Warning, Disclaimer, etc.

The following story contains graphic descriptions of  tender feelings,  love, and sex between two consenting, adult males.   If this turns you off, if you are below the legal age to read about it in your locale, or if you are against freedom of the press for adults who WANT to read such stories, LEAVE!

The Bagboy
Chapter 5
by Bob Nelson

"GREG!"  I whispered hoarsely.   "Are you OK?  Are you ALIVE? ~ ~ ~ ~  PLEASE speak to me!"   {My God, we'd been SHOT!   At least I had, OW-- in the right side.  Pant, breathe shallow.  Don't move -- the bastard who shot us may still be out there.   But I HAVE to find out if Greg was shot, and how badly he's hurt!}   "Greg?  Please..."

"Bob, I'm OK.  But I felt the bullet hit YOU.    IT hurt ME almost as BAD - - - - the way I care about you!!  WHERE did it hit you?  How BAD is it?   Oh, Shit, shit, DAMN him, who...??  I'm sorry!  Tell me, Bob."

I squeezed out,  "Hit me right side, below ribs, not in gut..  I'll see.   Hell -- all bloody and slippery --- smell -- like raw beef.. . . I can't tell. . . . We CAN'T move!    Guy tried -- to get us both -- with one shot."

I was done talking.  It was hurting too much, REALLY hurting! -- and my breath was coming in short pants.   Earlier I tried to breathe shallow, but I was hyperventilating now.   SLOW- down my breathing;   keep it  shallow.   {Thank GOD Greg was OK and not shot!  Oh, yes, THANK you, God.   Please let him get out of this unhurt!!}   He was beneath me, and we'd fallen into a little hollow downhill from a big, old oak.  Some leaves and mulch had settled around us when we hit the dirt.  Not enough to hide under, but we had to stay still -- completely still.  Maybe the guy wouldn't shoot again if he thought he'd killed us both...

For ten minutes we held ourselves completely still. Ten agonizing minutes while I got over the numbness of the impact.  Slowly it began to hurt, more, and MORE, and MORE!  But I could NOT move, cry, or even moan.  I could feel Greg under me gradually tense as I tightened up to keep from moving or making a sound.  Oh, I just felt his hand -- OW! -- It was right there ON MY WOUND!

I gritted out a strained whisper,  "GREG!  WHY's your hand --   THERE?"  

"Bob, as soon as we hit the ground I realized my left hand was almost on your wound.  I felt you bleeding pretty badly, so I put my hand over your wounds and squeezed, doing it while the tissue was still in shock and wouldn't feel it.   SORRY it's hurting now, but I have to keep PRESSURE on your  puncture wounds!  Oh, I wish I could make it quit hurting, instead of making it hurt MORE !!"

I could hear the anguish in his voice.   He was about to lose it, torn between stopping the bleeding and making it hurt SO bad... but his extreme emotion popped me out of JUST feeling the pain.  I realized we were in DEEP SHIT and Greg was doing his best for us both.

"OK, Greg....  I can hang in.... Thanks!"

"Oh, God!!! PLEASE don't let him die; let ME, instead!"

"NO, Greg.  I WON'T die - - Live for you -- us!  I'll - - survive.   Older guys - - - did, more often  - - -  in two wars.   Huh - - - UGH!!!  Can't  talk --- now."

"OK, I'll do the talking.   Is it getting worse, hurting MORE?  Nod yes or no, or just look me in the eyes.  I CAN understand your eye language, you know."

I looked at him and tried to tell him it was gradually getting worse, but I was able to ignore some pain.  I WILL survive.

"You just told me you hurt, but you CAN go on.  Better not move you, but you plan to live.. no, surVIVE."

I sent him a  look to signal, "You got that right, Babe!"

Greg gave me a look of total TLC, heaved a sigh, and said in a calmer whisper,  "No telling WHERE that bastard is.  We know he was uphill, as the impact of the shot knocked us down hill.  If he'd been directly uphill he couldn't have hit either one of us through the oak tree.  I don't know if he's still there ready to shoot again, can't see us now, or can't tell if he killed us both.   He might have even left after he fired the shot."

I responded with my "worried" look, furrowing and raising my eyebrows.

"Yes, I'm worried, too, but all we can do is wait.  Meanwhile I have to keep pressure on your wound."

My eyebrows must have gone up expressively.

"SORRY,Bob!  But while you were still in shock, I reached under your shirt to find how seriously you were wounded.  The bullet went about  two inches in from your side, lower than all your ribs but above your hip bone, so it only went through soft tissue.  Not the lungs, thank God!   All we can do is hope and pray that it didn't tear up much on the way through.   We WILL make it!  I will NOT leave you!"

All this communication had been in whispers, getting quieter since my first loud, hoarse whisper to Greg and his answer.   I was trying to concentrate on breathing quietly, trying to will myself down into a quiet, detached survival mode.   Now I could begin to feel his hand on my side.   I concentrated on the good feeling of his hand, needing it there to prevent blood loss, shock

How long had we huddled there behind the oak?   Maybe I dozed, passed out or spaced out.  It seemed that the daylight was different... maybe an hour or two had passed?  I started to raise my head.. OH!  SHIT!  That HURT!!!  I gasped in pain as it hit me that I had two HOLES in me.   I stopped breathing and tensed.

"What's wrong, Bob???" he anxiously whispered.

"HURTS!!!"  I grunted out.   It hurt too much to talk more.   But I guess I was too loud.

"Awright you quare, faggy homo-sex-youals!   Guess Ah din't get you bofe!   But jes' be patient.  Ah WILL!!!"

The words of our attacker echoed through the quiet grove.   Now we knew!   A hate crime -- We were miles from nowhere, and NO ONE knew where we were!!

"The Fucker must have seen us kiss - or almost kiss,  and decided he needed to destroy us perverts!"  Greg whispered quietly into my ear.   "But we WILL survive, and more than that, we will bring him to justice, in a court which will NOT pander to these assholes!!!   I go to church and school with too many of them, and half of them are total hypocrites!   Hang on, Bob!   Anything I can do to make  you hurt less?  Don't talk.  Look at me."

I grimaced and tried to let him know we'd better stay as quiet as we could.  With that type of hate-crazed vigilante, ANYthing could set him off.   All we could do is wait --- but how could we get away??

"OK, Bob, I have to move my hand that's acting as a pressure bandage.  I can't feel anything with it  -- it's gone to sleep."

{Oh, God, let me help Greg help us.  I CAN'T holler or moan.  He has to move me and it will hurt.  OK!}
I gave Greg a look of "OK, do what you gotta do."

As Greg slid his hand off my wound a sharp pain STABBED through me but I bit my lip to keep from making a sound.  His other hand slid in, then he clamped down.  {OWWWWWW!   OH!}  panting in shallow breaths, but
it was starting to settle down.   Things started to feel OK... kind of detached,  kind of loose, wandering ....
gray......  closing in ...  tunnel vision......

"Bob!"  Greg whispered urgently... but I was apparently unconscious.

I came to.  OW!  I hurt!!! - but clamped my teeth down onto my lower lip.  CAN'T yell or moan!   "Greg?" I whispered, "how long -- was I ---- out?"

"Bob?  BOB!  Oh thank God you came to.  I was terrified that you  had --- but you must have
passed out.   THEN I worried that you'd slipped into a coma!"

I nodded, then raised my eyebrows questioningly and rolled my eyes uphill.

"No noise for an hour.  I heard him scrambling around for about fifteen minutes before that and was afraid he was just getting into position to get a better shot.   Then it got softer, then quiet.  I hoped it meant he was leaving, but didn't know.  Afraid to move or look up.   But now that you're awake we HAVE to take care of your wound!!"

With that, Greg moved close to the tree and looked around it, his face next to the ground.  He raised his head slowly.   I was terrified that I'd hear a shot and see him hit!  Nothing.  No sound.  Maybe our gunner was gone.

"I'm going to roll a rock down the hill toward the cabin.   THERE - -- nothing.  Guess he HAS gone."

He tossed a few more rocks, then waved a hand.   Better to get shot in a hand than in the head.

"Come on, Bob.  Let me help you up and bind your wound.  We've GOT to get out of here.  He might come back.  You need medical attention."

He put his hands under my armpits and lifted gently.   DAMN it hurt!!!!   But I needed to get up high enough for Greg to see how to help.   I had to get HIM out of here before that asshole came back.  I had a terrible feeling he WOULD come back.    UHHHhhhhhhh!    There.   Up.   Panting, hanging on to the tree.  Black spots and lightning flashes whirled in front of my eyes .... Gritted my teeth and hung on.....

"Let me see that.  Oh, hey, it's stopped bleeding.  But we have to put a pressure bandage around you there.
Here, I'll take my shirt off, fold it to cover both holes, and put our belts around there.   Easing your belt out, there.   I'll take mine off,  there.  Now, ease them around you, one at a time.  There's one.  Let me tighten it as much as you can stand.   OK?   Now the second one.  OK?   Let's see if you can walk.  Try a step.  We've GOT to get back to the car and ..

"There they are Ralphie!  There's them two quare fag-boys.  We got back here jes' in time! Don't move another step you preverts!!!  I gotcha covered an' my boy Ralphie has, too!"

{Oh, SHIT!  Why did I have to pass out?  Why didn't I wake up sooner?   Why didn't Greg get out of here while he could.   He COULD have gone for help!!   No, he didn't know that.  Oh, Hell -- oh HELP, GOD!}

These thoughts flashed through my pounding head.  Yeah, a headache, now, too.   Loss of blood?  Who cares. We're in deep shit and a headache is the LEAST of our worries.   Both the Asshole and his son were armed.  The old man had a shotgun and the boy had a rifle -- probably the gun the SOB had shot us with.

"Hang in there, Bud!"  We said it to each other in exact synch.    I slumped down, my back to the tree.

"No talkin' there, you quare fag preverts!   Enough time fer lovin' sweet talk when yer six feet under, and yer souls er down in HELL!   Ralphie, take the clothesrope an' tie 'em up, back to back, but with the tree between 'em!"

His laughter cackled around the glen.   He WAS crazy!  But cagey and clever, too.   Worst combination!!
Now Ralphie came toward us,  holding a length of rope clothesline.   Through my pain I could see he was a skinny kid about 13 or 14 years old.  He looked scared - - no terrified.   {Was he afraid of what his Daddy did to us, or what he was about to do??   No, gotta stay away from that thought.}

"Jes' get 'em all trussed up lak a pig, ready for the SPIT, Ralphie!  Gimme yer gun first.  Now don't DAWDLE!"

As he approached us, Ralphie whimpered,   "Jus' hold still.  I GOTTA do this!   I GOTTA do it!  He'll whup me 'til I'm a bloody mess an' pass out if'n I don' do it!"

Ralphie started tying Greg up, first.  Made sense.  Greg would've jumped him while I was being tied up.  Man, how I wished I had enough strength or speed to try jumping Ralphie.  No good.  Nothing left.  Greg was sending me love messages of hope.  I could read the message, 'We aren't dead yet.  Hang in there.  We'll get out of this somehow!"  I nodded to let him know I got it and agreed.

Now that Greg was lashed firmly to one side of the oak, Ralphie was as gentle as he could be.  He help me stand  up to the tree.

Ralphie was almost crying as he whispered to me,   "I'll TRY not to hurt ya no more, but I GOTTA do it!"

Damn,  he was good at tieing knots, but he DID put the rope above and below my wounds, not on them.  It would be impossible to wiggle out of this lash-up.  I sagged and almost passe out again.

"Good boy, Ralphie.  Now, Ah'll show ya what the preacha-man and the Klan've tol' me what to do wiv ay-bominations lahk these dissgusting preverts!"

Slowly the fat, old homophobe stepped closer -- and stopped about fifteen feet away.   He'd kept both weapons while Ralphie had tied us up, of course.  Now he handed Ralphie the shotgun.

"Cover 'em with the scattergun, Ralphie.  Ah don' think they'll GO anywhar, but jes' in case, blast whichever one gits loose.   Ah'm gonna have me some FUN."

Now he moved to the side of the tree so we could both see him, as he raised the rifle.

"Whicher one o' you quareboys wants to be first to visit the Devil?" he asked with another cackle.

"ME!  Shoot ME!"  we both screamed at the same time.   Mine was more of a croak, but as loud as I could manage.   That got the old bastard so tickled he almost dropped his rifle.   But he didn't.  Just laughed, slapped  his thigh and hooted.  Laughed until he had tears in his eyes.

"Now ain't that SWEET!  Bofe of y'all wants ta save yer Sweetie!  But hit don' matter.  You'll BOFE be suppin' with the Devil befo' dahk!   Now lessee - - - eenie, meenie, minie, moe."

I was started to tremble, then shake, then felt faint.  NO!  I was not going to let this asshole see me weak.  Never let him see me cry; never let him hear me beg.   Maybe if we got him SO mad, he'd do something really stupid.  Well, he'd already done THAT - - something stupider.  I was about to try to holler insults at him...

Greg spoke in a loud, calm voice, "HEY, you dumb son of a bitch... Did we make you pissed 'cuz NO one ever  kissrf you?   Or tried to?   Or maybe you DID kiss your cousin, or your brother, or wanted to make love with an Uncle?  You were just JEALOUS that we COULD.."

We both saw the shocked look on the old fart's face, then his swallowing, trying to get enough spit to lube his tongue so he could holler at us --- and finally,


His eyes bugged out, his arms were flapping but his hands were clenched.  He was turning purple with rage.  Well, it did SOMEthing.  Don't know if it would help or....

"Nevah mind!  Ah'll do ya BOFE, quick as quick!   Ralphie, come 'ere and back me up.  If Ah runs outa of bullits befo they're bofe daid, han' me yo' gun!"

{NOW we were in DEEP  SHIT!!!}

Ralphie had moved over behind his Daddy.   Then, just as the old SOB raised his gun, Ralphie suddenly hollered, "NO, Daddy!  Ya CAIN'T jes' KILL 'em, er you'll burn in HELL, right along with 'em!"

That got the old guy's attention -- at least for a moment.

"Shit, Boy!   Hit's jes' what they deeserve, and BOFE the Preacher an' the Grand Wizard have tol' me it's mah DUTY to clean this kinda scum off the face o' the Earth.  Now, jes' stand behin' me and back me up."

I couldn't watch.  I  squeezed my eyes shut and waited for the next bullet to hit.  Suddenly I heard a SHOT.  My eyes popped open, {Oh, NO, God.  Not GREG!}  Then I saw that the old SOB was on the ground with Ralphie standing over him, holding the shotgun by its barrel.  The boy must have clubbed his Daddy to save us, and the shot went wild!   WHOOOee!  Thanks, God.. but NOW what?

 Ralphie shouted  "Daddy! Ya CAIN'T jes' KILL 'em!  - - - And don't try to get up or grab that rifle!"

Ralphie had swung the shotgun up to a hunter's carry, one hand on the pistol grip,  the other under the barrel which was pointed at his Daddy.  He jumped over and kicked the rifle out of his Dad's reach while the old man was still groggy.   But now the old SOB was gathering steam and fury.

"What the Hell do you think yer DOin', Ralphie Elroy???  Air you feelin' SORRY fer these preverts?  Er air yew ONE of 'em? --- heh, heh, heh."

Ralphie was trembling, but shouted out, "Yes, Daddy I AM one!   I'm a prevert,  jus' like them!  Air ya gonna shoot  ME, TOO ??"

{Holy SHIT!   It just hit the fan for THAT young kid,  but  there may be a way out for us, now.}

"Jus' git up, Daddy, and start to untie them guys.  NOW!"

Ralphie poked the shotgun at his Dad.  His trigger finger was inside the trigger guard.  The SOB saw that but he started sidling toward Ralphie, with a false smile on his face.  SO obviously devious and insincere!!  But Ralphie saw it.

"No, Daddy!  Don't try to come grab the gun, er sweet-talk me, er browbeat me, er threaten me!!  THIS is over.  You WILL untie them guys and LET  THEM  GO!"

{Helluva brave kid.  He'd probably been beaten, belittled, mocked, and spat on by this miserable piece of shit, who was out to prove to HIS friends what a macho, redneck son HE had raised.   But Ralphie didn't fit the mold.   Now I worried how Ralphie was going to incapacitate his father while he freed us, and keep the old SOB from getting one of the guns and finishing us ALL off.  Oh, I didn't put it past the crazy, warped homophobe to later figure out how to "save his boy from the Devil."   Some kind of a fatal accident, for sure.

"Daddy!  Git over there and UNTIE the one who ain't hurt.  NOW!" Raphie said in a very determined tone.

The old man began grinning at his son, moved one foot toward him then brought it back.  Moved it out farther then brought it back.  Playing with his son like a cat with a mouse, as though he said 'I didn't move ME toward you -- ya cain't shoot me 'til I DO.... kin ya?'   Now his Daddy was moving first one foot then the other, out and back, out and back.  But he moved them further out than back so he was oozing his way toward Ralphie.

Greg shouted "Look OUT, Ralphie!  He's gettin' close enough to JUMP you!"

Ralphie had  been almost hypnotized by his father's feet and their cobra-like movements,  sideways more than forward.  But now Ralphie jumped back, brought the shotgun up, and fired just in front of his father's feet.   A few pellets may have hit the old man's feet, as he began hopping around, cussing and shouting.

"You little son of a bitch!   Ya SHOT me!  You shot yer own DADDY!   Jes' wait till Ah git ya home!  No, Ah'm gonna whale the tar out of ya rat CHEER!  Now gimme thet scattergun.  NOW, ya little bastuhd!"

At the last word,  Ralphie's chin came up and his eyes narrowed.  This kid had had enough, and knew there was NO turning back.  The die was cast, and he would not get out of this situation alive if his loving Daddy got his hands on either weapon.   Ralphie's jaw clenched and his eyes squinted as he started forward, gripping the shotgun in a MOST manly way, poking its barrel toward his Daddy.

"Back up, Daddy.   I said BACK UP!   NOW!   YOU ain't givin' the orders no more, you ol' whoremonger!    I'VE got the gun.  No, don't even go NEAR the rifle.  Jes' slide over there, away from it an' away from the tree.   Tha's better. NOW I have the rifle, too.  Thanks for teachin' me to be a crack shot with one hand -- EITHER hand,  with both o' these weepons.  Now yer gonna listen to ME and listen GOOD!."

"Shit, Boy!   Ah ain't agonna listen to ya,  er let ya git away with THIS!  Now, GIMME THAT DAMN GUN!"

He moved toward Ralphie, who fired the other barrel of the shotgun low, this time hitting his father's feet with a dozen or more pellets.  As his father collapsed, howling to the ground, Ralphie dropped the now empty shotgun, reached down and snatched up the rifle, opened its bolt enough to ensure that a shell was in the chamber, and closed the bolt.  One swift, smooth set of motions, ending with the rifle now pointed at his howling father!


That strengthened Ralphie, who backed calmly over to Greg, whipped out his Barlow knife, flicked the blade open (many hours of practice, it looked like), and cut four of the five ropes that had bound Greg to the tree.  He pulled the other rope loose enought to let Greg step away from the tree, FREE!  Then he turned the knife around, cupped it in his palm, and held it out to Greg.

Greg took it, said "THANKS, Ralphie.  We'll get you out of this.  We can't leave you with THAT crazy bastard!"  Then Greg cut my ropes, making sure he was there to support me as I sagged into his arms.  He kept the Barlow knife, as it was OUR only weapon.

Ralphie had settled down into a calm, cautions young man, acting like he'd wounded a grizzly.   In fact, he had.
His Daddy was still rolling around, hollering and holding his feet, but it could have been an act to have us lower our guard.  There was no blood apparent from the wounds.  Obviously the loads had not been buckshot... may have been bird shot.   NOT enough to disable a man.   Ralphie seemed to know that, and while holding the stock of the rifle like a pistol, his trigger finger on the trigger, reached into one pocket after another, looking for something else.

That's all for now.... Don't you HATE these cliff hangers?   I have the next part all ready, so will post it within a week after this episode.   How do you like the way it's going?   It seemed to move there all by itself.  My nods of thanks and appreciation to several of you who have written really outstanding novels on here, some of which are still under way.   You know who you are.  I've enjoyed several e-letterss from each of you.

Comments and Constructive criticism are appreciated.   Send to address above or NailsB69@hotmail.com
Questions about what's going to happen next, or Flames will be ignored.