The Boys of Nodaway Ridge
Copyright© 2014 – Nicholas Hall
The Boys of Nodaway Ridge - Chapter Eight – "Justice is to give to every man his own."-(Aristotle)
Sorting through some papers on my desk, after glancing at my watch for the umpteenth time, I came across a folder which should've been filed, but I've been pre-occupied with other matters. It was a case that was inactive and I'd reviewed a couple of weeks ago with every intention of returning it to my client file.
"Winfield, David" was the client's name; a seventh grader last year at Centerville Middle School and a good student, good lad, from a good family who farmed an eighty acre patch of ground south of Nodaway Ridge. They, like most families, especially the farmers, in our area, were not well-to-do, but James Winfield, Sr. was a hard worker, serious, but fair mind you, and had his farm all paid for.
James Jr., David's older brother, seemed to be the antithesis of his father; not lazy, smart, but didn't take life quite as seriously. I suspected James Jr. inherited his deviltry and mischievousness from his mother's side of the family. He did nothing really bad, destructive, or harmful to another person, but just enough to keep you on edge around him. Actually, the lad was a hoot, but be cautious my friend, be cautious, lest you're the one being "hooted." James Jr. was a talker; a gifted talker, an intelligent talker and could sweet talk his way into or out of any situation. He sort of reminded me of my Frank. From what I'd heard and seen, those lips of James Jr. could work magic and not necessarily for conversation, if you catch my drift!
I laughed to myself remembering when Frank and I had our first encounter with James Winfield Jr. a couple of years previously, and he wasn't alone.
Frank and I had a hankering for fresh catfish, so one evening in mid-June, we drove out to our old fishing hole and campground. Not only was it an excellent spot to fish, but secluded as it was, a dandy place to fuck, to boot! Hidden from the gravel road by trees and a long walk down a narrow path, the clearing near the river was perfect and well-used- for fishing! There was another truck parked in the pull-off opening alongside the road as well, but we decided to take our chances anyway. Frank gathered up poles, bait, and tackle while I retrieved a tube of lube from the glove compartment and an old blanket from behind the seat. (It's better to use an old blanket when rooting about on the ground, saves the wear and tear, along with dirt and cum stains, on a new one.)
There was a light breeze blowing in our faces as we walked down the path to the clearing. Frank, leading the way, stopped suddenly and pressing his finger to his lips cautioning me to silence, pointed up ahead toward the clearing. I could hear what he heard; people talking, young people, boys it was and not visiting about "what a nice day it is" or "did you go to church on Sunday" type of conversation; you know, the type you'd have while visiting grandma and sipping iced tea.
We crept silently forward, cautious in our approach, not wanting to announce our presence to whoever was having a tryst in the trees. We halted behind a rather large and concealing maple tree and peered around it.
Kneeling on the ground, bare-assed naked, hard-on jutting up toward his stomach, was James Jr., nose buried in the bushy pubes of an equally buff Patrick Ryan, who was doing his damnedest to fuck James' ass through his mouth, sliding his white pecker in as deep as his crotch would let him and withdrawing for another assault. James, meanwhile while applying more vacuum to the plunging penis in order to drain the swamp, so to speak, was also doing his due diligence to Patrick's asshole by thrusting his middle finger in and out of that wrinkled rosebud in rhythm with Patrick's poking.
He hit the right spot and sucked appropriately because Patrick squealed, "That's it," clenched his ass cheeks together and began shuddering. When he'd shot his load and James consumed it, James stood, walked behind Patrick, and gently bent him over. Patrick, hands on knees, looked over his shoulder and smiled as James mounted him and in one long, steady push, seating himself in that warm tunnel until he was balls deep and began fucking in earnest. Clearly, this was not the first encounter of the close kind these boys ever had!
God, the scene was hot! Frank stepped behind me, slipped his hand down the front of my pants, and began fondling my own stiff cock. His hand was resting in the crack of my ass, still covered by cloth, but not for long, I thought if this continues.
One thing about a young man lost in the fervor of the moment, consumed by lust for his boyfriend, and driven hard by hormones, it doesn't take him long to unload his balls and man did he! James moaned, pushed forward, leaned over Patrick's back, and gripped him tightly with arms wrapped around his chest as he spewed his load up into Patrick's accepting and familiar bowels.
Then, wouldn't you know it, Frank sneezed!
James pulled out faster than a fart from a prepubescent boy in church, the end of his still pulsating pony dripping strings of wet, sticky droplets of cum. The head of his stocky stiffness would twitch with each decreasingly smaller spurt!
"SHIT!" he cried, bringing Patrick to an upright position, along with his own cock, both cock and boy swinging in our direction where from the intruding noisy sneezed interrupted their intense coitus, and he repeated the exclamation, only in a softer voice.
Frank, stepping forward an in an attempt to diffuse an intensely hot situation, offered, "Going fishing boys? I see you have your poles out and ready."
By then, James and Patrick were effused in a deep, red blush, embarrassed by the delicate situation they were caught up in. They knew us and had to know we were a gay couple, if they listened to any of the gossip in town, but they really didn't expect to find us here and, most definitely didn't want others to know they were here doing what they were doing!
Frank, smiling, stepped forward, wrapped his arms around each naked boy, pulled them close to him, saying reassuringly, "Don't be embarrassed boys and cover your crotches like that. You really have nice sized dicks so there's no reason to be ashamed. In fact, you're almost as big as me, but we're not going to have a `if you show me yours I'll show you mine' session right now."
While they dressed, we visited and convinced them their secret was safe with us; after all, Frank and I were lovers from early on and knew very well what cruel epitaphs could be tossed in the direction of "queer" or gay guys. Frank also mentioned, if they were interested, there was a group of boys with the same sexual interests as theirs and they might want to get together once in a while. There was always room for more. The upshot of it was the Boys of Nodaway Ridge gained two new members.
We only saw James and Patrick on occasion while they were in town and they waved and smiled each time, thankful, I think, to have someone they could visit with if they ever needed to. Then, early in the fall, a couple of months after school started, Frank and I were sitting in Maude's Café finishing our coffee, when per chance, I glanced out the restaurant window. Peering back at me were three, grinning faces! Frank looked at the same time and said softly, as he whistled through his teeth, "I think my Love, here comes trouble."
Shuddering at the thought of what dire fate may be awaiting us, I none-the-less motioned to the boys to come in. James Jr., Patrick, and David all paraded in, pulled up chairs, and joined us at the table. Once situated, each boys butt wiggled in the chair until comfortable, they looked at me expectantly, evidently waiting for me to break the silence.
"And," I asked, "what might bring you lads here, other than to cause us distress, upset our stomachs, and increase the sale of antacids?"
James, the leader of this trouble-dumping trio, spoke up, "We really need to talk to you about something," and looked at the youngest member of the group, his brother David.
I knew it! Something was afoot and Frank and I were going to be caught up in it! I hoped it wasn't anything serious, such as a bad case of "runny nose" from fucking some infected asshole. Furrowing my brow, I realized this was Friday and all three of them should have been in school.
"Why aren't you two in school?" I asked James and Patrick, not really expecting a straight forward answer and was surprised I got one.
"We called in sick and were going to go quail hunting. There's some nice covey's south of town and we thought NRS could use to distribute to some of the older people. They like a fresh quail every now and again."
Well, that's a noble thought and certainly worth skipping a day of school for, unless it's duck hunting. I was about to ask David the same question, noting him sitting quietly, swinging his feet rather nonchalantly. One might think he'd be totally innocent of any misdoings until you closely into his eyes and saw that same mischievous intent present as his older brother. A chill cascaded down my spine since I was uncertain how many more encounters I could endure since it would appear once James and Patrick trekked off to college, there was a successor waiting in the wings!
"You're not in school," Frank pondered, instead of waiting for me to ask, and pointed at David, "and for what reason?"
"I got suspended!"
"Was it for pulling some girls hair, murder, mayhem, or whatever other little skills you might have learned from your older brother?" he continued.
"Mom and Dad are off to Keokuk today and I was getting ready to leave the house to go get Patrick, when the school called to come and get David. He had a bit of a dustup on the school bus," James quickly intervened.
James tinged a bit red about the face as he told us and David, little urchin that he appeared to be, smiled sweetly. I wasn't about to let this drop with that explanation, so I pursued the issue. All signals tingling in the back of my neck cautioned me let sleeping dogs lie, or in this case a smiling troll and his henchmen, but the lawyer in me prevailed and I dove into the abyss.
"Pray tell me, young Master David, what type of `dustup' could a sweet, innocent boy like you possibly get into on a school bus that would get him suspended."
The two older boys rolled their eyes and Patrick made sort of a gagging sound - not retching mind you, but close enough! My stomach became queasy, I swallowed hard, and then too willingly, took the bait. Before you could say "Bob's your uncle and Fanny's your aunt" David began his sordid tale.
"There's this high school kid on my bus who's tormented the hell out of me all year. I just about had it with him. Once I got on the bus, he would poke me, pinch me, call me names, like `little white snake' referring to my, uh, weiner, and such and if I tried to move he would grab me and give me a wedgie."
"A `whoosie'?" Frank inquired.
"You know a wedgie; he grabs your boxer shorts from the back by reaching behind your butt and pulls them up, real hard, filling your ass crack with underwear and forcing your balls up to your belly button."
I squirmed uncomfortably in my chair; Frank just grinned.
"I can see you've acquired the same eloquence and descriptive usage of the English language as your older brother. I understand, fully, now what a wedgie is."
"Yeah," continued David. "you just can't stand up on the bus, drop your pants, pull your underwear out of your butt crack and rearrange your front package without everyone staring at you."
No, thought I, that wouldn't be wise!
"When you get off of the bus at school, after getting a wedgie, you feel like a walking billboard for a bakery and an ice cream parlor."
I raised an eyebrow and was about to question his statement since I was entirely confused by his analogy when, low and behold, he carried on in explanation.
"You know, filled buns in the back and crushed nuts up front."
"Were they cream filled buns?" conjectured Patrick.
That did it! I stopped the dialogue with what I thought, at the time, was a logical question in order to get some more details and sort out the problem.
"David, if the boy gave you the wedgie, then why, pray tell, are you the one suspended from school?"
"I don't know what he'll get once he comes back to school, but I got my one day for what I did to him."
It was a precipitous slope I was standing on, but I just couldn't resist peering over the edge.
"And what did you do to him?"
My hesitation in asking David such a question was rooted in the fact that he was, after all, James' little brother.
"James and I had a talk about Squish and what he was doing to me and James said I should be careful because `Mr. Shit-for-brains' is a lot bigger than me and meaner than sour owl shit. Those were James' words ---- not mine!"
Stop right here! Did I hear David call this boy "Squish"?
"David, why is this boy named `Squish'?"
Patrick, being ever helpful, immediately stepped to the plate in this particular ball game and became the pinch hitter.
"When Squish, his real name is Henry Perkins, was in junior high math class a few years ago, the teacher called him up front to do a problem on the board. Squish always thought he was clever, you know, kind of a smart-ass. He was a bully and really pestered the hell out of people. Anyway, this particular day, after he worked his problem, he turned around and grinned at the rest of the class from behind the teacher's back. Then he moved over, quietly, and stood behind her. When she was looking at the rest of the class, explaining the problem, Squish thought he would just fart real loud to surprise her and get a laugh out of the class. Well, instead of gas, he farted out a big poop. Before he could head for the door, the teacher ordered him to his desk. When he got there and sat down, the lump in his tighty-whities went sort of "squish' and ever since, that's what we call him."
Considering the young man and what he had done to David, I thought the name was quite appropriate!
"Please continue, David," I said gently to the now visibly nervous young man in front of me and shot a menacing glance at Frank who was doing his damnedest to keep a straight face.
"James said to do something to distract him so as to catch him off guard if I was going to do something to him. But, whatever I did, make certain he'd remember it and steer clear of me in the future."
"Yeah, but I didn't say maim the blithering idiot," grunted James.
James' statement suddenly caused me some concern! This whole episode on the bus was getting more and more complicated and the end result might be something I really didn't want to hear, but knew I had to.
"Anyway, today on the bus, on the way to school, he grabbed me when I got close the back of the bus, stood in the aisle so the bus driver couldn't see him, and reefed up on my boxers. He pulled them up so high there had to be armpit sweat stains on the elastic waistband. Man, that did hurt! Then he sat down right in front of me and acted so smug like. I wanted to cry, it hurt so bad, but piss on him, I wouldn't give him the satisfaction. My tummy was rolling, I hurt so bad."
Tears welled up in David's eyes as he was telling me the story and I was about to offer him a consoling word, when James suddenly rose from his chair, stepped over to David's, picked him up, sat down, and placed him on his lap. James hugged him and gently kissed the top of his head, comforting him, reassuring him, then began rocking him back and forth and whispering in softly in his ear.
David changed from being the outwardly confident, cocky young man to a distressed and suffering seventh grade boy seeking shelter from his older brother's arms. He nestled in closely to his brother's chest, looked up at James, and kissed him on the cheek. Unembarrassed by such a tender show of emotion, he just smiled, hugged David all the closer, and kissed him back on the side of his head.
Encouraged by his brother's support, David muffled a sob and began again.
"Mom had fixed my favorite breakfast - biscuits and sausage gravy and I ate a bunch. I knew then what I was going to do. I remembered James saying I had to distract Squish, so I leaned forward and said to the jerk, `Look at the big tits on that girl up front'. Like the dork he is, he craned his head forward so he could see better and when he did, I stood up, leaned over, put my finger down my throat, and ralphed all of my biscuits and gravy down the back open neck of his shirt."
I thought I'd gag at the very thought of what had occurred on that bus and, looking at Frank, I could see his Adams-apple wiggling a little also. I wondered how many other children on the bus vomited shortly thereafter. Children have an innate habit of throwing up after someone else does. I can only imagine the mess on that bus with all of the gagging and retching going on!
"He squealed like a stuck pig, spun around, and shouted, `What the hell did you do that for, you little shit' and I grinned at him and stuck out my tongue. That really must've pissed him because he stuck his right hand over the bus seat and gave me the finger; you know, the middle nasty one!"
"I don't know why I did what I did next, but when his finger was stuck in the air at my face, I reached out, grabbed it, and snapped it over the back of the seat. God, it cracked just like breaking a piece of wood over your knee. He let out the most God-awful wail! It must've hurt like the dickens --much worse than a wedgie, I'll bet!"
"The bus driver pulled the bus over to the side of the road and stopped the bus. Squish was flopping and writhing in the seat screaming about how I had attacked him and maimed him for life. Not like he didn't have nine other fingers compared to my two balls that he delighted in hurting! The driver tried calming him down, but it just didn't work so he radioed school for someone to come out and take Squish to the doctor and call his parents."
"It was just awful; Squish screaming and his finger just hanging there, kind of limp-like. I never really meant to hurt him. All I wanted to do was make him leave me alone. All year, he just wouldn't, no matter how much I begged or pleaded with him."
Tears began flowing down David's face again and again, James hugged him closely and whispered something in his ear.
"Why didn't you tell the principal or your folks?" I asked sympathetically.
"I know I should've, but I thought I could handle it myself. I mean, Squish was always messing with my underwear and how do you tell the principal or your folks some guy keeps playing with your ass? I finally told James last week and he told me what I should do. Now, I am afraid his folks will sue us and Dad will lose the farm."
"Well," I offered confidently as I reached over and patted him on the knee, "If it comes to a law suit, I'll represent you, for free, and we will see who loses what, so don't you worry none."
Somewhat consoled, the three lads rose to leave and, Frank suddenly said, "Boys, I don't think you have anything to worry about; Nate will handle it just fine. Besides, I don't think `Squish's' daddy will ever even think about filing a law suit." Smiling at them, he continued, "You know, James and Patrick, the Boys of Nodaway Ridge watch out for their own," and winked.
Now, they really did leave happy, but me, not so happy! Turning to Frank, I snorted,
"You don't know that the kid's dad won't file a lawsuit. If he does, then what will the boys think?"
Putting his arms around me, he said confidently, "Love, Master Henry Perkin's daddy is an over-the-road trucker and I do his taxes every year. I don't think he'd want to risk an IRS audit questioning his expense accounts."
To be continued.
Thank you for reading "The Boys of Nodaway Ridge – Chapter Eight–"Justice is to give to every man his own."-(Aristotle)
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or locales is entirely coincidental.
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