TRAVELER
Chapter 220

by CARL DICKSON

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.


You may download the CHEROKEE TONT for free at this link. Dowload it, install it, then enjoy seeing tfe TSAIAGI names in this story. This font is included in thfull version Send an e-mail for it .
    The small Indian village to the north end of the property had a very limited electric service. The power company asked for twenty thousand dollars from each family that wanted to tie into their power system. They would have to install poles and transmission lines from the main line twenty miles away. In addition to that they still had to pay for their monthly usage, but because the village was so remote there would be fee for the company to send someone around each month to read the meters. The people had been making do with an old Wold War II surplus generator for fifty years. The generator was coughing and struggling on its last legs.
    The topography of the open desert land made laying a transmission line underground almost an impossibility. What did make that idea impossible is the amount of heat put off from a line pushing enough current to make the thirty eight mile run. The state's utility commission was not about to sit still and allow a private power line to be run across the desert. I decided to do what Jeremy Irons said in his role as Brom, "it is better to ask forgiveness than permission;" the movie version of Eragon by Christopher Paolini: Fox 2006.—this is not a line in the book.
    When I described the airpark I mentioned the high winds that sweep across the desert. These tree snapping winds often snap power poles into toothpicks in an instant. It seems that every year during our rainy season a whole block of power poles is snapped in two at about fifteen to twenty feet up the pole. Pressure treated wooden poles would be vulnerable to the winds as well as rot and even insects over time. The utility companies that service Tucson are replacing wood poles over thirty feet tall with eighteen inch steel posts set on a reinforced concrete base.
    That would be very expensive, but in favor of good relations with my neighbors I decided to go for it, without state permits. The Indians provided the labor as they dug the foundations for the heavy poles. I was not concerned with disturbing the desert floor like I am with the virgin forest. Altogether it took six weeks for a thirty eight mile run of twenty five foot tall steel power poles to be erected. A single line carrying 14,000 volts was strung over the distance then it was up to the village to take the power from there into their homes. I helped them buy transformers to reduce the power to household current and I helped them locate a few off duty power company linemen to finish the job. By the end of October every home in the village had low cost electricity—I only charged them for the expense that I laid out for the poles and materials. Over twenty years that cost amounts to nothing per month.

    Andy was in his vault Scroogen—you know, swimming through his mountains of money like the famous Disney duck multi-millionaire. Andy is a good businessman that is attentive to his company and his employees. I do think that knowing the silly faggot as well as I do that he likes to sit behind the ten foot mahogany desk that had belonged to his grandfather and rule his kingdom. In my mind's eye I can picture him in a three piece suit with a big cigar hanging from his mouth as he leans back in an overstuffed executive's desk chair and places his feet on the desk. "Get a shovel and go dig me a new oil well," he says in my daydream. Anyone that knows Andy knows that he is not that sort of a person.
    I was planning a trip overseas to visit a very important person in my life when Andy called me. "Hi big boy, want to get together for some hot time?" I do know Andy and this was not like him. Something was up. He asked me to fly to Tulsa, he had a situation that he knew that I could handle. I thought that he was still doing his silly thing so I played with him. One overhearing us would have thought that we were a couple of dingy teenagers as we bantered back and forth and the sexual jokes rolled off our tongues. Then I sat straight up and asked him to repeat his last statement.
    "Chris, my heart aches for him. Kyle is holding him in his arms as he sleeps. The doctors say that he will make a full recovery. He lost a lot of blood, but a transfusion has refilled his tank. Gee man, he is so beautiful. I know that you are just what he needs."
    I listened to Andy tell me the story. This youngster doesn't realize how he has made my job much easier. My Nana had left her estate in my hands to act as the executor. I am to disperse the money that she left for all of her grandchildren and great grandchildren. A large portion of her estate had gone into probate and had been tied up in litigation for the past year. I had been summoned to court for the final reading of the results of that estate. I called Nana's attorney to inform him that I would be in Tulsa the following morning. He told me that he would have everything ready to go before a judge.

    I had already said a very warm farewell to my core man before he left for his classes that morning. The only thing that I needed to do was to get a move on. My bags were packed and waiting. I stepped out from my office and gave my house a heartfelt glance. Some of the boys were bent over the keyboards of their laptop as they delved into their school boy studies. A warm fuzzy passed through me as I blew a kiss in their general direction. I picked up my two suitcases and made my way across the street to my new helipad and my waiting transport to the airport. The boys have named the copter Travelhop©. Don't even try to figure out how the mind of an adolescent boy works, it seldom does.
    I had all of the boys submit their choice for a name for the black and white whirlybird. The three tiniest of my precious family submitted the winning entry. When the names were read off one by one the applause was the judge. The name Travlehop© reeived shouts, whistles and a standing foot stomp that decided the big winner.

    This was my first hop over town to the airport and the waiting FI-2. I should have had a helicopter years ago, it made a nice ride to the airport. No traffic hassles to harry me so that I arrived at my plane in an even state of mind ready to go meet the world.
    Bryan would not turn eighteen until December. He has enough hours to qualify as a pilot on rotary wing aircraft, but still wants his fixed wing license so that he can fly as Pete's co-pilot. I made his day when I asked him to fly me to the airport. Of course he had to have his flight instructor sit in the seat next to him, but that was no step at all.
    Pete would not be making the flight to Tulsa with me, he had a test with the FAA that he needed to be re-certified for the long overseas flight. He was going to England with me. Andy wanted him in Liverpool while I took care of other business for Foss International. Of course I would visit my silly little nephew and Jimmy. I was also eager to see Wayne and Kostja.
    The young King has appointed Wayne as the Captain of the guard. Wayne was solely responsible for saving the King's life from the former Captain of the guard shortly after the coronation. Cullen rewards those that serve him faithfully. Wayne attends every class with Cullen and never lets him out of his sight, except when His Royal Hinney and Jimmy get into a corner somewhere. If they are not in their rooms then Wayne is standing guard nearby.
    Cullen has two more young guards that pose as students as well. They are provided by the secret police service of Munedavia. Cullen hates that name. He says that anything secret sounds sinister and he intends to have the name changed on his next visit before his parliament.
    Kostja has become a valuable asset to Cullen. El talks about him every time that she calls. She says that the young groom keeps the King looking sharp and presentable. Kostja has great taste in clothing and he lays out daily attire for Cullen that is comfortable for an active youngster yet befitting a person of royalty. Cullen is frustrated with his manservant, he wants to get it on with the good looking boy, but Kostja maintains his position as a servant.

    My plane landed in Tulsa and Andy was waiting for me with an air conditioned limo. Kyle was sitting on the rear facing middle seat next to an eager faced boy of around fourteen that had his face glued to the window as he looked out at all of the airplanes. He turned and looked at me and spoke, "I wish that I could fly in an airplane. Are you rich, will you take me for a ride, mister?"
    Andy and Kyle both sucked in their breath and looked at the boy. Andy spoke softly in my ear, "That's the first words he has spoken since it happened."
    Andy called the boy Johnny, for John Doe. No one knew his real name. Heather only knows him as switchblade, his street name. Johnny is of medium coloration with long brown hair. His eyes are a dark brown set deep in a hollow face. His cheek bones are high, suggesting Indian blood? His jaw is square with sunken cheeks. From my angle the boy looked as if he could stand to wrap himself around a few good meals, he was so thin that and emaciated that he made me uncomfortable.
    Switchblade was walking in a park near Mable and Heather's home when the girl spotted him. She called out to him and he stopped to wait for her. As they walked and talked the boy took Heather's hand in his. She felt all tingly inside. She had liked the boy for a long time. He seemed to be a tough character that stayed to himself. He took no guff from anyone. She had seen him get into several fights over the years, but she had never seen him with a weapon. He always bested those that tried to hurt him, even when there were two or three boys at a time.
    As they walked through the park a group of boys crossed their path at a crosswalk. The boys circled about switchblade and began to shove him back and forth around the circle. There were six boys and they were all larger than switchblade. The boy threw the first punch and then he was mobbed. Punches to his face and body brought him to the ground where the toes of heavy booted feet kicked at him repeatedly
    Heather used her cell phone to call for the police, but by the time that they arrived the boy was unconscious and his attacker were nowhere in sight. An ambulance took the boy away, but nobody spoke to Heather or asked any details. Heather called her uncle Andy and cried her heart out as she told the story to him. Andy searched the hospitals and located a juvenile John Doe of approximately fourteen years of age. The boy had internal injuries, but the hospital could not treat him for lack of parental consent, and of course there was the money factor—who was going to pay the bill?
    Andy swung his weight around and had the boy treated. He picked up the hospital bills and watched after the kid. Kyle sat with Johnny each of the three days that he was in the hospital. The boy received two pints of AB+ blood Andy looked at me, "That's your blood type I believe." Johnny received nutrients and medication via an IV tube in the back of his left hand. When he was alert the hospital recommended that he be taken to someone to care for him. Andy told me that the way they said it was more like, 'take him to someone that cares.'
    Of course Andy had DNA samples processed and he hit me hard. "Chris, his DNA shows that there is a ninety percent possibility that the two of you have a common ancestor. It seems probable that he may be descendent from the Choctaw branch of your family tree."
    I took the boy's chin in my hand and looked into his eyes. I was moved as I saw a naked and frightened little boy hiding behind a garbage can in a Nashville all night laundromat. I held out my hand to Andy, he turned his laptop toward me and I looked at all of the data that he had gathered on the boy. I found an interesting page and sent it to the car's printer. When it was printed out I signed it and handed it to Andy. He started the next legal part at once.
    Our limo pulled into the wide circle driveway of Andy's Tulsa house. Andy and Kyle climbed out of the car and left Johnny there staring at me. I held out my hand to him and he quickly moved to the seat next to me and pulled himself up close. I ran my hand through his soft hair as I held him and felt his heart pounding away. "I know that you are frightened. I know that you want to run. I can understand that. I have some business to take care of. If you are still here when I return I will take you for a ride in my airplane."
    "Don't leave me. I can go with you."
    "I don't know your name."
    "I'm Robin Brady, sir."
    "Hello, Robin Brady. I Chris Dickson, I am very happy to get to know you."

    Kyle beeped the siren on an FI armored SUV sitting in the driveway. I was pressing my time for my court appearance. I led Robin to the large JIMMY and strapped him into the passenger's seat. Kyle came up behind me, "Andy says that you need to move. He said to run hot. Here's your escort, can't have you getting lost now can we?" I pulled the tall teenager to me and gave him a cock stiffening kiss. I love the boy. I will always remember his beaten and battered body as Trevor and Alec brought him to me in Mississippi after Hurricane Katrina passed through there.
    "Wow, you some sort of cop or something?"
    "I'm the worst kind of cop. I'm a Federal agent that hunts down people that hurt children. I put them in jail so that they can learn how it feels to have someone larger and stronger push them around."
    "Huh??" I smiled at him as we sped through town with our lights and sirens clearing the way through to the courthouse.

    Nana's attorney was pacing the sidewalk in front of the courthouse. I pulled up alongside of him and stepped from my ride. I walked around to help Robin down from the tall vehicle as the second man from the escort vehicle slipped behind the wheel of the SUV. He moved my ride as the attorney led the way up the stately stairway.
    The clicking of my heels on the marble floors echoed from the stone walls of the long hallway. I was wearing one of the new pair of shoes and a summer weight three thousand dollar, hand tailored suit. It was late October in Tulsa, bad choice of clothing weight. The attorney opened a door to a courtroom before us. I signaled for Robin to be quiet as we took seats to the rear of the courtroom. The judge was speaking to a couple that stood before her.
    Nana's attorney made his way to the court clerk and presented her with a folder of papers. She looked them over as the judge finished the case on which she had been presiding over. The clerk passed the file over to the judge. She looked at it for a moment then called the case to order.
    Other than the insurance and cash in trust funds that Nana had bequeathed to her heirs she had a house and other property. The house was unencumbered with the taxes current. The value of the house was set at one hundred and ninety five thousand dollars.
    After changing his name from Roul to Ralph my great grandfather struck a bargain with a land speculator in Chicago. Nana's share of his estate consisted of half of a large segment of commercial property along the shore of Lake Michigan that is today worth millions of dollars. The property is currently being managed by the son of the sole surviving son of the French immigrant.
    One of Ralph's sons became entangled with Chicago's mob scene and was found floating face down in the Chicago River. A second son was a war causality of the Vietnam War. Ralph's older daughter died in childbirth, the baby was still born. The two remaining sons established themselves in shady real estate speculation and one of them was found sitting in his car with a bullet through his head.
    The sole surviving son lived to be sixty two years of age and made a formidable living for himself managing the lake front property acquired by his father. The business bequeathed to Ralph's surviving children. Nana owned half of a holding company that holds title to a mile and a half of Chicago's most expensive water front property. I am now in joint ownership of that company with a man that Andy reported to me to be a drunk and a free spender. I guess I am going to Chicago to meet my cousin.

    Amongst the wide assortment of jewelry located in Nana's safety deposit box was a two inch cameo broach. I looked at the broach and thought that it looked like the profile of the wife of my great great grandfather, Andre Christophe. I had never learned her name. Another interesting item was a diamond tiara valued at fifteen thousand dollars. I know just the little girl that will enjoy wearing that to formal occasions in her young life. I also planned to offer her the broach. After all it is her ancestor's image on the broach as well.
    I have no use for the other jewelry in the safety deposit box that was valued at fifteen thousand dollars. I will offer the pieces to Heather for her hope chest and sell what she does not want then put the cash into the trust fund set up for the children.

    By the time that I returned to Andy's house he had the full rundown on Robin's bloodline. Robin is the great grandson of my grandfather's mother, Kinta. Kinta had three children, my grandfather, Lester—the grandfather of Steven, and a daughter, Eva—not Mike's grandmother.
    Eva was widowed at thirty nine years of age. She had one son, Robin's father. The father married a woman from the tribe, but they did not get along because of his drinking. His wife died during a serious flu epidemic that swept through the town where she lived leaving Robin on his own at twelve. Not wanting to stay in the small city the boy made his way to Tulsa where he lived by his wiles and ways on the streets. He had no formal education past the sixth grade. I knew that he was coming to Tucson with me. Andy passed me the papers granting me full custody of my young cousin. Now I had to see how he liked flying over the Atlantic and what he would think about having a King for a cousin.

    From time to time I get inquires concerning my plans for Seigy's castle. I have made a promise to the boys that I found there that I would not do anything with it until they were of age and able to collectively make the decision for its future.
    Some of those calling me are relentless, or truly morbid. My most recent caller told me that his investment group wanted the castle as a tourist attraction. I told him that the Hunyad Castle was not that far away and that it was far better situated for tourists. I mentioned the fact that Vlad III of Wallachia—commonly known as Vlad the Impaler—had reputedly been held prisoner in that castle for seven years following his fall from power in 1462.
    That was not good enough for this investment group. They wanted to show the tourist public the place that a direct descendant of Vald Dracul III had died, impaled on a pike. They wanted to let a paying public tour the dungeons where this descendant had held his victims as they awaited their death. He told me that the tourist public would pay large amounts of money to see the torture chambers and instruments of death that had actually been used to kill his victims.
    I blew my stack. I asked him if he knew that the victims that were kept in those dungeons were children. I asked him if he knew that those that fell victim to those items of torture were the castle owner's own sons. He told me that was the kind of information that would make the castle the most valuable piece of property in all of Romania. I suggested that he take a tour of the castle with me so that I could demonstrate on him the use of some of those tools of death.

    I can't seem to rid myself of Hikmat Klien and his network of spies. You may recall the young doctor that showed up at the castle with Petro and Tahl. The next time that I saw that doctor he was hanging by his wrists in the fireplace at the home of my old friend François. I learned that the speechless man had murdered Tahl. Tahl's friend, Petro had cut the young doctor's tongue out. But not soon enough apparently. It seems that the doctor liked to talk about what he had seen at the castle. Now, more than two years after that gruesome event we learned that he had a camera with him and that he had taken some very explicit pictures of the events of that August afternoon in 2007.
    Andy and I sat in the living room of his house in Tulsa as we viewed six new web-sites showing, in graphic detail, the events of that afternoon two years earlier. We had two of the seventy two inch plasma TVs that I had bought for his house during our Christmas visit playing out horrible scenes. I had a small, free program running that splits a screen into as many as nine segments, each television set had three web-sites showing the same thing.
    The doctor had pictures of Seigy up in the air over something in his gut. Ibrahim showed how much pain he was in as he hung around next to his older brother. There was an extra clear shot of me swinging a Scimitar above my head and connecting with the face up neck of one of the bombers that had placed a nuclear device aboard an oil tanker. There was a very clear and graphic closeup of the severed head rolling across the floor streaming blood along after it.
    I had no idea how the man had taken his pictures. I don't recall him being that close to the action. Andy told me that he had already taken down two web-sites with the same content earlier in the day, but that these had just come on line. This is going to be a hard one to kill.
    Next Andy put a picture of that same rolling head on the screen. At the top right corner of the picture was the date and time stamp from Timmy's camera. I moved to the front edge of my seat as the picture from the web-sites appeared side by side. They were one and the same photograph. The picture had been carefully Photo Shopped to remove the date and time stamp, but it was the same angle, the same shot. We have a major security leak in our organization.
    We closely examined each picture on the sites, that were already taken down. Only one other picture that was shown had come from our files. It was the one where Androv pushed long hat pins through the testicles of Dimitri. I remember asking Timmy to get close to show that action and to record the face of Dimitri as the boy that he had emasculated returned a little of his pain to the fat pig that walked upright.
    My soundbud signaled an incoming call. Pete had landed in Tulsa. I told him to come to Andy's house to rest overnight and then we would fly out the next afternoon. I wanted to time our departure so that we would land in England in time for breakfast with my sister and her family.

    I'm not quite sure whom I miss the most, my terrific nephew or my cuddly little editor. It was a given that Jimmy would go with Cullen no matter where the queeing went to college. Cullen pondered over the philosophy, ethics, and theology courses that are required subjects at Georgetown University, a school taught by the Jesuits. He was leaning more toward the University of Oxford, about a hundred and fifty miles by air from his parent's country estate. The main campus is located on the A41 roadway that leads to El's house. It would be very dangerous for Cullen to commute, but it would be a nice drive for me when I visit the boy. That is if I can get over the fact that I have to learn to drive on the wrong side of the road.
    I had a Bell Bell 210 helicopter skinned with the polymer Kevlar, extra thick on its bottom, and had it shipped to him for All Soul's night. His tears almost washed the phone from his hand when he called me the next morning decrying his love and devotion to me. I told him that I just did what any uncle would do for his favorite nephew. He told met that he would do what any loving nephew would do for his favorite uncle when I next visited.
    I had really missed the fop during Halloween. The boys had missed him too. Cullen has started a tradition in the family of happy fairies that has now carried over to the house of happy fairies, bon fire night. I have plenty of land that was easily cleared to prevent a fire from getting away from us. Still I had the fire department on notice and they had sent an inspector to make sure that everything was safe. The local fire station company has become accustomed to the tradition that we started on our local level in 2005.

    I had met with Paul Walker—Head of Station; London; and representatives of HM Secret Intelligence Service at their headquarters on Vauxhall Bridge Road—the A202 highway that runs through London. I had to explain how pictures from our data base of events inside Siegy's castle had appeared on a web-site that had originated in Turkey the previous week Our meetings were supposed to last for two days and I had planned to stay at El and Philby's home on Downing Street.
    Things don't always go as planned. My meetings were concluded in five hours of solid fact sharing. I learned more than I had expected to learn as had the MI-6 people. The anti-terrorist group—C-13—had arranged for me to share my information with their parent group in exchange for the information that Andy and I had gathered.
    Peter Caulfield had spread the word that Foss International was a major player in the world's secret's business and I reinforced his opinion when I opened my folders to the group. I had all of the information that they had with more in depth details. I did learn that Hikmat Klein had a boyfriend. That was a fact that Athos had not uncovered.
    The boy was nineteen and had been a favorite of Hikmat since he was five years old. It was widely believed that the boy was the son of a relative of Hikmat, but no one knew for sure. It had been reported that the boy was kept at a house away from Hikmat's home and that the man visited the boy each morning before school and then again after school often staying until late in the evening with him. The household servants reported that sex between the boy and Hikmat began when the boy turned ten.
    He was currently attending a prestigious school in England. His major subject of study was computer programming. Red flags raised in my head. I slowly removed a sealed envelope from my brief case and silently opened it. I removed four pictures from the envelope and placed them on the table. Two were from FI data bases and two were doctored pictures taken from a web-site. FI had been busy, so far twelve sites had been taken down and their servers seized. New sites were coming on line each hour. No one could trace the source of the material to the servers, which appeared to be innocent pawns. No one had interviewed the boy so no one knew what the boy may know of his benefactor's business dealings. I was going to find out. I have a working relationship with the headmaster of the boy's school and I set up a face to face meeting with him for three days out.

    I didn't want to spend a night alone in London with Robin unnecessarily. I don't know Robin, but he doesn't know me. Paul offered me the use of his new Mercedes ML550, a mid-sized SUV that works on London's narrow, and busy streets. I quickly found out that the extra weight of the composite Kevlar armor was too much for the narrow wheel base of the vehicle. FI technicians had reworked the suspension package, but it was still slow to respond and two heavy hands had to be kept on the steering wheel at all times.
    The factory 5.1L engine had been beefed from 382 H.P. to a hefty 450 H.P. and offered a quick response. That fact alone probably saved my life as I swayed back and forth down the road. A quick tap of the accelerator and I was able to use centrifugal force to keep my tail end following the front end around the serpentine roads. I know that the streets of London were not laid out with automobiles in mind. In fact I doubt that a decent sized wagon could have maneuvered through the morass. Maybe a small cart pulled along by a small pony, but nothing bigger. To add to that everybody was driving on the wrong side of the street. I kept meeting trucks on my side of the road. I learned that they were called lorys, but believe me when I tell you that that name never came to my mind at the time.
    I really wasn't thinking when I took the Mercedes Driving in England is for the natives, not a wide open country lane driver like myself. I really needed four eyes. I had Robin to help me navigate and somehow we made the transition from Vauxhall to Grosvenor and on around to Park La where he pointed to a sign that told me that I was still on the A202. I almost stopped the Merc so that I could get out and shout for joy then I realized that I hadn't yet traveled a full mile in distance from Vauxhall.
    I stumbled along to Cumberland Gate and kept to the left as I prayed. When I straightened out I found myself on Edgware Road where a large sign proclaimed that I was on the A5. That was the first good news of the trip for me. I knew that I could follow the A5 on a meandering trek across England and eventually join up with the A41, the road that would take me to my sister's house and sanity.
    We quit looking at the names of the streets. Robin and I kept our eyes out for the highway markers to be sure that I was still following the A5 out of London. I did notice that the street that I was on kept changing its name every few hundred meters, but I felt secure when I spotted a landmark that Paddy had often driven past. The Edgware Community Hospital. I pushed my foot to the floor and achieved a full forty kilometers per hour as traffic began to clear away somewhat.
    I passed what I remembered as being the final traffic circle in a city built on traffic circles and found myself on Tylers Way running parallel to the M1. I knew that I could make much better time on the divided highway, but I was comfortable on a road that I had at least ridden over. As I approached the spot where the A5 crossover the M1, just below the dam of the Hilfield Park Reservoir, a vehicle passed on my right, which wasn't so very unexpected. I had been trying to acclimate to the fact that everyone drove on the wrong side of the road. But almost instantly another vehicle passed me on the left, sending dirt and small gravel up against my windshield. More disturbing than being passed on both sides at once was what was hanging out of the right rear window of the car that had passed me on the left hand side.
    A man was sitting on the door, his butt firm inside the open window frame. He held a rifle with an RPG—rocket propelled grenade—attached to the business end and he appeared to be trying to get a solid aim on the other car, a Rolls Royce I think. As quickly as the two cars were straightened out on the pavement ahead of me the chase car performed a perfect Pitt Maneuver. The driver of the other car appeared to be an experienced defensive driver as he kept his car under control and turned one hundred and eighty degrees to head straight back toward me.
    The chase car quickly reversed gears and pulled alongside of the first car. The rifleman was taking aim when I saw my chance to involve myself in the affairs of someone else. I was traveling basically north north west at sixty klicks. The other two vehicles were quickly closing the distance between us at about the same speed. The first car was in my traffic lane with the chase car running down the narrow shoulder of the roadway. I had to make a choice.
    I instinctively tightened my seat belt as I moved over toward the shoulder. I pressed my head back against the head restraint of the seat and relaxed my body for the impact. I could only pray that Robin was strapped in as I had placed him. The Merc took the hit with relative ease. I could see the folded hood—bonnet—as it rose up to block my forward view. My car came to an abrupt halt. I opened my car door as I unbuckled my seat belt. All of the defensive driver's training that the FBI had put me through was paying off.
    I had my Smith and Wesson in a two handed aim at the driver's door of the chase car. The rifleman had gone to pieces as the impact sent the chase car sideways into the first car. My mother always told me to keep all of my body parts within the confines of the car. She used to tell me that if we hit something I could loose an arm. The rifleman lost his head, and his pretty little gun was bent in half.
    I jerked the driver's door open and stared into the eyes of a man in shock. I pulled him from the car and got my handcuff onto one wrist. Even in shock the man knew what to do, he bit into a cyanide tablet and died quickly. That almost seemed cliché, cyanide tablets went out with spy novels in the fifties. I didn't know of anybody that still used them.
    The man's symptoms all matched what I had learned of the poison. He eyes fixed on me as the seizures began, then cardiac arrest and death followed in a matter of minutes. "Again the Crown is indebted to you, Sir Chris." I turned to see the eldest son of the Crown Prince looking down at the two bodies on the ground.
    "You are the second Yank to save my life from terrorists." I had read the account of Jack Ryan's dramatic intervention of an attempt on the Crown Prince and his family in Tom Clancy's account of the incident which took place in the street's of London sometime in the fall of 1982. "Sir John received his GBE after that action. How does the Crown reward a man to whom it is already indebted and who already wears the Knight Grand Cross?" The young Prince smiled at me.
    I helped a shaken Robin from the smashed vehicle then we sat down to talk as we waited for a ride home. My Merc was a total wreck. Actually the radiator and motor had escaped any damage. The front end of the hood was folded back and the front bumper was turned down, parts were dragging the ground. It had gotten under the front wheels and that is what caused me to stop so abruptly. The Prince was impressed with the composite Kevlar armor and asked for more information. He has a fine military mind and was able to grasp the basics of the polymer quite readily.
    Neither of us were impressed with the armor on his late car. The engine had taken an armor piercing round into the fuel injector so the car was going nowhere under its own power. Within three minutes of the last gasp of air from our assassin the calvary began to arrive. The Prince and I quickly summed up our conversation before we were surrounded by body guards and cops.

    Helicopters were landing in the field beneath the dam. I was very happy to see that one of them was an FI Sikorsky. The trip to El's house was much safer for England and for me as I sat back in a comfortable executive seat and nursed a cup of hot American coffee. Robin sat with his face glued to the window as he watched England flow by beneath us. The flight crew fawned over me as if I had done something worthwhile. I told them that it was all in a day's work.
    As we circled in to El's house I looked out of the window and saw a large green Sikorsky sitting on the helipad near the front doors. In front of it sat a Bell 210, painted in the royal colors of the country of Munedavia. My pecker lurched in my pants as the thought of some hot BBC played across my mind. My chopper had to sit down a few hundred feet from the Wild Boys aircraft. When the crew chief opened the door for me to disembark my eyes filled with the perfect beauty of Cullen and Chris Martin in an electric golf cart waiting for me.
    As I headed across to the boys they both jumped out of the cart and ran to greet me in my favorite way, with hot boi kisses. Chris got to me first and he got to me very much as he rubbed his harder than hard boi part against my leg and licked my tonsil scars. His hands were all over my body and I felt warm tears on my face as he seemed to be trying to envelop my body with his.
    At last Chris broke away and Cullen took over. I was wobbly kneed, Cullen laughed in my mouth as he held me upright before taking over where his old school chum had left off. I nearly creamed my pants from all of the hot attention that I had missed for over nine hours.
    Cullen whispered in my ear, "You and me are going to do a three way with Chris. Steve is here and he and Jimmy are gonna entertain themselves tonight. I think that Jason and Gary might join them for a frolic, but I'm not gonna worry 'bout that 'cause I got two Chris's to skewer me like a roasting pig. Do you think that I am a cum pig, Uncy?"
    Robin stood by with his mouth hanging open. "Do you always kiss boys like that. I saw you kiss Kyle and now…Are you gay or something?"
    "I am as gay as a gay guy can be."
    "Kewl," was all he said as he climbed into the cart to sit beside me.

    My visit with El was great. I always enjoy being around her. She is so full of life and is always happy. The two of us learned the reason that Robin fled from his home after his mother's death. She had protected him from other's that want to harm gay boys. With her gone he felt vulnerable to the constant harassment that he saw being dealt out to other boys that were soft spoken or light in their shoes.
    He made his way into Tulsa and found himself a park that provided some shelter. He scrounged each day for food from leftovers that people left after eating their lunch in the park. The occasional family picnicers provided a feast for the starving boy. One afternoon he was walking the the streets in quiet little area. He stopped in front of a store and picked up a piece of metal that was lying on the ground. Somebody yelled out, "Look out!! That kid has a switchblade."
    Robin turned to see who yelled. He had the metal piece in his hand as he faced three older teens. The boys turned and ran away. Robin smiled to himself, his reputation was made.
    A police car rolled up and Robin was thrown against a wall and searched for a weapon. He had already discarded the piece of metal. When no weapons were found the police began to badger him. They wanted to know his name and where he lived. He told them that his name was switchblade and that he lived where the wind blew. The police officer was about to take Robin to lockup when he got a radio call of a 211 in progress. The officer turned and got into his car and drove away. Robin laughed. His reputation just got better.
    He had never had a sexual experience, but all of his thoughts were of gay sex. When he got hungry on the streets he thought about maybe sucking the dick of some old guy that would pay him enough money for him to buy himself something to eat.
    It took three days for him to make up his mind, actually his stomach made it up for him. He had learned of a place where boys stood on a street corner waiting for someone to drive up and offer them money for sex. He went to that street corner. The boys already there were cautious of Robin. His good looks and youth challenged them. They told him to move down the street away from them a bit. That turned out to be to Robin's good fortune.
    In a short time a car pulled up alongside the road and slowly drove past the row of boys as the driver appeared to be checking them out. He rolled his window down and called a youth of about thirteen over before he looked up and spotted Robin a hundred feet down the road. The man rolled his window up and drove away while the boy that he had called to his car cursed after him.
    He pulled up to Robin and asked him what his specialty was. Robin had no idea of what the man meant. After talking for a few minutes the man realized that he had a true virgin in his sights. He asked Robin if he had ever had his dick sucked. Robin told him no. The man offered Robin twenty dollars to let him suck his dick. Robin was so hungry that he jumped at the chance.
    As they drove away Robin's stomach growled and he moaned. The man looked at him and aske if he were sick. Robin told him, he was just hungry. He had nothing to eat for three days. The man laid a hand on Robin's knee. When Robin didn't pull away the man knew he had a winner. He drove to an all night café and bought Robin a cheeseburger with french fries and a chocolate malt.
    The man asked Robin where he was going to sleep. Robin told him that he would find a dark doorway or sleep in a storm culvert. The man took Robin to his home. He undressed the virgin boy and admired his perfect young body. He led Robin to a hot tub with bubbling water and lots of suds. Robin loved siting in the water. He liked it even more when the man sat beside him and placed his arm around him.
    Robin was as happy as he had ever been. The man was only about twenty and he was very good looking. Robin moved closer as the man wrapped his hand around Robin's cock. Robin returned the favor. The man helped a very erect pre-teen from the water and dried him with a large, fluffy white towel. He wrapped the towel around the boy and lifted him into his arms then he carried Robin to his bed.
    Robin was happy with Marv for almost two years until Marv wanted to bring a friend in for some three way action. Marv told Robin that his friend was sixteen, but Robin was afraid. He ate himself a large breakfast and left the house. He was gone for three days. He slept in the midst of some bushes in the park that he had first found on his arrival in the large city. He gathered cardboard boxes to protect him from the wet ground and the sudden rains that Tulsa is noted for. He cruised the park throughout the day, always being alert for police officers.
    After two or three days he was so hungry that he returned to Marv's house. The man took him in with no questions. Robin had learned to love the oral sex. He liked the feel of Marv's large cock in his mouth and the taste of his cum was amazing.
    Robin blushed as he looked at El. She patted his hand and squeezed it with a smile on her face. Robin drew in a deep breath and looked at the table as he told us that the things that Marv did to him made him feel all tingly I wanted to be sure that Marv had not hurt the boy or forced him in anyway so I asked him what sort of things Marv did to him. He said that he licked and sucked all over his body. He said that it tickled when Marv sucked his toes and licked his feet. He didn't much like it when Marv bit his nips, but Marv toned that down when Robin complained a few times.
    He said that his favorite was when Marv licked his poopy hole. He would lick there for the longest time and then he would put a finger up inside of him and touch something that really made him go wild. He said that Marv would then spread Robin's legs really wide and get his whole face in between them so that he could push his tongue deeper inside the boy. Robin really liked that.
    I asked him if Marv ever stuck anything else inside of his butt. He shook his head no. He said that he would get two fingers inside of him and start touching that one spot then he would suck him at the same time. He said that was what they were doing the first time that he squirted. He said that he felt like his body and soul had separated as he drifted into the clouds. He said that was the best feeling ever and that Marv did that to him two or three times every night after that. He said that Marv liked his cum as much as he liked the man's juice.

    Cullen and Jimmy came rushing in. I had not seen Jimmy since my arrival. I swear that the boy is getting better looking every day. It always hurts me when a boy grows up into a man. Something about them changes, I think that it is the smell. Okay, so I like boi sweat. I can live with my face in a sweaty boi crotch. I love to lick their tender armpits and…oh well, you get the idea. We were talking about Jimmy, not my likes.
    Cullen came directly to me and sat in my lap. He threw his arms about my neck and planted a toe jam searching kiss on me. He reached for my cock, but I pushed his hand away. There is just so far that I will go when my sister is watching.
    "Hey, hunky uncy, when are going to let Robin come up and meet us? He is my cousin too, isn't he?"
    "Well…actually no. He is my cousin on my mother's side. But I bet that you will make him a kissing cousin."
    "Kewl, let's go, dude." He grabbed Robin by the hand then grabbed Jimmy's hand and the three boys ran from the room.
    El called for Agnes. Agnes came with a cart laden with a teapot and a coffee pot. She had some of her fluffy pastries as well. Just to be polite I took one of the pastries, then I thought that I should be more polite as I took two more.
    El stirred her tea as she stared at me. Finally she asked, "Is that what gay sex is? Is that what Cullen is into? I always knew that he liked boys, I just never thought about what it was that he did with boys. I mean all of that oral sex and sticking fingers into rectums."
    "El, don't think about it that way. Two guys don't do anymore than a girl guy couple. Sex is sex. The mechanics don't really matter. I am sure that you and Philby do much the same thing. Don't answer that. It is just a statement.
    "Cullen is a very happy little fairy. He is a fine man with a good head on his shoulders. You have raised him well. He is a great King and his people love him. It really makes no difference with whom he crawls in bed. Both of us want to see him marry and bring forth an heir, but he is young and there is time.
    "I am gay. I lived an exclusive gay life before I met Ugitsiha. Now I have two wonderful baby sons and a stepson that I dote on. Give Cullen time."
    "You also have RD. He is such a fine boy."
    "Oh, I didn't tell you. RD and Quemela announced their wedding plans. You will have to come to his wedding."
    "I will. When is it to be?"
    "I don't know that the date is fixed yet, but don't worry, I will send a plane for you and Philby and put you up at my country club in a first class suite."
    "Everything about you is first class, sweet. Our father did a fine job of raising you." It was my turn to blush.

So there you have it. Is your friction enhanced by my fiction?
Tell me about it at fisherman@iname.com
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