Date: Sat, 24 Jun 2006 21:34:06 -0700 From: Joseph Farrin Subject: THE REVEREND PETER BLAIR Carlton, Nebraska is in the northwest portion of the state and our church is at the top of the small business district, just after Main Street begins to level off. It is an old church of dark red brick except for the limestone corners, window and door trim. The stained glass windows are like you don't see many of in small town churches anymore. The parsonage, next door to the church, is of the same brick and is a two story, square box residence with large windows in all rooms, including the upstairs bedrooms. My name is Jason Richards, I'm eleven years old and I live with my parents, John and Diane, next door to the parsonage, in a frame, story and a half house (the second floor is one large room with sloping ceilings like an attic would have). I never close my window blinds because the minister and his family always close theirs all the way - that is until the minister moved and a new one moved in. My parents and I both love the house. It belonged to my mother's grandparents. The kitchen, bath, plumbing and electrical has all been renewed, but the furnace, an old coal furnace was converted to gas, instead of being replaced, and there were no registers upstairs, just two large, grilled registers cut in the floor. I liked to look through them and eavesdrop on conversations down stairs, especially when we had company. One night I was about to go to bed when my dad and another elder of the church, came back from a meeting at the church and were drinking beer at the kitchen table. My mom was already in bed and they were discussing the meeting and the elder's agreement on who would be the new minister. Dad's visitor, Mr. Allen Willard, owned a men's clothing store and was kind of a prick (to be blunt -- a first class prick, to be even more blunt). Dad thought the new minister, Reverend Peter Blair, was a great choice, but Allen said, "He's a fairy as far as I'm concerned." My dad told him he shouldn't say that, he didn't know and his comment was out-of-line, besides Rev. Blair had been married, which would indicate he was not gay. Allen replied gays got married and that was probably why his wife divorced him and besides he looked gay and he sounded gay when he talked. Dad replied he had an Eastern accent, was highly educated and didn't talk just like someone from western Nebraska but that didn't make him gay. Rev. Blair had previously, the same as all the other candidates, delivered a Sunday sermon, as part of the selection process. He dressed, as the previous one did, in a black robe with a wide, blue velvet ribbon that draped over his shoulder and hung to way below his waistline. It signified that when he'd graduated from the seminary he'd earned the degree of Doctor of Divinity. He was a tall, thin man with a fair complexion, blue eyes, black hair and hard-on handsome even in his black robe. Later my dad said he was twenty-four years old. He had a warm, engaging smile and was a good speaker, which was more than the old one was. At the reception afterwards, in the basement social hall, he seemed to put everyone at ease as they reached the front of the line, introduced themselves and visited a few minutes. He was nice to me; he even shook hands and asked my name, saying he'd remember it because his roommate at Princeton was named Jason. I liked him, but decided I no longer liked Allen Willard -- the prick. The next morning at breakfast my dad related Allen's remarks to my mom. She expressed the same opinion I had of him but with different adjectives. Dad added that in his interview, the new minister had made it rather explicit that in the church he came from and after his wife died, the women's group became a little irritating, wanting to clean house for him, get their husbands to mow the lawn -- that sort of thing, but he'd made it clear that he wanted and needed his privacy and he'd expect the same thing in Carlton. My mom said that was perfectly reasonably but some of the "old biddies" in the congregation would try anyway. So, everything went well. Maybe they went too well. Peter never pulled down the shades. I could see him working at his deck in the first floor bedroom that he used for a study and one night, after coming back from a movie with a friend, I walked in the room but hadn't turned on the lights yet and saw movement in his upstairs bedroom. Holy shit, he just gotten out of a shower, had a towel around his waist and was looking in a dresser drawer. He pulled out a T-shirt and some boxer shorts, dropped the towel and proceeded to put them on, without even turning his back to the window. Until then, I didn't know what I was. In fact, I guess I was nothing yet -- just an eleven year old boy. But, I began entering the room without turning the lights on when I came upstairs after watching TV and never pulled the blinds down, unless I had a friend with me. I didn't want to share my new pastime. I was spending a lot of time watching, waiting for the lights in his study to go out and for him to come upstairs. I never saw him playing with his dick, or anything like that but, now that it was summer, both of us even left our windows open and he was climbing into bed naked and sometimes reading before going to sleep. Because I kept my lights off, I guess he assumed I wasn't in my room -- then there was the possibility he didn't know it was my room or anybody's room. Things got a hell of a lot more interesting when one Saturday night he turned the bathroom light off, walked into his room with a towel around his waist, as usual, but because he was sleeping naked he didn't go to the dresser. He just pulled back the spread and top sheet on his bed; propped himself up with two pillows and began reading, a magazine which was a switch; he usually read a book when he read in bed. I watched, big eyed and open-mouthed when, he held the magazine with one hand and with the other began playing with his cock and got it hard. By then I was hard, too, and took it out of my pants. It was the first time I'd even seen a man's cock for more than a few seconds, let alone an erect one that was being jacked. I had my dry cum long before he climaxed. He knew how to make it last, or it took men longer but he'd jack a while, then stop, then start rubbing his balls and start again. His dick looked to be about six inches but it was a lot bigger around than my boy cock. When, suddenly, he grabbed a Kleenex and held it over his piss slit I knew he was shooting off. Some older boys had told me about puberty and shooting juice and I was so fucking hot from just watching him, I hopped into bed and jacked off. Thinking of what I'd just seen, I had the best jack off I'd ever had or ever would have until I juiced the first time. That time, I thought I'd die. The next morning, during the recessional, he established eye contact with me. He must have noted where I was sitting during the service. That evening, as usual I looked to see what lights were on and off. The study light was on downstairs and the upstairs lights were all off. I thought I'd wait then I realized he wasn't sitting at his computer and there was no movement in the study. I didn't really think anything about it but then I got the strangest feeling that he was standing in the dark checking out my window. Damn, I was always careful about turning out the light but wondered if one night Id forgotten to close the door at the bottom of the staircase and a downstairs light had thrown enough light upstairs that he'd seen me. I dismissed the thought but was still a little worried. Then the phone rang and my mom called upstairs and asked me to pick up my extension saying, "It's Peter and he wants to talk to you." I wished at that moment that I could die before I picked up the phone because I just knew he was going to tell my mom what had been going on if I didn't stop looking at him though my window. In a soft voice, I managed to say, "Hello." "Hi Jason, could you come over for a few minutes, I've got to be out of town a few days and I like you to water and mow my lawn while I'm gone, if you're interested." I told my mom where I was going and why and was out the door in a flash. Peter was sitting in a lawn type chair on his front porch, waiting for me. "Sit down and I'll go grab a couple of cokes out of the fridge." When he returned he gave both cokes to me to hold while he moved a second chair up close to mine. "Jason, would you mind taking in my mail and putting it on my desk and emptying the garage, hosing it out and then putting everything back when it's dry?" "That would be fine, I have lots of time." "I can imagine, there's not much to do in this town for young people." "You've got that right." "Jason, can I call you Jase"? "Sure, nobody does but I'd like it." "Good, and you can call me Pete when we're along together." "OK, Pete." "Jase, besides the lawn, I had something else I wanted to talk to you about. (I thought -- Oh shit here it comes.) In some ways you remind me of myself when I was your age. And I think we have some of the same problems, well not problems, not attitudes, what am I trying to say?" I knew why he was fumbling for the right word and when he chose characteristics and said that wasn't it either, I just said, "When you were a boy you liked men." "That hits the nail on the head an you're very brave to say what you just did." "I hope you're not going to tell my parents." "God no, Jase, your secret is as safe with me as it was with you. Let me dial your house on my cell phone and tell you're mom were having cokes and sitting on the front porch cooling off and you'll be a while." He did and my mom said she'd expect me when I came in the door. He took me inside, locking the door, and on up to his bedroom, where he'd already turned off the light and pulled down the blinds. Before turning the lamp by the bed back on. He had his clothes and mine off as he said he thought maybe I'd like to do it in his bed, where I'd watched him do it before. I assumed he mean we'd jack off together. With the light back on he kissed me on the mouth and we were both hard. He told me to feel it. I did and it was so wonderful, so big, so hard yet so warm and soft and his cockhead was hard, yet rubbery to touch and his whole dick jerked as I played with it. Even before we went any further, I knew I was now more than just an eleven-year-old boy. I knew I really liked cocks -- really, really liked them, liked them more than anything else in the world. After he'd played with mine for a few minutes he told me he really needed to cum but was worried if I climaxed first, I wouldn't help him finish. I told him not to worry. He jacked me off and I had a dry cum. He knew I'd climaxed and said, "Suck it." He didn't need to explain; the two words were graphic enough to need no explanation, what with his big hard cock sticking out between his two legs. He flopped over on his back, stuck his legs up and I took it into my mouth. It all happened so fast, I didn't realize what had happened until I felt his warm semen pouring into my mouth as his cock jerked up and down. He pulled me up on top of his chest and kissed me, open mouth this time. Getting dressed he said he'd give me his spare keys, the mower was in the garage and he always left the hose and all the nozzles on the walk right at the back door. "Jase, I really thank you. I hope I didn't frighten you off. It just happened but things went a lot further than I'd planned for the first time." "You didn't. I hope you'll let me do it again." "There's no doubt about that. I just thought you'd be better off doing it with me, knowing I was gay, than you would be with somebody you weren't sure of." "I understand, and besides I've been wanting to do it with you." He kissed me again and said, "Me too." My mom's first words were, "Boy, you sure stayed a long time." "We had a coke and it took him a while to find his spare keys. Then I'm going to take his mail inside every day, too. And, he wants me to clean out his garage, too." "You'll have to do a good job and maybe he'll have you do other things for him. (That was an idea.) In bed, I thought of nothing but Peter: He'd asked me if he could call me Jase. I remembered what he looked like naked, close-up -- His lower legs were hairy but he had no hair on his body except in the middle of his chest and around his cock. (I didn't know most men have hair on their balls, but I remembered his didn't.) I thought how he flipped over on his back and raised his legs to get sucked off and it dawned on me that was the position a woman assumed to get fucked. Holy shit! Maybe he thought of me sucking him as me fucking him - fucking his cock off with my mouth. Then I remembered I could see his asshole between his butt cheeks and that he did have a few curly hairs around it. I couldn't stop. I just kept thinking of him, how much I loved his cock and, after his cock, his buns. They were so small, so cute, especially how he could squeeze them together and make a shallow depression in the sides of them. My last thought was to wonder if a man and a boy could do anything exciting with their ass holes. By now I was so worked up thinking of him, and hoping that he really would have sex with me again, that I knew I was going to have to masturbate to relax. In fact thinking of him had gotten me so worked up with needing him again that I was shaking all over and couldn't stop it. It was frightening. I jacked off with a vengeance and when my mind focused on him shooting off in my mouth I knew I was there -- I raised my butt off the bed and with only my feet and shoulders touching the sheet I climaxed. I would have sprayed the ceiling if I'd been able to wet climax. My last conscious thought was that I even liked his name. When I was small a lot of boys called their cocks their peters. I wondered if men called their cocks their peters sometimes. If I remembered, I'd ask him. One intimate experience with Peter and I was in agony until he returned. Somehow though it helped that I was in and out of his house and that he'd left a note to move the sealed boxes in the garage into the back porch and stack them in a corner then move everything else out and hose the garage out "if you have time and are interested in doing it." -- sure I was interested. I wanted to please him. He'd told me to stack each day's mail on his desk in the basket labeled "IN". In the study I noticed, too, a small 2' x 2' x 3' high safe. I wondered if that magazine he'd been holding with one hand and looking at while he masturbated with the other one was a dirty picture magazine and if it was in the safe. On his desktop was also a photograph album that had pictures of Peter as a boy. They really confused me and I wished I hadn't seen them and started thumbing through them. Some of the backgrounds looked more like the prairies of northwestern Nebraska than what I thought New England landscapes would look like. Peter, though, was as cute as a boy as he is handsome now. I didn't erect looking at them and it made me realize I loved Peter in more ways than just messing around with him. He came back mid afternoon Wednesday and phoned me on his cell phone the minute he turned off the highway into town and told me to meet him. It couldn't have happened at a better time, my mom was filling in for a clerk that called in sick at my dad's Farm Supply Store. We went in through his back door, he left his travel bag in the kitchen and we went directly upstairs to the bedroom on the southwest corner of the house, which was filled with sunshine but still comfortable because I'd had all the windows open. He closed the venation blinds part way until they reflected the sunshine up to the ceiling and then it bounced back into the room. He was as hot as I was and we ripped our clothes off. He said all the way home he'd thought of where we could do it. He wanted to do it where there was lots of light to symbolize that we need not be ashamed, need not find darkness to love each other because our love was good. He knelt over me, ran his fingers through my hair, across my eyebrows and eyelids and across my upper lip, then across my bottom lip. He bit my earlobes; kissed me open mouthed and first pinched then sucked my nipples. All the time he stared into my eyes. He told me that it was foreplay - the first step in making love. This time he didn't flip over on his back and raise his legs, he just turned around and told me we'd suck each other at the same time and said it was called the 69 position. With his big cock just inches from my face, I realized it was very slightly curved up and then straightened itself out. After we'd both climaxed, he turned again, snuggled up to my back, put an arm around me and kissed the back of my neck. "Did you like that Jase?" "I really did. I've been missing you terribly." "I missed you, too and Jase, I think I better tell you something. Although you and I don't think what we did as wrong, most people do." "I interrupted and told him I knew that and told him about Allen Willard and what I'd heard him saying to my dad." He said, "I already had him pegged. And that was what I want to talk about. We were going to have to be very careful -- for both our sakes. Three days apart and we were already missing, needing each other and before long we will need each other more and more. In fact our need will become a very powerful thing. We will have to limit our encounters to avoid suspicion but we will find comfort in knowing the other wants it too." I interrupted again with a question, "Pete, do you love me." "Yes, I do, I know I shouldn't, but I do. I can't help it and I'm not strong enough to stop." "That's all I need to know. I feel the same way." He kept rubbing his hand over me and said this was called after play. "Pete I can feel your cock poking me, you're hard again, can I feel it again." "Jase, as I said, we can't do this too often, but when we can you don't have to ask me -- just do what you want to do and do it knowing whatever you want I want and whatever you do will excite me." It began with my fondling his cock and ended with him on his back again and me fucking his cock with my mouth until he juiced again in my boy mouth. For some reason that seemed to seal things. I knew he loved me. I realized that his doing this with me was an expression of his love. We had sex together every time we safely could. Then summer ended and I was back in school the day after Labor Day. One Thursday, two weeks later, Pete came over and said he was going away for the weekend, just over into Sheridan County to visit a couple he knew who had a ranch by the Niobrara River and he thought I might enjoy going with him, since there'd be no school tomorrow due to teacher conferences. (Sheridan County was the next county and the Niobrara was a beautiful river running though the prairie, which would be all tan this time of the year yet dotted here and there by evergreen trees.) Pete told my mom it was about a thirty minute drive so we'd be there way before dark. I held my breath until my mom said, "I think he'd enjoy it, too. John has been so busy at the store we didn't get a vacation this year, when are you leaving?" "As soon as Jason can stuff a couple of pair of jeans, a few shirts and a change of underwear in a gym bag." In ten minutes Pete honked the horn at the curb in front of the house, I kissed my mom and ran out. I'm sure I had the biggest smile on my face that I'd ever had. I smiled again when the "couple" that he was visiting came out to meet us when they saw us driving up to the house -- the "couple" was two men. They put their arms around Pete and patted his back; then they both shook hands with me. Their names were Michael and Andrew. They asked Pete if he'd like his old room. Before dinner Michael gave Pete a beer and asked him if I could have one, too. Pete looked at me and said "Sure." After another one we had steaks they'd prepared on the barbeque along with potatoes and corn on the cob that they'd wrapped in aluminum foil and also cooked on the barbeque. We sat outside, under the trees to eat and talked until it was time to go to bed. Pete's "old room" turned out to be almost a duplicate of mine. That night in bed, in total darkness, as only it can be out on the prairie, no light except that which the moon provided, which wasn't enough to penetrate through the window blinds, Pete made love to me. It was a safe place, there was no hurry, the foreplay lasted a long time; in fact it lasted until Pete's breathing was heavy and he said, "I'm sorry Jase, I'm so aroused I think I'm going to cum before I want to." I threw the covers back, Pete rolled over on his back, raised his legs into the air and I went down on his hardness. Within seconds he lowered his legs onto my back, locked his ankles together and squeezed my head between his legs as his body jerked and he ejaculated into my boy mouth. He said, "I'm sorry." Before I had time to reply, he rolled over and started jacking me off. I'd already climaxed, but I thought of the first time I'd seen him jack off while looking at that magazine and I climaxed again. As he had the day we did it in his upstairs bedroom, he hugged me and I said, "Pete, you told me never to ask you when I wanted to do something, well you don't ever need to say you're sorry. Before we went to sleep facing each other, I asked him why Michael and Andrew called this his old room." Because this was my room as a boy, I slept here until I left to go to Princeton University. I jacked off in this bed long before I reached puberty and after, just like you do now. I never dreamed that I'd have a boy like you to love in this bed." I knew then why the pictures in his album had prairie backgrounds. My parents and grandparents both lived in this house. Michael and Andrew just lease the ranch. I still own it. Later, I woke because he was playing with me and had me hard again. I raised my head, looked at the digital clock and saw that it was 4 AM. I reached down and he was hard too, really hard, so I scooted down and took his swollen cock into my mouth and he gave me an early breakfast of hot, sweet cum. This time, I just held it in my mouth without him having to squeeze my head between his legs and left it there until he went soft. We woke up again at 7AM. I had slept so soundly I wasn't tired. We showered together and went downstairs to the kitchen table, already set for breakfast. We no sooner finished than a big white, pickup truck pulled up to the house. All of us went outside and Pete introduced me to Conrad and I saw the truck had lettering on the door that identified it as belonging to a contractor. Together we walked to another, smaller house, being remodeled and added on to. Pete explained it was originally a house for a hired man -- three 16' x 12' rooms, all in a row, which were being opened up with a small fireplace as the only distinction between what would be the living room and bedroom and a large opening into the kitchen. Pete explained a large walk-in closet and bath were being added to the bedroom and a utility room to the kitchen so the house would end up U-shaped with a trellised porch to fill in the U. Conrad said the new vinyl windows were already in place in the original house, the fireplace was finished, the kitchen was complete except for the new appliances and the additions were framed, enclosed and ready for the interior work. He added he had no other job demanding his time, so with the crew he had and the subcontractors all committed, he was going to be done in a month and Pete could spend Thanksgiving here if he wanted. That afternoon, Pete asked Michael if he could borrow a six- pack of beer. We took off down two tire tracks and ended up at the north bank of the Niobrara where there was a grove of trees, a picnic table with attached benches. It was a warm, autumn day, it was beautiful and became even more beautiful after we'd had two beers and tossed our clothes into Pete's car. "Want to walk along the river bank?" "Sure!" I was surprised that out here on the prairie you could even smell the river and it looked so clean. Pete said he'd never been to either place but the Niobrara started in Wyoming and wandered through northern Nebraska until it emptied into the Missouri just above a little town in Nebraska, also called Niobrara. Walking with him naked and seeing his dick moving around as he walked I had a hard on the whole time. After the walk we spread the blanket on the table and sat on it with our feet on the bench and opened a couple of beers. "Pete, I probably shouldn't ask you, but the rumor is that you were married and divorced. Is that true." "To an extent, the truth is I was married just before I was chosen minister of a small town church in Vermont. Then one day I came home from an evening meeting that didn't last as long as I'd thought it would and my wife was on the couch with the biggest, black dick up her cunt that I'd ever seen. I turned around, walked out, drove a hundred miles to another town, rented a motel room, went to a bar and got drunk. The next day when I went home she'd packed up and left. I've never seen or heard of her since. I told the elders that I'd been married and divorced. I altered the truth a little because I've never gone through a legal divorce procedure." Pete got up, went to his car and returned with a pack of cigarettes and we opened two more beers. "Can I have a cigarette, too?" "Have you ever smoked one before?" "Once, a senior in high school gave me one." "I shouldn't let you but I guess that's a minor corruption compared to my having sex with you." "I don't think of our sex as being corrupt. You've made me happier than I've ever been in my life." When it came time to leave, he dressed me as if I was a little boy and then put his own clothes on. Prior to each article of clothing, he'd kiss me, my nipples, my stomach, my genitals and say what a beautiful boy I was. By the time we got back to the ranch house, Michael and Andrew had the patio table set, brought out a six-pack and opened one for Pete and one for me. Pete looked at me but didn't say anything. Michael asked if hamburgers would be OK with us. We said they sounded great. He put eight on the grill and Andrew brought out a big bowl of potato salad, a smaller one of pickled beets along with a loaf of French bread and remarked he'd baked a frozen pie for desert and we'd have it ala mode along with coffee, later. After dinner, Andrew asked if we'd had a good time down at the river. Pete answered it had been years since he'd spent any time down there but it turned out very special this afternoon with me along. Michael picked up on that and said, "It's none of my business, but Andy and I are curious, are you two an item?" I didn't know what he meant. Pete said, "Yes we had our first time together on Sunday evening, July the eighteenth and now we're lovers." I now knew what an item meant even before he reached across the table and took my hand. I about cried, even I hadn't remembered the date. I'd never need to ask him if he loved me again. Andy asked if I was a member of his congregation. Pete answered, "Yes and he lives next door and we can see each other from our bedroom windows." Michael said that must be convenient at times and hell at times. He added, you're always welcome to bring Jase with you out here and I want you to be careful always." Pete said, "Thanks and we will be careful." Andy added, Pete, you're one lucky guy." I said, "I am, too." Michael and Andy laughed. Pete squeezed my hand. When it came time to go to bed, Pete asked if we could borrow some blankets, he had an air mattress in the car and he'd like to spend the night sleeping on the floor in front of the new fireplace. Michael came out with some blankets, two pillows and another six-pack. Pete then asked if he could borrow some matches as he didn't know if the propane was connected, so we might have to scrounge around for some 2"x4"s and other lumber scraps to light a fire. Michael came back out with a box of old- fashioned, kitchen matches and some newspapers. Michael had a flashlight and wandered around finding wood, but he wouldn't let me help him, so he gave me the air mattress to inflate by plugging it into the cigar lighter in the car. With the fire lit, we sat cross-legged on the floor and each had a can of beer. Once in bed, naked, I got the giggles. Pete asked, "What's wrong?" "Nothing, I was just thinking. We've been naked more than we've worn clothing since we've been here." "Are you objecting?" "No way, I wish it could be that way all the time." "Me too and I hope some day it will be that way." "When will that be?" Too, I asked him for the umpteenth time if he'd fuck me. "Well, you're in the sixth grade, so you have six years left to finish high school and four more at college. So that's a total of 10 years, so you'll be 21 and I'll be 34; we'll live out here on the ranch and go naked as much as we want to, except I'll be so old you wont want to look at me with clothes on, let along naked." "Yeah, don't bet on it!" Before I finished my reply I reached over and grabbed his big, hard dick. He was every bit as ready for some cock play as I was. "Lets do it standing up in front of the fire for a change, Jase." I bent down at the waist and took just the head of his manhood into my mouth and swirled my tongue around it, deep throated it a couple of strokes and he pulled me up and went down on me. He did the same on me as I'd done on him when something didn't seem right and I started hollering, oh God, oh God. Before he had time to reply he stopped sucking, started waving his arms and going umm, umm. Then he took his mouth off my cock, looked up at me and said, "You just shot some cum in my mouth!" "But I'm not 12." "When's your birthday?" "In December." "You're old enough, it would be a miracle if it happened exactly on your birthday so don't worry about it and just enjoy it. You're a big boy now and the best just got better. I'm going to blow your nuts every time I get as much as half a chance. Now jack me off. I stood in front of him but he told me to stand behind him, reach around him and do it just like I was jacking myself off. He climaxed and his wad shot out two feet horizontally before it began to arc down to the floor and land three feet in front of him. He tuned around, I licked what little remained on his piss slit. He pulled me up and he kissed me like I'd never been kissed before and kept calling me his baby and telling me how much he loved me and how much he loved my boy cock. Again we slept cuddled together. When the fire burned itself out, I had no idea. I didn't wake up until I heard Pete rush out the door and piss just outside. It was daylight. We were home at exactly 6:30 in the evening and my dad walked in the back door as we walked in the front. My mom had dinner ready, dad offered Pete a beer, Pete looked at me as much to say, "and You're out of luck this time." I was so full of telling my parents about the ranch and the small house that Pete was remodeling that my dad finally asked Peter how he happened to know the people who owned it. So, Pete told him he didn't particularly want the elders to know, but he owned the ranch and told them that his parents and grandparents before him had owned it plus one of the reasons he'd made application here was that he wanted to move back to the area. My dad asked what the ranch was named. Pete said it really didn't have a name and was referred to, as many ranches were, by its brand X -- X, (which translates, word wise, into the X Bar X). My dad said it was a well-known place and he'd love to see it sometime. Pete said the house would be done by Thanksgiving and he and the two men who leased the ranch, Michael and Andrew, would all like to have them out Thanksgiving. My mom didn't pick up on the "couple" Pete had referred to as being two men, and it never became an issue. But we did spend thanksgiving there. My mom had asked Pete what she should bring and he said Andrew, who was the cook of the two, said to bring two Pumpkin Pies if she didn't mind. Two women, schoolteachers, from a small town east of the ranch were there, it was an unusually warm and beautiful day and we ate outside. Everybody helped to a degree. I peeled potatoes, mom helped the two teachers set the table and my dad wandered around the property with Michael and then Michael and Pete walked him down to the Niobrara. I didn't know it but Pete had some furniture stored in a shed, slowly had all of it refinished and reupholstered, bought only a new king sized bed and box and mattress. He'd been back once since I visited and moved it into the cabin. It was really nice. Women are always interested in houses and my mom couldn't seem to find enough words to praise it. Pete said, I'm glad you like it; the teachers are leaving after dinner, you and John can sleep here and Jase and I can sleep in the main house. When Pete and I walked them out to the cabin for the night, he had a fire going in the fireplace along with two wine glasses and a bottle of champagne on the coffee table. My mom joked that she felt like she was on a second honeymoon. The next morning, after breakfast, Michael took my mom and dad on a horseback ride before we went home. All the way home it was my mom and dad that were so full of talking about the ranch. After that, my parents seemed to accept that Pete and I had a special friendship but didn't seem aware as to how special. The result was they never questioned me when I'd say I was going over to Pete's for a few minutes, even though the minutes were more like hours. One time, after sex, we stayed in bed and started talking. I told Pete I really loved his buns, they were so small and tight looking and I loved it when he flexed them and made hollows in the sides. It ended up, as it had several times before with my practically begging him to fuck me. And his answer, too, was always the same, "You're too young, later on." "Its just that I love you so much it sometimes hurts." "Its not supposed to hurt, but sometimes I feel the same way." "I'll away love you even if you never fuck me, but sometimes I fantasize what it would feel like to have you big dick inside me." "And sometime, I'll make your dream come true." It seemed that after Thanksgiving every day got shorter, which it did, and colder, too." Pete was busy preparing for a centennial celebration of the church. Not particularly of his choosing but things grew out of proportion and the high school offered their auditorium. Pete explained that after the ceremony, people could come and tour the church. There was no organ at the high school but the choir was singing to piano music and the entire front of the stage was lined with huge bouquets of flowers. On one side of the stage the elders were seated and on the other side were the ministers from every church in town. It was so crowded people were standing in the side aisles. The choir stopped and the Lutheran Minister walked to the podium and said they'd all been invited to speak but in the interest of time they'd asked Father O'Brian from St. Joseph's to be their spokesman. He began, "God has given us a grand and glorious day for this grand and glorious occasion. Reverend Blair has told me some of the background of your church. Before your present church was built, there was a white, wood framed structure on the same site and before that you met in homes. Your presence in Chadron actually dates back to the late 1800's." "At that time you must have truly been Our Lord's voice crying out in the Nebraska wilderness. After all these years, you have given him a new voice, a new presence in the wilderness, the Reverend Peter Blair. I'm going to tell you some things you may or may not know about your minister. When he joined the Ministerial Alliance he was a young man in a group of old fogies and our nickname for him quickly became "The Kid". At our next election for a President, he was elected unanimously and I guess you know what that means -- it means The Kid voted for himself." Everyone roared. I looked at Pete and he was as red as a beet. "I am as sure as I stand here before you that Christ voted for him, too. I'm also sure you knows that every minister sitting over there has, at the Kid's invitation, delivered a sermon at your Sunday Service and he's delivered the sermon at every church in town, including St. Josephs and, in so doing, became the first Protestant Minister to speak from our pulpit. What you may not know is that the custom has spread to several neighboring towns including Rapid City, South Dakota. "Now for the not knows. The kid visits every patient in our hospital on his rounds. Until then the ministers limited their visitations to the members of their church -- now they follow Pete's example." "Then, when Meals on Wheels have someone call in the last minute and say they can't drive, the Kid can drive and he delivers the meals." "Until the Sheriff told me, even I didn't know that the Kid goes to the County Jail every Sunday morning at 7:30 and holds a church service for the inmates." "And last I want to tell you about a Hispanic family, Catholics, that had been visiting relatives in Rapid City and returning home had an accident north of Chadron where the wife and mother of two girls was killed. St. Joseph's paid for the cemetery plot and other ministers donated money for travel expenses back to their home in Texas. What no one was able to solve was a car. Peter bought them a used car and the man has already made payments to pay him back." "I've talked too long, ministers tend to do that, so I'll close by saying that I hope, despite the fact than no one present will be living to witness it, that you will celebrate again in a hundred years from now. May God bless you all and, if you remember Rev. Krause, the Lutheran Minister, said they'd chosen me for their speaker. I'm sure I speak for all of them when I say, "Thank you Reverend Peter Blair for the example you've given us to follow -- an example on how to truly be a minister of God." The ministers applauded and rose to their feet first, then the elders and then the entire audience. The Choir Master rose and asked everyone to join the choir in singing the "Battle Hymn of the Republic". Pete phoned me around 8:30 and the first thing he said to me on opening the door was, "Don't you dare call me "The Kid." I replied I wouldn't, I liked Pete better. A couple of years later, I finally graduated from high school. I received a number of presents from relatives and friend of my family. It wasn't until we were alone, two days later, that Pete gave me not one but two presents. The first one was a ring on a thin gold chain, so I could wear it around my neck. He slipped it over my head and tucked it in the front of my shirt. It was his class ring from Princeton. The second was another ring that he slipped on my finger, a plain gold band with raised edges, two raised Celtic crosses on opposite sites and three raised, looped circles on the other two. I told him it looked like a wedding ring. He said it wasn't but it was a religious ring as the looped circles were a symbol of the Holy Trinity and added if I would like to think of it as a wedding ring, he would like to think of it the same way, then said, seriously, not in jest, said, "Jason Richards, with this ring I thee wed." He didn't kiss me but he hugged me to his chest for ten minutes while I cried. Two weeks to the day, I rang his doorbell but he didn't show, I rang it again and could have sworn I heard him call out "Just a minute." Still no Pete, so I looked in the living room window and he was lying, face down, arms outstretched on the floor. I pounded frantically on the window and finally gave in to reality. He was dead or unconscious. I ran home screaming, mom, mom, mom! My mom was standing on the front porch before I reached it, as were two neighbors across the street. Mom held me and called to one of the neighbors from across the street to dial 911. In the distance we could hear sirens even before the medical response vehicle and fire truck arrived. They broke the glass in the door and entered the house. A medic knelt over him and pronounced him dead. News travels fast in a small town and within two hours Pete's attorney called my dad, who'd come home from work and told him on the phone that I was Pete's sole heir. My mom wanted me to rest a while. I couldn't. I grabbed a beer out of the fridge and drank it in front of my parents. The phone began ringing incessantly until my mom unplugged it from the wall connection. My dad told me being the sole heir put a lot of responsibilities on me which he knew were painful for me to deal with so soon, but I'd have to face them -- buying a cemetery plot, arranging for a tombstone, arranging for a funeral. I told him I agreed. By nine o'clock all of us were totally wiped out and my mom asked if I wanted to sleep downstairs in the guest room. I said no, the parsonage has a broken window; I was going to go over there and up end a lounge chair in front of it and sleep in Pete's bed. My mom asked why I wanted to do that? "Mom, there's no worse time to tell you than right now, but here it is, I'm gay, Pete was gay and we've been lovers, all the way lovers, since I was eleven years old." Both my dad and my mom threw their arms around me and my mom said, "We suspected that was the case, we first thought so that Thanksgiving Day at the ranch, but we've just waited until you were ready to tell us. And I want you to know we still love you and we loved Pete, too." Like the first night after I'd watched Pete reading a magazine with one hand and jacking off with the other, I couldn't go to sleep. I think I relived every minute Pete and I had been together. At some wee hour of the morning I must have dozed off because I woke with a start, pulled on some pants and ran down stairs because I heard someone at the door, pushing the lounge chair away. It was Allen Willard, the elder, the one I didn't like -- the prick. "What are you doing in here, half naked?" "I slept here because the glass in the front door is broken and the place could have been burglarized." "You have no business in here." "Neither do you for that matter. This was Reverend Blair's home and is his until I can remove his personal possessions." "By what right." "By the fact that I'm his sole heir." At that moment my dad walked in, and asked Willard the same thing as Willard had asked me. "I'm questioning your son as to why he's here and his right to be here." "Well, I know Ben Johnson's (the attorney) home phone, I'll just call him and settle that right now." "Ben's on his way. Jason, would you make coffee?" Ben straightened things out, but good. "Mr. Willard, Jason Richards is the sole heir to Reverend Blair's estate. This may be a parsonage, but it was and is Revered Blair's legal residence for a reasonable time to allow his personal possessions to be removed." "The kid's a minor. The will's illegal." "Mr. Willard, if a minor couldn't be named in a will, parents couldn't leave anything to their children." "He should have left everything to the church." "His will was signed in my office before me, two witnesses. and notarized. The will is perfectly legal. Reverend Blair was of sound mind and evidently he had ideas different than yours as to who he wanted to be his heir." "I want to see in the safe, there might be church property in it." "If there is any, it will be returned to the church. Now, either you leave, or I'll call the Sheriff and have you evicted." Willard stomped out, Mr. Johnson, my dad and I sat down in the kitchen and had coffee along with a good laugh. I said, I thought Mr. Willard was a prick. Mr. Johnson said "asshole" might be more accurate. He also handed me a copy of Peter's will and said that even before I read it he wanted to tell me that Peter had stipulated that he wanted Father O'Brien to officiate at his funeral. I called Fr. O'Brien and told him, then called Michael and Andrew that he'd also stipulated that he wanted to be buried on the ranch. Michael said not to hire some one to dig a grave, they would be honored to it and suggested they move the picnic table and benches up to the house and bury him where the table was, as he loved the trees there as well as the river. That afternoon the County Coroner called to say Peter had died of a heart attack. They'd checked with his doctor who verified that he had a minor heart ailment; it had given him no problems to date but was one of those things that just waited to happen. That evening, when the newspaper gave an account of his death Father O'Brien called again and told me the high school had again offered their auditorium and he thought that would be a good idea. It was a good idea. Again the place was overflowed and Father O'Brian started the service saying the Nebraska Highway Patrol called and said they couldn't allow a funeral procession for thirty miles on the highway and they had arranged with two school districts for school busses. When you leave they will be lined up in front of the auditorium and pull up for loading. The Highway Patrol has also requested they leave at five-minute intervals. The elderly and handicapped may use their own cars but they, too, should leave at five-minute intervals. As you can see this will be a long afternoon, so I will keep my remarks to a minimum. Father O'Brien's introduction began, "I have been a Priest for a little over thirty years and number among my friends, many Priests, Protestant Ministers and even a few Rabbi's. All of them are good men and truly Ministers of God. In all my thirty-years, Reverend Blair is the only man I can say exceeded his calling. He was more than a Minister, by his every act and every deed; he was truly a modern day Apostle of Christ. True to his word he was brief. Peter has also requested but one song, not religious, be sang by the choir as the people left the church. "The choir sang the requested song, "Love is a Many Splendered Thing." Mom and dad rode with me in Father O'Brien's car and we arrived before the busses. Michael and Andrew greeted us and we all had a good cry before accompanying Father O'Brien in walking down to the bank of the Niobrara. The day after Peter died, I had called the monument company and told them what I wanted. They made no promise but said they try. Michael said a helicopter had delivered the monument to the gravesite and the monument company had unloaded it with a forklift and placed it by the grave until permanent placement could take place. It was not a standing monument but one that would cover the gravesite. Father O'Brien read it aloud: REVEREND PETER BLAIR. Peter was born July 25, 1975 and will die when the last person who knew him dies. He remarked that it was a very fitting monument. There wasn't a funeral tent and the earth dug from the grave didn't have fake, plastic turf covering it. It was just a burial, taking place on the prairie, in the midst of a grove of trees by the bank of the Niobrara River. Michael and Andrew both commented that they thought Peter would have approved. That autumn, I moved into the remodeled hired hands house and enrolled in Carlton College, using Peter's car as transportation and spending one day each weekend with my parents. Every day I walked down to the river and spent fifteen minutes or so sitting on the picnic table, which had been returned to the grave area, thinking of Pete and sometimes I even talked to him and cried. At times I thought I'd never be able to let him go. Finally, one cold, winter night, I drove down with a load of firewood in the back of his Car along with some newspapers and matches. I lit a fire, talked to Pete and told him I'd come down to keep him company for a while and was finally able to tell him how much I loved him, how much his love meant to me, how I would always love him and I'd come back to visit him often, but tonight I wanted to say good bye, because I never had a chance to say all this to him the day he died. There was a small, gay men's club on campus but I never joined it. I lost myself in my studies and it seemed to help or at least kept me from thinking of Pete for a few hours at a time. Then, on Spring Break, my Junior Year, a student from Argentina, Jose Martin, an extremely good looking young man but not especially Spanish looking, asked me what I was going to do for vacation, was I going anywhere? I told him I'd probably spend a few days at my parents and the rest of the time on my ranch. He was surprised I owned a ranch. I asked him if he wanted to see it. He couldn't wait. After two days, I took him home with me for a day and then we went back to the ranch. We rode horseback, I led him over to Pete's grave and told him my story. Every time I'd stop, he'd say, "Tell me more." More turned out to be more and more until he leaned over and kissed me on the cheek. After dinner, more led to more and we made love together. Jose was the opposite of Peter. He was asking me to let him fuck me so often I couldn't believe it and the way he pronounced it made it sound really dirty and sinful. I kept giving him Peter's answer -- "Some Day." Some day came the night before we had to start back to school. Pete was right, it hurt, it hurt like hell and all the worse because like a lot of Hispanic men, God's gift to Jose between his legs was a large gift. I'd had trouble sucking it the first time, let alone taking it up my ass. He was patient, though, and I later began to enjoy it. Of course, he moved in with me. In early May of next year and a month before graduation, Jose asked me to spend a couple of months with him in Argentina before he came back with me and we both went job hunting. It sounded so exciting, I told him I would. He had become an American Citizen and already had a passport, I had plenty of time to get one and two days after graduation, mom and dad drove us to Denver International to catch a plane. We ended up staying three months instead of two. Jose lived in a suburb of Buenos Aires and we tried but were never able to do all that there was to do, including a few gay bars. The major event, however, was and always will be, his cousin Maria's problems; she had a worthless husband and eight beautiful children. One night at Jose's parents house she out and out asked Jose and me to take Carlos, the youngest, a six-year-old boy, home with us. We talked with her and Jose's parents and argued with them, too. In the three months we'd been there, Carlos was speaking English every bit as well as Jose and I. Too he called us Uncle Jose and Uncle Jase. He'd done a first rate job of worming his way into our affection. Maria's argument was that if we could even feed him he'd have a better life than he would living in his father's house and it was time he began school. We didn't give her a definite answer until we, along with Maria and Carlos, met with a man in the office of the American Ambassador and he arranged it, issuing Jose a new passport with a new photo of him and Carlos together. When we walked out of the customs inspection area at Denver International and saw my parents waiting for us, we walked toward them. Carlos asked, "Is that my new grandma and grandpa?" We told him it was and he ran right up to mom and said, " My Uncle Jase says you make good cookies, do you have some with you?" By that time Jose and I had reached them, found a place to sit, and told them the story. Carlos kept interrupting asking the questions he must have saved up, questions like, "Grandma how far is it to your house?" -- "Grandpa, do you like to play with kids?" It took him three months to worm his was into Jose and my hearts. It took him thirty minutes of occasional interruptions to worm his way into mom and dads. We stayed overnight in a motel close to the airport before starting back to Carlton. Everyone was exhausted except Carlos. He slept between Jose and me and we kept answering him with yes, I guess, I don't know, and finally dropped off to sleep leaving him answering question -- none of which were answered. It is now late June 2006, Jose and I both work for my dad. Jose lives with his grandparents and spends one day of each weekend with Jose and me. Sometimes I think my parents have forgotten me, they dote on Jose and have him absolutely spoiled rotten. He is an incessant talker and thinks he knows more about his grandfather's business than Jose and I do, even though the two of us work there eight hours every day. Jose took him back to Argentina for a visit and will continue to do so. Carlos likes to go but likes to get home to Carlton again, too. This story began with Pete and I want it to end there. Before I committed myself to Jose I told him I would always love Pete, too, and I really didn't know if I'd ever be able to love him to the extent that I loved Pete. He said he understood. Jose occasionally goes with me down to the Niobrara to visit Pete. I like it better when I go alone because then I can sit on the picnic table, look down at Pete's grave and visit with him. Sometimes, even yet, I cry. I know Pete understands and sometimes I think Jose does, too. THANKS FOR READING THIS.