old boy, it sounded serious. “You have to concentrate, huh?”
“Fer a while. Until yer good at it.”
Kalani frowned and shook his head. “So how do you play it?”
Grampa stalled, doing his best not to laugh. “I’ll tell ya after dinner.”
Chapter Six. June 11, Evening
Kalani was bare-ass-naked from four in the afternoon to ten pm. He had no inhibition left by sunset, at least not in front of his grandpa. Playing Monopoly and playing with himself, getting his pencil dick stiff again and again. When they went to the kitchen to see about dinner, he didn’t bother wearing the quilt, not caring that his grandfather feasted his eyes on his body.
“Yer as cute as yer belly button,” Grampa teased, playfully poking his grandson’s navel.
“Not so hard. I don’t want an innie like yours,” Kalani complained.
“What’s wrong with innies?”
“Nothing except they make you look like the Pilsbury dough boy.”
Kalani darted out of reach, grinning from the other side of the island counter.
Grampa made sandwiches, white bread from the freezer, slices of smoked ham, and plastic-wrapped cheese.
“We’ll have a real dinner tomorrow,” he declared, slathering mayonnaise with a fork. “So ya reckon yer outie’s better lookin’ huh?”
“Yup. And outies don’t get lint.” Guffawing boy, bending his back like a Ukrainian gymnast to show off his taut belly, ribs and muscles standing out. “See, Grampa, no lint in mine!”
Grampa stared at stretched boy-belly. Struck by beauty he couldn’t begin to describe. Curves by a divine sculptor, a flat-as-a-board belly with a knurled little button in the center, a narrowing ‘V’ that turned into a fat little ‘U’ of boy-balls, partly hidden behind a dangling boy-dick. Suddenly, Kalani giggled. Right there in front of his grandpa, his hand strayed down. He stopped with one finger and thumb holding out his slender pink shaft.
“Why don’t I have a collar like you do, Grampa?” he asked, scrutinizing his no-longer-erect toy.
“’cause it got removed when you were a baby.”
“So did the knife slip or something when they circumcised me?”
“You were cut tighter than me, that’s all.” He couldn’t help thinking Martha had a hand in it. Not the slightest bit of excess skin left over.
“There’s this boy in my class who isn’t circumcised. He’s from Czechoslovakia.”
“Lots of foreigners are like that,” Grampa muttered, thinking Kalani-wiener was a lot more appetizing than a ham and cheese sandwich.
“Mom and Dad didn’t get Dyani circumcised when he was born because it was so small.”
“Lettuce and tomato?”
“Uh huh. Mom said when he was a baby, it was so small he looked like a girl.”
Grampa nodded, making a conscious effort to avert his eyes. He’d thought much the same thing the first time he saw his grandson without a diaper.
“They had to wait until he started school,” Kalani went on, fingering intently. It was almost as if he was trying to get his grandpa’s undivided attention.
“I reckon it’s bigger now.”
It took a moment before Grampa dared look again. Kalani grinned back. His penis pointed straight up, a fold of ball-skin drooping beneath.
“Nothing wrong with yer blood pressure.”
Kalani smirked and made it twitch. “Mom said there was something wrong with his balls too.”
“Yeah, I seem to remember. He had to have an operation because they kept disappearing inside him; something like that.”
“Why do some kids have bigger ones?”
Grampa’s head jerked up. “Genetics, I reckon. Lots of variation down there, kinda like faces.”
“My friend Anton, we’re near the same size, but his is way fatter.”
“Anton’s the boy from Czechoslovakia?”
“Uh huh. His balls are huge compared to mine. When mine scrunch up you can’t hardly see them.”
Grampa gave a quick glance, barely believing they were having the conversation again. Every time he looked, he glowed inside. It wasn’t just that Kalani’s penis was stood out, what was underneath were smaller than robin’ eggs.
“I reckon I’ve seen bigger on jackrabbits,” he teased.
“You think mine are messed up like Dy’s?”
“Yer fine the way ya are. They’ll be a hellava lot bigger in a coupla years.”
“They grow before a boy starts puberty, right?”
“They’ll get a tad bigger in order fer things to start, but the real change takes a coupla years. Ain’t no rush unless ya got a hankering fer pimples.”
Kalani scrunched his face, his hand still at his groin, little fingers toying with his protruding penis. “It feels nice when it’s stiff, Grampa.”
“They’re all the same like that, bein’ big or small makes no difference.”
After that, Grampa made a conscious effort to keep his mouth closed. It was difficult. Kalani stayed naked right through sandwiches and three chocolate chip cookies. And afterwards too.
“If yer want to make that go away, it’s okay to play with yerself,” Grampa finally said.
Kalani looked up from Monopoly, catching his grandpa’s amused eye. Blushing because he hadn’t realized he was fondling his penis. It was stiff again, on and off erections for nearly two hours.
“It’ll go down if ya leave it alone. Either that or rub it a while.”
Kalani pulled the quilt higher, covering his legs. “You don’t mind?”
“’course not. It’s just you and me. This is your home fer the week. Play with yerself all ya want.”
“I can’t do it with you watching.”
“’course ya can.” Grampa shrugged. “Gettin’ yer rocks off ain’t somethin’ a boy needs to be ashamed of.”
“I did it in the bathroom once and Dad found me. He said it’s normal for a boy to masturbate, only he shouldn’t do it too much.”
“Yer dad used to go in the barn. He was really uptight about it,” Grampa chuckled. “About an hour, give or take, and he’d come out, still brushin’ off hay.”
Kalani giggled. “He did it for a whole hour?”
“Sometimes. He probably went an extra round, or maybe two.” He winked at Kalani. “Yer lucky, Cute Butt.”
“I don’t have to go out the barn, huh?”
”Or go hide in the bathroom fer that matter.”
Kalani smirked back, deliberately tugging the quilt higher, but he stopped when it covered his thighs. Mid-section left bare. Boy-dick poking out to watch the Monopoly game. Always fingering himself while he was waiting his turn. Grampa looked on and off. Mostly on. Always smiling reassuringly, admiring nods to show there was nothing to be embarrassed about, his mind stuck between remembering Martha and outright boy lust.
Each slow circuit around the board gave both of them time to ponder. Kalani pretended he’d never played so Grampa wasn’t prepared when he started snapping up properties along the top of the board and down the home stretch. After that, it was just a matter of time. Grampa was distracted by buck-naked boy curled up on the floor. Over an hour, he bought Park Lane, the railway stations, and the greens. Kalani owned everything else of value. Grinning little real estate magnate fiddling with his skinny wiener, and rolling dice with his other hand. One time he had to search for the dice under the couch, his butt in the air, giving Grampa a glimpse of his virginal boy-hole.
“That’s a nice ass you got there, Cute Butt,” Grampa teased.
For a lark, Kalani rolled onto his back and pulled his cheeks wide apart, assuming the face-up position. His anus was tiny, puckered like a flower bud. He should’ve been embarrassed, but he wasn’t. He liked hearing Grampa laugh, seeing him look with admiring eyes.
“Stay like that and I’ll maybe beat ya.” Grampa chuckled, thinking ‘maybe I’ll cornhole ya.’ He rolled the dice. “Six!” He moved his little brass hat.
“You owe me $450 bucks, Grampa.”
Monopoly game over, Kalani bleary eyed but victorious with ten hotels and $5,238 in cold hard play-cash compared to Grampa’s measly $17 and a handful of mortgages. He stretched out, snoozing on the thick sheepskin rug while sneaking peaks at his grandpa. He was reading American Cattlemen with a windmill in sunset on the cover.
“What are you looking at?”
“You have to be nude too, Grampa. It’s not fair otherwise,” Kalani commanded, not so sleepy all of a sudden.
Grampa put the magazine aside. “Why do you want to see my withered old body?”
“You’re old, not withered, Grampa,” Kalani rebuked, grinning and pulling at his grandpa’s T-shirt, floppy grampa-dick peeking out from under the hem.
“Whoa cowboy. What’cha think yer doing?”
“Undressing you.” Kalani grinned. “It’s more fun if we’re both naked.”
“You want me nude, boy, you do it,” Grampa laughed, lifting his arms over his head.
Kalani scrambled out from under his quilt. He dragged Grampa’s T-shirt with holes in the belly up and over his head. Laughing. Tossing it away. Then, he growled and flung himself into his grandfather’s front, wrestling and making grizzly bear noises, and nipping bare shoulders if he got the chance.
Grampa went for armpits, ribs, and butt crack, in that order. Kalani shrieked with glee, promptly followed by begging for mercy when Grampa’s thick forefinger burrowed into his anus. Not far. It was too dry to penetrate properly. He clasped Kalani against him, one hand grasping his butt, the other keeping the struggling, laughing boy on top from getting away. Hugging Kalani. Enjoying the freedom of being nude with his grandson. So small and smooth. No light except the dull glow from a kerosene lamp.
So big and hairy. Kalani liked big, he wasn’t sure about hairy. He couldn’t stop grinning. Infectious fun. When the tickling made Kalani threaten to pee, Grampa switched off the tickle machine. He turned to lovingly caressing boy-back, thumbs stroking ribs, fingertips massaging. He couldn’t believe anything was as smooth and soft as that round little bottom. It made his hands tremble. With one rubbery cheek in each palm, he risked squeezing his fingertips into the chasm. Hotter there than anywhere else. Slipping along the crack until an inquisitive fingertip finally touched. After that, it was a simple matter of splitting his grandson’s buttocks apart wide enough to see, not that there was much to see.
“You shouldn’t be looking at my poop hole, Grampa,” Kalani objected.
Grampa laughed and mercilessly squashed boy-butt, back to kneading gluteus muscle, divining from Kalani’s muted sighs his effort wasn’t in vain.
“You can do this every night, Grampa.”
Laughing, he rolled Kalani aside and picked up the magazine.
“What-cha readin’, Grampa?”
Grampa yawned and stretched back against the couch. “‘Winds of Change on the Family Farm.’ Seems Broken Butte needs a load of green shit to be a 21st century ranch.”
Kalani thought that was one of the ten funniest things he’d ever heard. Maybe because Grampa said it so seriously.
“What’s so hilarious yer stoppin’ me from readin’ important stuff?”
“That manure; it was green shit, and you sure had a load of it!”
Grampa gorilla-growled and dragged his giggling grandson over his lap. Not wanting to wrestle again, Kalani snuggled closer, seduced by soft sheepskin and being naked with his grandpa. He pulled the quilt over both of them, laying his head on Grampa’s big bare belly, inhaling. He liked Grampa’s smell. Warm and soft, skin against skin. Grampa fur tickling his cheek. Fingers lightly caressing his back, hidden from the world under the quilt. Swirling in circles as Grampa played with his hair, then down the nape of his neck, counting vertebrae, each little bump on the way back to his butt. Deciding he could stay like that forever.
“Grampa, what about Teacup?” Suddenly remembering in the haze of everything that had happened.
“I done told ya. I put him away hours ago, while you were snoozin’. My Misty’s stayin’ at the Graybears. Tony reckons she’s okay.”
“He sprained his wrist when he fell off. You ferget already?”
“Yeah.” He took a moment. “I remember waking up and you were gone, Grampa.”
Then, Grampa’s finger grazed his hole, not once but a couple of times. He held his breath. A few seconds passed before it ventured closer again. A fraction of an inch and it touched the bull's eye. Unseen, Kalani smiled. The finger rubbed and stopped. Rubbed and stopped. Again and again. Immediately, he felt hot. That funny feeling was back with a vengeance. He shifted away, releasing his little erection from its prison against his grandpa’s thigh. Trembling inside, he shoved back the quilt, wantonly revealing himself down to his navel. Not knowing why, only that he wanted his grandfather to look at him. Breathing steadily, slender chest rising and falling rhythmically. All ribs and taut belly. Grampa looked at him like he was supposed to. Instant hunger, strong enough that his manhood responded. Kalani saw it too, but he’d seen it happen several times before. Just seeing the bulge form was enough to make him giddy, but it was nothing compared to the shock when he realized Grampa was excited just from seeing his bare tummy. It made him feel hot and quivery inside.
“Yer sure are a skinny little dude, ain’t ya?”
Kalani shrugged, then on a whim, he sucked in his belly and lifted his arms behind his head, showing off. Grampa’s eyes went wide. He was certain he could hold Kalani’s waist with both hands. He was so much thinner than Martha, it took away his breath. Grampa stared. Kalani’s hips and chest were wider than his waist, not an hourglass shape like her. He was formed the way a boy was supposed to be. Trim and taut, soft to touch, yet firm underneath.
“I’m not skinny!” Kalani giggled. “Mom says I’m better built than Dyani.”
Svelte, lithe, willowy, slim; all worked for Kalani. If there was any fat on him, it was measured in ounces, and it certainly wasn’t on his belly.
“Yer not the Pilsbury dough boy, that’s fer sure.”
Grampa poked his finger at Kalani’s belly button to prove his point. It was the opposite of Martha’s innie, but just as lickable. Plus, his grandson had a groove on top and a fold of skin underneath that made his navel look twice the size. It was the sexiest thing he’d ever seen next to Kalani’s pencil dick. Somehow, the quilt pushed down a few inches.
“You got a boner, Grampa.”
“So do you.”
“Yeah, but yours is awesome-huge.” Kalani giggled, staring right at it.
Then, Grampa gulped air. Worried that Kalani might tell. Even a careless word would spell doomsday.
“Grampa, you never did tell me your cornhole rules?”
Grampa’s head jerked up, less from his grandson’s question than from little fingers stroking his chest hair, inching slowly downward, leaving his belly only after a close inspection of navel.
“Cornhole? Rules? Remember?” Kalani grinned, wide awake now, not fully aware of what he was doing, yet sensing there something he was supposed to do even if he didn’t know what it was.
“What’cha know about sex, Cute Butt?” Choosing directness over parental obfuscation because it seemed like the smart thing to do, yet he gently relocated Kalani’s hand to safer territory and lifted the quilt back far enough to restore a semblance of decency.
“You mean how babies are made?”
Kalani smiled, pinching Grampa’s chest hair, back to being a shy kid again. “Dad told me about being in love, and how the man puts his sperm inside his wife.”
The college-educated Baptist version of reproduction.
“That’s the polite part of it. You and Calvin saw Goliath today, right?”
“Yeah.” Kalani was still smiling, but with a red flush creeping up his neck.
“So what did y’all see?”
“Um.. well…” Kalani’s smile got bigger. “He kinda climbed onto the cow’s back.”
Baby steps. Caressing Kalani’s hair. His thumb stroking the boy’s delicate forehead, touching eyebrows, wondering what might have transpired if he hadn’t moved Kalani’s hand higher. He’d come within an inch of touching the head of his grandpa’s erect penis. It didn’t seem possible.
“You know, Grampa. He put his sperm in her.”
“You mean the sex stuff?” Kalani peeped, smirking when Grampa nodded. “Um…”
Contemplating how to say forbidden words because none of his friends used the proper words.
“Just say it. Dirty if it’s easier for ya.”
“He put his cock in her… um… you know… in her pussy. That’s right, isn’t it?” He waited until Grampa nodded.
His feet rubbed in sheepskin, reveling in luxuriant warmth, little prehensile toes grasping wool.
“You got monkey feet, boy?” Grampa chuckled.
Kalani crouched, grinning, scratching his armpits, completely oblivious to his still-elevated dick, juvenile balls dangling underneath. As monkey impressions went, it was a 6.5.
“Suits you,” Grampa jeered, rapt in little boy parts.
“If I was a monkey, I’d be a chimpanzee. What would you be, Grampa?”
“Gorilla most likely. So, did you see Goliath’s cock after he pulled out?”
“It was ginormous. Like this big.” Kalani grinned and held his hands wide apart.
Three feet was as right for a bull as three inches for a boy in fourth grade.
“Near as big as a gorilla hard-on, eh?”
Kalani grinned. “No way, Grampa.”
“How big is a gorilla, you reckon?”
He thought about it. Finally, his hands moved about a foot apart. Then, he smirked and brought them closer, nearly halfway. “This is your stiffie, Grampa.”
Grampa grinned back. “What yer missin’ is the length of a chimp’ dick.” His finger and thumb showed the distance.
“Two inches is too big?”
“For Dyani maybe. Mine’s nearly four inches.”
“Maybe I ought get a ruler.”
Kalani couldn’t remember being so happy. Then, Grampa jerked his arm and he toppled over him, giggling and wrestling.
“Monkey fight! Monkey fight!” Kalani squealed over and over as Grampa tickled him. Nowhere was safe.
Finally, Kalani managed to escape. He huddled under the quilt an arm’s length from Grampa, peeking out, pretending it was a cave.
Grampa mock-scowled. “You remember when Goliath was on top of the cow, before he pulled out?”
“You mean when he was fucking her? Oops!”
“That’s okay. Fucking’s what makes the baby. People don’t like usin’ the word, but fucking’s what it is.” He put the rest of what he was going to say out of his mind. “Lots of fun watchin’ Goliath, huh?”
“It was cool,” Kalani agreed.
“You git a boner, cowboy?”
Kalani pulled the quilt over his face, carrying on enough to make Grampa chuckle.
“Getting’ a stiff’s nothin’ to be embarrassed about. Did ya?”
“Um, sort of.”
“Either the gopher stuck up its head or it didn’t.”
“I guess it looked around for a while,” Kalani guffawed.
His grandpa just smiled. “Did Calvin do anything you shouldn’t be tellin’ me?”
“Um… you know…” Kalani jerked his hand a few times, taking full advantage of the concealing quilt.
“That’d be Calvin. He’s hornier than Goliath. How about you? You do it too?”
Kalani giggled. “For a while. Calvin made sperm.”
“I’d be surprised if he didn’t.”
Kalani smiled slightly, still shy.
“Your turn’ll come, Cute Butt.”
“That’s what she said.”
Grampa didn’t get it. “Makin’ cream’s what we called it when I was a kid. It starts around twelve so you got plenty of time to enjoy yerself without getting’ messy.”
“He said it’s more fun when it shoots.”
“Not nearly as good as doing a girl but.”
Grampa chuckled. “Sounds like something Calvin would say to his buds.” After a moment, he smiled, his eyes avoiding Kalani. “A day ago, I would’ve said he was right.”
Something clicked inside Kalani. Maybe it was the tone of his grandpa’s voice.
“Because of me?”
It was Grampa’s turn to be self-conscious. Suddenly, very distracted, he made himself keep looking away from the boy huddled under the quilt. The Monopoly board was a cruel reminder, cards scattered across the floor, Kalani’s neatly stacked piles of money.
“Is it gay, what Calvin and me did?”
Grampa gave a shrug, easier than explaining the intricacies of sexual relationships to a Baptist kid from the suburbs of Indianapolis. “Feeling good about yerself is what counts at the end of the day.”
“It’s still a sin, though.”
“If it is, it ain’t one to worry about. Beatin’ yer meat’s normal, cowboy, even after you get interested in the opposite sex. You’ll still be doin’ it a long while from now.”
“A really long while,” Kalani giggled. “Fundamentalist Baptists can’t have sex until they’re married.”
“You got a ways to go then, don’t ya? Meanwhile, what you need is an alternative to pullin’ yer lever three times a day,” Grampa joked.
Kalani smiled even though the joke missed by a mile.
“Gimme a hug, cowboy.”
Pretending reluctance, Kalani shifted closer an inch at a time. The quilt fell away as Grampa scooped him up like a baby, stretching him out on the sheepskin rug. He gazed down at the shamelessly nude boy.
“Yer something else,” he said softly.
Kalani smiled, not at all sure what Grampa meant, but there was something about his voice that reassured him. Just a handful of hours ago, everything changed. Mostly, he’d never realized how nice it was to be cuddled by a man. Nothing like his father’s occasional truncated hugs.
Grampa’s hands moved over his body again, stroking, massaging, tickling. Not the private parts, the rest of him.
“Ya know what boys do fer sex when pussy’s off limits?”
“I just finished fourth grade, Grampa.”
Grampa laughed. “So ya got a lot to learn.” He leaned closer. “There’s things boys can do fer fun ‘sides masturbatin’.”
“Huh?” Kalani frowned.
“Yer dad probably didn’t tell you this when he gave you the birds and bees talk; but what if a boy put his wiener in a girl’s ass instead of her pussy?”
“There’s no makin’ a baby that way, right?”
“I guess. Why would they do it then?”
“Why do you think?”
Kalani avoided his eyes. “Because it feels good?”
“You got it. You reckon two boys could do that too?”
“That’s what ranch boys do. That’s cornholin’, Cute Butt.”
“They fuck, only there ain’t a pussy.”
Kalani blushed, too ashamed to say anything. In an instant, everything was too close for comfort.
“I think you know what I’m talkin’ about, right?” Grampa asked suddenly.
Kalani reddened even more. His head barely moved.
“In these parts, a boy’s got no choice if he’s horny.” Grampa closed in and whispered. “Fact is, boy-ass feels as nice as a pussy.”
“Grampa!” Kalani shook his head, doing his best not to giggle. “You’re kidding, right?”
“I wouldn’t kid ya about somethin’ important. A boy’s dick will fit up your little butt just fine,” Grampa chuckled. “You’ll be tight as a chicken fer a while, but spit and some patience, and it’ll slide right in.”
“But I thought boys only did that with men? Uh oh…” Kalani turned crimson.
Grampa met his eyes, and waited.
“Um… Grampa… I never said that… Okay?”
“And I never heard it; but only if you tell me where you heard it?”
“In L.A., okay.” Kalani shook his tousled head.
He avoiding Grampa’s steady gaze by glancing down. He looked straight at his grandfather’s big cock. It stole his breath, enough to make him wet his lips. He felt funny-strange again. Only stronger. Magnetic attraction. He liked it best when it was pointing straight up, but even hanging down it was fun to look at.
“I can’t tell you more than that.” He had three months of questions stored up.
“I’m guessin’ it involves Dyani and that movie guy he’s livin’ with?”
Kalani tried to shake his head, but nothing moved. Not even his eyes, now locked on Grampa’s erection, unable to look away. He wanted to touch it. He wanted to say it was big, and it was. It was so much bigger than his own it made him uneasy. Maybe that was why he couldn’t stop staring.
He looked up cautiously, gulping and licking his lips. Had he really been thinking about how Grampa’s penis would taste? At that very moment, his grandfather’s penis was steel-hard and glistening wet on the tip, like it was leaking pee. When had that happened? In the dull lamplight, it was dark and thick, mysterious and powerful, and the head was swollen up like a plum. It made him feel like he was inferior… like he needed to kneel before it, like Dyani did.
“Rub my back some more, please Grampa.”
“Did something happen in LA?” Grampa pressed, stroking gently from side to side. For nearly two years, he and Martha worried about Will Sterling, movie agent and probable pervert, getting his hands on Dyani.
“I promised I wouldn’t say, ‘kay Grampa?”
Grampa nodded, figuring how to say what he wanted.
“I’m not goin’ to lie to ya and say boys don’t get cornholed by men, ‘cause they do, and not just in L.A. either.”
Kalani sucked on his bottom lip, thinking it through. Suddenly, he realized his grandfather was staring at his right hand moving under the quilt. He pulled back quickly.
“Like I said, it’s okay to play with yerself, Cute Butt,” Grampa said gently. “Every boy does it sooner or later.”
“‘specially when he’s all heated up. Ain’t nothin’ wrong with you when you do it. It feels good, yer dick bein’ hard, don’t it?”
Kalani smirked. “Real good.” He moved his hand back to where it had been.
Grampa smiled approvingly, as much as saying there were no secrets between them down there. Still, he pulled away the quilt to make sure. Kalani’s fingers were lightly stroking juvenile balls, his thumb hugging his boy-toy, more like cast iron than flesh.
“You got a nice big dick fer a monkey boy.”
He pointed it down from his crotch, accentuating shiny tight skin. “It’s not that big, Grampa.”
“Certainly ain’t nothin’ to be ashamed about that’s fer sure.”
“It is compared to Anton’s, but I guess it’ll do.”
Grampa breathed deep and slow, watching Kalani examine himself, fingers manipulating the rigid shaft, toying with the plump red bulb on the end.
“It’s big compared to Dyani’s.” He smiled when Kalani pointed the little cannon right at him. “Careful, it might be loaded.”
“Don’t worry; it only fires blanks, least till I’m older,” Kalani giggled, still testing his erection for maximum stiffness.
“Now, where’d ya hear that?” Grampa wondered aloud.
“Dyani.” Kalani’s penis slapped his belly. “Mr. Sterling said he still can’t shoot white stuff.”
Fourteen and still not ejaculating, yet he wasn’t surprised. His eldest grandson still looked like a preteen.
“Some weird stuff goes on in L.A., I reckon,” he said, not daring to go there. He replaced the quilt.
“Dad says the whole place is so messed up even earthquakes don’t stop them from carrying on!”
“True here too. Not the earthquakes. It’s lonely livin’ on a ranch; stuff that’s not supposed to happen, well sometimes it does.”
“Stuff happens,” Kalani agreed seriously.
“’specially when yer miles from nowhere.”
“I didn’t think I would, but I like it here. It’s fun being way out in the wilderness.”
“Not near what it used to be, but I know what you mean. Out here, it ain’t like yer suburbia. Ranchers’ kids grow up more open. Lots of opportunity fer them to do stuff. No one around to see what they do.”
“You mean like being in the nude?”
“Ain’t nothin’ wrong with a boy goin’ bare. It’s the way God made ya. ‘sides, I like seein’ all of ya.”
Kalani responded by pushing down the quilt as if he was hot. Aware that his grandpa’s eyes went straight to his middle. He grinned back, wagging his penis to make a point that he enjoyed his newfound freedom.
“Ya couldn’t do that at home.”
He grinned and cupped his hand as if covering it made a difference. “I couldn’t do this either.” Still grinning, he rubbed his stiff boyhood between two fingers and his thumb. Slowly, sensuously. Up and down.
Grampa gaped, gulped, thinking it might be the sexiest thing he’d ever seen. “Yer mom would have a fit.”
“Dad too. He already thinks I’m too much like Dyani.”
“Personally, I love you just the way you are.”
He watched Kalani play with his penis, exploring sensations, mischievous teasing, or showing off; it was impossible to tell. His experience was obvious, if disturbing. The last thing Grampa expected to see was his grandson consciously arousing himself, slender fingers lightly stroking the blood-engorged shaft, repeatedly testing it for stiffness. Giggling and gently squeezing the fleshy red head.
“It’s like a cherry on top, see Grampa.”
“Yeah, I see.”
“It’s really sensitive.”
Grampa swallowed. Just slightly flared, the little glans resembled a helmet, especially when Kalani squeezed the shaft. He might’ve been trying to get something out. Grampa could almost taste it.
“It’s best when I do it like this.” Kalani demonstrated, both squeezing and rubbing on the end.
Grampa gaped, barely believing his eyes.
“It makes it really hard.”
“Sometimes spit comes out if I squeeze down really hard. Want to see, Grampa?”
Grampa managed a nod. Kalani strained until his face flushed. Except for his concentration, he might’ve been having a stroke. After a while, he checked, pressing on his swollen glans to open the tiny lips. There was a little bit of moisture hiding inside. Kalani pointed it at Grampa, expecting closer scrutiny.
“You learn that in L.A.?”
“Dyani showed me,” Kalani giggled. “Actually, it was mostly Draven and Joey.”
Dyani, Draven, and Joey, the three Grommet stars. All teenagers, but looking years younger, guaranteed market appeal for preteen kids and middle-aged perverts, heart throbs in Hawaiian board shorts.
“They’re always doing it. Mr. Sterling doesn’t want them getting stiffs on the set,” Kalani snickered.
They shot most if not all the surfing scenes with the boys in Elastomax. Super-stretch 2mm neoprene body suits, sexy neon blue and grey, tight enough to see virtually ‘everything.’
“It’s really stiff now, Grampa.”
“’sposed to be. It has to be hard so you can put it up a girl’s pussy.”
“Is it the same for a boy’s butt?”
“More so ‘cause it’s tighter.”
“I wouldn’t mind doing it if it wasn’t poopy and all. I mean I’d rather do it with a girl, but…” About then, Kalani turned beetroot-red.
“Whatever works fer ya. Doin’ a boy don’t mean yer gay,” Grampa went on, hoarse with excitement. “Ranch kids have to make do with what’s available.”
Watching his grandson masturbate openly. No shame any longer. He liked that the boy’s cock skin was so tight it was shiny. Ball skin shrinking to crinkles, two tiny eggs barely visible.
“So it’s okay if they cornhole each other…” Kalani said, a snicker lurking now he knew what it meant.
“It’s not how you think. Taking a boy’s dick up yer butt feels real nice; better that you can imagine.”
Still fingering his glans, a fingertip rubbing in the groove underneath, little finger rubbing near the base.
“They take turns at it huh?”
“Depends on the boys. Some do, some don’t.”
“If I lived here with you, I could do it to Calvin.”
“Yer too small fer him. You’ll be the one bendin’ over.”
“Does it hurt, Grampa?”
“A bit. The first time or two can be difficult. After that, it don’t hurt bad more than a coupla seconds. Then, it’s heaven. More than likely, you’ll back up fer more. I sure did when I was your age. It was too good not to.”
Kalani thought about it. “But with a grown up; it’s got to hurt something awful, Grampa.”
“I’m not recommendin’ you try it, mind, but takin’ a big one the pain’s not near as bad as you think.” He lowered his voice a notch. “I was best friends with a teenager when I was yer age.”
Kalani’s eyes went wide. “He cornholed you?”
“Probably more than we should’a. His cock was as big as mine is now.”
“Did it hurt?”
“If you must know, something that big hurts like the dickens for a minute or such, but after that…”
“It feels okay?”
“What they say about bigger is better, it’s ‘specially true fer cornholing.”
Kalani smirked at the obvious. “Who was it?”
“You oughta be in bed, Cute Butt.”
“Calvin said you and his grandfather were really close when you were a kid. You did stuff with him, didn’t you?”
“It was 50 years ago, Cute Butt.”
“You’re still best friends. It was him, wasn’t it?”
Grampa smiled. “I’m not telling secrets, but ya get real close when the same guy cornholes ya fer a coupla years.”
Kalani giggled, shyness all gone. “I guess you liked it a lot, huh Grampa?”
“Wait till you get cornholed, Cute Butt. You’ll like it too.”
Realizing the boy had reached the stage where he was ready to try something different, he reached across to the little boner. Masturbating Kalani for the very first time. Gently at first. Two fingers matched against his thumb, slow up and down along the inflexible organ.
“How’s that feel, cowboy?”
“Nice. It’s better when you do it.”
Dreamy boy, gazing down at his grandpa’s hand fondling his privates. Plump tiny glans bulging, tingling under rough adult fingers. Dick skin so tight it was shiny. Smiling shyly. Juvenile bliss.
“Beautiful boner,” Grampa muttered.
Lovingly testing his grandson’s erection for stiffness. Squeezing inflexible flesh. He’d never seen hardness like that. Wondering if it was normal for prepubescent boys.
“You can go faster if you want, Grampa.”
“Why would I want to do that?”
“So I get the feeling.”
“Ya learn about orgasms in the fourth grade?”
Chuckling, Grampa picked up the pace. Watching Kalani’s preoccupied expression, half-closed eyes, lips parted, flickering hedonistic smiles directed at him. Not even questioning whether masturbating his grandson to orgasm was appropriate. Little balls bouncing with every quick jerk.
Impossibly, the pint-sized sex organ got even stiffer. A quarter inch longer. And fatter, swelling so much it looked painful. Kalani twitched. And twitched again. Eyes nearly closed. Concentrating on bloated pleasure.
Without more warning that an abrupt giggle, Grampa felt it pulse against his fingers. Twin tiny spasms. Glowing hot boner. Quivering sensual boy indulging himself with a faraway smile.
“Don’t stop, Grampa.”
More than a little surprised, Grampa kept rubbing. Realizing his grandson was no stranger to orgasm. Not sure of anything any longer. Tiny balls scrunched up underneath. Boy-cock throbbing mercilessly. Adding saliva when Kalani’s penis started to get red.
“You do it this long by yourself?”
“Mostly, I stop after the feeling.”
Grampa laughed at pointed at the stairs. “Bed-time!”
“Will you carry me upstairs? Please?”
Grampa took one look at Kalani’s face and knew what would happen. Even a goodnight hug would push him over the edge. Still, he considered it, telling himself the little guy was probably exhausted.
“Carry yerself up, cowboy. I’m 60 years old.”
“You don’t look it, Grampa. You have a really nice body.”
“And ‘e gives out compliments just like his gramma.” Grampa grinned. “Okay, just this one time.”
A bale of hay weighed more than Kalani. Grampa easily scooped him up from the quilt, giggling warm boy making him tremble. He hugged him for a few moments, still hearing awe in his grandson’s voice. He’d noticed how the boy looked at him, like a heifer in estrus. Not-yet-eleven and he matched Goliath for horny. With a grunt, he heaved the naked boy over his shoulder. Seemed safer that way.
He was halfway to the stairs before he realized the kerosene lamp was still burning. He backed up close enough for Kalani to reach it, upside down and giggling behind him, poking his fingers into Grampa’s hairy butt-crack.
“Cute butt, Grampa.”
Grampa reciprocated with a wriggling finger of his own, poking it into tight boy-ass. Hysterical giggles ensured.
“Turn out the light, Monkey-boy.”
Kalani snorted back giggles. “You got to go farther, Grampa.”
“You want it all the way up yer ass, huh?”
Grampa goosed him in play. God Almighty! His finger penetrated past the first joint. Hot, moist hole stretched wide by a digit. Both of them stunned. For a moment, he didn’t dare move it.
“I meant lower down, so I can reach the knob, Grampa.”
Grampa could feel himself trembling. Jerked out his finger and playfully slapped boy-butt. “Next time, say what ya mean, cowboy.”
“And mean what I say,” Kalani added, his world turned upside down.
He stooped, one hand holding on tightly as Kalani stretched out, both arms extended, unerring faith he wouldn’t be dropped on his head.
“It’s the knob in front, right?”
“That’s the one. Watch out fer the glass. It’s as hot as yer ass.”
“At least mine doesn’t smell like yours,” Kalani squeaked from behind him. “Phew! Your ass smells like cow manure, Grampa.”
Grinning, Grampa gave his grandson’s butt a second, well-deserved slap.
“You’re as hairy as a horse, Grampa.”
“What you need, boy, is a good cornholin’ to teach you some manners.”
“I’m game, but who’s doing it?” Kalani snickered before breaking into a giggling fit, diverting attention from what he was supposed to be doing.
“I was thinkin’ maybe Calvin,” Grampa chuckled, bouncing up and down on his toes while holding Kalani tightly.
“Don’t you drop me!”
“’course I’d have to pay him. Twenty bucks oughta be enough.”
Kalani couldn’t stop laughing, everything inverted from normal. Upside down ride around the living room, being swung side to side, banging into the couch. Twice.
“He’s a mite large fer yer tiny ass,” Grampa went on, pretending to stagger like a cowboy departing the bar. “Ya won’t be so big in yer britches after he’s done ya.”
“I reckon yer jokin’, Grampa,” Kalani mocked.
He got bounced again, a half dozen times, mostly for his Midwestern drawl trying to move to Montana.
“Jokin’ would be Tony. He’d breed ya fer nothin’, but you’d be sore fer a week.”
“What about you, Grampa? If you did it, you wouldn’t have to pull the lever so much.”
Kalani’s giggles turned to shrieks as his grandfather jiggled and added a couple of butt slaps for good measure. They were by the window by then, looking out at silhouette mountains.
“You seen my dick, boy. If I cornholed ya, you’d be standin’ up on the plane goin’ home.”
Both of them were still laughing when Kalani turned off the lamp, leaving the room in darkness. In three minutes of naked fun, everything had changed again, but only Grampa thought it through to the logical end. He hoisted his grandson higher, thinking thoughts that scared him. Just standing there, trying to sort out his feelings, unsteady until he regained his balance, his face becoming increasingly hot as he rubbed Kalani’s slim thighs, slowly moving his hand up and down as he relished every square inch of bare skin. He could feel the boy’s breathing, hot puffs on his back, never more aware that his penis was erect.
“Grampa… are… you… okay?” Kalani said, as if every word was an effort hanging from Grampa’s shoulder.
“I’m just thinkin’ a moment.”
Still trying to tell himself it was all in good fun, including poking his finger up Kalani’s small ass. Still shaking, he began walking slowly towards the stairs. He’d been a lot younger when he carried up Martha. Lust fermented inside him, even stronger than their honeymoon night. His hand strayed higher, onto Kalani’s right buttock, cupping his hand over it, slipping his fingers into the boy’s narrow crack, no longer playing, telling himself he didn’t want the boy falling off. Burning hot in the valley. One fingertip lurking dangerously close. He could feel the start of a pucker. A fraction closer and it was moist and stretchy. Excitement surged through him.
He paused on the third step. Pretending he was holding himself steady until he found the energy to go the rest of the way, still wondering if their joking around was really the start of something life-changing.
“Yeah, Cute Butt.”
“Um… nothing I guess… It’s fun being naked, don’t you think?”
“With you, yeah.”
“Grampa, thanks for… you know.”
“Just don’t go tellin’ anyone I masturbated you.”
“I won’t. You did it really good.”
Grampa smiled in the dark, squeezing the little buttock, knowing his index finger was right on top of the boy’s tight anus, remembering what he’d done in the shower, how Kalani pushed back to force it deeper. How he hadn’t complained a minute ago, almost as if he wanted his grandpa’s finger inside his ass.
“That headdress there, it belonged to Squawking Bird,” Grampa said, lightly stroking. He could feel puckered skin, the tiny opening was quivering, hot and moist, like touching Martha’s lips.
“He was a chief, huh?”
Grampa inhaled, using all his strength to resist temptation. He was certain he could feel Kalani’s pulse racing.
“Sorry. Yeah, he was a big chief. He led the Blackfoot Confederacy.”
Impossible that anything could be as smooth and soft as Kalani’s buttocks, or as hot as the hole in the center.
He relocated his finger, teasing the tail of Kalani’s bumpy spine.
“This here’s yer monkey tail, ya cheeky chimp.”
“Grampa, be serious! So the Blackfeet fought against the North?”
“It was nothin’ to do with the Civil War. There are four tribes in the Blackfoot Nation. That’s the Confederacy.”
“You can play with my butt some more, if you want Grampa.”
Grampa took a breath. “Yer fer sure related to apes.”
“Yer definitely part monkey.”
His grandson wanted to be touched. Excitement in his voice. Insistent. It wouldn’t take much effort to push him over the edge. Boys were like that, especially the quiet, serious ones.
“It’s fun bein’ this close to someone,” Grampa muttered, hoarse once again. “But there’s some things a boy does fer himself.”
He added a gentle slap. His hand lingered on fleshy small cheeks. He didn’t intend for that to happen. Fingers stroking boy-butt, one finger already back to intruding into the gap. Kalani relaxed, pushing out as his grandpa’s thick finger touched delicate wrinkles. Instinct racing ahead, getting himself ready for cornholing now he knew what it was.
“You’re doing just fine,” Kalani snickered.
“Sounds like someone’s enjoying himself?”
“My poop hole likes being tickled.”
“Yer funny. For a cute butt, you got a big one.”
“You got the big butt, Grampa. Mine’s tiny.”
“Better watch yer mouth. Your butt is plenty big enough fer some serious corn-holin’.”
Grampa stroked tiny circles, exploring the depth and length of Kalani’s crack, sending trembles through both of them. Kalani waited until the teasing finger receded.
“You ever carry Dyani to bed, Grampa?”
“No, and I shouldn’t be carryin’ you either.” Pretending to stagger under the weight. More certain than ever that his oldest grandson was having gay sex on a regular basis.
Two more stairs and he stopped again, sepia photos of Broken Butte Ranch barely visible. Deere history in Montana went all the way back to the 1840s. He wanted Kalani to be part of it, not growing up in Midwest suburbia and inheriting something he never cared for.
“Can I sleep in your room tonight, Grampa?”
“I snore, so you better not.”
“I don’t mind.”
“Don’t tell me a big boy like you is scared of the dark?” Grampa teased.
Unable to stop thinking about Kalani’s taut dick, rubbing it until it was inflamed. Masturbating his grandson to orgasm. Incredible. Relationship altering for both of them. His hand moved back involuntarily, now clasping boy-butt. Just one cheek so his fingertips pressed into the crevice.
In a heartbeat, the urge was back with a vengeance. One finger touched, rubbing lightly. Velvety warmth overwhelmed reason. In an instant, he was dangerously close to pushing in. Worse, he was certain the little anus was nibbling, which could only mean the boy was relaxing, deliberately inviting him in.
“If I was, could I sleep in your bed?”
Grampa laughed and slapped boy-butt again to take his mind off what he was thinking. Butt cheeks as hard as a car tire. Small like two grapefruit squashed together. The urge to fondle was overpowering. No reason not to copulate with a boy. The logical next step after masturbating him. A bit painful at first, that’s all. No need to worry about hymens and babies. Habit-forming if a boy was amenable, but a nice habit to have.
He turned into the second doorway on the right and dumped his boy-bundle on the bed, bouncing up and down on the mattress, giggling and wriggling as his grandpa tickled him. Hard enough in front to dig holes in the mattress. Unable to stop. It might have been different if he was wearing pajamas. Unashamedly nude, it got out of control. One hand cupping protectively after Grampa targeted crotch. Dick like a lever, inviting bad touches. Fingers poking and grabbing. Discretion out the door. It went on and on until Kalani was breathless.
Finally, his grandpa planted a kiss on his forehead, and one on each flushed cheek. “I’ll see ya in the morning, Cute Butt. Don’t stay up too late masturbatin’.”
Kalani grinned up, absently brushing long hair from his face.
“What you said downstairs… does it hurt really bad… you know, being cornholed?”
“Not by a boy. The worst is yer ass’ll burn fer maybe a minute. It might be a bit loose fer a bit too, but that’s all.”
“You said I’d be sore for a week if Tony cornholed me.”
Grampa rubbed his ear, not quite believing. It was Martha who said boys were born to be sexual creatures.
“What I said was he’d breed ya, Cute Butt.”
“That’s different how?”
“You saw Goliath and a heifer rutting today?” Not expecting more than a bashful nod. “It was kinda rough, wasn’t it?”
“I thought he was hurting her.”
“He wasn’t. Animals do it to reproduce, not because they enjoy doing it.”
“And they don’t love each other, right?”
“Not like people do. That’s the difference.”
“So breeding is just to make babies?”
Grampa smiled. “Well, there ain’t gonna be a baby with you and Tony no matter how much he squirts inside ya, but something that big really affects ya.”
“Ya might hear people say it’s bad, but something about being cornholed by a grownup makes ya want more. It kinda stirs up yer juices.”
“It’s different if two boys do it, huh?”
“Way different…” Grampa exhaled. “… Yer cob and his are near the same size, about as big as a finger mostly. Plus he’s a friend, so it don’t mean more than havin’ a good time. When yer partner’s older, he’s way bigger so it’s a whole lot different. Losing yer cherry is the worst.”
“That’s the first time you do it, right?”
“Must be some fourth grade yer in. Losing yer virginity to a man hurts like hell. It stays sore till he opens ya up inside.”
“A boy bein’ with a man, it ain’t like Goliath and the heifers. It ain’t one or two times.”
“Over time, yer hole gets stretchier. Things get bigger inside too. Kinda messed up as well.”
“Messed up how?”
“Fer starters, you won’t shit right fer a week. It changes a boy in other ways too.”
Grampa rubbed slender bare shoulders, thumbs reaching to pectoral muscles, rubbing tiny dot nipples, not daring to go lower. Kalani’s penis was unwavering, sending play-with-me signals.
“A man doin’ a boy is a bit like breakin’ a colt, Sugar. With a horse, ya have to get him to do what you want, not what he wants. Ya don’t want to kill his spirit, but you control him.”
“So Tony would control me after he cornholes me.”
Grampa nodded, deliberately averting his eyes from Kalani’s crotch. The boy had a cock to be proud of. Perpetually stiff.
“More or less. Assumin’ yer willing, ya’ll do what he wants, when he wants it. He’ll dote on ya too, just like he’s courtin.’”
“That’s good, right?”
“Bein’ spoiled is better than good, I reckon. See, the rest ain’t easy to say exactly, ‘cause everyone’s different. It’s nice bein’ close to a man, but there’s somethin’ inside some boys. It kinda makes them enjoy being…” He looked away, never more aware that he shouldn’t say what he was thinking.
“Being what, Gramps?”
“How to put this?” He smiled, mostly at Kalani’s eagerness. “Fer most boys, bein’ cornholed’s nothing more than a way to have fun… Fer some, it’s who they are; so when they get cornholed, everything feels right.”
“You mean they’re gay?”
“Yer smart fer yer age, ain’t ya?” Grampa ruffled long curly locks.
He stole a glance down. Boy-dick still poker hard. Not as thick as it had been downstairs. Back to pinkish-red. He needed to touch it again. One last time.
“Nowadays, being queer ain’t the worst thing that can happen, but it ain’t all roses either,” he added bluntly.
Kalani shrugged as if he’d heard it before. Barely aware of his grandpa’s fingers stroking his flank, creeping closer to his middle.
“Manly boys don’t have a problem with bein’ that way. It’s the others… if a boy’s a bit girly, other kids tease him… especially if he’s good-lookin’ and he’s not into sports.”
“You mean if he’s effeminate?”
Right then, Grampa touched boy-wiener with a single fingertip. “I reckon that’s somethin’ yer dad said, huh?”
Kalani glanced down, watching, not about to scream molestation. “Mom and dad both. They were talking about Dyani.”
“I kinda figured that was the case.”
He looked Kalani in the eye, one hand on his forehead, fingers playing with curls. His other hand fondled willing boy-parts. Small, stiff penis, delicate ball sack with its precious cargo inside.
“Being effeminate ain’t the end of the world.”
“Mom said a boy can’t help how he’s born. It’s what he does with his life that counts,” Kalani said sagely.
Grampa regarded him fondly. “She’s right. I reckon Dyani’s doing alright.”
“Mom says he needed someone who understands him.”
“Might be he’s better off with a guy who cares fer him.”
“Mr. Sterling spoils him rotten, Grampa,” Kalani agreed, smirking and not about to say ‘stop’.
“Then, I reckon it’s mutual. He might as well enjoy it.”
“I enjoy doing stuff with you, Grampa.”
“Yeah, me too. I think yer dick likes doing stuff too.”
Grampa’s hand strayed despite his excitement. Reluctantly, he relocated Kalani’s hand to his middle, little fist wrapped around his boyhood like a pig in a blanket.
“It’s really stiff, Grampa.”
“Poor little guy’ll stay that way till ya shoot.”
“You can keep playing with it, if you want.”
“It’s gettin’ late. You need to masturbate that thing and go to sleep.”
Kalani smirked, his hand barely moving. “Grampa… being cornholed by a grownup, it hurts really bad, huh?”
“With a skinny runt like you, it’ll hurt like the dickens if it ain’t done right.”
“What you said though, about bigger being better; it feels better with a man?”
“Bein’ cornholed by a man still ain’t something ya wanna rush into.”
“Because it hurts so much?”
“If you can stand the pain, the worst is over in a couple of days.”
“It takes a long time otherwise, huh?”
“Doin’ it so yer ass won’t hurt takes a coon’s age.” Grampa chuckled. His roving eyes settled on Kalani’s crotch yet again. “That’s a serious hard-on ya got there.”
Kalani squeezed, making his fully inflated glans turn purple.
“You ought to masturbate that thing so it’ll go down.”
“You want to watch me do it, don’t you?”
”Someone oughta make sure yer doin’ it properly. Not tonight though, it’s way past yer bedtime.”
Kalani’s grin confirmed he’d relieve the pressure as soon as Grampa left the room. “Did it hurt bad with Mr. Graybear?”
Grampa smiled, thinking nothing was sexier than a boy before puberty. “There’s an Indian way that don’t hurt so much.”
“What is it?”
“Sleepin’ boys don’t cry.”
“Grampa, it’s let sleeping dogs lie.”
“Well, cowboy, ya might be right. Seems to me, sleepin’ boys also don’t have to lie.” Grampa chuckled. “And speaking of sleepin’, sweet dreams, Cute Butt.”
He was at the doorway when Kalani sat up in bed. “Grampa, would you… um… you know…”
“What we talked about…” The rest came out in an awkward not-yet-eleven-years-old rush. “Wouldyoucornhole meifIwantedyoutoo?”
“Maybe… We’ll talk more in the morning. Goodnight, Cute Butt.”
Chapter Eight. June 11th, Night
Grampa flopped onto his bed, staring at the ceiling, still painted blue because Martha needed to look up at Heaven. She was funny like that. And yet, with a single flickering candle, it turned into an ethereal night sky. He wasn’t much for religious experience, but it really was like sleeping outdoors. He’d have to find time to take Kalani camping before he left for L.A. There were plenty of quiet, hidden-away places on Broken Butte Mountain, wilderness places where a boy could go butt-naked and not be disturbed. He smiled. So easy to disappear for a day, or a week. That sun-splashed gorge on the far side, where the cows always went in a storm.
He dozed, dreaming of Bootlicker Creek burbling over boulders on its way to Sly Fox Gulch. Aspen trees rustling overhead. Kalani’s cut dick sticking out. Awake again. His grandson was naked in the shower. Little boy-cock was as hard as a railroad spike, and half as long. Little balls tucked underneath. Sending signals without even trying. Bare-assed most of the evening. The worst part was the boy was so beautiful he couldn’t stop looking. Perving on his grandson’s bare body. The most beautiful boy since Creation. Too many thoughts.
In Grampa’s mind, everything centered on one muttered request. Mostly disbelief. Had he really been considering cornholing his grandson?
Clamoring, conflicting thoughts, but always pointing the same way. The door across the hall was temptation. On the ranch for not quite a day and already asking endless questions. More than curious because so much of what they talked about centered on sodomy. Animal magnetism with man-boy sex in the offing, and both of them knew it. Dancing around their desires; it was funny. Anxious, right up to that final mumbled rush of words, scared and excited like he was eager. It had to mean he wanted to try it.
Grampa tried to sleep by counting cattle, then mustangs brought in from the range. Wheeling and snorting as he urged them through the gate one at a time. A boy with blond hair and sky-blue eyes kept intervening. Counting sheep backwards didn’t work either. Not when the boy was nude with a cute little boner.
Listening even though the house was quiet, just the tick-tock from the grandfather clock in the hall downstairs. Always Kalani’s sweet voice in his ear.
By the twelfth dong from downstairs, Grampa couldn’t put it off any longer. He got up from the bed, shedding his pajama bottoms, gazing down at his engorged sex throbbing mightily. Willpower clamoring like the voice in his head, shocked at what he was thinking yet unable to stop himself.
Martha kept a box of candles in the bottom drawer of the chest of drawers. He took one out. Greasy beeswax, made by Mabel. She called them ‘the Lord’s Light,’ red hand-dipped candles that she sold for $3 each at last year’s Pentecostal fete, or was it the year before? It was round on the end, tapering to a thin tip at the wick, which she held when she dipped it in beeswax.
“He must be snoozin’ by now.”
He’d left his door open, Kalani’s too; though he’d told himself it was because the doors jammed in the frames after rain. Stark naked, bare skin glowing from the candle he carried with him, tiptoeing down the hall, staying close to the wall so the boards didn’t squeak.
“Yer silly old fool,” he whispered to himself, now standing outside Kalani’s bedroom.
His fully extended penis was like a wind cock pointing ahead, throbbing relentlessly. There was no point in looking into the shadows, not with his gut in a knot. Slowly, quietly, he walked into Jeff’s old bedroom. Martha’s sewing room. Her things mixed up with Jeff’s, gradually taking over. Disputing what he was going to do even though his excuse was already formed.
‘I thought you were havin’ a nightmare.’
After the events of that afternoon, it was almost believable. However, the real nightmare would be if Kalani woke up at the wrong time. There weren’t excuses for what he had in mind, not if a boy didn’t want it. But if he did… Heck, he asked for it. Grampa smiled slyly.
He propped the candle between two racks of Martha’s spindles on the chest of drawers. Light flickering across, enough to see the blond-headed boy curled up on the bed. Prize-winning quilt folded over the bottom rail. Grampa gazed down at his grandson sound asleep under the sheet. Holding his breath, he lifted it back the sheet.
“Yer so fuckin’ sexy,” he whispered. “Yer way more beautiful than yer brother.”
It was the striking resemblance to Martha that struck him like a sledgehammer. Blond hair, snub nose, blue eyes, and Nordic complexion. For a moment, guilt reigned and he carefully replaced the sheet. He exhaled deeply, telling himself he was evil. The world hated pedophiles for good reason. Inhaled again, this time telling himself that his grandson would never know he’d been molested. He was only doing what the boy wanted. Already asking, ‘Wouldyoucornhole meifIwantedyoutoo?’ Lust won hands down.
“Yer ready fer cornolin’, ain’t ya Cute Butt?” he whispered, moving the sheet to the side and sitting down on the edge of the bed.
Very slowly, he lifted the sheet up again, gazing in awe before drawing it down to Kalani’s knees. Waiting for eternity to make certain the boy didn’t stir before carefully repositioning him on his back. Arms by his sides, feet together, like he was laid out in a coffin. A flickering candle standing guard to the side.
“Beautiful, Martha,” he murmured, even as his hands became clammy. Then, he smiled.
Contemplating perfection from head to toes, but mostly focusing on the boy’s delectable middle. Staring at boy-dick like a Jimmy Dean breakfast sausage flopped across his little boy-eggs. He would’ve liked to have had more light as he leaned closer. Not daring to touch, just absorbing everything. So different there compared to his movie star brother.
“I’m bettin’ Dyani wishes he had your dick.”
At eleven years old, Dyani’s erect penis had been about the same thickness, but Kalani’s penis was close to two inches longer. Brothers with boy-dicks as different as goat’s cheese and cow cheese. Dyani’s doctor had circumcised him close to the head. Kalani was cut halfway down his shaft. Movie star boy had a puffy band around his glans, his younger brother with barely a wrinkle, just enough extra skin to allow an erection, making the head appear bigger and plopped on.
“I reckon yer wiener makes fer a nice lollipop,” he mused.
Lickable like a lollipop too. He moved on to testicles, pushing Kalani’s two tiny marbles from one side to the other of his fleshy pouch. Up close fondling revealed his youngest grandson was a fraction bigger than his brother there too, though it wasn’t nearly as obvious.
His inspection complete, Grampa began phase two of Kalani’s molestation. Using only his first finger and thumb, he stroked the slender appendage, tantalizing quiescent nerves. Warmth flowed into his hand, making it tremble. Skin so soft he could barely feel it. Boy-dick responded as nature intended, gradually becoming longer and a little bit thicker. Rubbing ever so gently, Grampa stretched it out on the upstroke, delicate skin still supple, but it wasn’t fully erect. Then, it twitched and straightened. In seconds, swapping fleshy-firm for utterly rigid.
“Nice big boner fer a boy yer age.” Grampa breathed deeply.
Still not as thick as it had been earlier. He began to masturbate slowly. Grasping with two fingers and his thumb, the skin underneath so tight it allowed only a quarter of an inch of up and down movement. No wonder it got inflamed so easily. After a minute, he spit on his fingers, drooling saliva all over them. The same way he used to masturbate when he was a boy. Slippery boy-dick, deliciously slimy. All three-point-five precious inches of it, from the hairless base to the bulging round tip, rhythmically rubbing. The little lever twitched again and again, getting impossibly stiff, pulsing within as arousal grew stronger.
Grampa had to make himself stop and take away his hand. He’d felt Kalani straining, tensing up, his slim body quickly getting hotter. He watched his grandson’s face for the slightest sign he was awake. Eyes closed. Mouth open slightly, nostrils flaring. Boy-dick bouncing, flexing its muscle. Balls drawn up tight. His penis was noticeably thicker than a few minutes before. Right on the verge of shooting blanks when he finally stopped rubbing.
He waited for as long as he was able. Seconds dragging, temptation getting stronger. Kalani’s penis slowly softened, reluctantly shrinking back from near orgasm. Long minutes of studying Kalani’s nude body by candlelight, admiring beauty without equal, the flowing curves of his narrow belly, the ripples of his ribs, prominent bumps at his hips, glorious lean thighs. Light and strong.
“Yer built for ridin,’ ain’t ya?”
He meant horses. Not race horses, but work horses. Already agile, Kalani would be wiry like the cowboys of Broken Butte’s past.
Then, taking a deep breath, he allowed lust to overcome him. He leaned over his grandson, tongue extended. He licked boy-belly, taut and sleek, and as soft as a baby. Touched boy-navel with the tip of his tongue, and stopped there, heart racing as he traced the ripple of skin around and around. Worshiping, the same way he worshiped Martha. Saliva flowed from his mouth, spreading it across the boy’s abdomen, down to his groin. Tongue bathing, Martha called it. He reached Kalani’s soft mound, not pudgy, but not as firm as his belly, sweet-tasting silken flesh.
He should’ve stopped there, but Grampa was past caring. Molesting his grandson as his lips pressed against Kalani’s delicate penis, his nose buried in moist boy-scrotum, inhaling the slightly sour scent that every male had. It was a different smell, nothing like Martha’s. Fresh, alive, incredibly exciting. It made him remember, razor-sharp memories how it had been the first time he sucked cock a half century earlier. Without even thinking ahead, his lips kissed along the lengthening shaft, encouraging it to keep growing. At the tip, he began licking again, covering the tiny glans with his spittle, getting it ready for some serious pleasuring.
Kalani’s penis was fully erect again before he gently sucked the minature glans between his lips. Kalani’s lean belly moved under his stubble-spiked cheek, pulling in, pushing out with each sonorous breath. He licked on boy-lollipop. The tip swelled, plumping up like a cherry. He swallowed saliva and sucked harder, using his tongue like a brush. Kept going down the shaft until his lips met the base. Opened wide and slurped in both little balls. All of Kalani inside his maw. After the first few seconds, there was no taste, but his taste buds responded anyway, hungry for more. Always more.
Then, Kalani trembled, sighing softly, his legs moving farther apart. Grampa kept on, using his lips to masturbate Cute Butt. Suddenly, the pint-sized erection was straining outward again, so close to climax that Grampa didn’t dare suck. It throbbed and jumped inside his mouth, getting closer and closer to orgasmic delight.
Kalani’s soft whimper scared the bejesus out of Grampa. He looked up, expecting to see wide-open eyes and dismay, but Kalani slept on despite his wildly pulsing penis. Not his first orgasm, and not one he would ever remember, however it was his first one at the hands of his grandfather. Asleep right through it, but even then he was sure Kalani enjoyed it. Dimples framed his slightly open mouth the same as they did when he smiled.
Grampa waited ten minutes, just to be certain. Urgency subsided, but his heart thundered inside him. Kalani’s penis shriveled, safely impotent, as if it knew what came next. Very carefully, Grampa turned Kalani onto his side, facing the window, making room for him to lie down behind. Deep breath before he eased onto the bed. His cock was ready for sex, Viagra-hard, but not from a pill.
He closed the gap between them, gently pressing his front onto Kalani’s warm back, lifting the boy’s upper leg higher until his knee touched his chest. His massive penis wagged under the boy’s tiny butt, oozing its slippery juice on virginal skin. He squeezed it against boy-balls, excreting slime on tissue-paper skin before wedging it between Kalani’s firm buttocks, telling himself it was just in play. He knew better, of course, but cornholing always started as a game. It had to be a game when a boy was too young for serious love.
He continued his descent into Hell by drooling saliva on two fingers, his hand shaking and hurrying, but still being careful as he transferred it to Kalani’s crack. Again and again, pushing his fingertips against his grandson’s anus, forcing spittle inside as soon as the muscle unknotted. Adding more spit, lots more, emptying his mouth again and again, until the sheet was damp under the boy’s bottom and spittle streaks covered his thigh.
Grampa’s heart was pounding as he moved to Molestation Stage Three, putting his finger inside Kalani. One fingertip penetrated remarkably easily. It slipped inside as soon as he pressed into Kalani’s hot knot. It squeezed back reflexively, though there was no other movement. Temptation raged, the spit-slippery hole demanding more. He wriggled his finger into flexible muscle, slowly, deliberately boring deeper.
“Yer tight as a friggin’ chicken,” Grampa growled, close to panic as he pushed his finger farther inside Kalani’s slippery anus.
With the first joint embedded, he paused, contemplating an act unlike any other. Hot, wet, tight, alive, enclosing. A familiar sensation even though no woman’s vagina came close to the wonder.
Kalani’s sphincter tightened, his ring grasping futilely around Grampa’s second joint. Trying to protect, but a minute too late. There was ample saliva, enough to move his finger around, feeling his grandson’s sleek rectal walls. Nothing inside after the enema. Just slippery heat and a sleek tight tube. Corkscrewing his wrist, lifting his fingertip to rub, seeking the sensitive spot. His thumb fondled Kalani’s scrotum, soothing immature balls, massaging the boy’s root under delicate skin.
His decision was made before he entered the room. He did what Joey Graybear had done to him, using a hooked finger to massage the sphincter, pulling the muscle one way and then another. It was a slow, not tedious process. Doing what had to be done to get a boy ready, pleasuring and loosening at the same time. Soon, he could smell Kalani’s sweet musky odor, like a deer, nothing like Martha’s secretion. Arousing for any male who’d been without company for as long as Charlie Deere.
More saliva. Lots of saliva. Then, trying two fingers in the boy’s anus, realizing this was the make or break point; yet whatever the outcome, he had to be patient. Taking a deep breath, Grampa pushed firmly, wriggling both digits into the loosened opening at the same time. Barely inside, yet he smiled triumphantly, enjoying virginal pressure. While he waited, he stroked curly hair and caressed bare skin every so lightly.
“That’s a good boy. Yer doin’ great…” Crooning like he did to calm a skittish colt.
Feeling the pressure diminish, he dared to push deeper. Fluttering spasms made him stop. Far enough for a while. He waited again, not longer than it took to doze off. A few more minutes before he was able to force his fingers apart. Stretching in earnest as the boy’s muscle relaxed, still encircling just not as tight. Pulling out quickly when Kalani sighed deeply. Back to massaging around the stretchy rim, giving the boy that special pleasure just like Joey Graybear had done to him. More spittle. Two fingers back inside. More stretching. In and out. More saliva. Pushing it into his grandson’s anus. No longer as tight as a chicken. Not really loose enough, but too excited to wait any longer.
“Yer ready fer cock, boy,” Grampa whispered breathily.
He knew better than to try to force in his cock. Instead, he waggled the head back and forth, circling around Kalani’s anus, poking gently, spreading his pre-seminal fluids, steadily making the hole bigger. Twice he had to stop, both times on the brink of ejaculating. He didn’t want that, not before he got inside the boy’s rectum. As soon as the urge subsided, it was back and forth along Kalani’s crack, constantly testing his anus for resistance, never letting up. Finally, he positioned the head over the small depression. Slimy. Hot. The outer muscle sufficiently stretched, the inner sphincter already so weakened that it wouldn’t take more than a good hard push to breech it.
“Relax yer muscle and let me inside, Honey,” Grampa muttered. “We both know you want it.”
The first push didn’t penetrate. Neither did the second, or the third, but the fourth seemed like it was going to enter. At the last moment, Grampa chickened out.
“Yer still too tight,” he muttered. “Just relax and it’ll go in.”
He slathered saliva over his erection and realigned after moving his hips closer. Make or break time, placing the head in the hot, oozing hole, boy-flesh seething, embracing, almost accepting. He pushed gently but firmly, making slight headway.
“I’m going to cornhole your cute little butt.”
Part of him wished the boy was awake when he took his virginity, but it was better this way. He couldn’t have done it if Kalani cried.
Kalani shifted uneasily in his sleep, both slender arms wrapping his pillow.
Grampa smiled, remembering, ‘WouldyoucornholemeifIwantedyoutoo?’ A meek little voice, curious as much as anything else, wanting to try it even if he was scared.
There was only one reason why a boy would say something like that.
Martha always said patience was a Pentecostal virtue. Somehow, he held his lust in check. Squeezing gently into his grandson, a little farther with each nervous breath. He could feel Kalani’s anus stretching, opening up, the ring of muscle still very tight, like mini-Vise-grips clamped on the tip of his penis. The miracle of it gradually giving way would stay with him forever.
Grampa thought he was ready, yet the shock of feeling his glans pass through made him gasp. A moment later, the muscle gripped the whole head and wouldn’t let go. He could feel Kalani’s sphincter locked tight behind the head of his cock, holding it in instead of keeping it back. Even asleep, Kalani winced.
“Ohhh. Ohhhh yeahhhh,” Grampa groaned, realizing he’d penetrated his officially no-longer-virgin grandson.
Still remarkably patient, yet deliberately pushing up against his grandson to keep the head of his penis inside as the boy’s sphincter tried to push it out. For more than a minute, he hugged Kalani, waiting until his insides adjusted. The pressure faded on his shaft, still grasping firmly but no longer struggling. Accepting its new role. He began to thrust cautiously, wondering if the boy was pushing back at him as his cock slid deeper.
He didn’t dare try for full penetration. Just the head and an inch or two of his thick engorged shaft, deep enough to say that his grandson was categorically not virgin. After a dozen tender thrusts, there was definitely a difference. A long way from being loose, but beginning to open up, sufficient that he could thrust a little faster, a fraction deeper. In and out, selfishly taking his pleasure without having to worry about his partner’s discomfort. He was certain that even asleep Kalani enjoyed what transpired in the dark. Not resisting one iota, twitching erratically, little shudders as Grampa’s penis bumped tender places, muted gasps when Grampa pushed hard or went in too deeply, a tremble when the grownup cock stressed his anus too much.
“You’ll be riding me by the weekend,” Grampa mused.
Excreting liberally, oozing slippery juice where it was most needed, slicking the walls of Kalani’s taut rectum. Not daring to pull free and risk waking his grandson, Grampa added more saliva to the rest of his cock, settling into slow rhythmic thrusting. One arm under Kalani’s neck, around his chest, holding up his knee. His other hand lifting Kalani’s upper buttock out of the way, fingertips guiding his erection, making sure he didn’t go in too far. With his glans barely an inch beyond the boy’s sphincter, it was just deep enough that it didn’t slip out. The only problem was that it had to be good for him too. Ever so carefully, he squeezed deeper.
He stopped there, breathless, embedded not even halfway. He’d skewered his grandson’s ass with his thick fleshy stake. The heat and pressure was intense. A million nerves ached for release, pleasant memories clamored. His cock throbbed so much he didn’t dare move.
Then, Kalani shuddered, little hips wriggling, sphincter muscle grasping, relaxing, tensing as his juvenile climax closed in rapidly. Surprised because an anal orgasm was the last thing Grampa expected, yet he was experienced enough to know what he had to do; he concentrated his thrusting at the root of Kalani’s cock. Suddenly, the boy groaned in his sleep. Unable to stop himself, Grampa placed his thumb underneath, pressing up on his shaft, deliberately increasing the pressure inside Kalani, positioning his swollen knob right under the boy’s bladder. Barely moving his hips; gently thrusting. He was certain it would wake the boy, yet he had to try.
He stopped immediately, breathing hard, waiting for the inevitable shocked scream when Kalani woke up. Instead, the boy shuddered slightly, clamping down. Pulsing inside. Grampa pumped, aiming where he thought the gland was, quick little stabs before another shudder. Only a heartbeat or two before the muscle squeezed tightly. Three times in rapid succession. His grandson’s first anal orgasm was over in seconds. Instinctively, Grampa felt for Kalani’s groin to make sure. Little boy-dick contracted in, shriveled balls. Still sleeping. Rubbing gently. Not trying for erection, just comfort. No longer thinking about Martha.
Another minute passed before he resumed thrusting, consciously slow to savor the final phase. Post orgasmic dilation made the sphincter looser, but it was also hotter and wetter inside Kalani. Mostly, he tried to stop from reaching his climax. He was close, awfully close.
With gentle fondling, Kalani’s penis struggled to stiffness. He toyed with the tiny acorn with his first finger and thumb, two fingers possessively scooping up boy-balls, his little finger massaging the root, ever so carefully sliding his cock back and forth. Stimulated both front and rear, the boy quivered erratically.
He should’ve declared victory and stopped altogether. However, knowing he was making love to his grandson aroused him far more than the immense pressure on his cock. Again and again he paused, fighting waves of delight, shudders surging through him, Kalani’s throbbing sphincter grasping relentlessly.
A whimper burbled out of the sleeping boy's mouth. His grandson stirred, shifting slightly, then stiffened.
"Hurts, Grampa," he mumbled, trapped between sleep and waking up.
"Shhh," Grampa breathed. "Just sleep, Cute Butt."
Unable to stop or even slow down. He didn’t withdraw even a fraction. He wanted to go deeper. Barely two inches past the boy’s dilated anus wasn’t enough. Angling up under the juvenile pecker, rocking his hips so his manhood rubbed side to side, forcing the rectum to stretch even more. Huge glans bumping the immature prostate on every in-stroke, tugging against the tight sphincter on the way back. As loose as a slim, not-yet-eleven-year-old boy could be for his first time.
Loving caresses became urgent, now clasping Kalani’s fully extended sex. Bone-hard boy cock, sticking out like a lever. Still moving slowly. Controlling his passion. Little trembles from both of them. Arms tensing. Legs twitching. Another orgasm lurking nearby.
He tried desperately to stem the inevitable, releasing his grasp on Kalani’s obstinate erection to clamp his fingers at the base of his cock, squeezing the life from his sex organ as he held back the flood.
“Ahhhhhooooooohhhhh,” Kalani groaned, trembling and trying to pull away.
His grandpa’s cock only got stiffer, swelling up until there was nothing he could do to hold back. It was all he could do to maintain restraint.
“Feel the Power,” Grampa groaned as ejaculation began, an urgent shudder deep inside, making a final effort to push into the rectum.
Spurt after spurt went deep into Kalani’s greedy bottom, his grandson quaking before him, absorbing it all. Almost a year without conjugal relations, not even masturbating to fruition. Emptying his balls in his grandson’s rectum. Thick slimy semen gushing into the boy’s colon before it slowed to a dribble. Knowing in advance that the boy would scarcely feel it even if he was wide awake. Holding perfectly still until it was over.
Grampa hugged him, breathing with difficulty, disbelieving despite the ache in his testicles, the lingering throb in his cock, the sweaty heat between his front and Kalani’s back. Spit covered his groin and Kalani’s small rump. It didn’t seem possible, yet the squishy feeling in his grandson’s bowels said otherwise. He didn’t dare pull out until he was certain the boy was asleep.
Eventually, Kalani’s sphincter closed up, ejecting his limp penis as it resumed its usual function. Quickly replacing his cock with two fingers so no more than a dribble of fluid escaped; Grampa used the edge of the sheet to wipe Kalani’s crack. He couldn’t see much, nothing dark on the white cotton that might be blood, no evidence except a few lingering wet spots on Kalani’s butt. Then, waiting, slowly withdrawing his fingers. Wondering if the boy slept through the rest of it. Finally back to breathing normally. Feeling the muscle close around his fingertip, sealing off the semen inside his grandson.
In a rush, guilt arrived. Martha demanding, ‘How could you?’ ‘Your own grandson?’ Drowning out reason, strident ‘WouldyoucornholemeifIwantedyoutoo?’ turning into a whisper. With clammy hands, he separated himself, moving back on the bed. Suddenly, the sweet smell was stronger, overpowering Martha’s insistent voice. He thought he saw a shadowy smile on Kalani’s face. Barely able to stand. On tottering legs, he repositioned the sheet to cover the evidence. Only then, he gazed down. There was nothing to show the boy had been violated, just curly blond hair spread over the pillow, little hands clutching the sheet. In the flickering candlelight dimples dotted the corners of Kalani’s small mouth.
Grampa shuffled away, satisfied deep down inside, yet feeling much older than his 61 years.
Chapter Nine. June 12, MIDNight
Grampa turned onto his back. Naked Kalani at the side of his bed, holding the flickering candle. How long? An hour? Less than an hour, because the candle wasn’t much shorter.
“What’s wrong, Cute Butt?”
“There’s stuff coming out my butt.”
“It won’t hurt ya.”
Grampa reached for Kalani’s hand and drew him closer, taking the candle and blowing it out. He put it on nightstand next to the bed.
“What is it?”
“Sperm most likely.”
“You cornholed me, Grampa,” Kalani said, not accusing, just stating a fact.
“Better yer asleep than awake the first time.” Grampa lifted back the sheet, tugged Kalani’s hand until he climbed awkwardly onto the bed. “We’ll talk about it in the mornin’.”
“I can sleep in your bed?”
He didn’t sound any different, considering he’d been sexually molested, anally raped in his sleep.
“If ya stop talkin’ and don’t wriggle around.”
Kalani giggled and snuggled into his grandpa’s flank, laying his head on Grampa’s shoulder even though there was plenty of room on the pillow. “You’re nice and warm, Grampa.”
“Does it hurt?” Grampa whispered, lovingly stroking his grandson’s hair, inhaling the sunflower scent of soap on a rope.
“Not like it did. It sorta burns if I squeeze down.”
Grampa kissed his forehead. “You were chock full of cock so yer ass got stretched a fair bit. It’ll go away by the mornin’.”
“What about your sperm?”
“I filled yer ass up, so it’ll be drainin’ out fer a while.”
“Will it hurt me?”
“You’ll run to the can most likely tomorrow. That’s usually what happens.”
“I just tried to go only nothing came out.”
“It will. That’s kinda the downside,” Grampa said, nuzzling Kalani’s head, hugging him tightly. Martha never made him feel so protective. “Ya lost yer virginity, Cute Butt.”
“Because you cornholed me?”
“Yep, and ya got my sperm in yer ass to prove it,” Grampa kissed his nose. Feeling the urge growing again. First time for round two since Martha became a Pentecostal.
“Dad said sperm are like little tadpoles, because they have to swim up the vagina.”
“I reckon mine swam all the way to yer tummy.”
“It feels like it’s running out of my butt.”
Kalani’s sweet voice spoke right to his grandpa’s cock. Grampa had to make himself calm down. Hard as steel under the sheet.
“It ain’t that big a problem if you make a mess on the sheet. It bothers ya, huh?”
“Uh uh. I love you, Grampa.”
“I love you too, Cute Butt.”
“You cornholed me good, Grampa.” Giggling boy, rubbing his rump, still trying to figure everything out. Feeling sore yet empty inside. Needing something sinful for the first time in his life.
“I reckon I did alright.”
“Um, Grampa… you’re not mad at me are you? It’s what I wanted, okay?”
“I figured ya did. Go to sleep, now. It’s past midnight. We’ll talk in the mornin’.”
“It stopped raining, Grampa.”
“What did I say about not talkin’ and goin’ to sleep?”
“I love you, Grampa.”
“I love you too, Kalani. Goodnight.”
Kalani’s butt gurgled. “I think some just came out, Grampa.”
“Don’t matter if ya leak some. We can change the sheets in the mornin’.”
“I think I need to go potty.”
“Just feels like it, that’s all. Ya lie still fer a while and try to keep it inside, and the feelin’ will go away.”
“I’m full of your semen, aren’t I Grampa?” Kalani murmured, cuddling closer.
“How yer s’psed to be after yer cornholed.” Grampa kissed his ear.
“I like having it in me.”
“Shhhh. Go to sleep,” he whispered.
Chapter Ten June 12th, Dawn
Grampa woke up before dawn. Dozing with his eyes still closed, feeling happy all over the way he used to feel when he could reach out and touch Martha sleeping beside him. Reaching across into Kalani’s warm zone, rough fingertips stroking the silky skin of his grandson’s bony hip. Reminding himself how smooth a young boy was, as if he could ever forget. Back to regretting what he’d done five hours earlier. Sighing sleepily and wondering whether he’d reset the alarm clock, but the last thing he wanted to do was turn over. Perfectly happy right where he was.
Breathing in and out, ears attuned for noises outside. A lone coyote in the distance. Owls hooting in the barn. The outside air was fresh and cool after the heavy rainstorms. He’d spend days, if not weeks, putting things right. Fences busted, roads needing grading. He should get up and start working. He smiled at Kalani’s head, still disputing, part of him thinking he’d done the right thing, the rest listening to Martha and her Pentecostal friends.
“Yer my beautiful sexy boy,” he whispered.
Boys cornholing each other was a fact of life on a ranch; being sodomized by a grownup; that was something else again. A boy never really got over something like that, but Kalani seemed normal when he climbed into Grampa’s bed no more than an hour afterwards. He couldn’t help wondering how long Kalani had been awake. Long enough to know what it felt like to be cornholed by a man, that’s for sure. Maybe there’d been enough pleasure to compensate for the pain. Exquisite pain, but pain nonetheless.
“Yer ass is mine now,” Grampa muttered, feeling proud.
Yet the more he thought about it, the more it bothered him that Kalani hadn’t cried. It was almost as if his grandson accepted his role underneath. Not-yet-eleven was young to be cornholing, but maybe he wasn’t innocent.
“You stretched okay,” he mused, doing his best to set aside the obvious conclusion.
Kalani was tight at the start, but he’d loosened up nicely. Which wasn’t all that surprising because most boys quickly got used to cornholing, especially the ones who enjoyed it. Boys who’d been at it for a while had dusky bruises between their buttocks. In the mudroom, he’d been certain his grandson was a virgin, but he hadn’t looked close-up. Besides, there was a shitload of soap and cow grime. After last night, there was only one way to be certain.
“Better have a look and see if I hurt ya.”
It was a lousy excuse, but he had to check before his own ‘cob marks’ appeared. Darkened skin was the sign that something larger than a finger went up a boy’s ass. Hoping the electricity was back on, Grampa switched on the lamp on his side of the bed. He blinked in GE Soft Glow, lifted back the sheet and scooted lower until Kalani’s butt was in front of his face. There was a damp spot under Kalani’s buttocks about the size of a silver dollar. Grinning even though he knew it was no laughing matter. Oozing his grandfather’s seed while he slept was kind of funny.
“Now yer definitely a ranch brat…”
He parted the little buttocks, supposing the worst. It was red and puffy around Kalani’s anus, positive proof the boy had been sexually abused. He was the same way after Joey cornholed him. Hiding the obvious signs from his parents, although he was certain his father suspected the boys weren’t doing what they said they were doing when they disappeared for hours. Sometimes, he made cowpoke jokes, many of which involved Charlie riding bareback, ‘Injun style’.
“Yer okay, considerin,’” he muttered.
Kalani’s rump looked like it was well on the way to recovery. No bruising yet, and certainly no brown donut like he’d had whenever he looked in the mirror. He touched his grandson’s anus, feeling its moist heat nibbling on his fingertip. Then, he blew lightly, soothing the tender flesh the same way that Joey used to do to him.
“Mmmmm,” Kalani sighed in his sleep.
Grampa chuckled. “Yer one beautiful colt, ain’t ya? I wish I could keep ya here on the ranch. Yer mom would never agree, not in a coon’s age.”
He leaned closer and planted a kiss on Kalani’s right buttock. Up close he could smell it. Unmistakable. Not pungent or unpleasant. Sweet-smelling aroma. Thankful that he’d used Martha’s enema tube to flush him out. He inhaled. Held his breath. Savoring the scents of boy and man mixed together. He kissed again, closer to Kalani’s crack, already knowing what he was going to do. Licking his lips. Breathing through his mouth because if he smelled one more time he might lose control.
He’d never done it before, never had it done to him. It wasn’t the sort of thing a Blackfoot brave would do. He wasn’t even sure what to do, but he’d heard jokes that gays in San Francisco did it. He placed his nose in the boy’s hot furrow, close to his tailbone. Smelling deliberately now. No fishy smell, not from a boy. Immediately overpowered by an odor that reminded him of Martha’s fresh-baked bread. Feeling his cock grow hard again. Using his hands to spread the boy’s firm cheeks, his thumbs opening the crack as he sought Kalani’s anus with his tongue pushed forward.
He licked around the verge, finding no taste but ‘boy-flesh.’ Smooth wet flesh, warm and fresh, slipping against his tongue, begging for kisses. He pushed his lips out and smooched the hole, his heart thumping past the redline. He poked his tongue between his lips and dipped into the pucker. What queers did! Rimming his grandson! Way beyond ranch brats cornholing each other! Soothing traumatized flesh! Exciting him beyond his wildest imagination. Trying to see how far his tongue would reach. He got it in as far as Kalani’s sphincter.
Grampa pulled back, breathing with difficulty. Shaking his head in mute disbelief. Licking his lips where they’d kissed ass. Slightly bitter. Next time… next time he was going to suck. He couldn’t get back in position fast enough, and then he made himself wait. Kissing around Kalani’s opening again. Finally licking, no longer cautious. Moving on to long wet kisses with his tongue penetrating repetitively. Then, with his eyes closed to savor the moment, he sucked. Sucked out his bodily fluids. Maybe a teaspoon of it. Held it in his mouth not daring to swallow. Hot, thick as cow milk… not really salty. Not much taste of anything. It reminded him of bland Campbell’s New England clam chowder. Telling himself it was only his semen, because he’d flushed Kalani twice for good measure. He pushed it around with his tongue, mixing it up with his saliva, already needing to do it again.
He swallowed and went back for more. Tongue already sticking out, though not sure what he’d do first. Just once and he was addicted to boy ass.
“Good mornin’ ranchers! This is Trapper Webb standin’ in fer the randy dandy cowboy, Joe-Bob Patterson. He got washed out, as yer probably know. It’s a real purdy Saturday mornin’ here in Big Sky country. Blue skies today, pardners. I got a load of five a.m. messages goin’ out. First off is Martin’s Mustang Ranch. Joe-Bob says he’ll be droppin’ by later this mornin’ with his stallion….
Grampa’s head jerked up, gulping his third mouthful of love juice. “Huh? You awake, Kalani?”
“What are you doing, Grampa?”
“Huh?” Gasping, heart beating so fast he couldn’t think straight.
Grampa crawled up the bed, wiping his lips on the sheet as he went. Kalani rolled onto his other side, facing his grandpa.
“Grampa… It felt like you were doing something weird to my butt?”
“Um… Just lookin’ at it, that’s all. Makin’ sure yer alright.”
Kalani wiped his fingers over Grampa’s wet nose. “Your nose is runny, Grampa.”
“Just spit. Best thing there is fer a sore ass.”
“Ewww, Grampa, that’s gross!”
Grampa leaned down, grinning. “Give yer Grampa a kiss.”
Kalani jerked back his head, moving his hand to cover his mouth, but a moment too late as Grampa lip-smacked him. He managed to push Grampa away, feeling lightheaded. Never been kissed on the lips. Never with tongue.
Then, he remembered, an unconscious rush that began and ended where he pooped from. He reached down, exploring his crack with cautious fingertips.
“You corn-holed me while I was asleep, huh Grampa?”
“Does it hurt?”
“It bother ya?”
“I’m okay with it.”
From the mouth of a child. It was hot and tingly, and slippery where Grampa’s cock had gone into him. He actually touched his hole, all slimy and surprisingly loose.
“Maybe a little stuff from yer butt,” Grampa confessed.
Kalani giggled, looking at his goop-coated fingers. “This is cum, huh?”
“Mostly. Likely, some of it’s from inside’a you.”
“When ya get cornholed, mucus leaks from up inside. It makes it slippery inside yer ass.”
“Still gross, Grampa”
“Kinda depends on how ya look at it, I s’pose.” Grampa smiled, caressing Kalani’s taut belly.
“It feels sort of funny up inside.”
“What’s done is done, boy. Ain’t worth fretting about it afterwards.”
“I’m not fretting. I’m glad I lost my virginity, Grampa.” Wary, but full of pride too.
“…. If yer drivin’ near Bozeman today, watch out for the semis heading out to the new re-sort. An’ I gotta tell you ‘bout Trident Road. The overpass on I-90 is out fer resurfacin’ ‘n the bypass is a mess after the rain, so they’re detouring everything through Three Forks…”
Grampa got out of bed, turning away quickly. His cock bounced in front of him, the head slicked and shiny. He crossed the room and hit the snooze button. Thought about hitting the can and getting dressed. Safer that way. Instead, he got back into bed.
“You sure you feel okay, Sugar?”
“It kinda itches, Grampa.” Shy kid smile. Realizing he’s different now he’s been sodomized.
“Nothing a good tickle won’t fix.”
Grampa grabbed for boy parts, but Kalani twisted away and darted under the sheet, burrowing for the bottom of the bed. Grampa caught his foot and dragged him back, blowing a heap of raspberries on bare boy-belly. Naked man and boy fun, laughing their heads off. Forgetting what happened in the middle of the night.
Eventually, the dominant male claimed what was his, Kalani face down, one huge hand pinning the writhing boy’s back, the other delivering play slaps on his grandson’s rubbery rump. Only a few of them hard enough to raise a flush. Giggle smacks.
“I’m going to pee in your bed, Grampa!” Kalani chortled.
“Do and you die.”
“Here it comes,” Kalani threatened.
Grampa flipped him over and grabbed stiff boy-dick, clamping his fingers on the tiny helmet. Then, grinning at Kalani, masturbating him slowly, soft-as-silk skin, little-kid-boner like it had a finger jammed inside it. Up and down. Stealing peeks at Kalani. Eyes closed. Luxuriating in pleasure. Lithe boy stretched out, little flat belly barely moving.
Grampa never knew where the idea came from. One moment he was worshipping his grandson’s nude body, the next moment grabbing the candle from the nightstand. Lifting Kalani’s slim thigh way up in the air. Glimpsing the no-longer-virgin hole. It was still red rimmed, gaping open more than a little, like a hungry mouth still surrounded by spit. The boy lay there, eyes still closed. No idea he looked like a heifer waiting for a randy bull.
Spitting on the rounded end of the candle, he inserted it in his grandson’s crack. Only then, Kalani’s eyes opened wide.
“Shhhh… Just relax yer ass…. This’ll feel nice in a moment.”
Pushing the candle inside his grandson. Handmade from local beeswax. Smooth and thin, the taper remarkable similar to 12-year-old boy-dick, but six inches longer. Easy to slide in a couple of inches, easy to pull back. Giving his grandson the sensation of cornholing with none of the trauma.
He made a point of levering the candle so the end poked up. With just a couple of inches lodged inside Kalani’s tight little ass, it hit the spot with gratifying accuracy. Watching his boy, shamelessly naked, trembling with wide-awake ecstasy. Clutching his knees close to chest, instinctively pushing down so his immature prostate came closer, increasing the pressure enough that he gasped. Grampa wriggled the candle, falling for the highly aroused boy in a way he’d never imagined.
“Ahhhh… Ahhh.. Grampa…”
Quickly, taking it out.
“What’s wrong, Grampa.”
“Uh? I thought it was hurtin.’”
“I didn’t mean for you to stop, Grampa.” Kalani was breathless. Anus twitching like crazy, the rest of him quivering.
“That’s enough fer now.”
“More?” So close to begging, the difference was moot.
Grampa rubbed the rounded end along the narrow fissure, temptation raging. Each time it passed across the opening, he gave a cautious push. Each time, a sigh pleased him. It was spongy where he poked. Virginity was just a memory. Little butt-cheeks crimson from play smacks, still slimy in the center. He was certain that Kalani was trying hard to loosen up, doing his best to invite it in.
Kalani’s whole body was tingling like nothing else when Grampa stopped. He huffed, wriggling to get him to continue. It was hot and wet between his buttocks, and starting to itch something awful.
“That was weird, Grampa.”
“You liked it huh?”
“Yeah, but not like before.…” Kalani smiled coyly. “It was really nice with your tongue.” Enough said.
“You liked getting’ yer ass sucked, huh?”
“It felt funny.” Not-yet-eleven unable to describe feelings that made him tremble.
“You want yer ass sucked some more?”
Kalani grinned and nodded. Impossible for a boy not to be eager.
“Okay, but there’s one thing you gotta to do,” Grampa whispered like he was sharing a secret.
“Pull yer legs apart as far as you can git ‘em.”
“I want ya to open yerself up back there. Show me how much ya want it.”
Grampa scooted down in the bed. Boy-legs spread wide. Kalani’s right knee next to his ear, his other leg obscenely crooked to the side. Boy-fingers pulling his cheeks wide apart. Boy-hole exposed to Grampa’s enthusiastic mouth. Excitement out of control as he realized Kalani wanted this as much as he did.
Kissing sweet boy ass. Beautiful little buttocks with a deep divide down the center. Kissing along the valley. Lips sliding everywhere, fingers massaging crinkled balls. Kalani splitting his cheeks, caught up in the sexual thrill. Exhilarating lust for both of them. Slurping. Spreading saliva all over Cute Butt, yet keeping his tongue clear of the inviting hole.
Grampa grinned and kept kissing, licking, smooching boy-butt.
Grampa sucked on Kalani’s testicles, drawing both tiny eggs behind his teeth. Capturing tender skin and two balls into his maw and drawing away so Kalani had to scoot down the bed with him or risk having his boyhood suctioned off. Giggling wildly. Boy-dick like a poker.
“And I thought we had your daddy cut tight.”
“Yer weenie. I never saw one so tight it was shiny.”
“You like it but, don’t you Grampa?”
“I love it, Sugar. I love all of you, ‘specially this little guy.”
Grampa gave it a friendly flick and smooched spitty-slack scrotum skin before licking along the boy’s crack. His tongue barely grazed Kalani’s anus.
Hummingbird kisses on little soft butt cheeks, one side, and then the other. Closer and closer to Kalani’s boy-hole. Never quite touching.
“Grampa! Like before… Please…”
Grampa lifted away, pushing the sheet across the bed, licking his lips. “You got to say what you want.”
Unkempt silver-blond hair spread over the pillow. Unable to control his emotions. Unable to express himself. Confused more than ever, but he still giggled.
“Ummmm… Grampa….” Still not brave enough. “Suckmyassplease?”
Grampa shook with laughter. Making his grandson beg. What would Martha say?
“Please? Just for a few seconds? Pleassse?”
Then, Grampa knew that he’d crossed a line and his grandson would never be innocent again.
He plunged his tongue through Kalani’s weakened anus, as far as it could go. It went in over an inch, not nearly far enough for either of them.
“Ooooooohhhh, Grampa! Do it more like that.”
Grampa flicked his tongue into his grandson’s anus, withdrawing and rubbing the tip against slick hot flesh, quickly stabbing through what remained of the pucker, getting it far enough inside that Kalani tensed. Each time his tongue penetrated, the boy responded by lifting his butt off the bed. A full minute and ten seconds of anal rimming before he stopped.
“Do it some more, Grampa.”
“My tongue’s ready to fall off. You sure, Cute Butt?”
“Suck my ass, Grampa,” Kalani chortled.
Hungry with lust, Grampa sucked even longer on his grandson’s now-deflowered anus. This time he lasted nearly five minutes, but his reward was worth it. What remained was only a hint of what he’d gorged on before, but like over-proof liquor, it went straight to his brain. Massaging little gonads so hard that Kalani squirmed and whimpered, and didn’t dare demand ‘more.’ Feeling peculiar all over. Wanting something bigger inside him.
“Cornhole me, Grampa.”
“Let me make sure yer butt-hole’s up to it, Sugar.”
Grampa inserted his finger, testing the juvenile sphincter for elasticity. Still way too tight for his cock, he went searching for the candle instead. Discovered it tangled with the sheet in the bottom of the bed. He flipped Kalani from his back to his front, positioning him in the classic cornholing position. On his knees, with his head on the pillow. Way past grooming his grandson. No question what the boy wanted, because he did whatever his grandpa said.
“Now what, Grampa?”
“Hold yerself open. I want to see yer butt-cheeks as far apart as you can get ‘em.”
Little hands obediently reached back. Grasping small pale melon-cheeks, pulling them wide apart. Shamelessly showing Grampa his crack. And his hole.
Two small hands pulled his spit-soaked buttocks even farther apart. Kalani’s anus was tiny and shiny. Remarkably, it was back to being slightly puckered. Grampa added more saliva before pressing the rounded end of the candle against the opening.
“If you want it, ya got to push out,” Grampa said sternly.
Kalani pushed out until his hole opened up. Grampa could see crimson inside.
“Take a deep breath and hold still.”
He began by sliding the candle along the fissure, poking lightheartedly at the hole, getting his grandson used to the preliminaries.
“Just do it, Grampa.”
Right on top of Kalani’s opening, he rotated the candle. It depressed the small anus, forcing it to stretch more than it wanted. Pushing it back inside, not quite inverted. Back and forth, gently testing the resistance until there was no longer any doubt they’d breeched the portal.
“How are you doing?”
“Okay… if you want, you can go deeper, Grampa.”
Patience was a Pentecostal virtue. With his hand slightly shaking, he carefully kneaded the inner muscle until opposition faded. Then, a quick jab and Mabel’s ‘Lord’s Light’ candle penetrated two inches before Kalani’s sphincter had a chance to clamp down. Grampa held it in place and eased Kalani onto his side, facing towards him.
“That’ll stretch ya nicely.”
Kalani looked at him. Incredulous. There was a candle stuck up his ass again! Only this time it wasn’t coming out any time soon if he had anything to do with it. Naughty and nice, and very confusing. Still trying to put the pieces together. Most of his brain given over to thinking about a similar yet different sensation. After the burning faded, he would remember the surging motion of his grandpa’s cock inside his rectum. It would stay with him forever.
Even as thin as it was, the candle still hurt like the dickens. Like fire at first, but he could feel it changing to warm, just like in the middle of the night. Drifting in and out of sleep, so distracted that he was certain it hadn’t been longer than a minute before Grampa’s jabs became incredible heart-stopping surges inside him, getting slicker and slicker. And hot!
Wide awake, the candle was nothing like that. Not moving at all, he could still feel it wedged up inside him. He couldn’t actually feel it inside, he decided, because there was almost no feeling at all except for an achy feeling under his belly. Never more aware of his anus. Even with blunt wax bulging through it, the feeling was special.
“Feels weird up inside, Grampa.”
Grampa breathed deeply. Everything changed now he knew the boy was agreeable. Not just passive; eager. Realizing he was unable to stop, even if he wanted to.
“Takes a while to get used to havin’ something inside ya.”
“Does it bother you, what I did last night?”
“I’m just askin’?”
“I asked you to, Grampa. Don’t you remember?”
“Ah seem to recollect somethin’ like that,” Grampa chuckled. He tested Kalani’s progress by twisting the candle . “So it weren’t a dream?”
“It was for me,” Kalani grinned from between his knees. “You should’ve woken me up, Grampa.”
On impulse, he reached for his grandfather’s penis. Taking what was rightfully his for the taking. No longer playing. This was the real thing, his very first time satisfying sexual desire. Not fully erect, but it was still too large to fit in his hand. Feeling his grandpa flinch at the contact, but not saying a word. Letting him explore. Powerful attraction to something every male had, but Grampa’s dick was different. Holding it both of his hands and running on autopilot, moving his fingers slowly up and down.
Possessive need came out of nowhere, or maybe it had been there all along. It was as demanding as anything he’d ever known, anatomical awareness unlike any other. It felt good, like it was there especially for him. His ass itched enough that he giggled. The only problem, it was much too big.
“He’s really huge, Grampa.”
“You’ll grow into it. A week or so and it’ll be just right fer yer little butt.”
Kalani grinned back. Thinking ‘no way’, but not even close to saying it.
Not-yet-eleven-year-old boy growing up fast now that he knew how a man and a boy fitted together. Trying hard to understand why he needed to hold Grampa’s cock.
Blood coursed through the veins, amplifying the throbbing sensation. It thickened in his hand, stiffening, lifting upward and outward, growing until it was big enough to take away a boy’s breath. All of a sudden, he wanted it inside him again.
“I want you to, Grampa…” Whispering his innermost thoughts. “I want you to cornhole me.”
“Yer too tight, Cute Butt.”
Grampa pulled Kalani closer, settling him into his lap, holding the makeshift dildo so it couldn’t escape. He gave a careful push to demonstrate anatomical possibilities.
“Yer better off practicing with this here candle fer a while.”
“It’s not the same.”
“I know, Sugar. You’ll be looser in a day or two.”
“Yer pullin’ my leg.”
“You want to do it too. I know you do.”
“I don’t care if it hurts a bit. I want him inside me, Grampa.” Tugging playfully on his grandpa’s erection. Frightfully big for a boy who was a few inches past four feet tall.
“I warned you havin’ sex with a man ain’t the same as havin’ fun with yer boy friends.”
“What if I want to?”
“Better ya stay the way ya are fer a few more years than grow up too soon, Cute Butt.”
It seemed like the logical thing to say.
Flexing his sex in his grandson’s small hand, watching to gauge the boy’s reaction. Kalani was undaunted, even though grown-up cock was as long as his forearm. As thick as his wrist. Easily twice the width of Mabel’s wax candle.
“Dad thinks I’m the same as Dyani. If I am, I might as well enjoy it, Grampa.” Not even a little bit afraid of being gay.
Grampa wasn’t sure what to say.
After a while, he nodded what might have been agreement, or surrender. Kalani smirked back, switching to giggles when his grandpa’s thick erection jerked in his hand. With a gleeful leer, he stroked the tip with his thumb, smearing droplets of what looked like saliva, oozing from his grandpa’s meatus, all over the fat red glans.
“You like doing that huh?”
Kalani grinning from ear to ear was better than hearing him say it. “He’s getting all slimy, Grampa.”
Now he knew what to do to extract more, Kalani couldn’t stop rubbing the tip. What came out was slippery and it foamed up like soap. With his grandpa looking on with an encouraging smile, he leaned closer to see where it came from. Another silver bead emerged. He touched his thumb to it, lifting if off along with a spider’s strand.
“It won’t hurt you,” Grampa said quietly.
Kalani just nodded and licked off his thumb. He tasted what might have come out of a tube but looked and felt like slimy egg-white. He instantly wanted more, a lot more. Something inside him said he had to make sure, but sure of what—that it tasted good? Not sure what to do about it except smile at his grandpa and wait for more to appear. All of his thoughts headed in the same direction.
“Suck it out,” Grampa commanded.
Kalani glanced down. The tip of his tongue touched his lips. His head lowered obediently. A silvery bead had formed in the slit. His tongue licked ever so slightly before it retreated back into his mouth. He felt his grandpa’s cock throb in his hand, even hotter and harder than it’d been moments before.
“Again,” Grampa urged.
Kalani murmured, “Are you sure it’s okay?”
“I hear it’s real good fer a growing boy.”
He giggled. “Will it make my dick bigger?”
Grampa chuckled. “I hope not. You got enough down there already. Yer nuts might get a mite bigger if yer lucky.”
Kalani sucked, wrapping his lips, his tongue slurping on the knob, mostly trying not to gag when he forgot to breathe through his nose. Not really sucking, just licking the tip. Nearly two minutes before he backed off. He couldn’t take his eyes off Grampa’s spit-slicked cock.
“It takes a while get used to the taste.”
He was going to say he didn’t like it, but it would be a lie. He grinned and licked his lips so there was no doubt.
“Grampa, last night, you said we’d talk more in the morning.”
“Ya want to know somethin’, just ask it.”
“Um.. What happens now, Grampa? I mean you and me.”
“Yer talking about last night?”
Kalani smiled. “We’re doing it again, right?”
“If ya want. Like I said, with men and boys, it usually ain’t once or twice, Kalani.”
“So like a lot, huh?” Just saying it made him giggle.
Grampa thought it was funny too. “If a boy likes getting cornholed, it can get to be a habit.”
“Would it be a good habit or a bad habit?” Keeping a straight face. Still holding his grandpa’s erection, still with both little hands on the shaft like he was afraid to let go.
Grampa guffawed. “Good habit, I reckon. During the summer...” He waited for Kalani to look up from his cock. “Joey and I went to the creek every day.”
“You let him cornhole you every day, Grampa?” Acting tough, even though he had a beeswax candle plugging his ass.
“It weren’t a matter of lettin’ him. Remember I said a boy ain’t the same afterwards. Neither is the man fer that matter. Mating brings ‘em closer. After a while, they got to do it every day.”
“The only problem is bein’ underneath all the time, it turns a boy queer, if he ain’t already.”
Grampa fondled silky blond hair. He could tell his grandson was a cock-sucker in the making, constantly licking his lips. Ready and willing to take it inside his mouth. All he needed was coaching. Staring down at a crystal bead of cock spit waiting for a little boy’s tongue. No surprise what Kalani was thinking. He was enjoying taking it right from the source.
“I still want to do it, Grampa.” Not conflicted, as much as admitting his pre-adolescent proclivity.
“Yer too tight. It’s easier when yer asleep. Everything relaxes inside ya.”
He moved the candle from side to side to prove his point. Tried sliding it in a little deeper. Kalani inhaled sharply, pulling away just enough that the message was clear.
“Grampa… I still want you to…”
Grampa gazed into blue boy-eyes, seduced by a single glance. “It hurts when a boy’s ass is tight like yers.”
“If it hurts too much we can stop, Grampa.”
Too many Pentecostal sermons about resisting temptation. Songs and sayings driving him crazy. ‘And the Lord said, “Simon, Simon! Satan has asked for you, that he may sift you as wheat.”’ LUKE 22:31
He was sorely tempted. “If anyone ever finds out…”
“I’m not going to tell, Grampa. Not ever. Please?”
“I know ya won’t.”
“I want you to cornhole me.”
“Damn, Kalani! Yer worse than the Devil.”
Grampa carefully withdrew the candle and put it aside where it would be easy find when he needed it again.
He smiled and kissed Kalani on his cheek before he straddled the boy, mostly in play, not certain he would go through with it. Gazing down at his tousled-headed grandson, beaming back at him like morning sunshine. Radiant blue eyes. Hungry eyes. Knowing he couldn’t penetrate the boy without hurting him. However, he had to start somewhere.
“I’m not putting it in very far, okay?” he muttered.
Kalani nodded, yet he looked annoyed, leaving his grandpa feeling like the Grinch that stole Christmas.
“No complaints afterwards, promise?”
“Only if you don’t do it.”
Kalani smiled as his grandfather guided him into position, lifting a slim smooth leg, pushing his knee against his chest. One hand roughly splitting his buttocks apart, exposing his anus.
“Remember what I said about showing me how much ya want something. You really got to open yerself up fer cornholing.”
Kalani’s hands replaced his, splitting his buttocks. His grandpa towered over him, huge and hairy, and just a bit threatening.
“Yer cute little butt ain’t near big enough fer more than the tip.” Grampa inched forward on his knees.
Kalani lifted his head from the pillow to watch the crimson-skinned beast that pointed between his buttocks. The head rubbed along his crack, hot and hard, smearing its slippery excretion. It bumped his hole and kept going until it pushed against his balls. Then, slowly back up gain, all the way to his tailbone. On the return, he squirmed slightly and earned another friendly bump before it continued on its way to squash his balls.
“I’m ready, Grampa.”
“Yeah, I can tell.”
“So put it in.”
“If yer with a boy yer own age, it goes in easy. With a man, a boy has to want it.”
“I want it, Grampa.”
“We’ll find out soon enough.”
He touched the blunt tip of his penis to Kalani’s warm scrotum, pushing baby-balls aside, levering it up and down and leaving a glistening trail on unblemished crinkled skin.
“Just do it.”
“Be patient a while. Yer job is keeping yer butt cheeks out of the way.”
“Like this?” Kalani murmured, pulling his buttocks farther apart for his grandfather.
“That’ll do fer starters. Pull yer leg up higher.”
He lifted Kalani’s upper leg to show him. He repositioned his erection, wedged between the firm little cheeks. The shaft seemed bigger than ever.
“I can feel him better now, Grampa.”
The oversized glans barely touched the indentation. More than enough stimulation for a wide-awake boy to realize what he wanted.
Kalani sighed. “It’s so hot.”
Grampa pressed ever so gently. “Feel it stretchin’?”
“Uh huh. Is it going in?”
“Not yet. Next thing is to open up yer butt-hole. You do that part, all by yerself. Try making yer body relax,” Grampa added. “Start from yer hands and feet and work in. Kinda make everything go floppy.”
Kalani half-closed his eyes and concentrated. Slowly, his grandpa’s slippery finger eased into his anus, pulling sideways, forwards, backwards, moving around inside until it maneuvered beyond his sphincter.
“Feels nice, Grampa.”
After a while, Grampa withdrew his finger and slowly rubbed his cock along his grandson’s crack again, massaging tender flesh, spreading his slippery juice in the gap.
“There’s a muscle in yer ass you got to control,” he said quietly.
“I’ll take care of that. The one I’m talkin’ about is deeper.”
He caressed Kalani’s cheek and smiled. So close to inserting, his grandson’s anus already weakening, starting to give as he pressed in his cock. Kalani winced and he stopped, waiting for tears that never arrived. Just a sniffle as the boy breathed anxiously.
“Okay, I’m putting it in a mite more.”
“I can feel him going in.”
“Yer one gorgeous critter, Cute Butt.”
“You’re weird, Grampa.”
“You gotta relax, boy.”
“Your wiener’s getting really slippery.”
“S’posd to. Won’t be much longer.”
“Feels strange, kind of.”
“Just relax like I told you.”
“I’m trying Grampa.”
“Shhh. Feel it diggin’ in? You want it in your ass,” Grampa crooned. “Relax yerself, boy. You like me rubbin’ there, don’t you?”
“It’s nice… Can you go in some more?”
“Shhh. You concentrate on relaxin’. That and show me how much ya want this, that’s all you do. Feel it getting’ bigger? Feel it stretchin’? The more you relax, the bigger it gets.”
Testing elasticity. A boy’s anus was incredibly elastic, far more than most people ever imagined.
“Shhhh. Just be patient a while longer.”
Still toying. Not even trying for penetration. Watching the side of Kalani’s face for distress. Eyes blinking when he pushed too hard. Backing off for a while. Five wonderful minutes of rubbing it up and down and around. Around and around.
“Feel real nice now, don’t it?”
“Yeah, ya like it alright.“
It was as good a time as any. He tried boy-ass for size with a firmer push, oozing his lubricating fluid into the opening. Smooth, smooth ass. Boy-crack slicked and slippery. Boy-anus losing its grip, pucker slackening, at least for the time being. A glance down. Kalani’s hole opened up. Not much, maybe a half inch. Ready and willing for cornholing.
“Feels purty good now, huh?” Turning husky. Young and strong again.
Breathy voice now, eyes nearly closed. Little toes curled over was a good sign. Little fingers pulling his buttocks wide apart, keeping them out of the way, little legs twitching. Every nerve responding to anal stimulation. Grampa’s engorged cock sliding along the fissure, back and forth, awakening sensations. Safe sex. What boys did before they were cornholed by men. Got them heated up enough to try it.
“I’m gonna try putting it inside you, Kalani.”
Voice strained. Urgent need growing inside, breathing deep and fast, his body tensing, throbbing, straining to hold back just a few more seconds.
“Will it hurt?”
Squirming naked on tangled sheets. Little anus now gaping open, but Kalani didn’t know it. All he could feel was the hot, slippery thing moving around his hole, poking at it, making it burn if Grampa pushed too hard.
“If yer lucky, not all that much… Ya want it in ya, don’t ya.”
“Yessssss….” Kalani hissed, instinctively realizing something important was about to happen.
Grampa pressed in. Kalani’s anus gave way, stretching, gulping at the bloated cock-head. They felt their rims try to meet, tension and compression merging in slippery flesh. Advancing little by little until the feat was accomplished. Just the head got past the clutching muscle, nothing more. Maybe he should’ve waited awhile, but he pushed firmly again. A fraction of an inch farther, Kalani’s sphincter became impossibly tight. His little ass burned with a vengeance even as Grampa eased back.
Grampa shuddered and ejaculated. Lurching against his grandson, shuddering, keeping a death grip on his cock so it wouldn’t go too far. Somehow, it popped out by itself. Splattering gooey hot cum over boy-balls. Instead of reinserting, he did the next best thing, holding his glans tight against Kalani’s anus. Squirting his semen through the dilated hole. Nothing escaping until he settled back on his haunches. A dribble came out. The rest stayed inside.
Grampa dismounted. Utterly spent. Both of them drained emotionally. Lying on his side beside Kalani, gasping. Not believing the intensity of it. The boy had cried out at the end, but it didn’t stop his deep down excitement. Definitely not innocent any longer. Infinitely more satisfying than making love to Martha. She paled in comparison. Reaching for boy-dick. Like yesterday’s noodles. Quickly getting it stiff. Kalani still whimpering as he rubbed, getting faster and faster as it hardened to steel sheathed in velvet. Unbelievable softness. Twitching knees, feet scraping at the sheets. Face turning groggy with pleasure.
“Grampa…. Grampa… Grampa…”
“Shhhh. It’s okay, my darling. Just let it happen.”
Grampa bent over him, mouth open. Kalani’s short erect penis danced with his tongue. Swirling, sucking, tormenting the boy with his first ever wide-awake blow job. Shuddering. Arching his back. Jerking his pelvis like he was learning to fuck. Fucking his grandpa’s hot wet mouth. Groaning right up to the end, when Grampa sucked in boy-balls as well. Kalani went wild. A Gatling-gun-orgasm of boy-blanks. He whimpered, gasping with every tightening spasm.
“Grampa…” Still shaking. Gazing down at his spit-slicked still-stiff dick. “You put my weenie in your mouth.”
“Dang if it don’t taste better than pussy,” Grampa smiled. “Gettin’ sucked feels pretty good, don’t it Cute Butt?”
“Um… I guess… I didn’t think you would do that.”
“It was nice.”
Grampa grinned down, licking his lips, blatantly pleased with himself. “I reckon yer weenie enjoyed it.”
It was still hard, shiny wet, and flushed crimson-red.
Kalani grinned too. “I liked it more when you squirted.”
“The best part fer me too.”
“It’s cool having your sperm inside me, Grampa.”
“Good fer ya too. Keep it in there as long as ya can,” Grampa said, heaving himself out of bed.
Unable to keep his eyes off his grandson’ cute little ass. Stoking lust even when it was under the covers.
Chapter 11. June 12 Mid-morning
Grampa ate Kelloggs before he went out to do chores, leaving Kalani slumbering alone in his bedroom. Feeding Martha’s chickens, giving the horses pails of oats and fresh water before saddling up Teacup and riding out to survey the storm damage. The creek was still swollen, gushing close to the banks, a couple of trees jamming the flow farther down. Talked with a work crew fixing poles at the bridge. It was worse farther north. Most of the county was still out of power. Another fence down and couple of hundred head of cattle somewhere in Lewis and Clarke. Headed back to the ranch thinking it could’ve been worse.
Kalani was waiting for him on the porch, stark naked, grinning and waving as he rode up.
“I made breakfast, Grampa, “ he shouted at the top of his lungs.
“Invite the whole valley, why don’t ya?”
He wasn’t about to disappoint Kalani. He couldn’t keep his eyes off the boy, not even when he sat down at the breakfast table to luke-warm coffee, over-salted scrambled eggs, and burned toast.
“It’s gross,” Kalani said, disappointed eyes as he scraped greasy grey egg to the side of his plate.
“Not fer a hungry man,” Grampa acclaimed, doing his best not to spit out a chewy piece. “Probably gourmet when it was hot. How’s about I show yer a few tricks fer next time.”
Grampa’s recipe for scrambled eggs started with a teaspoon of bacon grease in Gramma’s favorite cast-iron skillet. He added diced green bell pepper, onion, fresh garlic, thyme, tomato, buttermilk, smoked ham, goat cheese, and four of that morning’s farm eggs.
“Best go easy on the salt, not like the old days,” Grampa advised, standing back as naked Kalani stirred. “A bit of practice and you’ll make a fine wife.”
Bare-assed Kalani gave him a sideways glance and kept stirring.
“Yer well on ya way, considerin’ ya already got cornholed and liked it,” Grampa teased, giving his grandson a playful slap on the rump.
He expected a laugh; he got a sourpuss face. “What’s yer problem?”
“Havin’ second thoughts, huh?”
Most boys worried about it afterwards, until the next time they cornholed.
Kalani frowned. “Grampa, I wanted you to, remember? Any way, it isn’t that… It’s what Dad said… ” He paused, scraping egg from the skillet side. “I’m not burning it again, am I?”
“Yer doin’ just fine, Cute Butt. Gonna be perfect, just like you.” This time Grampa gave boy-butt an affectionate squeeze. It was all he could do to keep his fingers out of the crack. “What’s yer dad sayin’ now?”
“What he said was…” Not sure he should say it. “Dy would make Mr. Sterling a good wife. I wasn’t supposed to hear. It was right before I went to visit Dy this spring.”
“Dyani cooks scrambled eggs like you, eh?”
“He was talking about sex stuff, Grampa. Then, Mom said that Dy’s lucky to have him. This way he won’t catch Aids by sleeping around.”
“She said that!”
“Then, Dad said he didn’t want me going to L.A. and turning gay too. That’s when he decided I can’t do the movie with Dy this summer. He said I should visit you instead, because it would man me up.”
For a few moments, Grampa fumed, taking all of his willpower to resist calling Jeff on the phone and telling him he was a dumb son-of-a-bitch. Instead, he hugged Kalani. Little nude boy pressed up against him, wrapping his burly arms around the skinny pale torso so he couldn’t move.
“There ain’t no rush, but you’ll man up fast once yer balls drop.”
Reaching down. Cupping floppy boy-dick and squishy scrotum, feeling testicles that belonged on a lamb. Lightly squeezing with Kalani’s boyhood at stake, barely keeping control of himself.
“You’re making me mess up the eggs, Grampa.”
“I’ll eat these instead,” Grampa laughed, tugging playfully
“You already tried that this morning,” Kalani giggled before pulling away.
He was still giggling when he carried the hot skillet to the table with both hands.
They ate on the porch, Kalani nude, Grampa still in bib overalls. Martha made them from heavy weight denim, plenty of room for a rancher to move about, with a line of brass buttons from the chest to the crotch to open the front. He unfastened the buttons after he sent Kalani for the coffee pot.
“Only fair when yer bare,” he joked, glancing down.
A wide-eyed Cute-Butt giggled, gazing at his grandpa’s exposed middle. Only a second or two before his body responded. “You’re really furry, Grampa.”
“And yer smooth as china, same as when you were a baby.”
With a grin, Grampa drew him forward, down onto his lap. Squashing his lengthening cock under Kalani’s small rump. Held him there with one arm wrapped his slim back, fingers caressing shoulders and neck, all the while watching his grandson’s penis react. Stiffening like it ought to with a girl close by.
“Thanks fer cookin’ breakfast. Best tastin’ eggs ever, ‘cept fer yer little ones,” Grampa said, smacking his lips as he cuddled the warm little body.
“You got nice sexy balls,” Grampa whispered, his hand stroking Kalani’s bare thigh. “If ya want me to play with ‘em, move yer legs apart.”
Kalani complied with no second thoughts, watching as his grandpa’s hand glided higher. Fingertips teased his plump little scrotum, barely touching. He sighed and moved his knees farther apart, granting unfettered access. Fingertips rubbed skin crinkles, finding tiny testes, massaging lightly. Sitting like that, his grandpa’s hairy cock poked up alongside his. It was much longer, even reaching from underneath.
“Just relax,” Grampa cooed, finally taking a firm hold on his grandson’s erection. “You got yerself a hard-on to be proud of.”
Mutely amenable, Kalani looked on as Grampa lovingly stroked the unwavering shaft. “Are you going to masturbate me, Grampa?”
“Ya want me to?”
“It feels nicer when you do it.”
Grampa stroked slowly up and down, careful not to abrade the tender stretched skin. “Next time we go into town we gotta get you some Vaseline.”
“Sometimes I steal some of Mom’s hand lotion.”
“Sexy boy, ain’t ya?” Grampa chuckled, leisurely running his fingertips up and down the slender shaft.
He hugged Kalani, keeping their bodies tight together, his glans oozing over Kalani’s small balls. Kalani wriggled, his penis already twitching between his grandpa’s mashing fingers, but mostly trying to get the plump hot head to rub a few inches lower.
“What’s my monkey boy tryin’ to do?”
“I want it underneath more.”
“You like it rubbin’ against yer ass hole?”
“So say it.”
“Grampa, could you… um… rub it around my hole?”
Grampa poked with his forefinger. “Ya like this a lot, don’t ya?”
“Ugguhhhh.” A single fingertip was enough for to make Kalani strain down.
Grampa’s finger penetrated, hooking up behind the little muscle. Kalani trembled. It hadn’t been more than a few hours since the last time, and it was tight again.
“Do it some more, Grampa.”
“Ya gotta show me what you want me to do.”
Kalani made his body relax, even pushing out to encourage his grandpa to go deeper.
“If we do this a coupla times a day, it won’t hurt nearly as bad when you want me to put my cock in here.”
“Ahhh,” Kalani groaned. “You can go in more if you want, Grampa?”
Grampa compromised, shifting his hands to Kalani’s hips, moving his skinny middle up and down until his grandson got the message and started humping, lifting up so his glans rubbed along the crack. It got slicker and slicker. Grampa’s urge roared back to life. He held his grandson from moving, savoring, slimy little hole poised directly above his slimy throbbing sex. By then, Kalani was twitching erratically. He could feel it bulging into the over-heated boy, his anus still too tight to allow his penis to slide in.
“Yer butt seems a bit looser.”
“I did it some more with the candle after you got up.”
“I figured ya might.”
“Grampa….. Can you put him in?”
He thought about it. So easy to do. Just push the boy down on it. Hold him there long enough so that he stopped crying. Getting the worst of it over and done with was worth a couple of minutes of tears.
“Not right now.”
“Why not?” Demanding and horny at not-yet-eleven; it was almost funny.
“’cause I’m ridin’ over to the Graybears to see how Calvin’s doin’. You wanna come.”
“My jeans are still in the washer, Grampa.”
“Ya sure cain’t go naked. There’s a work crew down at the bridge.” Grampa chuckled. “Not that I’d mind if they see yer bare ass, but they don’t work a damn as it is. Put on somethin’ from the chest of drawers.”
“There’s nothing left but scraps of cloth, Grampa.”
Grampa smiled, still fondling boy dick, still standing up proudly. “I reckon Martha used most of Jeff’s old clothes in quilts. That quilt from yesterday, the red used to be yer dad’s shirt from the junior high marching band.”
The attic was full of quilts in cedar chests, handmade heirlooms from family memories.
“Nothin’ left up there at all huh?”
“Nothing, Grampa. Except some Indian skirt thing in a plastic bag.”
“Joey’s goin’ to love seein’ ya in that.”
“It’s a skirt, Grampa?”
“So? Like I said, yer’d make a good wife ‘cept fer this.” He gave Kalani’s penis a playful prod and pushed him off his lap. “Fetch it down while I’ll clean up here.”
Kalani returned while Grampa was stacking dishes in the dishwasher. Opened the zip-lock freezer bag and pulled out fawn chamois.
“Weird stuff for a skirt.”
“This, Cute Butt, is a genuine Blackfoot breechclout made fer a boy who was ‘bout yer age.”
“Before or after you clean the car with it?”
“I’d call yer smarty pants, but ya don’t have no pants. This ‘ere is real special. Blackfoot call it ‘Other Son.’”
“It looks older than you, Grampa.”
“Does not. Heck, its only been worn twice. Graybear made it fer me when I was yer age. The second time was when yer dad wore it to his school’s Blackfoot Heritage Pageant.”
Grampa held it up for Kalani to see. Belly hide of a white-tailed fawn, softer than goat-kid leather. Rawhide hand-punched around the waist and frills down the sides. Two silver conchos dangling, each tied to a leather cord, black horse hair, clumps of rabbit fur and an eagle feather. He wrapped it around Kalani’s narrow waist and knotted the leather thongs to keep it in place.
“So Indian boys wear these to ceremonies and stuff?” Kalani asked, looking at himself in the hallway mirror and thinking he might as well be naked.
“This one’s fer boys who don’t already belong to the Blackfoot tribe,” Grampa explained.
He could see all of his thigh, and most of his butt; almost everything private was put on display. “Huh?”
“Boys wear ‘em when they want to be adopted by a Blackfoot man. That’s the Other Son ceremony. Everythin’s symbolic. Like them conchos. One’s the Sun and the other’s the Moon.”
“Cause ya got to choose one when you get adopted. Mr. Graybear’s the only one who can tell ya the rest,” Grampa hedged.
“So I could be adopted into his tribe if I wore this?”
“If ya wanted.”
“Cool! Could you ask Mr. Graybear, Grampa?”
“That’s yer job. Ask real nice and he’ll likely do the ceremony fer ya,” he added with a grin.
“You’re kidding, right Grampa?”
“Gramma and I wanted him to adopt your dad,” Grampa reminisced. “Other Son’s good fer a boy. Gives him standin’ with the tribe so there's a place in the natural world fer him.”
“Did Dyani ever wear it?”
“I showed it to him. He weren’t all that interested in puttin’ it on. Embarrassed, I reckon.”
Kalani just smiled and looked down. It scarcely covered his private parts with short flaps front and rear. Nothing at all on the sides, like it was meant to show bare boy-thighs and flanks.
“It looks real good on ya, Cute Butt.”
If he squinted he could see his grandson’s shadowy boy-junk, and if he turned or bent over, his pale butt more than peeked out the sides.
“Wearing that, yer sexier than a Vegas madam,” he teased, adding a drawn-out sigh.
After Martha joined the Pentecostals, clothes weren’t important. ‘It’s what’s inside that counts for the Lord.’ The end result, nothing she wore evoked desire. Sexless like a Mormon spinster. Not like an androgynous boy in a loin cloth. Playful Kalani flipped up the rear flap. Revealing his butt, small and round and lip-licking inviting. Primal lust surged through Grampa.
“You never had sex with Dyani, did you Grampa?”
Grampa turned red. Not about to say he’d fondled his oldest grandson while he slept.
“I bet you didn’t, except maybe when he was asleep,” Kalani said with a smirk.
Looking down. Aware that Grampa looked too. Hands on his skinny hips, feeling weird, thinking about flipping up the front flap, wanting his grandpa to see that part of him. He could feel his penis poking out the deer skin. Not understanding why it had gotten so hard, or why he wanted his grandpa to see it, yet knowing it was important to both of them.
“I got a stiff,” he said softly.
“A big’un, huh?” Grampa’s voice was husky.
He could see the blunt tip digging into the chamois. It was arousing enough to make Grampa inhale deeply. Visceral need just from glancing. Leering at his grandson’s erect dick behind his breechclout, and thinking ‘child of nature.’ Wild and wanton boy. Ready to mate.
“Might as well wear nothing,” Kalani said. Now, grinning because it was obvious his grandpa liked what he saw.
Grampa couldn’t remember feeling excited when Jeff wore the loincloth. Just the fuss his son made about people seeing him nearly undressed. Refusing to wear it in public. At the time, he worried what Joey Graybear would think if he heard the boy. Gramma worked out a compromise.
“Yer dad wore undies underneath, but yer gramma dyed ‘em in coffee so ya could hardly see ‘em.”
“Taking a pee would be easy, Grampa,” Kalani giggled, finally lifting the front flap. He made his penis do pushups.
Grampa gaped. “Does that thing ever take a rest?”
Grinning man and giggling boy staring down at the miracle of boyhood. Kalani’s penis was engorged, all but throbbing when he lowered the flap.
“I want to wear it like this,” Kalani said, smirking.
“Ya make a fine little Injun’ with yer dick poking out the front of yer loincloth,” Grampa joked. “All ya need now is an Indian name.”
“I thought it was Cute Butt?”
“More likely Hard Dick fer you.”
“It’s supposed to be the first thing a baby’s father sees after its born, right.”
“That’s the popular view.”
“You pick me a name, Grampa. The first thing you see.”
Grampa looked down the hall. “Grandfather Clock. There ya go!”
Kalani laughed till he cried.
“It ain’t that funny, Cute Butt.”
“I thought…” More giggles…. “I thought you said Grandfather Cock.”
“Even better,” Grampa laughed with him. “How about Mr. Graybear gives you a name like he did fer me when I was your age?”
Grampa just smiled. He was Blunt Spear. “We’ll ride over to his place after chores,” he decided, cuffing Kalani’s shoulder.
Chapter 12. June 12 Noon
It was near midday before Grampa and Kalani cleaned up the worst of the storm mess. They might have been courting, walking hand in hand to the corral where Kalani had Teacup waited saddled and ready. Grampa swung up and into the saddle. He reached down and hoisted Kalani by his arms, lifted him up until he could get a foot in the big leather stirrup, climbing over the saddle and squeezing in front of Grampa, pushing his breechclout out of the way. Grampa’s denim-covered front pressed against his bare back, slim thighs wide apart with his groin squashed into the pommel, his belly scraping the horn if he leaned forward. Grampa handed him the reins.
“Okay, Cowboy. Giddy-up.”
“Hold tight, Grampa.”
Confident Kalani walked Teacup down to the road and into the aspen trees beside the creek. Staying away from the road, glad that they were out of sight in case a car came past. Talking with his grandpa about life on a ranch, all kinds things about animals, extracting a promise to take him trout fishing. He laughed hearing about his father skinny dipping in the creek.
“Did my dad ever cornhole?”
“Jeff wasn’t much fer talkin’ about stuff like that, but I figure he did, least fer a while. He was twelve or so when he stopped going back in the woods with his buds. Most boys grow out of it by high school. I reckon yer dad got interested in girls in middle school.”
“What if a boy doesn’t get interested in girls?”
“There’s some who don’t. If a boy’s still cornholin’ past 14, he’s likely got queer inclinations.”
“I reckon yer brother knew what he liked when he was your age,” Grampa joked. He nuzzled Kalani’s head, breathing silky clean hair. “You took a shower this mornin’ huh?”
“I always shower in the morning, Grampa.”
“Not on a ranch. Too much to do to waste time in the shower. Besides, ya need a shower at the end of the day so ya don’t mess up the bed.”
“Grampa, it’s you who makes a mess in the bed.”
“Some of it came outta you.”
“Only because you put it in there.”
Grampa smiled, giving his grandson’s bare back a vigorous thumb massage. “You mind havin’ my sperm in yer cute little ass?”
“It’s okay, I guess.” Kalani swiveled in the saddle, smirking up at his grandpa and making his real answer obvious. “Grampa, what makes a boy gay?”
Grampa kissed his grandson’s head. “I don’t rightly know. Maybe it’s how yer born.”
“Mom said Dy’s always been that way.”
“I figured he might be.”
Martha noticed most things. She even said there were signs things weren’t right when Dyani stayed with them three years ago. Running his fingers through girlish long hair. Knowing the next question. Not sure how he’d answer it. Too much at stake. A difficult future looming for both of them.
“There’s signs,” he added, sounding just like Martha when she took him into the kitchen to talk about their grandson.
“Like what, Grampa?”
“Little things you notice.”
Lithe little body rubbing against him as Teacup swayed. Arousing desire just by touching bare skin. Bare boy belly and chest were an invitation to fondle. Getting erect behind his bib overalls, wishing he’d put on briefs.
“Like what, Grampa?”
“This and that. Mostly what a boy likes to do, how he acts, that sorta thing.”
Giving Teacup free rein to go up a steep rise, Grampa riding loose in the saddle, one arm around Kalani’s middle to keep him safe. Protective now. The way Joey Graybear was with him after they’d cornholed.
“You think the size of Dy’s dick has something to do with it?”
“Yer Dad said that?”
“Kinda. He told Mom it’s too small for anything else.”
“Size’s got nothin’ to do with it. Yer brother’s gay because nature made him that way, Kalani.”
“There’s Goliath, Grampa.” Kalani giggled, stopping the horse only a few yards away from where he’d watched with Calvin the previous afternoon.
“There ‘e goes,” Grampa murmured as Goliath clambered onto a cow.
“Man, he’s huge.” Kalani turned in the saddle, smirking up at his grandpa. “What if yours was that big, Grampa?”
“You’d be a mite sore in the ass, I reckon.”
Kalani grinned as he watched the massive crimson-gray bull cock spear the heifer’s vagina.
“Look at that, Grampa.”
Goliath climbed higher, sinking his cock farther into the heifer, two or three lunges, plunging his yardstick cock into the cow. Grampa chuckled.
“He’s really fucking her, Grampa.”
Giggling nervously when he turned to make sure he wasn’t in trouble for saying a forbidden word.
“Seein’ as I did it to you, there ain’t no reason why we cain’t talk about it,” Grampa pointed out.
Kalani grinned back. ”Cornholing is what kids call it, but it’s still fucking right?”
“Fer grownups it is. When kids do it, it’s more of a game.”
“There’s rules when kids do it?” Kalani snickered.
“Some do, like taking turns on top and all.”
“What about if a man and a boy do it?”
“It’s usually more about the boy being fucked.”
“What you did to my butt this morning, it’s what gay men do, right?”
“Far as I know.”
“It was fun.”
“I reckon there’s some who do it. The rest mostly bend over.”
Talking about it sent a surge through his gut. He couldn’t keep his hands off his grandson, stroking his thumb and first finger between Kalani’s slim thighs, slow deliberate masturbation, feeling the thin tube flexing within. Skin softer than silk, pulled tight as a drum.
“Look at his balls, Grampa.”
Enormous testicles banging between the bull’s powerful thighs as he lunged into her.
“Probably his first fuck of the day, so they’re chock full of sperm,” Grampa said.
Goliath already dismounting, backing away, sniffing at the cow’s rear to make sure it was his cum dribbling out of her.
“Grampa, hold it tighter.” Strange nervous giggle.
“Tighter like this?” He squeezed blood out of Kalani’s erection. “Or this?” A firmer grip, two fingers braced against his thumb.
“Yeahhh.” Kalani nodded urgently. “Now rub it fast, Grampa.”
“You want me to rub yer dick?” Grampa’s voice turning husky, licking his lips as he squeezed Kalani’s skinny penis again and again. Making it bone up even more.
He could feel Kalani’s heat, smooth hairless skin touching him, scorching lust, making him hungry for boy. Kalani trembled. His cock flexed urgently. Grampa concentrated on the shaft, mostly skipping the tip, still making his grandson gasp, little hips squirming in the saddle. Rubbing his backside against Grampa’s erection.
Slender thighs twitching, little hands stroking Grampa’s thick hairy arms, trying to make his hand move even faster.
“Grampa…. No… The other thing… Please…” Kalani panted.
“Ya want me to cornhole ya?”
“Yeah… Grampa… Don’t say no, please. Please don’t.” Whiny voice.
“You were awfully tight this mornin’.”
“Grampa, I used the candle forever… Iwantyoutocornholeme.”
Unable to say no. Hugging Kalani, even as one hand grasped boy-parts, squeezing relentlessly. Then, the other hand hurriedly undoing the brass buttons at the front of his overalls. He pulled Kalani against his bare chest, heart thumping, mauling his all-but-nude grandson, licking his shoulders, sweet and sweaty, kissing the side of his face.
Insistent boy, lifting himself up over the saddle horn, laying his chest on Teacup’s neck, holding on tight so his grandfather could take him from behind. Grampa slathered saliva into Kalani’s crack, digging his fingers into closed-up boy-anus. One finger sliding through, forcing its way through the tight little sphincter. Then, out. Finding semen still inside. A miracle it was still there. It made him slippery inside, but still adding more saliva. Two fingers, not nearly deep enough to breach the muscle inside, but still fucking back and forth, pushing Kalani higher. In a hurry to stretch him, nearly oblivious to whimpers.
“Put it in, Grampa. Grampa, please….”
“Ya need to wait, young fella. I gotta stretch yer ass some.”
“It’s loose already, Grampa.”
“Ya don’t feel this.”
Grampa rotated his fingers a quarter turn in the sexually active fifth-grader. Kalani inhaled sharply. No tears. No whimpers.
“It feels a mite bigger.”
“I did it for an hour with the candle after you got up.”
“Horny little critter, ain’t ya?”
“Okay. If it hurts, ya tell me, right?”
Already using the stirrups to brace himself. Positioning his cock between his grandson’s small buttocks. Rubbing it into the tiny hole. Not trying for penetration, just oozing his juice where it was needed, making the slippery hole bigger. Kalani’s anus was already paying the price, a flexible flesh knot, the tightness disappearing almost instantly. It wouldn’t take much more for the no-longer-virgin boy-anus to open on demand, a few times that’s all. Concentrating on getting Kalani ready for the head to slip inside. Much easier at night when a boy was asleep.
“Put him in.”
“Yer way too tight, Kalani. I don’t want ya bleedin’.”
“Do it, Grampa.” Pleading, not-yet-eleven-year-old boy desperate to be impaled on his grandfather’s cock.
“Just be patient a while till ya loosen up.”
“Now, Grampa. Please?”
“Who’s cornholin’ this boy?”
With the tip of his grandpa’s hard penis merely bumping his anus, a very frustrated, but hotheaded Kalani shoved back at him. It had nowhere else to go, but in. He muffled his cry in Teacup’s mane, holding on to the gelding’s thick neck. After the first sharp stab of pain, he shoved back again. This time it felt like his body was being ripped open.
“You push too, Grampa.”
Grampa groaned, dubious that a not-yet-eleven-year-old boy was eager for an adult penis to penetrate him. It was different when boys cornholed each other, cock and ass hole matched for size, eagerly swapping roles under established rules. Natural inclinations did the rest.
“This ain’t no barrel-race, Cute Butt. Nice and slow till ya get used to it.”
“It’s not hurting, Grampa,” Kalani sniveled.
Unable to convince Kalani to take it slowly. More excited than he’d ever been with Martha. Grampa grasped Kalani’s narrow hips, placing the target directly in front of his erect penis.
“Remember what I said about showing how much you want me inside you,” he said quietly.
“I can’t, Grampa. I’m holding on.”
“Don’t have to use yer hands.”
“Try takin’ a dump on my dick.”
“That’s disgusting, Grampa.”
“I mean push down hard like yer poopin’, boy!”
Kalani pushed out. As calmly as pulling on an old pair of boots, Grampa pulled him back onto his spit-slicked cock.
“Ahhhhh… Ohhhhh… Ahhhh.”
Kalani’s asshole was definitely looser, but his sphincter was still as tight as a ten-year-old virgin. He jerked away, but Grampa was beyond the point of self-control. Even as his grandson squirmed before him, he pushed harder, trying to get his cock inside before panic set in.
“Really hurtin’, huh?”
Aware that his grandson was whimpering, he eased back in the saddle. Looked down, hoping he wouldn’t see blood, realizing that the head of his cock still hadn’t penetrated the inner muscle. Close, but no cigar. Just a few seconds longer and the fat lady would have been singing an aria.
“For a moment. I didn’t mean for you to stop stop!”
“Sure sounded like it to me, boy. Ya want me to cornhole you or not?”
“In a while. Maybe if you use your finger again, Grampa.”
“Yer smarter than a fifth grader fer sure.” Breathing deep and relishing warm bare skin.
“You wanted to keep going, didn’t you?”
Too close for comfort. Licking his lips. “I don’t want to hurt you, Kalani. It was hurtin,’ wasn’t it?”
“Like my butt was on fire.” Kalani gave a uneasy giggle.
Grampa stuck his fingers in Kalani’s crack, rubbing back and forth, concentrating on soothing the boy’s tiny anus.
“I ain’t surprised. Yer as tight as a chicken.”
“Am I bleeding?”
Grampa examined his fingers to be certain, slicked with creamy sex slime and strands of something yellowish that might have been mucus.
“Yer okay, considerin’”
Kalani pushed himself up from Teacup’s neck, arms shaking. Breathing hard and fast, blinking tears as the shock wore off.
“Some cum’s still drainin’ out from this mornin’, that’s all.”
“Does it have to come out right now?”
“Get used to it, Cute Butt. When a man fucks you, it’s best if you keep his seed inside you. The only problem is it can get kinda messy.” He added a hug to allay his grandson’s obvious distress.
“I like having it inside me, Grampa.”
“That’s a good thing, ‘cause there’s plenty more where it came from.”
“Your balls are chock full of sperm like Goliath, huh?”
Grampa laughed, which made Kalani laugh too.
“I reckon I’ve got dang near as much cum as he does; and all of it’s going up yer ass from now on.”
Which made both of them laugh even more
“Can you try putting it in again? Please?”
“I’m not goin’ ta hurt ya, Cute Butt.”
Only a kid, but already burdened with juvenile lust, and something else that Grampa finally figured out. Kalani had more determination than most grownups.
“It’ll be easier if I get on top of you, Grampa,” Kalani muttered, red-faced.
Wondering how and where he got that idea, Grampa helped him turn around, lifting him from the saddle high enough that he could switch his legs. Then, easing him down so they faced each other, Kalani’s tailbone wedged against the pommel, saddle horn digging into his back. Now, his thighs were on top of Grampa’s, and their cocks were only an inch apart. They grinned at each other. An unwavering finger sprouted from Kalani’s hairless groin; a thick unyielding brute towering above. Anything more than rubbing them together didn’t seem possible.
“Yer a horny little dude, ain’t ya?” Grampa teased, stroking the side of his grandson’s erection.
“So are you, only yours isn’t little,” Kalani smirked, raising himself higher in the saddle.
Until then, Grampa hadn’t figured on his grandson needing sex more than Martha ever did.
“Ya sure ya want to do this?”
“It goes in easier this way… I mean I think it will.”
Grampa shrugged, wondering if they’d be more successful standing up. Better yet, was lying down, but no way was he about to do that in wet grass. He drooled saliva on his hand, transferring it to his erect penis as Kalani looked down. He held his hand in front of his grandson.
“Spit as much as you can, and then lift yerself up a mite more.”
Kalani spit was like water, but Grampa wiped his fingers around his boy’s anus, massaging the tiny opening.
“Try to push out as you go down,” he advised.
Reaching underneath to position his glans in the hot wet hole, but Kalani was already easing his thighs, inching down the pommel and pushing against his grandfather’s thick penis. Grimacing, trying to force open his anus instead of finesse and foreplay.
“Yaow! Owww.” Screeching as the burning returned.
“Take yer time, cowboy.”
“It hurts, Grampa.”
“Is it in the right place?”
“Yeah… I think so.”
His grandpa felt underneath to make sure. “Yer still way too tight.”
Kalani nodded abruptly. A moment later, he muttered something that sounded like, “If Dy can do it, I can.”
“Nothing, Grampa. I want to keep trying, okay?”
Sniveling now. Teeth gritted like a cowboy fallen on cactus. Pushing down with stubborn persistence until he forced the head through. It was like a wedge, the flared rim still not far enough past the anus that he could relax. Each fraction of an inch was misery, like pulling out thorns. Wriggling his butt over Grampa’s thighs. The head stuck fast at his sphincter, refusing to go any farther. Kalani grunted and gasped and finally stopped. Tears in his eyes.
“Grampa, it hurts too much.”
Grampa lifted him off, clasping his grandson’s trembling body.
“That’s enough cornholin’ fer now.”
Nudging his heels into Teacup’s flanks. He patted his grandson’s lean back, rubbing gently. A boy was never the same afterwards.
“I really, really tried, Grampa. It looked so easy when Dy did it.”
Grampa looked him sternly in the eye. “I reckon it’s time we talked, Kalani. What did you see in L.A.?”
“Grampa, please? It’s a secret. I promised Dy I wouldn’t tell, okay?”
“You saw them havin’ sex, didn’t ya? Dyani and Sterling?”
“I didn’t mean to, Grampa. It was an accident, kind of. It just sort of happened.”
“What happened ‘xactly?”
“I was taking a swim, waiting for Dy to finish practicing his lines with Mr. Sterling. Only he wasn’t doing what he said he was doing…”
Dripping water on the polished maple floor outside the master bedroom. Wearing the little sunflower-yellow Speedo that Mr. Sterling gave him to wear so he’d have a tan like a Hollywood boy. It barely covered his groin, and it pulled in tight at the leg openings so it made his junk stand out even more. His butt too, split right down the divide. He should’ve been embarrassed, but he wasn’t. Dyani wore one just like it around the house when he wasn’t naked, which seemed like most of the time.
“He didn’t have any clothes on. He’s tanned all over, Grampa.”
“What was he doing?”
“I only went in to find out what was taking him so long. And…”
He twisted in the saddle to see what was ahead. Teacup waded through muddy water backed up behind the bridge. Grampa knew where he was going, keeping well back from the road, power poles peeking through the aspen trees.
Kalani giggled. “Um…” He lowered his voice to a whisper. “Mr. Sterling was lying on top of him.”
“Doing what, exactly?”
“What we did this morning.”
Grampa smiled. Kalani smirked back.
“Sterling had it up his ass, eh?”
“I couldn’t see much.”
“He was going up and down, though?”
“You know it.”
“Say it aloud, Sugar. Don’t be ashamed. ”
”Mr. Sterling was fucking Dy in the butt. Then, Dy got on top of him. It went in so easy, Grampa.”
Grampa hugged him, kissing the top of his head. Seeing something like that changed a boy. Gave him a different perspective on life.
“Plenty of practice, I reckon.”
Closing in on three years that Dyani had been living with Sterling. Twenty-four hours a day, 365 days a year with a pedophile…
“It was cool,” Kalani said, sounding dreamy.
“He liked bein’ cornholed, eh?”
“He was so into it, Grampa. Every time he went down he was groaning, really, really loud.”
Seeing his movie star brother having hard anal sex. Kalani’s excitement explained everything. Growing up in an instant, knowing what a boy did with a man. It took a couple of days before he figured out that his older brother wasn’t even eleven when he started.
“Sounds like yer a tad jealous?”
“Not any more. I’ve got you.”
Suddenly, understanding why Kalani was eager to bend over. Ready and willing because he was green with envy. However, deep down he shared something very special with Dyani. Both boys needed a man’s loving.
“I reckon you’ll like it too, once yer cute little butt get used to bein’ cornholed,” Grampa chuckled.
Kalani grinned up at him, brushing blond curly hair from his eyes. “That’s what Mr. Sterling said. ‘Once a boy’s taken it up the ass a few times, he enjoys it.’”
“Assuming he’s queer, that sounds about right.”
“Dy liked it right off with him. He did it with an older boy from across the street for a while so he was used to it.”
“Maybe you oughta start off with Calvin?”
“I just want to do it with you, Grampa.”
Grampa brushed back his hair, far too long for a ranch brat. Most Montana boys were shorn like Marines, low maintenance buzz winning out over style, and cheaper too. However, long hair suited Kalani. Made him look like Martha. Nordic beautiful, like his gramma.
“You’re a good-looker that’s fer sure,” Grampa said with a smile.
As much girl as boy, not sexless; in between. Androgynous. A word set aside for filling in crossword puzzles, the only word he could think of to describe his grandson without insulting him.
“It didn’t hurt nearly as bad last night.”
“That’s how it’s s’posed to be. Ya slept through the worst of it… ‘xactly when did you wake up, anyway?”
Kalani just giggled.
“Yeah, Cute Butt.”
“I wanted you to cornhole me this morning too.”
“I figured ya did.”
“We’re going to try again, right?”
“We will if ya want.”
“Soon enough. Maybe tomorrow.”
“Why not tonight?”
“I don’t want ya gettin’ a sore ass….”
“Grampa, what’s it feel like when it stops hurting?”
”How’d it feel last night?”
“Um, okay. There was this nice warm feeling inside me. It was like you were filling me up when you pushed. I kind of wanted you to go deeper.”
“Wait till yer stretched out. It only gets better. If yer lucky, ya might even orgasm. Not every boy can do it, but a little horndog like you, it won’t be long before ya have yer first cum from yer backside. Probably piss on yerself like I did.”
“Because it feels so good?”
“Ain’t no feelin’ like it. By the end of the week, it’s all you’ll want to do.”
“If I’m not sore, can we try again tonight?”
“I ain’t promisin’, but we might. Better turn ‘round and cover yerself up,” Grampa advised with the bridge in sight.
He helped Kalani turn around, gave him a raspberry on the neck in the process, and handed him the reins. Up-close, hands-on horse-riding instruction and hugging with plenty of taut belly touching. Steering clear of boy parts for the moment. Teaching his grandson what he knew. Charlie Deere was a better rider than 99.9 percent of ranchers west of the Mississippi.
“Ya work with a pony, Cute Butt. Move with ‘im, but be firm. Never go at Teacup with a hammer and tongs. Gentle strength, Martha’d say. ‘n she’d be right.”
“He keeps trying to go a different way, Grampa.”
“Actin’ weird ’cause of the flood. Yer doin’ just fine. Just keep ‘im steady.”
“He keeps trying to go faster.”
“He’s bred fer runnin’ like you are. I’ve a mind to let ya gallop comin’ back.
Chapter 13. June 12 MID-AFTERNoon
Joey Graybear came out to greet them, reaching up to shake Grampa’s hand first before stepping back. Only five years older than Grampa, but he looked like he’d been born before Custer’s last stand. Long gray plaited hair past his shoulders. Ochre skin with wrinkles like the eroded banks of Sly Fox Gulch. Black eyes. Looking inside Kalani. Seeing the boy for who he was. Smiling approvingly at the youngest Deere grandson as he offered his hand again.
“A good firm grip,” Grampa whispered to Kalani.
“Hi Mr. Graybear,” Kalani peeped, wondering if any of his fingers were broken.
“He can be trusted,” Graybear declared.
“You learn a lot from a handshake, Kalani,“ Grampa added. “Always shake like ya mean it.”
“Sun dance in his hair like Martha’s.”
Kalani liked how the old Indian looked at him, as if he were someone special.
“He honors me with my Other Son,” Graybear added, patting velvety deerskin and stroking Kalani’s bare thigh at the same time.
“Grampa said you made it.”
“You know what it means for a boy to wear this?”
“Uh huh. I want the Blackfeet to adopt me, Mr. Graybear.”
“I told him some of it, Joey. I hope you don’t mind?”
“You want your grandson to be a child of the Niitsítapi (‘Original People’)?”
Grampa swung down from the saddle. “I’d be honored if he sits in yer lodge.”
With an arm around Kalani’s chest, he hoisted him off the saddle, proudly showing off his grandson’s boyhood before the breechclout covered it. He lowered the boy to the ground.
Graybear looked the boy up and down, smiling. “A skinny cougar, this one.”
“He’s built for ridin’, not football,” Grampa agreed. “You have to ask him directly,” he added to Kalani.
“Mr. Graybear….” Kalani began, shifting from foot to foot like a nervous colt. He glanced back at Grampa. “Um…. Iwantyoutoadoptmeplease.”
Graybear laughed. “One word at a time, Martha’s grandson.”
“Um… I… want… you… to… adopt… me, Sir… Please?”
He lifted Kalani’s chin and looked within. “I will perform the ceremony with great joy, but only if your father’s father stands behind you.” He smiled at Grampa.
“Thank you, Joey.”
“Why’s it got a sun on one side and a moon on the other, Mr. Graybear?”
Kalani pointed at the sun medallion dangling on the side of his meager covering, never more aware of his body. He was completely bare except for the soft chamois flaps front and back, and they scarcely covered the important stuff.
“A boy chooses his future. The Sun or the Moon”
Frustrated, Kalani frowned at his grandpa.
“The Sun is demanding and powerful. It gives strength to men, but it burns like a fire, Kalani.”
Kalani wondered whether ‘demanding and powerful’ meant what he thought it did. “So, the Moon is like a woman then, huh?”
Graybear nodded. “Do you choose the Sun or the Moon, little Deere?”
“I don’t get what it is that I’m choosing?”
Grampa chuckled. “After this morning, I reckon you’ve already chosen, Cutt Butt.”
“Most boys wear the Sun if they choose before their eggs drop.”
Before Kalani could react, Graybear lifted up the front flap. It was obvious that his balls hadn’t dropped. He blushed even as his grandpa and Graybear smiled approvingly.
“You want him to have a brother?” Graybear asked.
“I expect he’ll need one sooner or later.”
“Calvin’s inside, playin’ his Wii,” Graybear offered.
“Either him or Big Hat. Fetch him out, Kalani.”
He smiled as his grandson headed off to the house.
“Like a Mourning Dove, that boy.”
Grampa smiled faintly. “You’d saddle him with Mourning Dove fer a name.”
“It suits him, but why twist the spear?” Graybear shook his wizened head. “You see the dove too, Charlie.”
“Yeah, I see it.” He sighed. “I thought I was gonna forget ‘til he turned up.”
“It’s only right that you stand behind him.” Graybear looped reins over the hitching post, a rusty Ford pickup door stuck in the ground. “He already walks like Blunt Spear’s squaw.”
“He’s lucky he’s still walkin' after last night.” Grampa looked towards the house.
Graybear’s smile suggested he expected as much. “The first time a boy carries a man’s seed, he walks on hot sand. You did it while he was sleeping?”
“Ain’t no other way,” Grampa admitted, unable to avoid smirking.
Tony stepped from the porch, Nike gym bag in hand. He looked amused as he waved. A moment later, two half-naked boys raced from the house. One Blackfoot, one playing at Blackfoot, both wearing breech clouts. Calvin’s loin cloth was plain by comparison, a deerskin wrapped around his middle, a handful of Elkhorn rondures, trimmed with horsehair.
“You understand that having a little brother is a big responsibility?” Graybear probed, a hand resting fondly on Calvin’s bare shoulder.
Calvin grinned. “Sure, Grandpo.” He turned his grin on Grampa. “I’ll take care of him, Mr. Deere.”
“If ya don’t, I’ll call yer parole officer,” Grampa chuckled, calmly accepting the consequences.
Calvin could be difficult at times, and he wasn’t the brightest Blackfoot in the lodge, but he tried hard and he meant well.
“He’s always kidding about that,” Calvin said to Kalani.
Side by side, they were an unlikely pair, yet from the smiles they exchanged, anyone could see they were well matched, even though Kalani’s head barely came to Calvin’s shoulder.
“You will never talk of this,” Graybear warned, his other crinkled hand now firmly on Kalani’s pale shoulder, black eyes gazing into sky-blue eyes.
“Yes, sir. I promise,” Kalani said solemnly.
They walked down to the creek, the boys running ahead to skip stones in the water.
“You’re a lucky man. If he was mine, I’d park my truck in him nonstop,” Graybear chuckled.
“What about Calvin…”
“When he has the need, he sleeps in my bed. He’s not lonely while Tony’s here. “
“I wondered if Tony was cornholin’ him.”
“They shake the lodge pole at night.”
“A couple of horny bears eh? Martha ‘n me always thought it was a shame Jeff wasn’t interested in joinin’ the Graybear Lodge. He and White Goose would’ve made good brothers,” Grampa remarked.
“Our sons have followed their own trails through life. Your grandson is like Martha.”
“Yeah, I kinda noticed.”
Graybear squinted into the sun. “This morning before I woke up, I saw her walk in the meadow.”
“I see her in him all the time.” Grampa watched only Kalani, following his every move.
“Am I right in thinking you’ve joined your heart with his, Blunt Spear.”
“Last night... when I … afterwards, I stopped thinking about her.”
“And this morning?”
“Just him. I reckon it’s more than just me cornholin’ him.”
Grampa waved. Kalani waved back before returning to pick up flat pebbles to skim with a flick of his wrist. He could just manage four bounces to Calvin’s easy dozen.
“All mating is good, but only love lights up the eyes.”
“It ain’t like that, Joey.”
”You enjoy being part of him?”
”Hell yeah. I’m not sure he does though. Least not yet. I tried again on the way here. He’s too tight…”
“You remember the way?”
“Yeah, but I’ve only got a coupla days to loosen him up. His mom’s flyin’ into Bozeman next Thursday to take him to L.A. fer some movie audition. I was hopin’ you’d know somethin’ I could do… Make it easier.”
“You want him to sheath your spear without tears?”
“Be nice. He’s so small back there. I’m teachin’ him how to relax, but he’s got to be a lot looser fer it not to hurt...”
“Could be yer too eager.”
Graybear stooped, picking among polished river stones. Oval black basalt pebbles, smooth as glass to the touch. Some fist-sized, others no bigger than beans. He pocketed a stone smaller than a hen egg.
“Like looking at a yearling, ain’t it Joey?”
Kalani bouncing on the tips of his toes, more energy than a sprightly fawn. Full of life, spinning stones. Getting better with every throw. Nymph-boy dancing. Radiant with laughter.
“I hear more than desire in your voice, old friend.”
“Yer plum-crazy!” Grampa stalked off.
“He’s more than a grandson,” Graybear said to his back.
“Meanin’ what, exactly?”
“Be honest with yourself. You’re in love with the boy. “
Grampa went a few yards before he turned and slowly smiled. “Dang-near hard not to. He’s too pretty fer his own good.”
Graybear watched Kalani. “Many things have changed. It’s not like when we were kids, Charlie. Be careful, or you’ll end like my son.”
“I’m not dumb, Joey.”
“Love makes men do dumb things.”
“Then, I’ve got a hellava problem ‘cause I really love that boy.”
Graybear smiled. “Horses belong in a herd.”
“Say what ya mean, Joey.”
“Things go unnoticed if no one expects them. People see you and your beautiful grandson and they think bad thoughts.”
“Charlie is alone with a sexy young boy on his ranch…”
“That’s their problem.”
“No, it’s your problem, but easy to fix. The weird church Martha went to…”
Graybear nodded, deep in thought. “That’s your herd, Charlie.”
“They’re crazy! Dang religious lunatics!”
“Everyone thinks the horses are safe if a corral has high rails.”
“Take him with you on Sunday. Be part of the herd and no one will notice a randy old stallion and his beautiful colt. If a few people still talk, everyone else think ‘not Charlie’. He’s bringing that boy up just right.”
Charlie smiled. “I’ll think about it. The other thing…”
“What he needs is a hard cock every night.”
“I’m too eager, remember?”
“After what we did every afternoon, you should know how to make his hole bigger,” Graybear chuckled.
“I’ve bin tryin’. I can barely get two fingers in him when he’s awake, Joey. He’s too tight for more.”
“He was greased like an axle, right?”
Grampa answered with a noncommittal shrug.
“You used spit?” Greybear was incredulous.
“Didn’t think he needed it. Heck, he’s as eager as I was with you.”
“He enjoys the feeling?”
“I used a candle on him fer a half hour this morning, and he loved every minute.”
Greybear didn’t speak again until they were among sapling aspens. “Even if a boy likes it, when he’s as small as your grandson, it needs to be very slippery inside him.”
“With that candle there was nothin’ ‘cept what was inside him. He didn’t complain once.”
“Next time, use something to make it easy for him.”
“I got some Crisco. It ain’t the fatty kind like we used.”
Graybear nodded. “It must be greasy to make a difference.”
“He was a mite looser after the candle.”
Graybear chuckled. “I called you Blunt Spear for a reason. He’ll need a couple of candles before he sits comfortably on your pole.”
“I won’t hurt him.” Grampa was adamant.
“Do it slowly and it won’t be too bad. Once he’s stretched big enough it won’t matter what you do.”
“I want him to like it. All of it.”
“You’re sure he enjoyed the candle?”
“I reckon. He put it in again after I left.”
“A good sign he wants you, Blunt Spear.”
“I reckon it helped some, but he needs to be bigger, a lot bigger.”
Graybear smiled. “You could breed him with Big Hat. A night ought to do it.”
“I’m not going to share him, except maybe with Calvin.”
Graybear guffawed out of character. “In the old days, if there was a hurry to mate, Blackfeet boys were stretched on the end of a war club.”
“Look in your barn; I’m sure you’ll find something for the job.”
Out of sight of the road, ranches and fences left behind, a muddy trail alongside the creek, rocky buttes looming above. Fresh, vibrant air scented by pine. Moss like seamless green astroturf, birds everywhere.
“Where are we going?” Kalani whispered to Calvin.
“Shhh. This is a sacred place. Napio comes here.”
“The Creator. Kinda like God, but for Blackfeet.”
“Napio brings all his male children here,” Graybear interrupted, his sonorous tone giving one of the nearly nude boys gooseflesh on his skin. ”Not one of them speaks of it.”
Surrounded by slender Aspen saplings, like lonely children gathered around. With mottled hands, Graybear removed the breech clout from his grandson, his already thick weiner dangling down, a few stray hairs at the base.
“Without boys, there are no warriors.” He walked around the denuded boy, chanting, “Napioa, O Great Spirit who is the One of the Water, bring this boy a brother to be proud of.”
With his hands on Kalani’s shoulders, Grampa guided his grandson to step forward. He leaned to whisper. “Tell the great Spirit why you want to be his son.”
“Um… Oh Great Spirit who is the One of the Water…. um, I’d really like it if you make me a Blackfoot. I’d be really good, and do anything you wanted me to. I really want to be like Mr. Grey Bear’s son Calvin.”
“Blackfoot boys are strong, like the whispering pine, and brave, like the black bear.”
Suddenly, he roared at Kalani, their faces inches apart. “You are a weak pale skin boy.”
Wide-eyed, Kalani gulped.
“Napio has no need for girls.”
Unflinching, Kalani gave a slight shrug. “I’m stronger than I look, Mr. Graybear.”
“Are you strong enough to carry your brother?”
Kalani started another shrug. Suddenly, he felt the weight of a pubescent twelve-year-old boy on his back. He staggered, struggling to stay on his feet until he regained his balance. Calvin gripped him tightly, powerful arms and thighs locking around his slim body.
“In the beginning as far as the eye could see, there was water,” Graybear began, dragging it out as Kalani strained. He opened his arms wide. “None of this existed…”
Kalani nodded, red-faced from effort, certain his back was about to break. Then, something changed. A glow all over. Calvin’s bare skin, hard muscle clamped against him, naked heat flowing into him as the older boy squirmed. His knees still weakened.
“…. Napioa, the Old Man, floated on a log in the waters. He had with him four animals: Mameo, the fish; Matcekupis, the frog, Maniskeo, the lizard; and Spopeo, the turtle.”
“Stand straight,” Grampa whispered to Kalani. “Brace yerself.”
“… Napioa sent them into the water to see what they could find. Three never returned. Only the turtle arose with his mouth full of mud and a single black stone. Napioa took the mud, rolled it in his hand, and made the earth, the rivers, and the trees. Then, he planted the stone and made Blackfeet men.”
Suddenly, he felt Calvin shudder, his stiffness like a fist pressed hard against his tailbone, strong fingers grasping his collarbones, legs clamping tightly.
“What… What’s he doing?” Kalani gasped, about to expire.
Without warning, the older boy gripped him even tighter and jerked back and forth, a couple of thrusts before ejaculating his meager seed on Kalani’s lower back.
“White milk is a good omen, Charlie,” Graybear remarked.
Breathless and grinning, Calvin dropped down, his erect boy-cock still throbbing. Grampa quickly took his place, standing behind his grandson with his arms wrapped around Kalani’s bare torso.
“I’m proud of ya,” he whispered, pulling the small body against him, smearing Calvin’s slimy seed between them.
“Grampa…. He squirted on me.”
“A bit of boy cum won’t hurt ya, Cute Butt.”
Grampa caressed ‘cute butt’, fingers intruding into the hot slippery gap as Graybear knelt before Kalani. Humming softly, he unfastened the leather cords dangling on the sides of the Other Son breechcloth. Two cords, each ending in a silver medallion. He tugged on the knots that secured the deerskin flaps, jerked away the modest soft chamois. Naked, pale boy. No longer as confident as the grizzled old Indian looked him over.
Kalani didn’t expect Graybear to touch his penis, not with his grandpa looking on. He flinched with the first feathery touch. A warm leathery thumb stroked against baby-soft belly skin. Slowly, a single rough finger glided from his smooth bony pubis down to the acorn tip.
“He reminds me of you as a boy, Charlie,” he said with a smile.
Grampa chuckled. “He’s a Deere alright.”
Graybear’s finger poked into Kalani’s small scrotum. Very distracted by his first unwanted molestation, Kalani nodded, not daring to look down. He felt the finger push between his thighs, reaching underneath. He trembled from the warmth of his grandpa’s hands on his hips, offering him for inspection as much as restraining him from pulling away.
As soon as Kalani was comfortable with Graybear fondling his genitals, Grampa relocated his hands to the boy’s bare buttocks, spreading them apart. Opening his crack. Exposing his no-longer-virgin pucker to the light of day… OhmyGod! Graybear’s powerful forefinger merged with his hole and something deep inside fluttered him. It felt like nice, reassuring, just like it did a few hours earlier. He sucked in air as the finger penetrated. It pieced his anus, thrust through his sphincter, reached up into his rectum, following the sleek tube into his core.
“Ahhhhh,” he inhaled.
Grampa held him close, resting his tousled head against his chest. Calvin’s semen covered his butt, making his crack slippery, making it easy for Graybear’s finger to go deeper inside him. In, out, in again.
“Just checkin’ you out,” Grampa whispered. “Makin’ sure ya got what it takes.”
All at once, it struck Kalani just how much he wanted his grandfather to be doing it instead. “Grampa…” he whispered. “I love you.”
Holding him bear-hug close. Strength flowed from Grampa into him. It seemed to gather in his groin, and inside, concentrating where that powerful finger was pressing. For a few seconds, everything focused on that tender node. It was all he could do not to groan when the finger receded. Something replaced it. He wasn’t sure what, but it felt big and round.
“When a Blackfoot boy carries Napio’s stone in his bowels, he becomes Napio’s son,” Graybear declared.
Kalani’s anus clamped down behind it.
“Napio’s stone goes deep inside you. It makes you a Blackfoot boy.” Graybear lightly stroked Kalani’s lengthening member. “Your penis is now Napio’s penis; use it with the strength of a bear and the tenderness of a dove.”
After that, Kalani’s penis stiffened quickly, much to his embarrassment. Graybear kept stroking and it got harder and harder. The head swelled up, flaring out like an arrow barb. And still the old Indian’s gnarled fingers kept stroking. He was certain he could feel a hard lump under his belly, swelling up inside him. It made him sweat and his knees weakened so much that he was sure he’d fall down.
He was almost glad when Graybear gave his skinny erection a final squeeze and stood up. Embarrassment over, but he was certain his penis had never been so stiff. A new not-yet-eleven-year-old boner standard. It left him wanting his grandpa’s hot penis pressing between his buttocks, going inside, reaching past his still twitching anus and sliding into his rectum.
“It is an old man’s right to teach his grandsons. It’s best you keep for him for yourself for a few years,” Graybear admired.
Grampa hid his smile, thinking that same sentiment likely explained why Calvin sometimes walked bowlegged.
“Oh Great One of the Water, I offer my grandson to you.”
“Napioa is proud to have him as a son,” Graybear declared with another sly wink at Grampa, as much as saying ‘I expect you to share him when he’s older.
Crooning ancient words, he led Kalani closer to the creek bank, a ledge of rock and slippery ochre clay. Grampa stayed close behind him, hands holding his grandson’s small shoulders. Graybear looped one of the leather cords, making a slip-knot. He gazed into the boy’s liquid eyes.
“One of these cords will bind you to Napioa. Do you choose the Sun or the Moon?
“Choose the Sun and you will please both of us, Kalani,” Grampa said quietly, remembering his own initiation a half-century earlier.
Was there a choice when every thought made him quiver? Still, Kalani tried not to stutter. ”Ssssun.”
He looked down as Graybear placed the loop around his scrotum and slowly drew the cord tight, capturing both of his testicles. It left his short stiff penis standing straight up despite the silver medallion hanging down to his knees.
“The sons of Napioa will call you Little Arrow.”
Grampa couldn’t help smiling. Little Arrow and Blunt Spear had a nice ring to it.
With the Sun medallion grasped in one withered hand, Graybear yanked up on the rawhide. Kalani jerked back, muffling a cry. Then, shuffling closer with his little balls dragged higher and higher.
“You feel Napio’s stone inside you?”
Graybear pulled until the cord was tight enough that he had to move to the tips of his toes. He dared not move as the medallion went twice around his penis, back under his balls, through another loop, effectively knotting the cord.
“Uhhhh…. Ow… Hurts…”
Kalani gritted his teeth, inching closer to relieve the tension, plump little buttocks clenched, his erect penis straining outward. Grampa pushed him down into the mud. He squatted, scooping clumps of red ochre, smearing it over Kalani’s lean thighs, his chest and belly. Mud bath in the heat of the day! It was fun even though he worried the stone inside him might plop out. He clenched hard so it couldn’t get part the muscle. If anything, it went deeper.
“Now you are Napioa’s son.”
Chapter 14. June 12 late-AFTERNoon
Grampa was busy folding kid-sized jeans and shorts fresh from the clothesline. A half-dozen logo-free T-shirts from Walmart, white Fruit of the Loom undies with a 24-inch waist, utterly boring except that Kalani wore them. Tiny things with stretchy elastic waists, yet no so little that they wouldn’t cover most of his lower belly. No real pouch to speak of, and a slot in front that seemed way too small….
He looked up immediately when his youngest grandson burped soprano. Peeking around the corner, grinning and pink after an hour soaking in the tub, supposedly cleaning off Napioa’s mud, mostly playing with bath toys from his family’s last visit. When was that anyway? A few months before Dyani and his mom headed off to Hollywood. Kalani turned eight right after Martha started going to the new church. A lot of days she was gone till sunset.
Grampa realized he was still holding undies and staring. “You ferget yer breech cloth, Cute butt?”
Kalani pranced into the room, little arrow doing what it did best, a long way from dangling down, precious boy-balls too tight to bounce back and forth. He pirouetted like he’d been taking dance classes since he turned five, and hugged Grampa.
“That some kinda Blackfoot dance?”
“And always done bare-assed with a hard-on?”
“Uh huh. You like seeing me naked, Grampa.”
“Yer a sight for sore eyes alright.” It was satisfying seeing his gorgeous grandson with a little hard dick. “How’s yer butt feel?”
‘Sore’ wasn’t surprising after spending a whole afternoon in the saddle. Four hours on Teacup, with a scant chamois loin cloth between Kalani’s tender buttocks and polished leather. He would’ve been better off bareback, but the trails were too rugged. Napioa’s new son and Grampa rode all the way to Mason’s Valley, on the other side of Broken Butte Mountain.
“I reckon ya need some lard on yer ass?”
“Enough with the butt jokes, Grampa.”
All the way there and back, Grampa told tall tales about Blackfoot boys and warriors. He even threw in a few raunchy yarns about pale-skin boys and ranch hands. Kalani was all ears as bear grease and lard took on new meaning. It was no secret Grampa’s dirty stories excited him.
“I’ll take the heat right outta yer hiney, if ya want?”
“What you want to do to my hiney won’t make it any cooler,” Kalani snickered from a safe distance.
“Fetch that bacon grease here and we’ll see.”
Kalani hadn’t noticed the tub until then. It was sitting on his bed.
“What’s it really for, Grampa?”
“Well, a injun boy would use bear grease, but we’ll try this instead.”
“Ranch kids used lard, Grampa.”
“Lard ain’t slippery enough fer what I’ve got in mind,” Grampa grinned.
Kalani grinned back, shamelessly flaunting his erection. It hovered invitingly on his smooth plump pubis, barely discernible balls crinkled underneath. Grampa’s gaze was unrelenting.
“Stop looking at my weenie, Grampa.”
It was all in good fun; after being naked most of the time since he’d arrived at the ranch, what was the point of hiding his boyhood treasures?
Grampa chuckled and kept ogling. “Havin’ a stiff dick is something fer a boy to be proud of.”
Not that Kalani’s penis was all that big; even fully erect it was the same length as his grandpa’s finger. Nothing to crow about.
“So bacon grease works like KY, huh?” Kalani snickered.
“How do you know about KY?”
Kalani answered with a giggle.
“Dyani told ya?”
Back to watching his grandson’s penis flex, magically tightening up as it inflated. Horny and happy just from talking about sex stuff with his grandpa. Being naked didn’t help.
“Mr. Sterling mostly.”
Now there was a story worth hearing. Grampa considering asking outright even though he was certain the details would come out in due course. Still, his brain bounced around convoluted possibilities. He didn’t dwell on any of them longer than a second or two, not with his thumping heart.
“Yer stiffie is doin’ pushups,” he remarked, pointing out the patently obvious
Kalani didn’t need to look down. “You’re hard too, Grampa.”
“It’s getting there.”
“Because of me?” His voice fluttered like he had butterflies in his belly.
“Ain’t no one else here,” Grampa muttered, looking around. “Be a pity to waste it”. He rearranged his bib overalls so his manhood had room to grow. “Fetch the bacon grease, boy.”
“You’re kidding, right Grampa?”
Grampa took a step closer. Still watching his grandson as his heart flip-flopped.
“At your age, havin’ it nice and slippery back there is important.”
“That’s what Mr. Sterling said.”
Staring at grandpa cock covered by blue jeans, straight and thick as a flashlight. It was big and powerful and breathtaking, and it was erect because of him. He digested that with hungry eyes. Licking his lips, almost ready to taste it. Taking a deep breath. Needing to tell secrets bottled up inside.
“When they do stuff…”
He tried to avert his eyes, but couldn’t. With a nervous giggle, he licked his lips again. Somehow he knew that if he opened his mouth really wide, the head would fit inside.
“…Dy said he always makes sure he’s ready.”
“I’m bettin’ they don’t use bacon grease?”
Kalani snorted at that. “They don’t have bacon in Hollywood, Grampa. What they use is ‘Anal Ease’.”
“Ain’t hard to imagine why Sterling needs something to make it easy, not if yer brother’s ass is anywhere near as tight as yours.”
Giggling, nervous, overexcited boy, aroused just by talking about sex. Seeing the familiar bulge poking out the front of his grandpa’s overalls was icing on the cake. It was enough to make Kalani’s perky little penis stand up straight. It was red on the tip, the pink slender shaft looking as if it had been masturbated recently. Twitching eagerly. Little balls scrunched into a mouthwatering walnut.
“You want to do me with bacon grease, don’t you Grampa?”
It was then Grampa decided that blond-headed blue-eyed prepubescent boys made life worth living when they smiled. “I reckon. Not now though; in a bit; when we’re in bed.”
Kalani’s ‘awwww’ was priceless; it was almost enough to stop Grampa from thinking about what else had happened in L.A.
“Did you find what you were looking for in the barn, Grampa?”
Grampa came back to the present and grumped, “Not exactly.”
Close, but no cigar. He spent a good half hour looking for something to stretch his grandson’s cute butt. Lifetime-guaranteed Craftsman screwdrivers he used on the tractor were the obvious choice, except the rubber-over-plastic handles were too battered to stick up his boy’s beautiful ass. He had a pry-bar with a greasy nylon grip, easy-to-clean with turpentine, but the blade was so long it would get in the way. Heck, he even thought about sawing off the end of a shovel handle. One was almost new, the right thickness, and hickory. Eight inches shorter it would still be usable. The only problem was he paid $39.99 for that shovel.
At the bottom of his tool chest, he found two ancient screwdrivers with polished wood handles and forged blades. One had a handle too big for a boy, unless you wanted him to waddle all day. The other screwdriver would’ve done the job perfectly, its oak handle nicely rounded and hand rubbed to a satin sheen. Unfortunately, it had a crack through the side, so he had to fill it with glue.
“I bet there’s loads more room in yer ass with that stone out,” he said, venturing into dangerous territory.
On the way back, Kalani had pooped out the stone. Under the aspen trees, back by Bootlicker Creek. There was something about seeing his beautiful grandson squatting among pebbles, face contorted as he tried to push it out. Farting instead! Laughing, because it really was funny. Kalani in high spirits, fresh from his tribal initiation. A minute later, a much-relieved not-yet-eleven-year-old got it out. A dribble splattered out too, the last of his semen leaving yellow spots on the rocks. He teased his grandson about wasting his cum, and got a pouty face in return.
“You think I’m big enough now, Grampa?”
Grampa barely heard. Remembering what happened next beside the burbling creek. His angelic grandson was as shameless as a middle-aged hooker, bent over so Grampa could see bare boy-ass, spring-time flowers up to his knees. Indian brave, junior grade, with nothing to lose. Both hands on his pale little butt. Showed his grandpa his hole, gaping as big as a dime when he pushed out. It was Grampa’s first exposure to pre-teen hardcore pornography, his grandson fully aware of what he needed to do to make a man horny. Grinning over his shoulder as Grampa licked his lips. It was a miracle he managed to resist temptation staring him in the face. If it wasn’t for Teacup wandering off in search of sweet grass, he would’ve taken the offer.
“I reckon yer ass is all closed up by now. Ain’t but one way to find out though,” Grampa said, grinning evilly, his grandson pretending to be busy exploring the clutter on his grandma’s sewing table. “Git yer butt up on that there table and I’ll take a look, cowboy.”
Kalani giggled and leaned back against the table. “Lift me up, Grampa.”
“A sporty model like you oughta be able to hoist his cute butt up by himself,” Grampa teased.
“I’m too tired,” Kalani pretended to whine, still playful for not-yet-eleven. He held up his arms.
Grampa obediently hoisted Kalani under his arms, dumping him onto the table, shoving aside sewing magazines still in the wrapper. His gaze drifted lower. Beautiful naked boy before him, knees far enough apart to show off everything exclusively male.
“Sitting like that could get a boy into all kinds of trouble.”
Very distracted, yet somehow he met his grandson’s innocent eyes, doing what came naturally regardless of age. Both of them barely thinking about what came next, rushing into incest like backwoods halfwits.
Kalani smirked. “Like what ya see, Grampa?” he drawled, almost getting it right.
“Sure do.” Grampa winked.
He gently pushed Kalani back until he lay down. Automatically, Kalani brought up his knees. Grabbed hold of his feet, looking like a turkey, trussed and stuffed, right before it went into the oven. A puckered boy-hole stared back at him.
“Dang near the prettiest thing I’ve seen in a coon’s age.”
Sure, his grandson’s ass was a little red around the rim, but that was expected when a boy started cornholing. Spotlessly clean after bath time. It winked at him again and again, inviting his finger to play.
“Is it bigger?”
“Ain’t by much, if it is.”
He stroked the tender wrinkles surrounding the opening, feeling residual moistness. Kalani sighed softly. Grampa’s finger pressed gently. The tip scarcely went inside, just enough to warrant another sigh. Smiling as he rubbed, side to side, mostly back and forth, expertly loosening the pucker until his fingertip moved in and out freely. Finger foreplay for fun as much as anything else. Skinny legs parting wide. Boy dick like a poker. When he stopped, Kalani was breathing faster.
“Go inside,” Kalani murmured.
Then, realizing what he’d said, he smirked, instinctively aware that he had to be patient. Glad that his grandpa was paving the way.
“You want my finger in yer ass?” Grampa teased, his heart pumping fast.
“You can use two if you want, Grampa.”
Not yet ready to push that hard, he used his thumb to massage the little bit of skin between boy-parts and asshole.
“One finger will do fer starters.”
Grampa decided that was the sexiest sound he’d heard for a long while. He licked his lips. Back to teasing the pucker. Moist little hole starting to open. Uncertain smile as Grampa’s fingertip slipped inside, twisting to scratch the subconscious itch.
“Yer best buddy ought be doin’ this.”
“It feels nice when your finger turns.”
“Sounds like my little cutie pie likes gettin’ his ass stretched. Ya do, don’t ya?”
‘Cutie pie’ wasn’t exaggeration. Nothing came close to Kalani north of the Pecos, or west of the Mississippi.
‘Cutie pie’ grinned and nodded.
“We gotta get you used to bein’ cornholed, or it’ll never feel good.”
If only they had another week.
“If my butthole’s got to be as big as your cock, it’ll take forever, Grampa.”
“Ya don’t want to overdo it at yer age. ‘sides, it’s better fer me if yer a bit tight.”
Grampa gave his grandson’s obstinate erection a loving caress. Multitasking sexual pleasure, his forefinger still crooked up, tantalizing the pucker while prehensile fingers stroked taut hot penile skin. Kalani wriggled, wanting more attention paid to his anus even as his penis bobbed and jerked. Instead, Grampa plucked silky skin, fondling two tiny marbles.
“If we have sex, it’ll get bigger, right Grampa?”
“Some. Mostly, ya want yer ass to get stretchier. That’s what takes the time.”
“So like a week?”
“Thereabouts, only we ain’t got a week. If there was a way to get you ready faster, would you do it?” Grampa said huskily.
Grampa expertly tickled boy-balls. So tiny, yet so vital, scooting around with the slightest guidance, disappearing inside if he pressed very gently.
“I don’t have balls, Grampa.”
“Who needs balls when you got a nice big wiener.”
Grinning as he stretched out scrotum-skin, fingers feeling alongside Kalani’s urethra, poking into the chubby pubis, pint-sized penis flexing under his thumb.
The forefinger of his other hand pressed deeper into hot moist flesh, now without the gripping band. Definitely looser, yet a long way from where it needed to be. Wide-eyed Kalani, simultaneously abused front and rear, never before both masturbated and finger-fucked.
“If I put something inside ya, kinda like that candle this morning, only thicker…” Grampa paused, seduced by a flurry of tiny spasms inside and out. It took a moment to get his thoughts back. “… and it was there fer a couple of hours, I reckon it’d help.”
“I thought the candle would make my hole bigger, but it didn’t.”
“It probably helped some. Thing is, ya something fairly big… assumin’ you want to do it without it hurtin’.”
“Like the same size as your cock,” Kalani snickered, looking down.
His grandpa’s right hand mostly covered his rump, his forefinger constantly burrowing, probing well past the pucker. It still itched inside. The funny thing was that the more Grampa scratched, the worse it became.
“Two fingers up here would get ya started,” Grampa teased, adding a second finger at the entrance.
“Can you do my dick too? Please?”
“I would, only I got two days of chores to catch up.”
“You think you have a candle big enough?” Kalani sounded doubtful.
“Don’t have to be a candle.”
Wondering if little boys had pheromes in their asses. He could sure smell something nice on his fingers. Sniffing just to make sure
“Like what would you use, Grampa?”
Grampa grinned, not really believing he was having the discussion. Common sense tied in knots by a dopamine overdose. Just being close to naked Kalani was enough for orgasm. That and a lingering thrill from seeing him all tensed up from being played with front and back, seconds away from his own prepubescent climax.
“I’m thinkin’ we could try one of yer gramma’s spindles.”
Kalani followed Grampa’s gaze. Two rows of spindles and bobbins on the rack by the looms, all wood, all carefully hand-turned on a lathe and rubbed to a luster. All but a few were thicker than Mabel’s homemade candles.
“It’ll hurt like the dickens fer a while, but you won’t feel more than a pinch when I put the real thing in yer ass tomorrow morning.”
“Which one should we use?”
Whoever made the spindles had an eye for extracting beauty from wood. Kalani pointed at the newest looking one, beautifully crafted in dark mahogany, artistic if not overly functional. It was ten inches long, scalloped like eight balls joined together.
“I’d go fer one a tad shorter myself. What about the one on the end?”
“It ain’t near as thick as yer cock, Grampa,” Kalani mocked.
Burnished burled maple maybe six inches overall with oval knobs on each end.
“It’s plenty wide enough to stretch yer little ass.”
“I guess,” Kalani shrugged, acting out straight-faced seriousness. “It’s not my first choice, but it’ll do.”
Grampa guffawed. “Eager little monkey, ain’t ya? Okay. Lie back… If ya mean it…”
Weird déjà vu as he went over to the shelves. Up close, the spindle was thicker than it looked. He fondled the smallest knob, thinking if he managed to get it in, it wouldn’t come out any time soon. Smiling at the very idea of his grandson waddling around with a spindle stuck up his ass.
When he turned around, Kalani lay back, drawing up his knees to his chest. Grampa couldn’t help smiling as he looked at boy ass. Kalani’s fingers clawed his buttocks, pulling his cheeks wide apart, showing off his sex hole or offering himself, Grampa wasn’t sure.
“Ya sure ya want to do this?”
“I dare ya, Grampa.”
Close enough to touch. A single fingertip returned to stroking the little boy-hole. Tainted by a doughnut of yellow-brown bruises. Kalani breathing slow and steady, and smiling up at him.
“Yer poor little butthole’s gonna be sore after this.”
“If it isn’t too bad, we can do it properly tonight, Grampa.”
Grampa wasn’t sure he wanted to know what ‘properly’ meant. “Eager beaver, ain’t ya?”
“I like having your semen in me,” Kalani said shyly.
Unexpected truth hit the nail on the head.
“It’s cum when we’re talking like this. Might as well git used to sayin’ it, cowboy. I’ll put a gallon of it in yer ass by the time ya leave.”
“I can be your cum-bank, Grampa, like Dy is for Mr. Sterling.”
Admissions like that hurt like pulling out teeth. Still, Grampa laughed. Feeling boy ass, already seeming bigger than his finger, sliding well past the joint with barely a push. Twisting his wrist so his knuckles bumped tight little balls. Feeling so cool burning up in 98.6 degrees, more heat pouring out of Kalani’s erection.
“Give me a nice tight dick any day,” he mused. “Makes yer knob look like a cherry on top.”
Giving boy-cock a playful flip, while going another inch deeper, spiking his grandson’s rectum despite tightening spasms. Kalani blinked back. Inhaling, exhaling, doing his best to relax.
“Try it now, Grampa.”
Hearing that, Grampa couldn’t stop himself. Scooping his finger into bacon grease, carefully smearing it over the top half of the spindle. Kalani watched from between his knees. Eyes wide. Scared more than a bit.
“It’s kinda like a dildo, huh Grampa?”
“How do you know about dildoes?”
Ten years old and no longer innocent, smiling about stuff he wasn’t supposed to know.
“He uses one with Dy when he’s too tired to do it.”
Grampa gulped and kept adding grease until creamy globs covered the spindle.
“That’ll do just fine,” he muttered, adding a dab on Kalani’s violated hole. He poked, getting most of it through the still-relaxed anus. “Good boy.”
“Go in more, Grampa.”
He pushed firmly, yet slowly. Kalani squirmed slightly, relaxing muscle tension deliberately.
“I like feeling your finger go in, Grampa,” he murmured.
Bacon grease eased the way for another half inch.
“I reckon Sterling does this with yer brother too,” Grampa crooned.
His finger was past halfway, wriggling inside, already crooked up, like a hook past the grasping sphincter, searching for the magical bump. Then, out again, dabbling in the greasy wrinkles until they felt softer, loosening the rim until his grandson sighed with pleasure.
“There ain’t no easy way to do this,” he muttered.
“Just do it, Grampa.”
“I don’t want you complaining afterwards.”
“No tears if I hurt ya.”
“I promise, Grampa.”
“Show me how much you want it.”
Kalani pulled his toes back to his ears. Rubbing around and around with two fingertips. Poking ever so gently. Greasy felt better than spit-slippery. Stretching the boy-hole enough for the spindle to go in. Trying it for size while Kalani gazed up at him from between his knees.
“Kinda feels looser, Grampa.”
Grampa nodded and pushed in deeper, inside far enough that his could feel his grandson’s anus like a tight band around both fingertips. Certain the boy was pushing back, doing his best to make his sphincter dilate. Little ankles nudging his shoulders. Twitching every so often,
“This’ll hurt fer a while.”
Kalani nodded aruptly.
“Shouldn’t take more than a coupla minutes fer the worst.”
He placed Gramma’s spindle against Kalani’s exposed anus. Rubbing his fingers in the tub of bacon grease. Spreading ranch lubricant over Kalani’s small smooth ass. It was greasy, nothing like desensitized slickness that came from gel from a tube. Adding more of it to his grandson’s erection, making it glisten, so tight and slick it might have been plastic.
“I like seein’ ya hard as steel,” he crooned, fingering the inflexible little penis.
“You like playing with my weenie.”
Grampa smiled, listening to the oleaginous slurp of his fingers. Kalani’s shivery sighs were like a concerto to his ears. Soothing succulent slippery flesh front and rear. One hand rubbing three-plus inches of very stiff penis, the other hand prodding with the rounded end of the spindle. Rubbery cheeks pulled wide apart.
“Yer sure, right?”
“I reckon yer still too tight to take it without crying.”
“Stop talking and do it, Grampa,” Kalani grumbled.
“I’ll stop if ya tell me.”
Looking down at boy-ass. Red rim all but hid by the oily wood knob. Snug like a bath plug. Boy-cock as stiff and straight as the spindle, just a whole lot smaller. Kalani winced as the knob settled farther into his furrow.
“Ya want me to stop?”
“Uh uh.” Smiling and scared at the very same time. “Just go slow, okay.”
“I’m ready when you are, cowboy. Do like ya did with Napio’s stone.”
Kalani inhaled as the pressure ratcheted up a notch. Serious stretching underway. Square peg, round hole. Burning already and it wasn’t even close to going inside.
Grampa leaned down and kissed Kalani’s forehead. “I want ya to hold me real tight, Honey.”
Kalani let go of his legs and wrapped his arms around his Grampa’s neck. Another notch on the pressure scale. Intensifying. Burning around the bulbous end of the spindle.
Taking a break by tracing the raphe from anus to glans, lingering all the way up the middle of Kalani’s shriveled scrotum, tiny pimples under his shaft, playfully tormenting the swollen helmet, musing on the miracle of boyhood.
“Yer my beautiful boy,” he whispered.
Shoving it harder when Kalani nodded. Grampa’s free hand brushed away unruly curls. Lips gently brushed Kalani’s button-nose, kissed his forehead again. Then, his cheeks, coming ever so close to his lips. Suddenly, Kalani had an urge to kiss too, but he wasn’t sure what to do. Besides, Grampa was pushing the spindle against his ass so hard it hurt.
“Push out. Hard as you can,” Grampa droned.
Kalani tightened his grip around his grandpa’s neck. Clinging as if his life depended on not letting go. Pressure increasing exponentially. His head bumped the window behind the table. Whimpering, ‘fuck’ under his breath.
“Feel it goin’ in?”
“It’s okay to cry, Cute Butt.”
Giving his grandson something to cry about with a quick hard thrust. Kalani wailed, unable to stop the spindle head forcing through his sphincter even if he’d wanted to. Two inches plugged in his ass and burning like crazy. Once-proud boy-dick switching to a pitiful morsel before his grandpa could stop it. Somehow, he found himself looking out the window behind him and seeing the sky in reverse. Then, his grandpa was kissing him on the lips. Not like anything he’d ever known . Wet and hot, and his lips were never so tender.
The thing in his butt wriggled. He wriggled with it, too big and too hard not to. Grampa’s tongue touched his lips, then the tip of his nose. Cheek to cheek and smelling leather and horse, and prairie flowers.
“Hurts as bad as fallin’ off Teacup, don’t it?” Grampa crooned, gently rocking the spindle from side to side.
Uncertain, yet instinctively flinching. Unable to nod. Unable to do anything except breath and try not to cry.
“Relax yer butt fer me.”
On the brink of saying, ‘take it out.’ Somehow, resisting. Needing to kiss but unable to reach. Grampa looking down at him. Smiling like he did. Remembering being in the truck for the long drive from the airport. Lots of those smiles until he fell asleep. Certain it was going deeper. Still burning. Maybe worse than before.
“It’s in,” Grampa muttered, his hand shaking like crazy.
He pulled back slightly to make sure, a gentle tug against his grandson’s firm grip. Not coming out any time soon.
“I know, cowboy. The muscle inside’s got to stretch a whole bunch before it stops hurtin’.”
He stroked his boy’s inner thigh. Definitely getting a suntan. Trembling ever so slightly. Pressing the skinny thigh back against Kalani’s chest, making the boy keep it there by locking an arm over his knee. Teaching him how to offer himself. Then, the other thigh. Even more like a trussed and stuffed turkey ready for the oven. Except for the spindle sticking out.
“Monkey boy’s got a nice stubby tail,” he muttered.
Holding it in with a single finger so his grandson couldn’t eject it accidentally.
“Doesn’t hurt as much now.”
“I reckon it’ll start feelin’ good in a bit. Always takes a few minutes to get used to it.”
Kalani nodded, vaguely aware his grandpa was brushing hair from his forehead. Comforting fingers back to fondling his scrunched-up balls.
“I love this little guy.”
Giving the Jimmy Dean breakfast sausage a friendly tug and getting a smile in return. Limp didn’t last long with Grampa fondling, stretching into asparagus before he stopped.
“Yer one beautiful boy, especially with this.”
Squashing boy dick in his fist. Unable to resist pushing in more of the spindle. Incredibly tight all of a sudden. Glad it was covered in grease. Kalani swallowing, likely clenching his teeth. Doing his best to relax the muscles inside him. Still pushing. Inching it in past halfway. Watching Kalani’s face, expecting tears.
“How much farther, Grampa?”
Gooseflesh all over his bare grandson.
“A coupla inches. You got enough fer a while.”
Chapter 15. June 12 evening
Grampa groaned, twice counting five spaces to make sure. “What do I owe fer a hotel on Park Place?”
“More than you’ve got,” Kalani boasted. Multitasking junior real estate tycoon with one hand scooping up popcorn while he held out the card.
Grampa peered at the small print and growled, “One ‘n a half friggin’ grand!”
The pint-sized hotel magnate was still nude, giggling and sitting with his legs folded under him, flicking morsels of popcorn from his chest. He was well aware that his bare boy-dick was the ultimate distraction.
“You make okay popcorn, Grampa.”
“Told ya it was better in a skillet, didn’t I?””
Grampa sifted through his cash pile, less than a third of Kalani’s neat stacks. His grandson had been buying houses and hotels every chance he got.
“Game ain’t over yet, Trump.”
Kalani grinned back. “It will be soon.”
“Who was it said Park and Boardwalk weren’t worth buying?”
Kalani shrugged, stretching out with nonchalant ease. “I’ll take Atlantic off your hands for five hundred.”
“So ya can stack hotels on it.”
“If I let you off the rest, can I sleep in your bed tonight?”
Grampa risked his millionth sideways glance. Dang if it wasn’t still sticking straight up. It was shiny like Kalani had just polished it, the tiny helmet flaring out at the tip.
“Ain’t sure that’s such a good idea now yer’ve had Gramma’s spindles up yer cute little ass.”
Spindles plural. Nearly a half hour before until Kalani was comfortable with the first one. Then, came the jokes; ‘it feels like Calvin’s cock is inside’, ‘I need a grandpa-sized one’, ‘I won’t poop right for a week.’ The next spindle Grampa inserted was a fraction shorter, but much thicker. Its dimpled knobs resembled flattened golf balls, knobs that defied anatomical possibility long enough to make the evening news. He was ready to bawl when it finally ended. Hard to believe that it was hidden inside him, all but the knob on the end. When he finally dared to stand, it forced his butt cheeks apart.
Grampa wasn’t sure what to think by that stage. So far past the stopping point he was worried he’d gone too far, yet he tied it in so Kalani could waddle around and not have to worry about it escaping. After ten sore minutes, it was definitely looser, enough that he could bend over without wincing. Kalani complained all the way through dinner. It was like having a golf-ball stuck up his ass. They were playing Monopoly before he was able to smile about it.
“You can work it off if you’d rather, Grampa.” Poker-face, but the way he glanced at Grampa gave him away.
“Exactly how’s that goin’ ta work?” Grampa grumbled, trying to decide whether he should sell Atlantic for twice its face value or mortgage three of his better properties.
Kalani smirked at his grandpa and scooped the last handful of popcorn from the bowl. “Do what you did last night.”
Raising an eyebrow, and in the mood to stop counting cash and mortgaging property to pay rent to Kalani, Grampa waited until he stopped munching. “And what was that?”
“Before we went upstairs you masturbated me, Grampa.”
“Ya want me to play with yer wiener,” Grampa teased.
“Uh huh. Only better than you did last night.”
“Maybe ya oughta show me how if ya want it done right.”
Kalani rolled away and stretched out on the floor, legs wide apart for all the world to see his boy parts. Popcorn-greasy and fingering his flagpole erection, very conscious his grandpa was staring.
“It’s really big tonight, Grampa.” Grinning and not at all bashful as he deftly explored three-point-five inches of extremely aroused penis, poking it this way and that to show how stiff it was.
“And a very nice one it is too.” Grampa licked his lips, already dry. “Show me how ya jack off, cowboy,” he rasped.
Giggling, Kalani tweaked his pride and joy, gave a few teasing strokes. “Mostly I go up and down. If I really want to feel good I do it more here.”
He pointed at the underside before squishing his little acorn-glans between the tips of his thumb and first finger, abusing his tender little knob without mercy.
“Why does it feel so good when you rub right on the tip, Grampa?”
“More nerves I ‘spect.”
Grampa would never forget watching Kalani masturbate the first time. It was something else. A rhythmic stroke that was obviously practiced more than most boys his age, though still without the firm fisted grip of a teenager. Instead, it was gentle and fast, like a hummingbird fluttering with his fingers barely touching. Within moments, his grandson had a faraway look, his eyes nearly closing, dreamy if not getting drowsy.
Breathing deep and slow, concentrating and soaking up warmth, smiling slightly as the growing tingle switched to even more enjoyable sensations. Shamelessly tantalizing himself. Underneath, his balls contracted into a shadowy crinkled bump. Nothing left but wrinkles and two peas in a pod. Rubbing his little pink wiener faster and faster as he ramped up to overload, then slowing to casual caressing just before he reached the peak.
“You done with playin’ with it?”
Kalani grinned and shook his unruly head. “You have to be naked too, Grampa.”
“I reckon it’s time you started undressin’ me.”
Grampa flopped onto his back so Kalani could straddle him. Both hands tugging the old cotton shirt from under his belt, giggling as press-stud buttons popped open. Little excited penis, still pulsing erratically, pointing like an arrow at Grampa’s face.
“I bet I can feel that spindle if I press here,” Grampa teased, poking a finger at Kalani’s bellybutton.
Unable to stop himself from reaching around Kalani’s back and holding him close, all the while rubbing his fingers around his grandson’s small navel. Prodding into firm belly muscle. Kalani sat back, his bare butt bearing down on Grampa’s thigh, driving the wooden rod that much higher. Grampa rubbed back and forth.
”Hard to believe all of it’s right up inside ya.”
Not sure whether he should wince or squeeze down, Kalani scooted back so he could work on his grandpa’s belt buckle with one hand, rubbing the prominent bulge with his other hand. As nervous as a bride on her first night, yet unable to stop. Thigh tendons taut as he squatted, juvenile belly muscles boosted to Olympic weightlifter prominence in lamp glow. Sensuous, slim boy, giggly and horny from being naked all evening. Little fingers squeezing along the length, feeling his grandfather’s sex organ hidden under blue jeans.
“What if I don’t get the part in the movie, Grampa?”
“Ain’t no what if about it, Cute Butt.”
“Dy said he almost had to do sex stuff to get his first part, only Mr. Sterling wouldn’t allow it. He said it happens more than most people realize.”
“Ain’t happenin’ to my boy. ‘sides you’ll get it anyway if yer good enough.”
It wasn’t a big part, maybe 25 lines in two scenes before the scriptwriter killed him off, but it would be his first movie.
“If I don’t get it, I could stay here with you.”
“Don’t fret it. If ya do, maybe I could take ya to Hollywood. The Graybears could take care of the ranch fer a week.”
Kalani wriggled his butt against Grampa’s knees, feeling funny inside. “It’d be like a vacation for you because you wouldn’t have to work, Grampa.”
“Ya’d like that, wouldn’t ya? You and me in L.A. ain’t such a bad idea.” Grampa added a grin.
Ready to play, Kalani deliberately squished the big knob into his crack, suddenly thinking it might even be possible without hurting. Subconscious, subliminal need switched to premeditated penetration. Meeting his grandpa’s knowing gaze, both hands on Grampa’s cock, toying with the tip, getting a grin in return. Still a little worried about impaling his ass, yet game to try. Then, he realized his grandpa was staring between his widely splayed thighs. He glanced down, his penis as hard as it had ever been. Grampa stroked along his thigh. It gave him gooseflesh at the same time as it made him hot all over.
“Grampa, when you masturbate me, can you do it really fast?” he asked shyly, fiddling with Grampa’s zipper.
Grampa’s fingers inched closer to boy-dick. “Yer one sexy boy, ain’t ya?”
Grampa’s voice was husky and it made Kalani glow. Happy and horny. He nodded slightly, barely smiling, just enough to show he wanted his grandfather to touch him, but the fingers stopped at the last moment. Kalani started to tug down the zipper. Immediately, Grampa’s thumb stroked along his shaft, tormenting the tender taut skin. Both of them into quid pro quo sex.
He felt the surge of excitement, his grandson’s pulse quickening. Grampa noted his grandson’s blue eyes flickering. That shy hint of a smile broadening, making dimples. Silky-soft boy-cock becoming sweaty with a life of its own. He could tell Kalani was anxious. Boy-dick stretched out and ready to be rubbed, throbbing against his caressing thumb.
“Yer my favorite boy in the whole world,” he whispered.
He took hold of his grandson’s penis like it was the very first time. Two fingers opposed to his thumb, squeezing lightly. He gave a few faltering strokes.
“Yer like havin’ yer dick jerked fast, eh?”
“I do it with my fingers barely touching. It doesn’t get sore that way.”
“You givin’ lessons to yer friends at school?” Grampa teased. He lifted up, encouraging Kalani to pull down his jeans.
“They do okay by themselves,” Kalani giggled. He leaned over his grinning grandpa and whispered, “If I do it really fast, sometimes I pee on myself when I get the feeling.”
“When yer in the bathtub?”
“In bed, mostly. I have to rub it for a really long while for that to happen. It gets kinda sore sometimes.”
Another insight, another heart-stopping thrill from thinking about his grandson masturbating in his little bunk bed. It was almost as exciting as being undressed by Kalani. Not clumsy, just excited, fumbling and looking at the same time, a delightful minute watching the boy struggle to get his jeans and boxers down to his knees. Finally, Kalani rested on his haunches contemplating his handiwork.
”If I rub it real fast, ya goin’ to pee on me?” Grampa asked hoarsely.
“It’s not a whole lot, Grampa. Only a little bit comes out, like a few droplets. No big deal.”
His grandfather’s big penis mesmerized him. It was thick and gnarly and powerful compared to his puny thing. Surrounded by a forest of thick curly hair, some grey, but mostly dark brown. He took hold of the shaft, needing two hands to come close to enclosing it. It was burning hot and throbbing. He didn’t want to let go of it.
“I’ll do yours first, if you want me to?” he murmured, as if needing permission to do more than fondle.
“Maybe later. How’s that spindle doin’, cowboy?”
”Ain’t too tight is it? The harness I mean.” Grampa plucked at the cord around his grandson’s belly.
“Kinda, but I like it.” Still clasping cock, Kalani sucked in his tummy so his grandpa could see just how tight it was.
“Yeahhhh,” Grampa sighed, absolutely infatuated. “Most girls would kill fer yer looks.”
“Not for my body, huh?”
“That too. Especially yer lovely long wiener.”
Naked Kalani grinned and glanced down. “I think he likes being with you, Grampa. He’s never been this hard for so long.”
“Near constant boners is what happens when a boy starts cornholing.”
“We created a monster, huh Grampa? How much longer before I’m ready to do it properly, you think?”
‘Properly’ again; whatever ‘properly’ meant to a not-yet-eleven-year-old boy.
“You’d be wasted on pussy,” Grampa guessed.
“I reckon it’s time we took it out. Don’t want to overdo it yer first time.”
Grampa watched Kalani pick at the knot at his middle, deft little fingers all but defeated by closely chewed nails. After a few minutes of experimentation, he’d turned two yards of Gramma’s thick Alpaca yarn into a serviceable harness. Twice, he had to adjust the cord cinching his grandson’s narrow-as-a-girl waist. It kept getting out of place, which loosened the two cords that went down his groin and back up his butt crack. Not that the spindle escaped, but he wanted to keep it all the way in. Right before dinner, he added shoulder straps and knotted both of them around the wooden knob. Those straps pulled up against the other cords and really helped to hold the spindle in. It didn’t budge, even when Kalani bent over.
“Can’t believe it stayed in all the way,” he said.
Kalani rocked his hips from side to side. “It still hurts if I move too fast.”
“A couple more days and you’ll be bouncing all over the place, and laughing about it.”
Kalani looked up from unfastening cords. “I thought it was just for today.”
“I’ve been thinking, seeing as yer sexually active and all now; a beautiful little ass like yers oughta be nice and stretchy.”
Kalani giggled and tugged at the last obstinate knot. There were some things a boy needed to do for himself. However, Grampa was the victim of incestuous lust. He kept wondering if he should offer to help. He was itching to take out the spindle by the time Kalani got that last knot untied.
“Slow poke ain’t ya…” Grampa was ready to take control. ”Lay down, cowboy, and I’ll take it out.”
Kalani complied with an ‘oomph’ as he flopped so hard onto his grandpa that their bellies smacked. It made boy and man laugh. A tickle fight ensued, but not like the previous night. Familiarity had arrived in the course of the day. Inhibition gone forever. Now, dicks and balls bore the brunt, although under-arms and ribs weren’t off limits. Feet on the other hand were negotiated out-of-bounds.
“You were really hot when you masturbated,” Grampa declared when they paused to catch breaths.
Cuddling and sweaty, with Kalani once again sprawled on top, pretending exhaustion. Stiff boy-dick tingling and red from near-constant assault.
“How do you do it, Grampa?”
“I’ll show you later. Right now, I probably oughta take out yer spindle.” His hand was already on Kalani’s butt, two fingers and a thumb grasping the protruding knob. “Ready or not!”
It came out with a quick tug. No compliant from Kalani, though he grunted something that sounded like ‘fuck’ when the oversized knob popped through his anus. Grampa poked it back in.
“Just makin’ sure it’s done its job.”
Only the spindle knob penetrated, far enough that Kalani’s anus clamped around it.
“You’ll do,” he announced, giving another swift tug to extract it.
Kalani said something, but Grampa’s chest muffled his voice.
“Ya want it in longer, cowboy,” Grampa joked.
He prodded again, shoving the knob through the dilated sphincter. Kalani grunted, more surprise than anything else. Still, he wriggled as the spindle wormed deeper. He couldn’t get away from it, not with Grampa’s hand clasping his butt. This time it went in deeper, bumping the thing inside him that made him shudder. Another bump, another shudder. Rubbing right against the place that made him want to push back against it. Suddenly, he needed to squeeze down to get more of that wonderful pressure. Instinctively humping and holding his breath, desperate for the weird feeling to continue, disbelieving that it didn’t hurt any more
He was barely aware that the pressure was gone when his grandpa flipped him over, unceremoniously dumping him face down on the rug. Glancing sideways, he saw his grandpa grinning, holding up the slippery spindle. It had thick gobs of grease around one end, glistening on the other end.
Putting the shiny spindle in the empty popcorn bowl, Grampa spread Kalani’s little buttocks wide apart. He leaned low and smooched greasy cheeks before he looked where the spindle had been moments earlier.
“Sweet Jesus. Ya ought to see the size of yer hole now.”
He barely touched his grandson’s little orifice, now enlarged to a finger’s width if not more. However, that wasn’t all. An inverted crimson dome replaced Kalani’s pucker, which was strange until he realized it matched the knob on the end of spindle. With his ass gaping like a mouth, the boy was ready for sex, no doubt about it.
“Huge huh, Grampa?”
It would be easy to push through. All he had to do was to put his cock-head against the opening, and give a push or two. It was everything he wanted, and more, but the best part was he had caused it.
“Yer gettin’ there.”
He rubbed gently, transfixed by the looseness, hot and slippery. The pucker was completely gone. There was no need for foreplay.
“Feels funny having it out,” Kalani whispered.
Grampa smiled and pressed two fingertips into the greasy hole. He was a little surprised they went in so easily. “Get used to it. That’s what it’s like when yer bein’ cornholed on a regular basis.”
Without thinking, Kalani lifted up his rump. Grinning from between his knees, ankles all the way back to his shoulders, both of them watching Grampa’s two fingers slipping in and out, getting through his anus with almost no pressure.
”Go deeper.” It was only a murmur.
Passing through Kalani’s dilated anus all the way up to his knuckles, sphincter still squeezing but without even a whimper, one finger reaching higher than ever before. Amused by the heat in his grandson’s rectum, boy-dick sticking out in front. Slick and mushy, so much bigger inside that it didn’t seem possible.
Breathing out in a rush. Thinking about inserting an even larger spindle inside his grandson and trying his best not to laugh. So easy. If only he’d done it a day earlier…
“A couple more days, yer ass will look like a gopher hole.”
“We can do it a lot now I’m stretched, huh?”
“If ya want… Ya want me to try puttin’ it in now? Ya do, don’t ya?”
“If you do.”
Kalani held up his arms, inviting incest with his knees splayed wide. Grampa moved into position, kneeling before his grandson. Wiping excess grease off the spindle, transferring it to his straining erection as fast as he could. Their eyes met and both of them smiled awkwardly before shifting their gaze to his wagging cock. It was already drooling.
“I’m goin’ to go in real slow just in case.”
“I’ll try to be gentle, but I might need to push pretty hard. It’s kinda hard not to. You gotta tell me right away if it hurts, Honey.”
Clear blue angelic eyes looking back at him. “What do I do, Grampa?”
“You can help by relaxin’. ” He smiled down at Kalani. “Show me how much ya want it, cowboy.”
“Fer starters, hold yer cheeks apart so yer hole opens up. Yeah. Like that. Nice and high.”
He rubbed his slippery glans along Kalani’s willingly offered crack, burrowing between hot greasy buttocks. Instinctively, Kalani took over, little fingers taking hold of the hot hard penis, positioning it just right. With the head pressing onto his grandson’s hole, there was nothing Grampa could do to stop himself.
“The first inch’s gonna hurt a tad, cowboy. Once it’s inside, I’ll stop till ya get used to it,” he muttered, already beginning to press forward.
Graybear had said the same thing, but he never stopped long enough; or maybe a boy never got used to a cock that big.
He began to increase the pressure, solid shaft close to buckling, his swollen glans sealing the no-longer-puckered opening. Telling himself to be patient, watching for the first signs of discomfort. Kalani looked back at him from between his feet, not smiling. Unwavering eyes. Intense. Resolute. No question he wanted his grandpa to impale him, if only to prove he could do it. Neither of them daring to look down as Grampa pushed.
“Yer doin’ just fine,” Grampa said hoarsely. The urge exploded inside him, it was all he could do not to push harder.
A good hard jab would’ve finished it, yet somehow, he managed to keep his strength in check. Making it a point of doing it slowly, carefully delaying the inevitable surge, back and forth nudges, coaxing the tiny anus to open up and accept him, feeling his grandson’s small body yielding to his manhood. He sensed the change more than anything else, the increased slipperiness, the already weakened muscle well on its way to turning to mush, gradually getting hotter and looser. By then, Kalani had realized it wasn’t about proving he could do it. He needed this.
“It’s going in, Grampa. I can feel him.”
“Shhh. Just relax. I’m nearly there. Even after that last spindle, yer as tight as vise-grips!”
“Because he’s so big. Ahhhh.” Kalani gasped, his eyes closed, lips apart. However, unlike the last time, his teeth weren’t clenched.
“Yer my beautiful sexy boy…. I’m so proud of you”
Without warning, Grampa’s cock slid deeper. With his head in a whirl, he couldn’t remember pushing that hard, but in an instant he’d reached the point of no return. Kalani’s sphincter gripped the flared rim of his glans.
“Wow! You’re in my ass, Grampa.”
“Um, I guess. It doesn’t hurt, not like before. Just feels really weird… Man, he’s big.”
“You want me to take it out?”
”Uh uh.” Kalani took a deep breath. Something snapped tight inside him. “Ooowww. Now it hurts.”
“Yer still gettin’ used to it. Just relax yer ass like I told ya and it’ll get better.”
“I’m trying.” He breathed in again slightly as his sphincter clamped down. “Ahhhh. Feels like a tennis ball is stuck up there.”
“Take yer time. This ain’t a race.”
“Give me one of yer Cute-butt smiles. That’s better. Now it’s inside ya, we’ve got all night. No need to rush anythin’.”
”I like having you in me.”
“I like havin’ me in ya too.”
Grampa eased back until his glans tugged from inside. After a moment, he carefully pressed in, his rigid cock squeezing through muscle spasms.
“It wasn’t nearly as bad that time, Grampa.”
“Yer gettin’ used to it faster than I thought ya would. Thanks to yer gramma’s spindle, I reckon.” He rolled his hips slowly, not really trying for greater penetration.
Kalani beamed up at Grampa. “I think he went in deeper.”
“Might’a. Yer startin’ to feel a bit looser.”
“He feels really huge up there.”
“That’s the truth.”
“I don’t think I’ll ever get used to doing this, Grampa.”
“Yer too horny not to. You’ll be glad he’s a big ‘un by the end of the week.”
He backed away, his fat glans tugging against Kalani’s clutching sphincter. He towered over the boy as he cautiously recovered lost ground and then some.
Kalani gasped, eyes wide. “Ahhhhh.”
Kalani shook his head abruptly. “Owwhhhh. Grampa…. Stop!”
Grampa stopped on a dime. It throbbed between them. “Want me to take it out?”
“Ahhhh… No. I’m okay.”
Inhaling quickly. Jaws tensed, not sure if he needed to clench his teeth, or cry. Sore and hot. Shaky all over. Not sure anything except that his grandpa’s penis was stuffed inside him. Slowly getting his breath back.
“H-he f-feels like he’s in a l-lot d-deeper.”
Grampa grinned down at the trembling boy. “I reckon he’s about where he needs to be fer you to start payin’ attention. Does it hurt bad?”
“Not really. Not like before anyway. Weird mostly.”
“Yer finally loosing yer virginity, Cute Butt.”
“It’s not my first time, Grampa.”
“First time awake but.” Grinning down at his tousled-head grandson.
“What about this morning?”
“Gettin’ fucked with a cock this far inside is what counts fer virginity.”
Grampa held out his first finger and thumb, the tips about two inches apart.
“He feels so big, Grampa.”
“Still a long way before he’s in properly.” Grampa stroked his bare legs, from bumpy knees to bony ankles. “Bit more and we’ll stop fer a while.”
“Go for it, Grampa.”
Grampa pushed. Incredulous-Kalani gasped. Both of them breathed out in a rush. Another inch, maybe more. Impossible to know for sure, but there was no question man and boy had joined as lovers, smiling and looking at each other the way they were supposed to.
“You love me, don’t you Grampa.”
“You know I do. I wouldn’t be doin’ this otherwise.”
“I’m glad you like havin’ my cock inside ya.”
Grampa chuckled. “The best is yet to come, Cowboy. You want to try somethin’ real special,” he whispered.
“You got a place inside that feels extra nice when my cock rubs against it. Ain’t but a little ways inside yer ass, but it’s kinda hidden away. I need ya to help me find it.”
“Well…” Grampa beamed down. “Mostly you do what feels best and I follow along.”
His grandson squeezed down, instinctively tightening his abdominal muscles, an unconscious twitch saying more than words ever could.
“Tell me where it needs to be, cowboy.”
“Go up more.”
Grampa thought he meant ‘go in more.’
“Not that far.” Kalani looked down. “Go up more. Like under my weenie.”
Wondering how his grandson caught on so quickly, he withdrew a fraction and angled upward. Kalani gulped air, clenching fingers and toes. Somehow, he squeezed down again, using more strength than seemed possible for near-74 pounds and four-point-five feet.
Grampa chuckled from above. “Ya like it about there, do ya?”
He gave a gentle, very slow push, instantly recognizing the uncertain shudder.
“Yeah. It’s weird.” Trying hard to keep a straight face as something pulsated deep inside him.
“By tomorrow, yer gonna love havin’ my cock in yer ass.”
Tiny jabs right in front of the pleasure zone. Enough that wide-eyed Kalani winced in disbelief, as confused as any boy getting his first wide-awake full-bore prostate massage.
Then, sensing his grandson was ready for more stimulation he gripped the boy’s hips and gave a slow push. Kalani responded with a quick gasp.
“That hit the spot huh?” Just a couple of inches inside; he thought it would be deeper.
Grinning down at the even more confused boy, he followed up with three bowel-busting thrusts, starting to dig in yet still a long way from plowing into his grandson. He settled back into baby-thrusts, moving his cock a tiny fraction of an inch, his only goal to make sure the boy enjoyed it right from the outset. Turning Kalani queer by getting him to need that mind-boggling pressure on his seminal gland. Nothing would stop them after that.
“Grampa…. Grampa… Stop….”
Despite being skewered, Kalani shifted his hips from side to side. Pleasure off the scale. Trembling, treble-voice groans. Wriggling on his grandpa’s erection, aligning himself on irrational impulse. A rush of uncertainty as his insides adjusted. Realizing just how far his grandpa’s cock was inside him. He knew all along he’d like it, but he never expected it to be so incredible. What joined them together was hot and hard and throbbing, and it made him tremble even when it wasn’t jerking back and forth. No wonder he couldn’t breathe normally.
“Okay. Go in more.”
“I’m guessin’ it doesn’t hurt that bad?”
“It’s feelin’ okay now.”
Way better than ‘okay.’
“Oughta start feelin’ good soon, boy. I’m really enjoyin’ it,” Grampa leered.
With each inward nudge, Kalani tried not to whimper, still too inexperienced to realize the worst was long gone. Slowly, the ache turned into breathless disbelief. Little heart fluttering frantically. Trying to figure what was happening because he couldn’t see anything past his grandpa’s hairy belly. However, he could hear what was going down. Rhythmic slapping with every back and forth surge. Suddenly, it sounded icky, like something was sucking through his loosened hole. There was a funny gooey feeling too. It was all he could do not to giggle, especially with his grandpa’s thrusts becoming increasingly erratic.
Grampa grinned gleefully. “Never thought you’d be gigglin’ while I’m corn-holin’ yer cute little butt.”
Remembering what his grandpa said about lifting up his butt to show what he wanted, Kalani tried doing that. He ended up with his knees next to his ears.
“You’re fucking my ass, Grampa.”
Joined to his grandpa, each thrust bumping his balls from underneath. Fleeting shudders as the adult penis began to move faster. He never expected it to slide so easily. Greasily slurping as it suctioned out mucus and replaced it with air.
“Gettin’ too close, Cowboy. “
“Don’t take him out, Grampa.”
“I’m not takin’ it out, babe; I want it to last.”
Kalani smirked back. “I want you to do it inside me.”
“Me too…. Yer so hot… Ya want yer ass full of my cum, don’t ya?”
Grampa gripped his waist and shoved. It was just a shallow jab, deep enough that Kalani gasped when he should’ve breathed out. He gave a sideways wriggle before it receded back to the safe zone.
“By the time you go home, I want you to crave my cock,” Grampa whispered.
Past caring, Kalani barely nodded. Eyes closed to slits. Lips apart.
He leaned closer. “A coupla more times doing this, you’ll be beggn’ me to fuck yer cute little butt non-stop.”
“You can do it whenever you want, Grampa.”
He rested on his haunches, his gaze fixed on Kalani’s shriveled-up pecker. Tiny blue acorn perched on the tip, the whole thing maybe an inch long. Impaled on his manhood, his grandson was barely male.
“Even when yer asleep?”
“So long as you wake me up by the end.”
“Yer so fuckin’ horny,” he growled.
Still staring down. Even when he pulled back, his swollen glans stayed hidden from sight. He liked seeing his thick reddened shaft embedded between Kalani’s small buttocks. Globs of bacon grease accumulating where his cock entered. He withdrew, popping his bulging glans through the distended hole. Gaping open, enough to see inside.
“It’s bigger now, huh?”
“Big enough.” It was the sexiest thing he’d ever seen.
He penetrated again, a slow steady push, a little surprised by how easily his cock disappeared once the head was inside. It felt like Kalani’s little bottom pulled it though. A cautious thrust, angling up as much as he could. Not more than two inches inside. A little deeper. Watching Kalani’s face. Then, another thrust, not quite as gentle. Kalani winced.
“I need to pee, Grampa.”
“Give it a moment, sweetheart,” he muttered, scooping one hand under Kalani’s back.
“Carry me to the bathroom,” Kalani giggled, his arms wide.
“Hold on tight. Don’t want it comin’ out and makin’ a mess, do we?”
He felt Kalani’s arms lock around his neck. Groaning for effect, he used his other hand to push up from the rug. Kalani’s skinny legs clamped around his middle didn’t help. Somehow, he managed to stand up with their union still intact. Just his glans stayed inside. Enough for the moment. Staggering with his wriggling load for a handful of seconds, definitely ending the monopoly game for the night. Cards and banknotes scattered all over the floor.
“Still need the can?”
“Not so much.”
“I figured as much. Lets go up to bed, Honey. This floor’s killin’ my knees.”
As soon as his grandpa got them underway, Kalani’s arms relaxed. His little belly slipped an inch or two down his grandpa’s sweaty front. Whimpering as the thick rigid cock speared his ass. Once started on that inevitable descent into depravity, he was unable to stop. It surged upward with a heart stopping thrill that writhing only made worse. Luckily, Grampa’s strong arms stopped him from impaling himself completely.
“Best stay put fer a while, Kalani,” Grampa muttered, dangerously close to ejaculation. His cock was deeper than he’d ever imagined.
Kalani giggled nervously, expecting the same sharp stab he’d experienced in the floor. This time there was no pain, only a sense of immense fullness.
“It’s fun hugging with you in me,” he muttered.
“Fer me too,” Grampa gasped.
Chapter 16. June 13 Morning
“Being sucked is fun,” Kalani declared, sitting up in his grandpa’s bed.
Grampa pulled off tingling boy-cock. He grinned, watching his bedmate stretching.
“Even better than havin’ my cock in yer butt?”
Kalani giggled and shook his head. Whenever he thought about it, he squeezed down from inside. Sometimes, he found himself doing it without thinking.
“Grampa, it feels funny back there.”
“Does it hurt?”
“Mmmm, not really. Mostly, it’s sorta itchy.”
“I can’t think of a better way to start off a Sunday than fuckin’ yer ass,” Grampa chuckled, recollecting his early morning workout. “The only problem is a boy can have too much of a good thing.”
He added one last wriggle before withdrawing his finger.
“Don’t take it out.”
Too late. Instead, Grampa leaned lower and licked boy balls, lifting Kalani’s lean thigh higher so he could get underneath. He swiped his tongue back and forth over slippery smooth perineum, coming within an inch of Kalani’s hole. It was barely puckered, inflamed like a bee had stung him there. He twisted his forefinger, scratching around the opening, tickling the now swollen flesh, mostly tiny red folds of skin before they disappeared into Kalani’s boy-hole. He licked closer, a fraction of an inch before his tongue reached the delicate taste surrounding his grandson’s little anus.
He expected a sigh, and got it.
“Uh huh. Do it some more.” Kalani’s slim legs moved farther apart.
“Say what ya want, boy.”
Kalani giggled. “Suck my butt hole, Grampa.”
“You like that, huh?”
Before he could answer, Grampa licked him. His tongue swept along Kalani’s crack, gorging on slippery boy flesh, not tasting much of anything except bacon grease, not even when he sucked on Kalani’s sweet little butt hole. When Kalani finally remembered and pulled his buttocks wide apart, he pushed his tongue through the weakened muscle, inserting it as far as he could.
Face down on the bed, the boy squirmed and fidgeted, mostly trying to get his grandpa’s tongue to go deeper. Grampa tried hard to get it farther inside, but mostly he swirled his tongue around and around the succulent little opening, completely disregarding its other function.
“Go deeper,” Kalani murmured.
Shaking from pure lust and wanting only to give pleasure, Grampa poked his tongue through the weakened muscle, easily getting it all way the inside. Only then he tasted himself. There was a lot of it, which wasn’t surprising after last night and this morning.
After that, Kalani lay back and let it happen, past caring that his parents would be ashamed of him. With his eyes nearly closed, his whole existence began and ended where his grandfather feasted. He could feel Grampa’s hands stroking his thighs, then covering his hands and pulling sideways on the part of him that had to be open. With his buttocks wide apart, Grampa’s hot tongue slurped and stabbed, switching back and forth with his forefinger.
It went on and on until Kalani wasn’t certain what he liked most. He was almost ready to say ‘just use your finger’ because it reached so much deeper, plus Grampa kept licking around his balls, which felt really nice. The best part was being tongued, but it was almost as good when his grandpa slid his finger in and out, all the way from the knuckle to the first joint. However, as good as that was, with his finger curled up, Grampa elicited one groan after another. Finally, he stopped with his nose wedged between Kalani’s buttocks.
“You got a juicy little ass,” Grampa whispered. “Nice and loose…”
With barely a fingertip inside Kalani, he twisted and tugged, pulling the boy’s anus to the sides, up and down, stretching the resilient flesh until the hole gaped open. Penetrating his grandson would take almost no effort.
“Cornhole me, Grampa.”
“You sure you want me to?”
Two so close together would set a new record.
“If you want to, Grampa,” Kalani cooed back, feeling sleepy, yet too excited to stop.
“I don’t want to make you sore, Sugar.”
“It feels way bigger, Grampa.”
“Ya ought to be huge after last night.” He looked to make sure. Gramma’s last spindle had left its mark, no doubt about it. “You’re stretched pretty good, but you’ll be hurtin’ if we overdo it.
“I want to do it again.”
“You’d do it all day, boy.” He inhaled, aroused by sex scent.
Again, he replaced his fingertip with his tongue and wriggled it through the obstructing muscle. He could taste his semen and something else—it was slightly bitter. He buried his nose between plump little cheeks and tried to get his tongue beyond Kalani’s sphincter.
“Ooooh,” Kalani whimpered softly.
“You like it, huh?” Grampa’s voice was muffled by boy-butt.
“Uh huh…. Grampa, please?”
Grampa gulped, extended his tongue fully before probing into the loosened rim, drooling saliva, concentrating on getting as much as possible into the hole. A moment later, he pushed in two fingers, wedging them between the first and second joints.
“I’m going to cornhole your cute little butt…” he whispered, lightly kissing wrinkled boy scrotum. “…after lunch…” He pressed deeper, corkscrewing his fingers.
“You like being cornholed that much?”
“You going to have to dream about it till then, Sugar. Imagine my cock in yer ass while we’re doin’ chores n’ all.”
“Yessssss,” Kalani gasped. He tried not to tighten, pushing out with his muscles. He drew his upper thigh even higher, until it touched his chin.
“Think about my dick goin’ in this here hole. Inside yer cute little butt.”
Grampa hauled Kalani closer, using his fingers to expand the size of his boy’s anus.
“Do it now, Grampa. Please?”
“Yer stretched out okay, just right fer cornholin’, but not now. There’s other ways to make you feel good.”
“I bet you’ll like this,” Grampa cooed before settling his mouth over Kalani’s belly button.
Licking around his navel, probing the indent. Lint-free outie. No sooner than Kalani groaned, he pushed firmly, his slippery digits penetrating full depth, wedging them deep inside.
Kalani wriggled with him, whimpering as his anus gave way. He felt wide open with two powerful grown-up fingers reaching right up inside him. After the shock passed, he pushed back, straining inside. The pressure increased, matching a tempting realization of what he needed to do. His hips twitched, instinctively pulling away, shoving back, squashing his gland. Instinctively humping in reverse.
“Oooooh. More. Do it up more, Grampa!”
Grampa lifted off saliva-slicked belly. Scooting down in the bed. Without warning he gobbled both little balls, gnawing on elusive skin while tongue-massaging boy-gonads. Startled, Kalani gasped. His boy-cock was as hard as a poker pressed up against Grampa’s bristly cheek.
Grampa grinned back, adroitly popping immature testicles through his lips before smooching on Kalani’s scrotum. He savored the texture on his tongue, lingering on the memory of not-yet-eleven-year-old skin. It even tasted sweet, made overpowering with not a hair to get in the way.
He breathed heavily while licking his lips. “Say what ya want, boy.”
“Suck me, Grampa; please.”
“Say it dirty.”
Kalani hesitated. “Suck my nuts, Grampa.”
“That ain’t near what you want me to do!”
“I don’t want to say it,” Kalani hedged.
Grampa hesitated, his heart thundering as he gazed at his blond-haired angel. Innocent blue eyes looked back at him, not understanding. He took a deep breath.
“Say suck my balls and fuck me with your fingers,” he demanded.
Kalani blinked. “You won’t get mad?”
“Not when it’s just us. Say it if that’s what ya want!”
“Um… Suck my nuts… Fuck me. With your fingers. Please, Grampa,” Kalani giggled nervously.
“From now on, when we’re doing sex stuff, I want you talkin’ dirty.”
Grampa twisted his fingers until Kalani squirmed. His mouth gaped open as he gasped. His eyes closed to slits as adult fingers torqued through tantalized flesh and pressed in that magical spot. Rubbed under his bladder, poking hard until his legs twitched and he needed to stop.
“Suck my nuts too…”
Smirking, Grampa nibbled ball bag, kissing tender skin, licking slack folds. Tiny eggs pushed around until he sucked the right one past his lips. Like sucking it was a jelly bean. Smooching the spit-slick silk pouch and pulling in the other one. Content with both precious gonads inside his mouth, drawing them deeper into his maw, back behind his teeth. Feeling his grandson tremble.
Renewed with lust, Grampa pumped both fingers through the dilated opening, raking the tender rectum. Forcing his fingers apart and finding more room than he expected, enough to accommodate a grown man’s cock. He dedicated himself to getting his grandson’s cute butt ready to fuck with five frenzied minutes of ball-sucking, finger-fucking debauchery.
Kalani was ready to pop when his grandpa’s fingers slowly receded. Try as hard as he could, he couldn’t stop shuddering, his tongue lolling as he panted.
“This here’s your boy-cunt. Say it!”
“My boy cunt... Ahhhh.”
“Ya like me finger-fuckin’ yer boy-cunt, don’t ya?”
Kalani nodded and waited for ‘say it.’ However, his grandpa just smiled.
Chapter 16. June 13 later that morning
“Yer curious fer a curly wolf,” Grampa teased, toweling off.
Kalani grinned back at him, brushing wet strands of hair from his eyes. He could sense his grandpa’s mood from how he looked at him. Chores waited, but the morning’s fun was far from over.
“You oughta throw this shit out, Grampa,” he said, smirking at being able to talk like his friends without fear of reprimand.
A month earlier, Grampa had finally emptied her stuff from the medicine cabinet, and sorted it on the vanity counter, except for her pills. He threw those away immediately. Not her sleeping pills, he put those back in the cabinet in case he needed them. Everything else was still there, at least a hundred bottles, vials, and boxes, hairbrushes, female products, and three spare toothbrushes still in the package.
Kalani looked through the stuff on the right. On the left were a few of her things Grampa decided to be kept, like hand lotion and cough medicine, everything else destined for the trash can when he had the time and inclination.
“You oughta use some of that hand lotion when you jack off,” Grampa said. “Keep that cute little dick of yours nice and soft.”
“I won’t have to if you’re around, Grampa.”
“Meanin’ you’d rather I suck it.”
Kalani grinned,“Duhhh.” He held out a blue plastic squeeze tube. “What’s this for?”
“That’s yer gramma’s Nair.”
“I can read, Grampa. What’s it for?”
“What’s the label say, Smarty pants?”
Kalani looked at the label again, flicking wet locks from his face, still shaking off water, in no hurry to get dry.
“Nair, for removing unwanted hair.”
Grampa chuckled. “Well, there you go.”
Staring at Kalani, brazenly nude and skinny like a colt should be. Pale pink where the sun hadn’t reached the previous day. Sexy with his finger- cock dangling down. It was a little redder than normal, which wasn’t surprising since Grampa had been sucking it on and off since its owner woke up. His long corn-silk hair was mostly wet tangles.
A single shared glance was all it took. Both of them were tempted. Gramma would’ve said by the devil; but it was more by each other. Most of the time the attraction wasn’t solely about lust, but it was at that moment. Grampa did his utmost, concentrating on what he needed to do to keep his yearning at bay. He couldn’t help wondering whether he could last the rest of the day, because standing before him was a sight more desirable than any man could withstand.
“Yer my favorite boy, ain’t ya.”
It made him feel good to say it. A thrill unlike any other as he indulged in degeneracy, his gaze locked on his recently sodomized grandson.
“I guess,” Kalani shrugged. Still not believing that they’d done it twice since waking up.
“I reckon yer cute little butt ain’t so tight now.”
“I told you that last spindle felt really big.” Grinning back, because the last spindle wasn’t wood.
“I oughta make you wear one all day. You’ll really get used to it while yer doing yer chores.”
Grinning and playing along. “I’m game.”
“You’ll be as loose as an old boot. Better if yer a bit tight.”
“So this is like shaving cream, huh?” Kalani asked, having finished reading the label.
“Kinda, only ya don’t need a razor.”
“Dad likes Mom to shave her legs.” He grinned at his grandpa.
“Most women remove their body hair.”
“So they look like boys?”
“Maybe,” Grampa chuckled. “Girls mostly, I reckon.”
“It says it works better than shaving.”
“Yer gramma never used a razor after she tried it.”
Martha kept herself in shape, as smooth and Scandinavian tanned as her youngest grandson. Right up to the time the new preacher arrived from Knoxville, Tennessee. Pastor Fleming’s very first sermon was about being vain, all the things people did to hide their real selves from the Lord. Vanity was surely a sin, like any other….
“…we commit sin, my brothers and sisters of Christ. Sin is ‘vanity’ and ‘nothingness,’ after all the scheming and labor bestowed upon it, nothing comes of it. Like lipstick and hair dye, my friends; that’s not the Lord’s Way.”
Pastor Fleming had a long list of hell-fire damnations that even baptism couldn’t extinguish. Right after inebriation was women shaving their legs. But it wasn’t vain for a man to shave, not if he worked in the heat. The preacher had a straggly grey beard, long for a Pentecostal.
“How’s it work?”
“Yer as curious as a bobcat, ain’t ya, Cute Butt? Well, I don’t rightly know. She’d smear it on and wipe if off. Weren’t no hair afterwards,” he added with a grin.
Martha wasn’t hairy to begin with, just peach fuzz on her arms and legs. He liked her doing it, but after she used it, she was never as soft and sleek as baby-smooth Kalani.
Kalani kept reading the label. Suddenly, he glanced up. Big grey-blue eyes sparkling with life. Grinning.
“Do men use it?”
“Don’t know any who would. They could, I suppose. “
Grampa was vigorously toweling his hair.
“So if I rubbed this on my head, all my hair would fall out?”
“You’d be bald as a baby in a coupla minutes, boy.” The towel muffled his voice.
“How long’s it last, Grampa?”
“A week or two.” Grampa stopped toweling. “You ever going to dry off?”
“I’m waiting fer you to do it” Kalani mocked, bouncing around, little boy-dick flipping side to side. “Like in the mud room.”
“Um. I don’t know about that. We’ll see.”
“So if you used it on your body, all your hair like goes away. “
“I’d look like you, I reckon.”
“Sweet…” Kalani giggles were like a creek over pebbles, endless ripples of laughter.
Grampa huffed, pretending indifference. “Yer too young to be thinking about using it.”
“What if you used it there?”
He pointed at Grampa’s groin, a furry thatch surrounding his limp wrinkled cock.
“like I said, I’d be as bald as you are,” Grampa said. Turning away, inspecting his face in the mirror. “Not bad fer sixty.”
“If you do… I’ll suck you.”
Grampa’s head snapped around. Had he heard right? Kalani’s smirk said ‘yes.’
“Yer kiddin’, right?”
“I’ll suck him properly. The same as you suck mine.”
Kalani hesitated as Grampa leered.
“Say it dirty.”
“I’ll suck your cock. Whenever you want”
“Only if he’s smooth like mine.”
Both feeling funny inside. Naked boy wondering whether he’d gone too far.
“Ya mean it, don’t ya?”
“You said don’t say something unless I mean it.”
“’specially somethin’ like this. You sure?”
Suddenly shy from realizing his side of the deal. Not knowing if he could actually do it when he stopped to think about it. Grampa peed from there.
Kalani shrugged, doing his utmost to act nonchalant. “If ya want.”
Then, he licked his lips and made the start of an ‘o’. Finding it impossible not to smile about it as butterflies turned into hummingbirds.
No more discussion, not after that. There was nothing either of them could say. Offer made and acceptance implied. Heart thumping fun. Sealing the bond between them. Grampa sat on the toilet to do it. His legs were trembling too much to stand up. He squeezed out a big glistening blob that looked a lot like KY jelly, rubbing it into his thick curly groin hair. Hurriedly, he daubed more jelly over his crotch, everywhere. Underneath, all over his balls, squeezing silvery beads down his belly. His hand shook as he smeared it right up to his navel.
“Don’t you say a word, Cute Butt,” he muttered.
Kalani just grinned, eyes wide open. He hadn’t expected Grampa to do it, not everywhere, just around the base of his penis.
“It takes about five minutes,” Grampa said, breathing hard. He looked into Kalani’s eyes. “You don’t have to suck me, you know.”
“I know.” Kalani licked his lips, shifted uneasily and breathed in, unable to say he wanted to, but not at all sure he was brave enough. “Did Gramma use it down there?”
Grampa laughed. “Hell no! Just her legs.”
“You’re going to be all smooth afterwards,” Kalani snickered.
“Like my favorite boy.”
He couldn’t stop looking at his grandpa’s genitals. His pubic hair already looked different, squishy and matted. He squatted in front of Grampa, knees wide apart. First finger extended out like his stiff little dick, but only to touch Grampa. He toyed with jelly streaks on Grampa’s belly.
“Don’t get it on you.”
Kalani nodded slightly. “Smells weird.” He leaned in, still sniffing. “What if I put it on my eyebrows?”
“You’d look dumb.”
“Is it working?”
More than ever, Kalani needed to touch his grandpa’s groin. His finger hovered over increasingly matted fur.
“I reckon so. Startin’ to feel warm.”
He licked his lips again. Nostrils flaring with every quick, shallow breath. Finally, he made contact with a fingernail, scraping lightly. A few loose stands came away.
“It’s working.” He glanced up, smirking.
“Seems to be,” Grampa said hoarsely. Gazing down at Kalani’s bare body. Not even a trace of fuzz. Nothing but girlish curls on his head and eyebrows that looked as if they’d been plucked.
Needless to say, Grampa’s cock slowly inflated. Both of them staring. Making the all-too-obvious comparison between man and boy.
“He’s getting big, Grampa.”
Whispering boy-awe. More secret desires were released at that very moment, the sex urge growing inside Kalani with every beat of his heart. Hands-on learning, up close and intimate. Thrilled by doing what came naturally, seeing a man’s cock become fully erect, stretching out, changing color, veins bulging. It was massive compared to his little wiener.
Grampa stood up. His forest of pubic hair looked more like a swamp.
“Best wash if off in the shower.”
He grabbed a handful of toilet paper and got back in the bath. Left the shower curtain wide open so Kalani could watch. Wide-eyed boy staring as he wiped around his sex, denuding himself. Deluding himself that a not-yet-eleven-year-old boy was aroused by the sight of his now hairless cock.
“You’re really pale,” Kalani pointed out, his tremor unmistakable
“So are you in the middle.”
Kalani glanced down. “I’m browner than I was when I arrived.”
“Yeah, ya are. Helluva lot sexier too. Just look at yer wiener doin’ pushups again.”
Kalani couldn’t help giggling. Everything so weird beginning with Grampa losing all of his hair. Baby smooth like him. He felt as if he was seeing his stiff little penis for the first time. He flipped at it, then dragged it down, holding it in place by squeezing his thighs together.
“I’m a girl, Grampa.”
Grampa laughed out loud. “Yer dad used to do that when we went skinny dippin’.”
“You do it too!”
Grampa pulled his cock down. Tucked it between his ranch-muscled thighs. Man and boy grinned at each other.
“We’re both girls,” Kalani snickered.
“I’m glad it’s only pretend.”
Kalani nodded in uncertain agreement. Grampa’s cock escaped and bounced up, so hard it slapped loudly.
“You cock’s really hard, Grampa,” Kalani pointed out.
“I’ve got stiff-dick disease from bein’ around you too much.”
Grampa picked up the soap and started to scrub, getting the last of his hair, like mushy wet dog fur.
“Am I as pretty as Gramma?”
His Tiny-Tim falsetto voice made Grampa chuckle, even more than the question.
“Yeah. More so, ‘cause you’re a boy.”
Kalani studied his smooth crotch, just a small furrow on his pudgy pubic. “What if I really had a, um… you know what a girl has?”
“Say it, cowboy!”
“Ya know the other word. I used it this mornin’.”
“Um… I guess…”
“There’s nothing wrong with cunts, but personally I prefer a cute little cock.”
Grinning, and pulling down boy-cock. Out of sight, not out of mind. Grampa kept staring. When Kalani let go, it snapped to near-vertical. It paralleled his tummy, bouncing on demand.
“You think my wiener is sexy, huh Grampa?”
Grampa nodded, rinsing thoroughly.
“Mine’s already bigger than Dyani’s. Mr. Sterling said the best part is his’ll never get very large.”
Grampa chuckled. Rinsing again to make sure he’d washed off the goop. “Size don’t matter all that much, not if a boy’s got a pussy in back.”
Kalani just nodded.
“Give me a hug, Cute Butt.”
Both of them were surprised that nothing more had happened other than a mutual hug. By the time it ended, Grampa’s erection faded enough to droop, not perpetually pointing out like Kalani’s. He turned off the water and stepped from the tub, reaching for his towel. Kalani grabbed it and jumped out of reach, finally drying himself while Grampa dripped water. He scowled at the boy, who grinned back. Taking forever to dry his feet, one toe at a time.
“We’ll be here ‘till Monday. Here, I’ll do it.”
Kalani handed over the towel. Grampa dried what was left. Skinny arms and thighs, flat belly, ribbed chest, sinuous back.
“Yer beautiful, Cute Butt,” Grampa teased, giving a flat hand slap to rubbery buttocks.
“We ought to rinse out my butt like before, Grampa.”
Kalani swiveled. Little pink butt right in front of him. Impossible to forget what happened in the mudroom. Mud and manure everywhere. That memory would stay with them forever.
“Maybe after lunch, if yer good.”
Grampa got down on his knees, the same way Mabel did when she prayed. He had lot to be thankful for too, most of it right in front of his face. He started drying colt legs and still-small boy-feet. When he looked up, Kalani grinned and stood his ground as if knowing what came next. Grampa breathed deeply, tempted more than ever before by slim, smooth boy-body.
“After what we done this morning, I’m tempted to keep ya. I could hide ya out in the woods,” he teased.
“You could call Mom and tell her a bear ate me,” Kalani suggested almost hopefully.
Grampa chuckled. “And I’m the bear, huh?”
“If you asked Dad, I bet I could stay with you for the rest of the summer.”
“I like that idea.”
The only problem was people gossiped. Sooner or later, there’d be problems. ‘Serve ‘em right,’ he thought, though he was smart enough to know Graybear was right.
“We’ll be late fer church,” he muttered.
“Church?” Kalani mumbled.
The breakfast service at Solid Rock Community Pentecostal Church started at 9:00 a.m. sharp.
“Yer gramma’s goofballs. Pentecostals are weird, but an hour won’t kill ya,” Grampa said.
“Mostly, they’re noisy.”
He turned Kalani around again and dabbed the towel at Kalani’s cute butt, fingers pushing the towel edge into his crack, this time carefully avoiding the indent, all the while wondering if summer was possible. Bare naked boy standing, looking down, his little penis permanently aroused. Watching Grampa’s hands move slowly up his legs, rubbing too hard with the towel. Making him wince and dance around. Always avoiding touching the place where men weren’t supposed to touch boys, until with a final flourish he pummeled boy dick.
“Now git dressed, Cute Butt.” Grampa added a friendly tap on the buttocks.
“About that enema thing,” Kalani began.
“What about it?”
“Um, it feels like your stuff’s still inside me. Shouldn’t we get it out?”
“Cum won’t hurt ya. ‘sides, yer so puffy back there it might make it worse. Maybe I’ll flush ya after lunch. We’ll see.”
Slowly getting up from his knees, keeping the damp towel in front. His penis powerfully, hungrily erect again. It never happened so fast, at least not for as far back as he could remember.
“How come you aren’t a Baptist?” Kalani held onto the towel, pulling his grandfather’s hands to his head, expecting his hair to be dried as well.
Grampa tousled tangled strands until he realized Kalani was staring down. Suddenly proud, flexing his thick manhood. Sensed the boy’s wonder. One hundred percent certain his interest was more than growing up and being curious.
“That’d be Gramma’s miracle.”
Kalani skewed his head around, interest in man things quickly diverted. “What miracle?”
“I reckon it was in a way because there ain’t that many Pentecostals ‘round here, not like in Oregon.”
He tugged on the towel. “My turn with the towel, Grampa.”
“You want to dry my withered old body?” he teased, handing over the towel to his smirking grandson. “Cain’t turn around without bumpin’ into a Holy Roller there,” Grampa went on, grinning as eager Kalani went to work.
“What’s Gramma’s miracle, Grampa?”
“Our car broke down one Sunday on the way home from the store, so while I was fixin’ it, yer gramma went across the road. They were still havin’ a service. She came back lovin’ it. The singin’ mostly, I reckon. Hallelujah, she was saying again and again, and dang, that engine fired right up.”
“They sing a lot?”
“Pentecostals sing up a storm when they’re in the mood to.”
Kalani just nodded, thinking not much of a miracle. He knelt, ready to dry his grandpa’s legs. Suddenly, there were butterflies fluttering, not just in his belly. Grampa’s denuded penis throbbed before him. Up close, it was huge, still wet and slick, sticking out obliquely so it pointed right at his face. His appendage was tiny by comparison, just a boy’s. Grampa’s was thick and dark with bulging veins. And the big purple head, reminding him of a succulent plum. He licked his lips, extending his tongue as far it reached. His belly muscles tightened. He leaned in, staring right at the slit, grateful for the bath mat instead of hard tiles under his knees.
“We were Lutherans up till then. Yer dad switched to Baptists when he met yer mom in Hawaii,” Grampa went on obliviously.
Kalani’s head came closer.
Chapter 17. June 13 late morning
Grampa was in no particular hurry to get to Solid Rock. Especially not after what happened in the bathroom. He wasn’t into religion, not like Martha. Even before she was baptized, Martha was the first to arrive and the last to leave. If something needed doing in the church, she did it, or arranged for him to do it. The whole 37 minute drive there he was going to worry, especially when his thoughts kept drifting back to the bathroom. Kalani was eager, no doubt about it. Understandably tense, but that made it better. Both of them fully erect and horny as can be. Both of them having fun. Grampa’s heart thumping, Kalani’s heart fluttering. Both of them unable to stop the inevitable. The only question, where would it go from there?
Finally, he pulled to the side of the road and switched off the motor. A few dozen yards from the bridge. To the left, Black River splashed over boulders. Under his Sunday best trousers, he was as hairless as his grandson in his never- worn, one-size-too-big Walmart jeans.
“I used to come fishin’ here with yer Dad.”
Looking around. As far as he could see, the valley was completely deserted. His shirt was tight at the neck. He pulled at his bolo tie, getting some slack through the silver and turquoise clasp. Kalani watching the gurgling river. Morning sun dancing in silvery silk. Bright steely blue eyes. Fresh clean boy. Hard to imagine him sucking cock. Unnatural act, but both of them had wanted to do it.
“Some days we’d catch a dozen trout in an hour,” he went on reminiscing.
Kalani nodded again. Rubbed his tongue on the back of his teeth. Itched a mosquito bite on his arm.
“What happened in the bathroom, you cain’t ever tell,” Grampa said softly.
Nervous in a heartbeat. Too many thoughts all at once. Recollecting that small disheveled head hovering at his middle. Kalani’s lips apart, perfect white teeth, pink playful tongue. Teasing him. Not going to do it, or pretending. Just playing with Grampa’s huge cock. Then, without saying a word, he did it.
Kalani licked on the tip. Just a taste, yet it calmed his qualms in an instant. Something inside him insisted it was right. Taking the next step by paying homage. The fat knob pressed against his tempting lips. Neither of them knowing that kissing cock was how most boys started. Tantalizing strange taste seeping into his mouth. Finally daring to open wider. Viscous drips oozing onto the tip of his tongue. He lapped it up like a Catholic boy taking Communion. Such an awesome taste that he couldn’t begin to describe it. Dazed by the raw thrill of sucking his first cock, barely breathing as his body absorbed it. Then, he shyly looked up at his grandpa, smiling hopefully and utterly addicted.
“I know, Grampa.” Calm and collected, like he had it all figured out.
“I shouldn’ta done it. What I did with the Nair.” Grampa shook his head as guilt settled in.
“I asked you to.”
“The rest of it… What you did afterwards… It ain’t right, me doing that, least not with you.”
Kalani furrowed his brow. “But it was fun, Grampa.”
“I don’t want you pretending to be Gramma.”
It wasn’t longer than a few seconds before Kalani’s inhibition gave way. His heart hammered. Deep long breath as he studied thoughtfully, pausing before he kissed right on the crown, the same way Charlie’s wife did a lifetime earlier. Full soft lips pink with passion. Wet and hot as his kid-sized mouth opened wide, virginal lips settling over the head, a few awkward seconds as he became used to the sensation and a taste unlike any other. A moment later, the huge fleshy head filled his mouth. His lips settled in the rim, both little hands on the shaft, holding it captive until he decided what to do next.
There wasn’t a single hair left on Grampa’s groin. He felt underneath to make sure. Grampa’s big balls felt soft even wrinkled up, not silky smooth like his. He kissed the tip twice, before squirming his tongue into the slit. Instinct hard at work as he gulped spit and goo. Opening his jaws as far as he could when Grampa warned ‘watch yer teeth.’ Slimy juice seeping out into his mouth, surely dribbling down his throat, into his belly. Immediately, he needed more, much more.
He forgot about breathing as the big crimson bulb forced his jaws even farther apart. Going inside his mouth. Suddenly, he was breathless, gagging as he jerked back his head. By then, he was beyond stopping. A quick gasp and it was back inside his mouth for another handful of seconds, his cheeks concaving as he pulled more fluid into his mouth. The second time still wasn’t long enough to count as cock sucking. It was enough to change both of their lives forever.
“I told you I’d do it, Grampa.”
“I know.” Grampa sighed. “I shouldn’ta let you do it.”
“Didn’t you like it?”
“It ain’t a matter of likin’or disliking.’ Boys aren’t s’posed to suck men.”
“You suck my cock.”
Deep breath. “Me suckin’ you is somethin’ I also shouldn’ta done...”
“I liked it a whole lot.”
“Yer makin’ this really hard fer me, Cute Butt.”
Kalani smiled, already coy, precocious for a not-yet-eleven-year-old boy. “Really, really hard, like you were in the bathroom?”
“It can’t happen again, okay? Not ever.”
“What about the other stuff, Grampa?”
“Especially that!” He grasped Kalani’s shoulder. “We can’t do it! Never again. It’s wrong!”
“So it’s bad what we did?”
Grampa sighed and shook his head, defeat looming like Custer’s last stand. “Most people would say so.”
“You said it was normal for boys do sex stuff?”
“Way out here, it’s different to livin’ in the city. Boys do stuff with boys. Masturbatin’ together; that’s what most kids do when they’re horny.”
“Cornholing or putting it in yer mouth? It’s part of growing up, something you do with yer best buds, only ya keep it a secret.”
Kalani thought about it. “So if I sucked Rabbit, you wouldn’t mind?”
“Far as I’m concerned, you can do it as much as you want. Just don’t tell anyone”
“What if I don’t want to?”
“Then don’t! You choose what you wanna do.” Grampa was sorry he’d brought it up. “What I did wasn’t right. I shouldn’t have forced you, Kalani.”
“You didn’t force me to do anything, Grampa. I wanted to… I thought you liked it.”
“I did like it. Damnation, look at the time. We’re going to be late.” Grampa took a deep breath. “Doing what I did on your face was wrong. I shouldn’t ‘a done that.”
“I don’t mind. Anyway, it was only there for a couple of seconds, Grampa.”
Solid Rock breakfast service started promptly at 9:00 am. The air buzzed as women whispered greetings and gossiped. Men stood back, drinking piping hot coffee and shaking hands. Maybe 30 Holy Roller families, but they made dozens of kids, from toddler to teen, temporarily subdued after gorging on donuts and milk set out on trestle tables under the trees.
Stragglers were just going into the white clapboard church on the crest of the hill when Charlie parked the pickup among two dozen similar vehicles. He paused as they crossed the lawn, breathing in crisp mountain air, basking in sun.
“Dang, it’s been a long while,” he thought aloud.
“What’s wrong, Grampa?” Kalani asked.
“I’m not sure I’m up to it,” he mused. “Gramma liked it here. I guess that’s why she fitted in better than me.” He inhaled again, filling his lungs, not looking at the radiant boy beside him.
“I know how much you miss Gramma. Now you got me, Grampa.”
Grampa laughed and hugged his youngest grandson. “I do, until next Thursday.”
“That’s four whole days, Grampa.”
“Yer my sunshine, my only sunshine. You make me happy…” he shook his head and started up the stairs. “Your Gramma used to sing it all the time. I forget the rest of it.”
“When skies are grey.” Treble voice, clear like the sky. “You'll never know, Grampa, how much I love you.”
“No one’s takin’ my sunshine away,” Grampa finished. He paused, his hand on the door handle. “Listen up a moment. No laughing, Cute Butt,” he warned.
“Can I smile, Grampa?”
“Shhhh. Follow me. We best sit in back.”
“Brothers and sisters of the Lord, join me this morning to behold the wonders of God’s love.”
“Praise the Lord.”
“Let’s thank the Lord for his love, for the love that made us, and the rivers and the streams, and the mountains around us…”
“And the trees,” a man called from the very front row.
“Thank you Brother Slade.”
“That’s Principal Slade, from Black River Elementary,” Grampa whispered in Kalani’s ear. “Not what you’d call a rocket scientist.”
“And the forest animals.”
“Thank you, Sister Patricia. Yes indeed. Let’s thank the Lord for the birds and the beasts.”
A boy seated in the pew immediately in front of Kalani turned and made a face, stuck out his tongue and lop-sided his face, about to throw up, or worse. Kalani wasn’t sure what to do. He muffled his giggle in his hand and grinned back,
“And this morning, this very special morning in God’s house, we have another reason to thank the Lord. I see a face from the past. Brothers and sisters, Charlie Deere is back among us. Praise the Lord for his prodigal son has returned,” the preacher shouted.
Thirty Holy Roller families with dozens of kids from toddler to teenager turned their heads.
“Amen to that, brother.”
Charlie raised his hand. “Good mornin’ y’all.”
“And who’s that angel sitting beside you?”
“This here’s my grandson, Kalani, Pastor Fleming.”
“He brought you back to us, didn’t he Charlie Deere? I can tell. The Divine works in in mysterious ways. Let’s thank the Lord for Charlie’s angel! “
“Thank the Lord!” the congregation agreed.
“Amen. Tell me Charlie, has he accepted Jesus Christ as his personal savior?”
“He was raised a Baptist, Pastor.”
“We can fix that, Brother!”
Pastor Fleming paused, preacher-style, hands raised above the pulpit.
“And ‘He said unto them, Have ye received the Holy Ghost since ye believed? And they said unto him, We have not so much as heard whether there be any Holy Ghost.’ Acts 19 Verse 2. Let’s call upon the Lord to save this precious child from his Baptist ways. Only the Lord can save him from sin. Brothers and Sisters, let us join in song. Sister Ruth, we’ll begin with ‘Have You Received the Power?’ That’s page 84 of your hymnals.”
“I love you Jesus!” a woman shouted.
“Let’s raise the roof for Charlie Deere and his angel, Killarney.”
And the singing began:
"Have you received the power
Since you believed
Holy Ghost power since you believed…"
Old-school Pentecostal, piano-thumping, hand-clapping, foot-stomping clamor on Sunday morning. The singing reached a crescendo at the chorus, no longer tuneful but shouts of religious adoration. Kalani sat in disbelief. He dared not turn around, but the kids in front of him weren’t singing, or lip-syncing like normal kids. Instead, they were muttering and squirming in their seats like something strange was about to happen. It got louder and louder. He could feel the floor vibrating. Windows rattled right through the second verse.
“Baptists sing, but not like this,” he said, pulling Grampa close.
“It’s just started, Cute Butt.” Grampa nudged him. Across the aisle, a woman in her early fifties lurched along her pew. “Sister Mabel. She’s always first to get the fever.”
Sister Mabel had long dark hair turning grey. She staggered, swirling about like a parody of a ballet dancer in a Kansas tornado, experiencing her own brand of religious fervor. There was sweat on her brow when she collapsed on the floor between the two rows of seats. There, she wriggled and writhed.
Kalani was sure she was saying something, but the singing and clapping drowned everything out. Suddenly, her skirt hiked up past her hips, reveal pink panties with daisy chains of little yellow ducks. The boy in the next row had his face buried in his Bible, laughing his ass off.
“She’s fucking crazy,” Kalani whispered to Grampa. He couldn’t hear his grandpa’s snort of laughter.
Then, two men and a woman joined her, hopping in a circle around her, screaming, chanting gibberish. Yet another woman raised her arms and wailed.
“Oh mighty God. Give me the power to save Charlie’s angel.”
“Hallelujah,” someone bellowed over the fray.
Principal Slade was jumping up and down, shouting gibberish. “Flinga wastban, ooga, basho go.”
“Behold, the power of the Lord is upon them,” Pastor Fleming cried heavenward.
“Ooga Mugumba goo, ohhhhhh Lord. Pinka donghollow, nungashow.”
“Tongues,” Grampa confided to a startled Kalani. “They’re speaking in tongues.”
“This is some crazy-ass shit, Grampa.”
“Gowo hanypoop done gooba hall. Oh Lord, Kumbaya.”
Thirty otherwise-normal Montana ranchers, a handful of school teachers who should’ve known better, and some mostly reputable real estate agents collectively lost their minds, some leaping and rabbit-hopping in circles, others screaming, a few crying hysterically. Pastor Fleming stayed at his pulpit, his arms outstretched towards the heavens.
“I love you Jesus! Come into me! Feel the power.”
“The Lord is among us. Baa do wassila. Boo da wassila. He is my shepherd.” Principal Slade spun in circles, wild-eyed and red-faced. “He is MY MY MY Shepherd. Baaa Baaa. Speak to me Lord. Speak!”
“Save Charlie’s angel, Lord. Bring him into our flock,” Pastor Fleming called.
“This is because I’m a Baptist, Grampa?”
“They do this four times a week,” Grampa said, squeezing behind Kalani and holding him close as people surged around them.
Kalani’s heart pounded. His face turned pink. Behind him, Grampa’s powerful body, surging with him, making him rock, thrusting his hips. Moving in sync with their frenetic clapping and singing, his little lithe body no longer his to control. His grandfather grasped him tightly, holding them together. He felt his grandpa’s erection pumping against his back.
Kalani half-turned and looked up. Grampa grinned and reached lower. Kalani gasped, disbelieving. Powerful fingers squeezed his boyish erection, an equally powerful cock squashing into him from behind. The whole world seemed to be twisting and turning.
“Feel the Lord’s power.”
His grandfather’s engorged shaft pressed harder, jabbing along his spine. It sent a thrill right through him.
“Feel it Kalani. Feel it.”
Swept away in the fervor, their bodies thrusting together, not unlike what they’d done the night before in Grampa’s bed when passion overwhelmed both of them. It was right at the end, when Kalani’s body was stretched to its limit. Completely joined, with Grampa’s cock all the way onside him, the sensation mindboggling. He didn’t want it to end, ever. For the first time in his life he experienced ecstasy and true fulfillment. No wonder Dyani did it with Mr. Sterling.
Surrounded by strangers, they joined again, not physically, something else.
“Yes, Grampa. I feel it.” Breathless. Hot all over. Shuddering as people stomped on the floor.
“Bugga boo, Hallelujah. The Lord is inside me,” Sister Mabel screeched, writhing on the floor. “I feel his power. His Power. I feel His ALMIGHTY POWER!!!”
“Feel it,” Kalani groaned, his head skewed back so he could see Grampa’s face. Something else was on the tip of his tongue, but he couldn’t say it in public.
Grampa’s hand clasped his boyhood, fingers digging into denim, all but crushing boy-balls as he hoisted Kalani’s feet off the floor.
“Say itl” he growled.
“Feel my dick, Grampa.”
“The Lord is My Shepherd,” screamed Principal Slade from the front row.
Grampa’s mouth was right on Kalani’s left ear. “Hard and horny, ain’t ya? Yer all sexed up with the power.”
Unable to resist temptation, he cupped his hand over the front of Kalani’s one-size-too-big jeans. He massaged the boy’s unrelenting hardness, slender and pointing straight up. Hot, hard no-longer-virgin boy. Pushing him up against the pew in front of them to hide what he was doing. Squeezing little boy balls, masturbating that thin inflexible boy-cock.
“Make me do it, Grampa.”
“Not here. Later.”
“The Holy Ghost has come into our flock to make Charlie’s angel our angel. Praise the Lord,” Pastor Fleming shouted up at the white-painted ceiling. “Praise the Lord.”
“Bugga boo. God’s Power! Wacka doodle.”
“Grampa, faster. Please….”
“Say it dirty!”
Kalani twisted around, gazing into his grandpa’s lust-filled eyes. “Jack my cock, Grampa… Make me cum… Rub it faster.”
“You horny little fuck,” Grampa growled back.
Kalani groaned loudly, shaking with the rest. Behind the pew, his grandfather’s hand roughly fondled his sex organ, squeezing new life into him. The chanting grew louder. ‘Praise the Lord,’ again and again.
The boy in front turned around. “This is so fucking cool! And you caused it, dude.”
Then, he looked down. His glance turned into a mouth-open gape although he couldn’t have seen much with the pew in the way.
“Witness the miracle!” Pastor Fleming shrieked, vibrating as if an alien was inside him, trying to get out. “Charlie Deere, can you feel it?”
“Yes, Pastor, I can feel it,” Grampa shouted back. “I can feel the power within him. He’s getting so close. His love is about to burst forth, Pastor.”
“Flimmy flam, Feel the power. Dogwater gown. I love you Jesus.”
“The Lord is speaking from Mabel. Y’all hear Him? Bring your grandson forward, Charlie so he can join our flock. We’ll drive the Baptist out of him.”
“Don’t laugh,” Grampa growled as he pushed Kalani sideways, into the aisle, shielding him from a dozen whirling parishioners.
Face bright red, one little hand hovering in front trying to hide his arousal, unable to think straight.
“What do I do, Grampa?”
“Play along or…”
‘Or what,’ Kalani wanted to ask. Suddenly nervous, because it sounded like Grampa said, ‘or I’ll whip yer ass.’
Even with Grampa behind him, he had trouble walking. His body kept shaking, his entire existence centered on his little boy dick aimed at the fly-spotted ceiling, four-bladed fans going whump-whump. It sounded the same after his grandpa carried him upstairs. Face down on the bed, slim thighs draped over the side, hands grasping Gramma’s prize-winning quilt. His hole gaped where the spindle had been, big enough that Grampa’s cock slid in easily. Just lying there for nearly a minute until Grampa was ready. Then, the whump-whump started.
People screamed, “Hallelujah.” Moving aside to open a passage to the front.
Getting louder and louder, churning lust inside Kalani Deere’s head, gasping, not understanding why his body kept quaking.
“If you want… on the way home, you can do it again….”
Kalani twisted back and gazed up again, somewhere between uncertain and lovesick, his boy-sex throbbing more than ever before. Then, he grinned at his grandpa.
“You mean… what I did in the bathroom?”
“Yeah, if that’s what you want.”
He stood on tiptoes to whisper, “In my mouth?”
Grampa grinned. “Sure, if yer want.”
“I want to suck on you.”
With all the commotion, it sounded like ‘sugga you.’
“Can’t hear you?” Grampa teased.
“Sugga yoo,” Kalani repeated. Then, realizing his grandpa was teasing, he screeched. “SUGGA YOO.”
His voice vibrated through the chapel.
“Another miracle! Praise the Lord. Charlie’s angel speaks His words too. Sugga yoo! Heed the miracle, Brothers and Sisters. Sugga yoo!”
“SUGGA YOO,” Kalani bellowed back, now jerking his narrow pelvis like a Filipino porn star, all the way to the front of the chapel to stand before Pastor Fleming.
His erection made a prominent bulge in his crotch, but no one noticed. Caught up in the Pentecostal passion, he yanked up sagging new jeans, rubbing himself through denim as he writhed in his own private frenzy, grunting ‘Praise the Lord’ and gasping ‘sugga yoo’ again and again. His grandfather, on the verge of hysterical laughter, gripped his shoulders as the not-yet-eleven-year-old mimicked religious ecstasy, humping air in front, and Grampa’s stiff cock at his back.
The commotion grew louder, reaching its climax at the same time as Kalani attained his own frantic climax. His dry orgasm was so powerful it verged on painful. He staggered as his legs finally gave way.
The pastor caught him on the way down. ”Praise the Lord for this beautiful angel-boy.”
“He is my Savior. Sugga you,” Kalani babbled as the pastor passed him to Grampa.
“Amen to that,” Grampa chuckled. “Amen to that.”
Chapter 17. June 13 NOON
“Is it always like that?” Kalani asked, feeling very relieved when Grampa closed the car door.
“Put on yer seatbelt, Cute Butt.” Grampa rubbed his chin. “There’s always some craziness. Compared to most Sunday mornings, I reckon it was over the top.”
“That Sister Mabel, is she looney or what,” Kalani snickered
The funny thing was she seemed quite normal after the service, even coming up to give him a welcoming hug. She must have called him ‘angel’ ten times in three minutes.
“You see the ducks on her panties?”
Kalani giggled. He wasn’t certain, but he thought he’d seen her pussy as well. Just a glimpse, all hairy and wrinkled, not a smooth slit like his sister’s the few times he’d seen it.
“And I used to think your dad’s Baptists were strange,” Grampa chuckled.
“Baptists don’t carry on like that.”
“You didn’t have fun?”
Still not sure of anything. Somewhere between ‘The Holy Spirit’ and ‘Feel the Power,’ there was a sermon. Confusing for an adult, let alone for a kid. It was a long-winded homily. Only at the end did the pastor come close to making sense, something about taking care of the lambs in the flock, and keeping an eye out for strays. Right after, he branched out:
"John answered , saying unto them all, I indeed baptize you with water; but one mightier than I cometh, the latchet of whose shoes I am not worthy to unloose. And he shall baptize you with the Holy Ghost and with fire. Luke 3, verse 16."
Then, he looked up, stolidly fixing his gaze on Kalani, who was playing ‘torment Grampa by squeezing his thumb.’
“Baptism is the road to salvation. I want you to remember that, Charlie Deere.”
“Amen!” Charlie called back, hoping remembering was all he needed to do.
After that, he couldn’t help thinking that he’d already baptized the boy by putting sperm his in his ass. He was considering ways how to keep Kalani in Montana on a permanent basis when his thoughts were rudely interrupted again.
“Hallelujah!” Mabel shrieked a half-dozen more in spiritual ecstasy. It sounded like demonic possession.
It started again. Ten minutes of shouting and dancing, with a very amused Kalani doing his part standing on the pew, Grampa bear-hugging him from behind, holding Kalani’s small hand, warm little fingers inserted between his like they’d taken some sort of vow to stay together forever.
“Way more fun than a Baptist convention,” Kalani giggled, beaming from across the seat.
Grampa risked a lingering glance. The bright morning sun danced in his grandson’s hair, turning curly blond into glistening silver-gold.
“Most exciting thing in these parts on a Sunday morning,” he muttered, back to wondering what Martha would think about alchemy.
“You got to admit they’re weird, Grampa,” Kalani declared, though he’d enjoyed watching their antics.
To prove his point, he slouched in the seat, keeping low so no one would see him leaving the parking lot. It was funny, even if he only knew three other people in the entire state. Playing along, Grampa squealed tires getting onto the road. He swerved back and forth, making Kalani laugh even harder.
“Weird’s what goes on in LA.”
“You should’a seen what Dyani did with Mr. Sterling,” Kalani tittered.
“Sex ain’t that weird, even in LA.”
Kalani smirked. “Compared to what we do it was weird.”
“What did you see exactly?”
“Nothing normal, that’s for sure.”
“I guess it was kind of a shock for you, seeing ‘em together.”
Kalani lifted his head to look behind. The Solid Rock Community Pentecostal Church was no longer in sight. Trees zipping past as the Ford got to 70.
“I reckon Pentecostals are a mite different,” Grampa said, shifting to safer ground instead of trying to find out what Kalani had seen in LA.
“Jews are different, Grampa. Pentecostals are plum crazy.”
“You don’t have to go back.”
He wondered what Kalani’s parents would say if their son came home Pentecostal. Better weird than queer for Kalani’s father.
Grampa skipped bacon, eggs, and hash browns at Beam’s Diner. Two years of going there after the service with Martha, it didn’t seem right. He headed back to the ranch.
“Just trying to make us feel welcome, Cute Butt,” Grampa muttered, completely infatuated. Kalani’s sun-lit hair was radiant, like some kind of nuclear reaction, or an angel... “Harmless really.”
“Weirdos like them ought not be allowed out,” Kalani said with an endearing grin.
“That’s our Sarah Palin yer talkin’ about.”
“Dad says we’d be better off with a Mormon than a Pentecostal.”
“Anything’s better than the Muslim moron we got now,” Grampa laughed.
Settling back, enjoying the genial sun already warm through the windscreen. Feeling good about himself for the first time in a year, about everything. He glanced at Kalani, still looking back at him the same way Martha did. A faint smile on his face, bright grey-blue eyes like Martha.
“Yer something else, Cute Butt. Sugga yoo! Can’t believe you said that!”
He reached across and squeezed a slender boy-thigh a few inches up from Kalani’s left knee. Bone and muscle, and tendon like thick wire. Shook his head as if clearing cobwebs, or disbelief. What else had Kalani seen in LA? Telling himself, ‘the time wasn’t right.’
“How about we go fer a horse ride when we get back?”
“How about what you promised?” Kalani reminded him.
“Maybe.” Grampa nodded. Infectious giggles kept him sneaking sideways peeks. “You really wanna suck me again?”
“Sugga yoo, sugga you” Kalani laughed till his sides hurt.
Grampa shook his head and tried to act like a grandpa. The only problem was that everything about the boy sent a tremor right through him. His laugh was something else. Like happiness turned into music, reaching deep into his soul. It was worse when Kalani grinned. Then, it was like his grandson squeezed on his thumping old heart.
“All you got to say is you want a blow job and I’ll do it, Grampa,” Kalani teased, showing perfect white teeth to prove it.
Grampa gaped, too embarrassed to ask if Kalani learned that in L.A. Worse, it got him feeling hornier than a bull with a heifer in heat. He was scarcely aware he was stroking farther up Kalani’s thigh, getting close to his little boy-bulge.
“Fer a kid, you got a big mouth.”
Kalani opened wide, so there was no doubt at all what could fit in there. He even wriggled his tongue from side to side. It was enough that Grampa belly-laughed, shaking his head wildly while Kalani taunted him about sitting through about another bout of Pentecostal fever.
“You really want suck my cock?” Grampa laughed when he got his breath back
Kalani just nodded, eager and unable to hide it. One look at his face and Grampa could tell he was ready to lean over. All it would take is a nod.
“Open that glove box, Cute Butt. Maybe there’s somethin’ fer you to practice on while I drive.”
Curious as a barn cat, Kalani pushed the button and looked inside. Hidden amongst grubby receipts for ranch purchases, an oil-stained owner’s manual to a ’97 Ford F250, and half a dozen shotgun shells was a packet of all-day suckers. Big red ones. He smirked at Grampa as he peeled off a cellophane wrapper.
They listened to Baxter’s Sunday morning radio show, get-up-and-sing Christian music most of the way back to Broken Butte Ranch. Kalani sucked noisily, popping the sucker through full crimson lips, smirking and so obviously pretending he was giving a ‘blow job’ that his grandpa couldn’t stop chuckling.
Grampa crossed the Sly Gulch bridge as Baxter crooned his weekly farewell. He made the turn onto their road, waving at Graybear’s house even though there was no one about. There were still a few puddles and a lot of potholes left from the storm. He skirted the biggest of them, and he kept glancing at the side of the road, but his attention was mostly on Kalani.
“…Some cowboy rides into town on Sunday and three days later leaves on Sunday. I ask you, how does he do it? It ain’t ‘cause of no government-funded time travel. Dang horse’s name is Sunday!”
Kalani spluttered red spit from the popper, which made Grampa laugh though he’d heard it before a hundred-odd times.
“That there’s Tracker. His brother does the midday Mooo show during the week,” Grampa explained. “He’s got more bad jokes than a politician runnin’ fer office.”
“So I was down at the barber’s last Tuesday and in walked this New Yorker dressed up like a dude-ranch cowboy. He had boots with big silver spurs; and he plops into the seat next to me and says, ‘Man, these spur thingies make more of a racket than bed springs…’ So my kid tells his teacher this story, and gets into trouble ‘cause of its ‘gay overtones.’ I ask you, where are we headed? First up on the noon hour is Chuck Ames singing, ‘She’s my woman, she’s my bed lamp’…”
Grampa kept stealing peeks at Kalani sucking, bringing the popper past his lips every time, plain as daylight getting himself ready for his grandpa’s fat knob.
Chuck Ames screeched the end of the first verse just as Grampa swerved across the road. He still didn’t miss the puddle. The pickup blasted a sheet of water and slewed sideways. Grampa promptly slowed to a crawl, not worried about puddles, knowing what he was going to do, no longer caring if it was right or wrong. Closely watching the right side of the road, snatching glances at Kalani still sucking. Every time their eyes met, Kalani nursed the sucker between his now-bright-red lips.
“Grampa, when we get back, can we?”
“What did I say about telling me what you want, Cowboy?” Grampa said in a carefully measured tone.
“I will when we’re alone, Grampa,” Kalani smirked.
“We are alone,” Grampa pointed out. “So say it.”
Kalani lowered his eyes, suddenly bashful. After a moment of telling himself it was okay, he said softly, “I want to suck your cock, Grampa.”
Grampa chuckled. “Ya want my big ole cock in yer mouth?”
“Uh huh,” Kalani giggled before obscenely wrapping his red lips around the sucker.
“What else you want in your mouth?”
Kalani had to think for a few seconds. He popped out the sucker and licked his lips. Lasciviously, not once, three times. It was enough to make Grampa’s heart bounce.
Grampa smirked. “You really want my cum in your mouth?”
“Uh huh,” Kalani smirked back. “And after, can you do what you did last time?”
This time, Grampa raised an eyebrow, ready to tease. Instead, he finally saw what he was looking for. He turned off the road onto a water-logged track.
Kalani had never seen so many potholes. “You better not get stuck, Grampa.”
Grampa chuckled, thinking ‘I wouldn’t mind getting stuck in yer tight little ass.’ “I hope not fer yer sake, ‘cause I’m not pushin’. You are.”
In less than a minute of jarring, splashing, and grinding low gear, a dense thicket surrounded the pickup. It was more than enough to hide it from view unless someone dared venture down the track.
Grampa switched off the engine. They could hear all the way down to the creek, water cascading over boulders on the way to Black River. He turned to Kalani, his heartbeat already picking up speed.
“Now, say what you want.”
Kalani wavered, on the brink of giggling again because he recognized the glint in Grampa’s eye. No shame left between them. Civilization was a thousand miles away.
“Afterwards, um, can you use your tongue again, please?”
“Say it plain as day so there ain’t no mistakin’.”
He was met with a frown, which was a little disconcerting until Kalani gave in and giggled.
“You want me to talk dirty, Grampa?”
Grampa nodded slowly. “I done told ya, there ain’t no misunderstandin’ yer desires if ya do.”
It was more than being frank; Kalani knew that. Butterflies jived in his belly. Talking dirty turned him on too.
“Okay,” he began, telling himself not to be nervous. “I want to suck your cock, Grampa.” He could tell it wasn’t nearly dirty enough. “I want your big ole cock in my mouth.” He paused, watching Grampa’s smile get bigger.
“Exactly how long a suck?”
“Um, as long as you want, I guess.”
Grampa chuckled. “What about my cum?”
“You can cum in my mouth if you want.” Kalani giggled at saying it, not at all sure ‘cum’ was both noun and verb, even though it sounded right. “Is it gross?”
“You know how to swallow, don’t ya?”
He gulped, though there was definitely a part of him that wanted to try it. He nodded, a bit nervous yet enjoying their game.
“Then what?” Grampa prompted. He draped his arm along the seat back, work-roughened fingers idly weaving through gold curly silk.
“Um…. and then you suck me and play with my ass,” Kalani got out before he burst into giggles.
“Um… do stuff with my hole.”
“Horny little cowboy, ain’t ya?” Grampa fondled his ear, devious fingers twisting in silky curls. “Say it right.”
“Um… My butt likes being kissed,” Kalani snickered. He thought for a moment . “I want you to lick it too.” He felt hot all over.
“Ya want me to suck yer ass?”
“Uh huh. You can put your tongue up inside me if you want.” He trembled saying it.
“You liked bein’ tongue-fucked, huh?”
Grampa gulped a breath. Heart pounding thrill. Impossible to believe they’d come so far in a couple of days. Kalani, the enthusiastic accomplice, returned his gaze.
“Tell me how much you like it?”
Kalani smirked, his eyes unwavering as if he realized a bridge about to be crossed, taking his first steps into foreign territory. And Grampa too; it would be life-changing for both of them. As life changing as his fingers stroking Kalani’s smooth cheek, a lone finger fondling a tiny earlobe.
“It’s hot!” Just warming up to telling the unmitigated truth. “It feels funny for a while, Grampa. At first… when you licking around it, I kinda don’t want it in…”
“Only you do, don’t ya?”
Hard to imagine Kalani ever shaving. Caressing baby smooth skin, angelic smile, snub-nose like his brother.
“It tickles when you poke at it. As soon as it goes inside, wow! It’s like I’m melting around it.”
“What do ya like the most?”
“It’s nicest when your tongue’s right up inside me and I can feel your lips, kind of smooching me back there.”
“What about when I suck my cum out of yer ass?”
“That’s the ultimate!”
Grampa’s face flushed. “It’s all good huh?”
Sweaty boy, hot all over from the thoughts that rushed through his mind, yet he couldn’t help being embarrassed. It lasted until Grampa grinned. Brushed back errant blond curls, forehead like sleek satin. Cupid lips rosy red from the sucker.
“What about when I fuck you?”
“It makes me go all shakey. Even when you’re not moving I get shivery all over.”
Gooseflesh from being sodomised by his grandpa.
“This morning I wanted to do it forever,” Grampa said softly.
Kalani giggled. “Me too. I felt like I was turning into jelly. Usually you just go in and out, but you were moving it around so much.”
“Because yer gramma’s spindles made ya bigger inside. A few more days, and there’ll be so much room in yer heiny, you’ll barely feel my cock goin’ in. You’ll want it in there too.”
“I already do, Grampa.”
“Not like this. You’ll want it all the way up you. Likely, you’ll be begging fer it harder too, same as I did when I was yer age. All I wanted to do is fuck.”
“I feel so alive when he’s inside me, Grampa.”
“Sounds about right,” Grampa smirked.
Kalani looked up. “Dyani says when Mr. Sterling fucks him, he cums without even touching his dick,” he confided.
On the spur of the moment, his grandpa managed to smile back, his heart doing ‘ker-thumps’ in his chest.
“Is it okay to say stuff like that?”
“Yer doin’ just fine, Cute Butt.” Grampa glanced down at the sturdy boy-magnet making an obvious bump. “How about getting some of yer clothes off?”
“You undress me, Grampa,” Kalani said, grinning and feeling a little light-headed.
Hot as Hades, Grampa reached and began unfastening shirt buttons, top down. His hands wouldn’t stop trembling, but it made him feel a dozen years younger. Tiny pink-dot boy-nipples came into view. He poked the shirt where Kalani’s bellybutton would be. He’d never forget sticking his tongue in it, slobbering spit until his grandson begged him to stop tickling.
“After I tongue-fuck yer ass, then what?”
“Um… I want you to cornhole me.”
“How ‘bout ya say fuck from now on?”
Kalani gave what he hoped was an ambivalent shrug, but he trembled too, thrilled from hearing his grandpa say ‘fuck.’
“Go on; say it.”
“Fuck.” He giggled. “Fuuuuck.”
“Now, say what you want,” Grampa coaxed.
“I want you to fuck me, Grampa.” Suddenly, the thrill was deep down, not just tingles in his belly, an ache inside. He was never more aware of his ass.
“Wait till we get home. I’ll fuck the crap outta yer cute little ass and then some.”
Grampa all but ripped the last button off. He bared Kalani’s front, licked his lips, and stared. His grandson’s slender belly stole his breath. After a few days in Montana sun, he was no milky pale city kid. So slender that his little birth button hid under ripples of skin, like lines drawn across his grandson’s middle. He shoved back the shirt from Kalani’s shoulders to see more. Bared to the waist, Kalani smiled coyly as his grandpa gorged on not-yet-eleven-year-old half-nakedness.
Grampa’s coarse fingers grazed his thigh, gazing at nipples that now stood up like Braille dots, stroking gently, getting closer to Kalani’s boy bulge, though still too far away to touch it.
“Looks like ya got a nice big boner,” he observed.
“It’s all yours, Grampa.”
With a chuckle, Grampa pulled the belt end loose and Kalani sucked in his belly to get the buckle unfastened. He fumbled with the copper button until Kalani assisted again by pulling in again. Seeing his grandson’s taut lower belly under his jeans made him tremble, so much that he delayed even longer.
“Where’s yer undies?”
Kalani giggled at Grampa’s husky voice. “You were in a hurry to leave, Grampa.”
”Sweet Jesus. I wish I’d known you were bare-assed all through that free-fer-all,” Grampa chuckled.
He dilly-dallied some more, putting off what came next by studying the bulge between Kalani’s slim thighs. Cheap Walmart Wranglers filled out just right, scrawny lithe boy looking more like some preteen rodeo rider than a tourist kid from Midwest suburbia. Finally, he couldn’t stop himself. He tugged on the zipper, got it all the way down in one go. He hesitated, relishing his first glimpse of Kalani’s exposed glans and maybe an inch of errant erect shaft poking through the gap. With eager hands, he parted the front of his grandson’s jeans.
Kalani lifted up automatically. Grampa stripped him all the way to his feet, his eyes never leaving the unwavering little flesh-spike.
”You like my wiener, Grampa?”
“It’s a wiener till it’s big enough to play with. This here’s a boy-cock.”
Kalani nodded, not at all sure if he still needed to give permission, or even encouragement. Grampa slowly moved his hand closer, delaying pleasure until Kalani grinned and relocated his hand. No uncertainty about what he wanted.
Grampa licked his lips. “Yer all boned up,” he admired, two fingers barely touching his grandson’s erection.
“You know why it’s stiff, Grampa?” Kalani asked in a teasing lilt that matched his smirk.
”You tell me, sexy boy.”
He giggled, glowing with excitement he’d never dreamed possible. He just knew his grandpa would be pleased.
“Spit it out, boy.”
“Because of you.”
“I reckon when a boy gets a stiff he’s got sex on his mind. Yer so horny ya got a hard-on to be proud of.”
Kalani let loose an unqualified grin.
“You love me. You do, don’t ya?”
Kalani nodded, turning shy in a fluttering heartbeat.
“I’m glad, ‘cause I love you too, Cute Butt.”
His grandpa’s rough thumb scraped the tip of his penis. Grampa knew what to do to turn Kalani into jelly. He squeezed the plump little head, exposed all morning to stonewashed denim. Right away, he knew the boy was tender. Heck, it’d been played with almost nonstop since he got off the plane, but he squashed it again anyway to make him squirm. One finger and thumb tormented the little reddened acorn, another finger scratching the sensitive groove underneath.
“Best thing ever,” Grampa muttered, absorbing the moist warmth of the silky boy-boner.
He still found it hard to believe a doctor had cut the boy so tight there was almost no skin movement, almost like he wanted to show off the helmet-shaped glans. Crazy to cover up something so perfect. He caressed the thin shaft, more than ample for not-yet-eleven. Two fingers and a thumb were enough to make Kalani smile. Gliding up and down with saliva, his little finger toying with scrotal creases, stoking his lust and delighting in making the boy twitch.
“Grampa…” Kalani gasped. “You gotta stop for a moment.”
“Feels a bit too good, huh?”
“Awesome.” He looked down. His penis throbbed mercilessly. It was so stiff that tiny blue veins coiled under translucent skin. “Uh, Grampa… What if I’m the same as Dyani?”
“Yer not! Yer way better lookin’.”
“You know what I mean, Grampa. I think I am. You do too, don’t you?”
Grampa shrugged. “Yer my special boy. That’s all that counts.”
Kalani didn’t need platitudes even though he smiled back.
“I love you just the way you are. I reckon it ain’t the end of the world if you like guys.”
“It is back home. I don’t wanna be gay. I’m kinda sure I am.”
“Well, I reckon yer the one who oughta know.”
“Personally, it don’t matter one iota to me, but if it makes a difference, I think yer right. See, when a boy’s partial to getting his ass filled with cock,well it usually means he won’t be makin’ babies when he’s older.”
“I like doing it with you, Grampa.”
“A little bit or a lot?”
“It was awesome last night. This morning too.”
It was ‘awesome’ for Grampa too, as awesome as stroking sweaty-hot silky flesh. Almost no movement along Kalani’s narrow shaft as his fingers moved up and down. Impossible not to admire such shiny-tight skin. He teased the sensitive head constantly, fingertips tantalizing the swollen bulb until Kalani begged ‘more’. Instead, he moved on to boy-balls, scooping up both as he fingered softer-than-silk scrotal folds.
“Cute little guys,” he mused as he manipulated tiny testes.
He guided one, then the other into the canals they’d come out of. He kept one finger either side, hiding them temporarily to fondle loose skin, vaguely recollecting his son saying that Dyani needed an operation because his balls hadn’t descended. He couldn’t remember if the boy was four or five at the time.
“Grampa,” Kalani began again, figuring this was as good a time as any to pursue the matter. He wet his lips. “If we’re both gay, Dad will be pissed.”
“Personally, I don’t see what the big deal is.“
“He’ll hate me, that’s what!”
“So what if you like takin’ it in the ass? The worst thing is there’ll be no more Deeres.”
“I really truly love you, Grampa…”
“I’m guessing that means you want to stay here with me?”
“Kinda… For a while any way.”
“You know what’ll happen if you do?”
Kalani grinned back.
His grandpa was staring at his middle, at what made him a boy. He made it twitch, and then bounce up and down. He watched his grandpa smile. He did a half dozen pushups before he stopped.
“Grampa, I want to do sex stuff with you, but sometimes, well it kinda makes me feel… I don’t know; like I’m being bad...”
“It bothers you, huh? If it does, it shouldn’t. There ain’t nothin’ bad about sex. Maybe talkin’ about it the way we do, but not when it’s just you and me... Havin’ fun, makin’ each other feel good, that’s what’s important.”
“What if we love each other, only not like we’re supposed to?”
“Even better. Makes us wanna be together. When we fuck, it takes on special meanin’.”
“What if it’s all the time, Grampa? Not just when we’re close like this. I feel shaky, kind of inside me… and I get hot all over. I want to get naked and do stuff.”
“You turn me on too, Cute Butt. Makes it real special if we’re hot fer each other.”
Kalani glanced down, his grandpa’s fingers still in place. “I look like I don’t have nuts. Grampa.”
“It feels good though, don’t it,” Grampa chuckled.
He pressed his fingertips into Kalani’s pubis, rubbing firmly for a moment before allowing the immature testicles to pop out. He fondled his grandson’s taut scrotum, lightly squeezing each tiny egg. Definitely ‘balls like a lamb.’
”You get naked too, Grampa,” Kalani said shyly.
Grampa gazed at his beautiful nude grandson, sitting across from him on the dusty seat of the Ford. He was happy just watching him undress.
“What’s on yer mind, Cute Butt?”
“Fer the summer?”
Kalani didn’t answer right away. “Longer.”
“I guess I could call yer folks. They might agree.”
For the summer?”
“I don’t reckon I’d ask fer that long with ya. A few weeks, that’s the best idea. Take it slowly at first. If it works out, they might agree to the summer.”
“Can you call them now?”
“Maybe I ought to wait till after I fuck ya. In case ya change yer mind.”
Grampa laughed and growled back. “I reckon I’ll have to keep ya after the summer. A few weeks from now, yer hot little hole will be stretched so wide it’ll be bigger than a pussy.”
“That’s what I want. You do too, don’t you Grampa?”
However, his grandpa didn’t answer. He already had his phone out. He hit the speed dial icon, not exactly sure what he was going to say.