Chapter 218


Our hope is that every homosexual youth in this country can find a home and someone to love them as they are.
No one deserves to be discriminated against, no matter what their differences from society's norm

A tidy quote from chapter 137
"titles belong on books, not people" ©Carl Dickson—2007

Does your mother know you're reading this shit?

Warning: This story is PORNO. I have tried my hand at friction, now I'm trying fiction. This story contains vivid descriptions of sexual activity between men and teen boys.
It contains no truth, partial truth, or half truth. What it does contain is stroking material. If this kind of story turns you off, or offends you, please find something else.
The author does not encourage or condone sex between adults and underage children.

If you are underage, or if this is illegal where you are, then please go away. If you're under 18, Adios come back when it is legal for you to read this smut.
If you lied about your age in order to access this story, remember this is our story. Life doesn't always work out like a story.

A strongly worded suggestion has resulted in this statement.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either
are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitioiusly,
and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business
establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Thus said, this story is copyrighted, ©2005-2012. It is therefore illegal to copy or use any part of this story on any other web site without my written permission.

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    The little boys were playing their innocent little games when thirteen year olds Daniel Sims and Freddy Holt came into the family room hand in hand and giggling about some private joke that they were sharing. Not paying close attention to where he was going Danny stumbled over the toys that the boys had spread out on the floor.
    Danny apologized and bent over to return a toy car that he had kicked away. Suddenly ten year old Hamal cried out, "Dadee, he got no toes." Aware of what some of the boys have experienced in their lives I am always quick to respond to any reference to a physical abnormality. Only this time I caught a reaction from Danny that made me grab him and hold him close to me.
    The boy shed instant tears and a wail that would disturb a corpse. I took Hamal's hand and drew him into my little circle. "Hamal, you have seen some really bad things in your life. You know that sometimes father's hurt their own sons. Danny was hurt by his daddy when he was very tiny, even smaller and younger than you were when I first found you."
    I felt that this might be a good time for Daniel to talk of his relationship with his dad; I hoped that it would be good therapy for him. "Danny, Hamal loves you and he would like to know how you lost your toes."
    I was holding a quivering boy that had never truly faced his demons. His tears were flowing like Niagra Falls as he clung to me in fear of a long past event. "My old man was mean. He always hit me and he hurt me and my mom all of the time. One day he was cutting some bushes and he got all mad at me and everything and he just cut my toes off with those big scissors."
    Daniel was four years old when his father cut the three smaller toes off of Danny's left foot with the hedge trimmers that he was using. When a neighbor intervened Mr. Sims stabbed the woman through the heart with that same tool. Danny was too young to understand why his daddy hurt him and then why he wouldn't come to him to tell him that he was sorry. He had always come to him to apologize when he had hurt the boy, or his mother, in times before.
    Danny grew up with terrible nightmares that no one wanted to talk to him about. His mother was dysfunctional. She depended on her husband to make all of the decisions in her life. When he was no longer around she looked inside a bottle of gin for the help that she sought. Danny endured all of that that he could, but at ten years of age he ran away. He was sure that the romantic life of a vagabond drifter would be best for him.
    Somehow he survived life on the streets for almost three years but then he took up the opportunity to get away from that life. The frail and half starved waif was one of the boys that Rick Carlson and I found and offered a new life too. Danny had been in the dormitory at BAW for more than a year when he found a friend named Freddy Holt.
    Freddy is the younger brother of our guitar playing friend, Benny. You may remember that it was Benny that sucked Edgar's dick in the back seat of Ed' car while he was passed out from smoking some extra strong weed. After Mr. Holt, the boys' father, passed away Mrs. Holt could not cope with her youngest son's antics. Benny was enrolled at BAW so she called me and asked to enroll Freddy as well. The little fellow has adjusted well and is an accepted member of the family. He struck up a lasting romance with Daniel shortly after arriving at the school.

    Berny has a following of admirers. Fifteen year old Bernard Swain has one of the most perfect bubble butts in the family, and he knows it. He has landed himself in more trouble over his young life than most people get into over a seventy year life span. Berny likes to show his ass, literally. He will pull his pants down and show a cheek almost anyplace. It is not mooning, he is actually showing off his greatest asset.
    His current audience was comprised of the six newcomers from my new ranch. I believe that their fascination with the bubble butt was the pale color of it. Berny is no paleface, but he sure has a glaringly white ass.
    "Dad, these guys say that they live on a mountain that has a lake so deep and clear that you can see the fishes and that you can swim right along with them. Is there really a cliff that we can dive off of? When can we go there to swim? Are you going to let us live there too?"
    Boys only hear what the want to hear. I suppose that it can be a good thing, except when they are being told to do their chores or homework. I had shared a little about the new ranch with some of the boys so I thought that it would be a good time to tell all of them about our upcoming weekend in the forest. Of course everyone was happy with the news and our evening took on a new life as boys ran back and forth to share the news with those still in the dorm or in other areas around the house.

    I had been busy all day. I had located the perfect piece of property adjacent to the new ranch. On the day that I took my wife and babies to visit with Mavis I had asked the pilot of the Sikorsky to fly over that acreage. From the air it looked like exactly what I needed for my airplanes to land at the ranch.
    I parked my Caddy in front of an old shrine located in a barrio district south of the city's main business district. I turned to retrieve my papers from the opposite seat when I spotted a bundle of old clothing that could only be a boy huddled up against the chill of the early morning air. I walked through the hundreds of candles that the faithful leave daily at the makeshift shrine that consists of three crumbling walls that had once been a small restaurant during the mid-40s and squatted down by a half starved boy. My heart stopped dead.
    Dark, recessed eyes opened and looked into mine. A sudden look of fear swept across his tiny face. I lifted him so that I could cradle his chilled body next to mine. "Franky, I don't know what has happened to you, but I am here now and I want to take you to the school that I told you about last year."
    Franco Naify was the pawn of a street tough. Fourteen year old Angle was a fat kid that also went along with anything that the sixteen year old tough wanted. Angle and Franco joined with the bully in an assault on Mikie when Spike stepped from the shadows and taught the thugs who actually rules the streets of South Tucson.
    A few hours after that altercation I had run in with the three street punks when the sixteen year old wangster pointed a gun at me. He will never be able to have the full use of his thumbless right hand and arm. Angle was sent to kiddie jail where he is still trying to remember why he followed a bully that only used him. Franco was the real loser.
    With all of their wisdom the court returned Franco to his home where he had testified that he was being sexually used by his grandfather and several men that lived in the same building. By the time that the system found time to investigate the small thirteen year old's complaint the other men had moved away. The grandfather convinced the investigators that Franco was an active homosexual and had the attention of several boys in the neighborhood. He fed the detective a line of Franco's rebellion toward authority and his use of made up stories to get back at the old man for punishing him.
    I cursed the system. I cursed everyone except myself. I was so involved in bringing down a large organization of illegal fight clubs that I let Franco slip from my mind. I held the results of my mistakes in the form of a battered and abused boy that chose sleeping in the street over being molested in his home by those responsible for his safety.
    I looked into his eyes which were fully open. "Franky, you are safe. I am going to take you home with me."
    "¡Me llamo es El Teradito!" he snapped at me.
    "No, you are not an outcast. You have been done wrong. Part of that is my fault. I am going to make that wrong go away forever. I promised you last year that you could attend my school. The court did not agree with me and sent you back into a house of hell. I am very sorry."
    The boy started to cry, I pulled him closer to my chest. Andy had been listening to the exchange and a code word along the way had caused him to dispatch a car carrying Mikie and Jamie to my location. I helped to secure Franco into the car and kissed his nose before sending him off with the two boys. I will make Franky's life a little happier, if I have to castrate his grandfather in a public square.

    I made a cash purchase of the 1002 mile—64,000 acres—for two hundred thousand dollars. The property is land locked with no water and only a poorly maintained county road for access. The land had been leased to the West Highland Ranch as pasture land for grazing cattle and horses when the herds were very large. Since the sell off of all of the cattle by Mavis the property has lain dormant.
    A cattle speculator purchased the raw land prior to Arizona's statehood. His dream was to become a rich cattle baron like U.S. Marshall Willis Mayfield. Once he arrived at his new acquisition he made a terrible discovery, there was no water anywhere on the entire parcel of land. The local Indians told him that there was not even ground water for a well to provide the precious commodity.
    Seeing no chance of dumping his land on an unsuspecting dude, he went to the Marshall with a proposal. The land was rich in desert grasses that stood almost shoulder high on a man, he proposed to lease his land for the grazing of the large herds of cattle owned by his neighbor.
    Willis saw the advantage of the tall grasses for his livestock, but he saw the danger of not having water. The two men agreed to dig a canal system to bring water from the wide river two miles from the common property line to the parched area. Local natives were hired to excavate a series of wide, shallow trenches that carried water to every corner of the dry land. The cattle moved in and ate the grass and drank the water. What neither man knew was that the desert grass had taken many years to grow and it was very slow to recover. Once the cattle had grazed the grass down to ground level there was no more value to the land.
    The speculator desperately dug smaller trenches across his property to irrigate it so that new crops would grow. That worked for several years before all of the cattle were sold off by Mavis. By that time the original owner had passed away leaving his son then his grandson to deal with the Mayfield family.
    The grandson had tried for several years to dump the over taxed money pit with no success. He was ready and eager to accept my cash offer. I picked up four years of back taxes and paid the man thirty one dollars an acre and he was happy to take it.
    Large bulldozers moved back and forth across the property to fill in all of the canals and depressions in the land. A survey crew set lasers about the property and it was made perfectly level. Global Positioning Satellites were used to orient the eighteen inch thick concrete runways to established flight paths.
    An acre of land at the southwest corner of the private airpark was excavated to a depth of ten feet. A double lane roadway from the county road passed through the depression and then back up and onto the runway. There was room for four, fifty foot eighteen wheelers laden with jet aircraft fuel to sit, safe and sound, below ground level until they were needed to off load their liquid explosive.
    Only one small building is on the property. It is used for the ground personnel needed when there is actual air traffic. A single story building with a small control tower set on a second level sits along the west side of the runways. The ground floor of the building contains a large kitchen and dining area, four large bedrooms—each with its own bathroom and Jacuzzi—and a communal home theater for kicking back to watch TV and movies. There is also a recreation room with a myriad assortment of different types of exercise equipment and over fifty video game consoles. There are computer workstations throughout the building and it has a 24MBs WiFi system—six times faster than most wireless connections—for those wishing to use their own laptops.
    Alongside the building's parking lot is a staging area for my school buses to transport our visitors from the planes to the ranch. With the moderate weather of southern Arizona we did not need to erect hangers. It is only five miles by air to Base A where full facilities are available for extensive maintenance for all of my aircraft. A helipad is also present between the control tower and the taxiways.
    Sometimes the wind can be ferocious on the desert floor. Five hundred ton capacity anchors were set deep into the ground around the parking area for the planes. It would not do to have a few hundred boys visiting and wake up to find their airplane upside down after a windstorm.

    Chrisy called for a meeting of our brain trust. Jimmy is away at school with Cullen—more about that in chapte 220-the rest of the boys that had been with me the longest time were all assembled to put their thinking caps on. Turner is one of the sharpest boys in the family. That boy can find a solution to any situation with ease. Greg is a level headed thinker that is not quick to answer, but methodical and precise. Jay Jay is an asset to our brain trust as is Bryan. Cory is always a part of our meetings along with Pete, Trevor, and Jace.
    I watched Chrisy as he moved about getting himself a cup of coffee and then seating himself next to me. My mind replayed certain events that have occurred over the time that I have known him I looked to my picture files on my laptop and found three pictures of him. One was taken inside Traveler© the afternoon that I found him standing in the middle of the road. Another, and actually a favorite of mine, is of him teaching some of the other boys how to cook. He had put on a little weight as he went into his mighty growth spurt. The third picture shows what he looks like today.
    He actually had a sound argument. I had spoken from my heart in haste when I told Mavis that I would name the ranch the Christopher William Dickerson Center. Chrisy pointed out to the assemblage that the name did not describe what the ranch is and what the goals are. It is not a school in itself. It is a playland, a fuckland, someone said. Chrisy felt honored by my choice and when I explained my reason for the name he was proud. But the name does not work.
    Cory and Sarah asked Chrisy for his blessing when they named their newborn son after the mighty midget with the giant widget. He called Chrisy 'the cement that binds all of us together'. Chrisy has always been the binder in the mix. His outgoing personality and easy, laid back disposition endear him to all that meet him. He can be a bit of a blockhead sometimes, but then can't we all I suggested to the group that we might name the ranch Cement Head. I was told that cement has also been known to make an excellent foot covering for deep water wading.
    "We could call the ranch Camp Phartzalot. One time when Chrisy and I were…" Craig began to say.
    "That's private. Don't tell that story!" Chrisy blurted out with a red face.
    "Yeah, but it was right in my face…and it stunk." It took almost five minutes for everyone to compose themselves again. Even Chrisy had laughed so hard that he was holding his sides in pain.
    It was suggested that a crest be designed. Some of the European boys had been talking about my having a coat of arms like the old families on the continent. I had quickly snuffed that idea as being too pretentious. The brain trust thought that a crest in the design of a coat of arms with an image of the GPP serving as the center piece would be nice. I asked them if they wanted the ranch shut down for obscenity law violations before it was ready for our international visitors. No, whatever name we decided on had to be clean, convey the message of the camp, and do personal homage to a well admired member of the original house of happy fairies. Chrisy's chin quivered and his eyes showed moisture gathering along their bottom. Everyone of us genuinely love Sir Phartzalot.
    Finally we settled down and a name was selected. It was Chrisy that suggested Camp Christophe in honor of the European branch of my family tree. He argued that BAF was located in the Château de Christophe at Nice, Franççais. He pointed to our semi-private Mediterranean retreat, Villa Christophe, at St. Tropez, Franççais.
    I held his hand and looked at him. "Babe, this is not about me or my family. This is an honor that all of us want for you. I like part of your suggestion, but you left out one letter. I think that the name of our ranch retreat should be called Camp Christopher." We toyed around for a few minutes trying to include the purpose of the camp. We struggled with Camp Christopher Retreat or Christopher's Retreat but we kept coming back to the simple name of Camp Christopher. Finally the name "Camp Christopher, retreat for boys" was submitted in the form of a motion. Cory seconded it and the members approved it with a unanimous affirmative vote.

    I felt more like a bumble bee for the next three weeks. I flitted back and forth between the house and Camp Christopher daily, sometimes making two flights out to the ranch in one day. A few well placed dollars can speed up any work project. Not everything can be done overnight, but with enough men to do the job without stumbling over each other then it seems as if the project was finished in a matter of hours instead of weeks.
    All of the old buildings were torn down at the main ranch complex, even the stables. Wood carver ants had made themselves a meal of the old untreated lumber. I had the entire area bulldozed and leveled then had the soil treated for insects before six new buildings were erected. There are now four three story dormitories made with a steel framework and skinned with pre-stressed concrete panels. Each upper floor can house one hundred boys in single cubicles. Doubled up as many as four hundred boys can be accommodated in each building.
    There are four twenty head shower rooms located along each floor level, with the same number of toilets and lavatories. There are enough urinals for all of the boys to hang out at one time. The lower floor has a large kitchen and dining room for that building. One of the things that I am concerned about is the boys not liking some of the foods familiar to the students at another school. By having their own kitchen then the staff from that school will be able to prepare food to the liking of their students. There is a common dining room, but more about that in a moment.
    Also located on the ground floor of each building is a large recreation room for one of Arizona's cold and cloudy days. Even our coldest day would seem like a balmy afternoon to many of the students. BAD students would think a snow storm in our mountains is a joke. I hope not to have the boys visit during harsh weather cycles. My dream is for the boys to get to ride horses and run naked through the forest. Maybe some new life forms my arise from the mixed boi seed falling on the ground. I only hope that none of the boys are into molesting my squirrels and deer. I am pretty sure that they won't try to fuck a bear, although some of them seem to get that horny.
    The buildings were arranged in the same semi-circle arrangement as the original design. The building that now closes the west end is a large communal cafeteria where the boys can gather each evening for American style food, such as pizza, tacos, and chop suey. Hot dogs and hamburgers will be available throughout the day, right next to a large salad and soup bar.
    A twenty bed dispensary is being built on the ground floor of that building. Ambulance access is being added in the event that a boy needs more medical help than the small staff that we have can provide. A helipad is also located near that entrance just in case.
    The second floor of that building is planned as a large recreation room for orgy night and other group activities. The building that sits where the old stables once sat is just there. I have set it up as possible classrooms. I don't want the boys on vacation to have to dive into school books, after all it is their vacation. I once read a line that says, "If you have to wear your shoes then you are not really on vacation, you are just someplace else." I hope that my young visitors can stay barefooted and enjoy their vacation to Arizona.
    With the anticipated number of manure equine-shit of horses, or in simple English, horse shit—in the future it was decided to move the stables away from the common area. Flying insects are almost impossible to control and I didn't want some fly with shit covered legs crawling all over the face of a sleeping boy. Many of the boys sleep with their mouths open, what a rude awakening to have a fly sucked into ones throat during sleep. The real problem is flies around the kitchens. I hate bugs and have been known to commit mass insecticide in ridding myself of their unwelcome presence.
    A shallow depression large enough to corral two hundred horses for a short term was located three hundred yards from the rest of the buildings. An old fashioned style windmill powers a pump to draw up water from an aquifer located at the foot of Fire Mountain and into a water tower set twenty feet above the ground A two inch pipe carries gravity pressurized water to the stables where several water troughs are set about for the horses. There are hose bibs at every stall for hosing out the muck and washing the animals after a hot day's ride.
    Horses don't do well with constant washing, but an occasional hosing makes many of them appear to smile. I know a few boys that will like that. I can hear their delighted squeals in my mind. I will do just about anything to make my boys happy. Children laughing is the favorite joy of my life.
    The runoff water is directed through a sewer system with a grate covering it. Manure from the corral is pushed onto the grating several times each day and washed downhill to an automated processing plant that I am excited about. Cory sees my utility bills each month and he is always working on ways to help to reduce them. The house and the school are provided with solar voltaic panels that generate more than ninety percent of our electricity. There are solar panels on both structures to provide us with all of our hot water needs, except when we have several consecutive cloudy days.
    Cory asked Clayton and Shikoba Johnson to help him with something that Clayton's father had on his farm in Oklahoma—a manure powered fuel source. Two hundred horses in a corral leave behind a ton of methane producing horse shit everyday. The automated system collects the manure at the bottom of the hill where conveyor belts lift it into one of six large steel tanks.
    The conveyor system is of an open grid that allows the water to drain away leaving only solid waste. That waste cooks in the steel tanks heated by the hot sun releasing the methane which is pumped into large pressure containers and stored for use as fuel for heating the barracks and for cooking the boys' food. Shikoba showed Nolan how to convert the motor vehicles of the ranch to use alternative fuel. Now the ranch has a new definition of horse power.

    An enormous septic system had to be dug to handle the liquid waste from the horses and the waste from the barracks. Time has proved that human excrement is too dangerous to be pf much use. Some cities dry the solid waste from their sewer systems and sell it for use as fertilizer. I believe the Chinese proved the folly in that idea several hundred years ago. Human waste contains to much paraffin which waterproofs the ground.
    My thoughts were that the boys would only be visiting every few months and that a large enough septic system could handle the solid load. I had a large desert to use as a leeching field and no ground water to have to worry about contaminating.

    I took a horse and rode with Cory to the mountain camp. We wanted to spend the night, but both of us had many obligations to the family at that time. We rode bareback and bareassed. We didn't even don the leather chaps that Chief Steve had given us so many years past. My ass was in great need of Cory's kneading hands by the time we arrived at the upper campsite.
    As we crossed the top of the tall cliffs at the foot of the final path to the camp I looked through the trees above us. I suppose that one would have to know where to look and exactly what they are looking for to spot the cellular repeaters affixed to an expertly disguised pole extending fifty feet above the ground.
    The heavy turbines that Cory had moved into place mid-way down the falls are controlled by a 80286 laptop CPU. The laptop can be accessed by cell phone as it reports the status of the new ranch power supply system. Actually the twin turbines are capable of suppling enough electricity to power one thousand, total electric, homes. I had not wanted cell phones at the ranch. I want the boys to get as close to nature as possible in the technological world of the twenty first century.
    The FI dispatcher had complained to me that he had been unable to contact me when I was at the ranch. Andy was in my face over that one. He reminded me that I have an obligation to the world and that I need to be in constant contact. I pointed at my groin and told him that he could always find me, but when I am at the ranch I am in my element and I do not wish to be disturbed. That only sounded good to me, Andy wouldn't buy it.
    We did limit the cellular access to the FI frequencies only. An uplink aimed to the sky is also there for our satellite phones and internet service. I had to admit that I have a real need to my access of the World Wide Web. I have my nose into so much that to pull away would cause me to smell the air and that would probably make me ill.
    We went directly to the lake and soaked our rump roasts, but that personal touch was still needed. It is not an easy thing to do to massage the inflamed glutes of one's lover while at the same time he is trying to massage yours. I finally gave up and pulled Cory on top of me and gave him a licking. His hide is a bit tougher than mine. He has been riding bareback at every opportunity since we first found Chief Steve and the Tsalagi people. I have few opportunities to ride au natural. I am not a tender foot, just a tender butt. Cory made me feel all better.
    After a tension releasing treat of warm protein we were refreshed and ready to see some of Cory's handiwork. The transmission lines from the turbines leading up to the camp are buried in an eight inch jell filled pipe that the manufacturer guarantees to be weather tight for one hundred years. There is a slight scar where a trenching machine had, almost literally, pushed the conduit into the ground.
    I had some misgivings when I saw the ten foot diameter roll of orange pipe being loaded on a fork on the front of one of the balloon tire equipped bulldozers. The rear of the bulldozer was equipped with a device that looked like a giant chainsaw. Cory laughed at me. I knew that it was a trencher for burying cable deep in the soil with a minimum of disturbance to the surrounding area. But it is fun to play ignorant and let Cory explain things to me. He gets so tense so I just take him in hand and let him try to get his explanation out, though he usually gets something else out first. The joys of youth.
    The machine had done excellent work. A few young trees and other underbrush had been flattened, but in time that will spring back and disappear like the narrow scar that ran from the edge of the falls to the camp was already doing. Nature has a way of quickly reclaiming his own.
    The upper camp was ready for our weekend with the boys. The entire area had been swept and picked clean so that the boys could run barefoot through the woods—at least right near the barracks. A new chuck house was ready for business. There are four large walk in freezers and several double wide Zero Cold refrigerators in the kitchens.
    The hot soup bar and cold line for the fruits and cold salads were in place. I was glad that we had a reliable source of electricity. Lighting inside the chuck house is state of the art. LEDs flood the room with indirect light. Recessed light fixtures over the serving lines bathe the food with full illumination. Being at a high altitude means that there is less need for air conditioning, but the air can get stuffy. The ceiling of the chuck house is twelve feet high at the center ridge pole. Three bladed circulation fans extend from the rafter to a height of eight feet to keep the air slowly moving around.
    Each morning I took two of the older boys to the camp with me. I know that boys love to drive, anything, if it moves they want to drive it. I put them on a bobcat and let them tear through the forest. Alright, I marked out a route for them to follow.
    Swapping off every half hour the pair of boys for that day cleared a six foot wide meandering path through the woods. I would bring in several tons of stone dust to pack into the earthen trail that would become a favorite jogging trail for all of the runners in my family. In the beginning the trail was only six miles long, but I have visions of it winding back and forth throughout the mountain as it weaves its way between and around trees to provide a place where my boys and I can run naked through the woods.
    I was pressed for time and let the camp rest for two days before it would house four hundred of the sexiest cum machines in the southwest.

    On Friday morning, October the second of 2009 all of the boys from the school, from granite house, from my house, and from βφτ house climbed aboard the Traveler Trio© and ten hybrid school buses. I wanted the boys to have a total back to nature experience so I told them that they could not take their computers or the cell phones with us. I reminded some of the boys from βφτ house of our first trips together. They all want that experience again.
    Brad and Jay had never ridden in Traveler©. Jerry and Tim told me that it just wouldn't be the same without Jimmy being there so they moved to Traveler Too©. I had to agree, I think that I miss Jimmy more than anyone I could ever miss, except Cory.
    Turner had tears in his eyes as he held Adam's hand and recalled how I had found him at a small truck stop along I-8 in April of 2004. Alec and Trevor shared the story of finding their dad taking my big cock up his ass and smiling like a kid with a popsicle. I put the old boy into gear and led the parade from the school to Camp Christopher, retreat for boys.
    Cory was driving Traveler Too©, I missed him being with me, but he knows that big boy and how to keep him between the lines. Cas was driving Travel All© while Pete, Eddy, Luke, and Timmy drove school buses. Six staff members from the school drove the other buses as we pulled out of the underground parking garage along the eastside of the school grounds. We were off to the mountains for four days of frolic and fun.
    Above all else I am an overly protective father. I would as soon cut off my right hand as to knowingly allow any of my boys to get hurt. I had Cas walk the isle of Travel All© as he checked that each boy had his seat belt securely fastened. I had all of the boys that were smaller in stature, as well as all boys twelve and under, on the super bus. The school buses are equipped with seat belts, but the boys don't always use them. It is also a fact that Travel All© is more rugged and in the event that there were an accident the boys' chance of coming through without a mark on their precious bodies.
    Cory and I made sure that the boys riding with us were belted in. Those boys in the two RVs are the most vulnerable to injury because of the seating arrangements. They have to sit sideways on the sofas so in an accident their bodies would be forced into an unnatural position that could cause major internal injuries.
    Cory asked if he could drive catch up. I always hate to be the last vehicle in a line, but we did need somebody in a chase vehicle in the event that one of the buses broke down or fell away from the convoy. I didn't know what else the silly faggot had prepared for our trip. We slipped Cas in behind the fifth school bus so that we had good control over all of the vehicles.
    Cory and I rarely argue. All of our arguments are of a minor nature and we kiss and make up rather quickly. We never let the sun go down on an argument so we never go to bed angry with one another. The boys that live in our house have seen us when we get at cross purposes. They seem to take an interest in the outcome. I learned that some of them were wagering on how long it would take for us to make up. I wagered with Cory as to how many swats with my hand on their bare butts it would take before their glutes glowed a bright red.
    Cory had been spending an hour or two at the large parking beneath the cliff. I don't question him as to what he does. He is an adult with a very fine wife and two beautiful children, and he is my partner for life. I found out what he had been up too as we rolled the convoy of school boys across town.
    I caught a light just about to turn yellow at a large intersection as we moved eastward through town. Not wanting to have our convoy stretched out anymore than necessary I slowed to a stop. I learned what Cory had been up to during his nights in the garage. He had programmed the computers for the air horns to work his magic.
    I had my window open so I was able to hear the beginning of his concert.Traveler Too© started with the opening strains of Beethoven's fifth symphony. It was quickly followed by Travel All© playing the next stanza, then my horns joined in. Those around us that could hear the concert received a real treat. No one set of horns played the entire piece, but the three sets seemed to roll the music around in a synchronized symphony. As the light turned green I saw many people standing outside of stores and on the sidewalks applauding.
    I tried to move on with the minimum of stopping, not an easy trick in Tucson. Our traffic lights are computer controlled so that if a vehicle is doing the speed limit when he passes through a green light the driver can expect to hit every light along his path green as well. Sometimes a little adjustment to speed needs to be applied, but he seldom needs to come to a full stop.
    That doesn't hold true for a block long convoy of forty foot long buses. The lights are timed to only allow about ten to fifteen cars pass through an intersection before changing color again. We had to do some serious defensive driving. We made it through town with only having to make the one stop, but I think that it was more plain dumb luck than driving skill.
    Once out of the traffic our line stretched out and Cory had the horns going to entertain all of us, the people along the road, the animal that we met, and a few hundred animals that we couldn't see, but they could hear us.
    Nolan heard us. How could he not? His jeep was parked to the side of the road as he stood at the control box for the open gate. Cory set the horns off with a few bars of Dixie. I called Chrisy to look up at the opening in the adobe archway over the entrance. A new wrought iron sign proclaiming, 'Camp Christopher' in twelve inch tall letters set to the curve of the arch. The second line said, 'RETREAT FOR BOYS' in four inch block letters. I caught just a glimpse of pride on the boy's face.
    We circled the wagons in front of the old ranch house, away from the construction that was in full swing on the new dormitories. With all of that construction going on it was not possible for Nolan to gather and saddle four hundred horses. We had discussed it and I had told him that for this first trip that the boys would walk up the mountain.
    The mountain camp is almost a mile up from the ranch proper. The trail to it is just over three miles long. Every boy was given a twenty four ounce bottle of water with the strong admonition that they were not to toss it aside when it was empty or they would spend the weekend with the empty bottle shoved up where the sun wouldn't shine on it.
    I had asked that the boys' monitors make sure that all of the boys had on blue jeans and sturdy shoes for the long walk. My most pressing fear was the altitude. The camp is almost a mile and half above sea level. Some of the boys would find breathing difficult for them. They are young and, for the most part, is solid physical condition. We have a few newer boys that carry more weight than they should, but since they have been at the school they have been working out and are losing that tonnage. We do not allow a sedentary lifestyle for any student. Obesity is unheard of in our school.
    The only words that I heard as we made the march up the mountain were words of joy and elation at being able to get out into nature. I had already learned that there were more than just a few boys that had never been for a walk in the woods, let alone ever gone camping. Every swinger in the group was excited to be on the journey.
    We stopped for a breather at the cliffs. The boys' wide eyes and gleeful conversation convinced me that I had done a good thing. Camp Christopher is far to the east of Tucson so the town can not be seen from the cliffs. However the panoramic vista that lay beyond the foot of the mountain was exciting to everyone. I heard some boys comment that they wished that they had their cell phones with their cameras in them so that they could record the view. Maybe on the next outing…
    Thirteen year old Ilanipi led a laden pack mule as he and Roddy walked hand in hand beside me. As we neared the six thousand foot mark I had to break out two oxygen bottles from a pack on the mule's back. I placed the masks over the mouth and nose of a stricken boy just long enough for him to recover from his dizziness and queasy stomach. Six boys needed a shot of fresh air before we moved on up the mountain at a little slower pace.

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