Date: Wed, 19 Dec 2012 20:28:02 -0500 From: Jake Preston Subject: Wayward Island 7 Wayward Island (Part 7) How Jake and Red Feather Made New Friends after the Hunt By Jake Preston Reader restrictions: no minors, no readers who are offended by explicit descriptions of gay sexuality. The story as a whole is a psychological study of gay athletic hunks who love nerds, and the nerds who love them in return. The story also deals with the problems faced by gay guys who live in rural areas. If these themes don't interest you, there are many other great "nifty" stories to choose from. Send comments and suggestions to jemtling@gmail.com. Jake will respond to all sincere correspondents. * * * * * * * I have a work-shop near the lakeshore. Half of it is an ice house. That's right, an enclosed shack with a pit filled with sawdust, used to preserve large chunks of ice from the lake. The other half is a space for cleaning fish and rabbits, and breaking deer. It has a sawdust floor, ideal for duties required hunting or fishing. I store meat there in a large freezer-box, kept cold in the summer by ice from the ice house. Red Feather and I prepared the space. We brought cutting knives and a saw, and butcher-paper. Sam Black Bear and Roger Johnson showed up around five. Daylight faded into dusk. Breaking the deer took more than two hours. Sam and Roger did most of the work. When we were finished, we had venison steaks cut and wrapped, and hunks of meat to take to the butcher for grinding. Sam recommended that we take the meat to a butcher in Crane Lake. "He'll give you a better price." When it looked like the project was more than half way finished, I went back to the cabin. Red Feather stayed with Sam and Roger. Sam took the opportunity to ask Red Feather about his background. He told them about his life in Crane Lake, and his piano-playing at the Mission Church. "Jake's been talking about sending me to college, to develop my music," he said. Red Feather talked about me with high praise. It didn't take Sam and Roger long to figure out that we were more than friends. Naturally they assumed that I was fucking Red Feather. They asked him how long he had lived in the cabin. He said he still lived as a boarder with a family in Crane Lake, but he stayed here sometimes, too. "I also spend time at the Wayward Island Resort. Uncle Tom has a piano in the lounge." He told them about our plans for a Christmas concert, to raise money for the Mission Church. A tour of the cabin told the story. There was just the one bedroom, with a queen-sized bed. Red Feather had private space in the loft, but no bed. There was no need for me to volunteer information about our sleeping arrangements. Sam and Roger said nothing, but exchanged knowing looks. Red Feather and I served dinner at the kitchen table. After that, we served drinks by the fireplace. Sam preferred whisky, but Roger wanted to sample the brandy. I assigned Red Feather the task of firing the sauna. Sam went with him. He was interested in how the sauna was constructed, and impressed by Red Feather's knowledge of it. He was surprised to find out that part of the job was cutting balsam boughs - and intrigued to learn what they were used for. "Jake built the sauna by himself," Red Feather bragged. "I'm sure he would help you, if you wanted to build one on your place in Crane Lake. Everyone on the lake builds their own saunas. It's a local custom." "Always in the nude?" Sam asked. "Well, you don't build them in the nude, but you don't take a bath with your clothes on," Red Feather replied. Sam laughed. "White man's ways are fascinating. Are you and Jake an item?" It seemed futile to deny it. "I can tell by the way you guys communicate," he said. "Nothin' wrong with that." "Don't worry, Sam. We won't embarrass you by fooling around in the sauna," Red Feather said. "Unless you want to, you and Roger." "Why don't we wait and see what happens in the sauna," Sam said. "A little horseplay never hurt anyone." "What happens in the sauna stays in the sauna. House rule," Red Feather said. "Jake is quite a prize, but I guess you know that," Sam said. "Jake is the kindest, most generous man I've ever known," Red Feather said. "He's kind to everyone, and honest." "I meant physically, Jake is quite a prize, an athletic hunk, fit as a lumberjack," Sam said. "I'll bet he packs a wallop. If we get into horseplay, will he let us play with him?" "He would be crushed if you didn't want to," Red Feather said. "You don't have to be gay to play, though it helps." While this conversation was taking place in the sauna, Roger and I sipped brandy by the fire. Roger took a trip to the bathroom. On the toilet tank, he saw the medallions that we had used earlier: "ORAL SLAVE" and "ORAL MASTER." He asked me about our humorous metal valentines. "Just part of a game we play sometimes," I said. Roger freaked out. He said it was time for him to go. He was Sam's ride back to Crane Lake, so Sam had to leave, too. Red Feather and I were stunned. We gave Roger and Sam a generous supply of our venison, and sent them on their way. We took an abbreviated sauna, and crept into bed. "I suppose everyone in Crane Lake know about us by now," Red Feather said, glumly. It was a crisp, cold winter night, silent and windless. Two hours went by. We heard a crunch of snow, and the sound of a car door. Red Feather put on his sweatpants and went to the door. It was Sam Black Bear. "I guess it's too late for that sauna you promised me," he said. "Sorry about my buddy. You guys are all right, in my book." Red Feather motioned for him to come in. They sat by the hearth, drinking whisky straight from the bottle. I listened to them from the bedroom, then put on bikini shorts, and came out to put wood on the fire. Sam made no complaints about mw parading around the room in a bikini. I offered to wash Sam's clothes, if he wanted to take a shower. He shucked off his clothes, and returned from the bathroom wrapped in a towel. We passed the whisky bottle around. We lay in front of the fire, with Sam in the middle. We listened to music on my computer. Sam told us about his life as a lumberjack, working for my cousin Dave. "I suppose the Saturday hunt is off now, with Roger out of the picture," I said. "He might not be out of the picture," Sam said. "You guys were moving too fast for him, that's all. Roger's a single guy. Maybe he's more like us than he knows. I'll talk to him about Saturday." Sam peered out the window. "By the way," he continued, "when I was coming up your drive, I thought I saw someone duck into the woods. At first I thought it was a deer, but now I'm thinking it was a man. Did someone call on you earlier?" When we said no, Sam added, "I think that maybe you should get a dog. From what I've heard, not all your neighbors are friendly." Sam was ruggedly handsome, a stocky, sturdy built guy, about forty, with high cheek bones and a prominent nose, like many Chippewa men. He was soft- spoken, and laid back. His arms and thighs were muscular and strong. "It's from working in the woods," he said. He liked our company. He started feeling high, and ran his hands over Red Feather's torso. "Smooth as silk," he commented. Red Feather's basket showed prominently in his sweatpants. Streaks of pre-cum showed at the crotch of his sweats. Sam turned to me. He ran his hands over my torso, down to my navel. Sam wasn't really my type. He was too much of a hunk, too strong, too good-looking, just the right sort of guy for Red Feather. Still, his eyes were sad. He looked like a lost, lonely guy. That appealed to me. "Don't forget the pits," Red Feather laughed as I lubricated Sam's torso with my tongue. I broke free of Sam's grasp and went to the bedroom. I returned with the lube-tube. I knelt at the feet of Sam and Red Feather. Sam made room for me to squeeze in between them. As I crept into place, Sam read the readiness in my countenance and pulled me toward him. His lips grazed my cheek. He kissed my shoulder and nibbled my nipple. Suddenly energized, Sam pulled off my bikini, leaving me naked between the two guys. He groped my genitals, and reached for my ass. He removed his towel and tossed it aside. He helped Red Feather out of his sweatpants. Sam and Red Feather knelt close together while I sucked their cocks, both together. We took turns sucking cock in a variety of positions. Red Feather told me to lie on my back. Sam helped me into position. He gave me a wolf whistle, and praised my athletic display, while Red Feather lubed my asshole. Sam got on top of me. I rolled over with him in an embrace. Now I was on top. He didn't seem to mind. I kissed him, and massaged his cock with my crack. I felt his cockhead push through my sphincter. I tightened my ass around him. Sam arched upward, and pulled me close. His cock gained traction. I sat upright, and allowed his cock to sunder me. I howled while he scotched me. From across Wayward Bay we could hear the howl of timberwolves, answering mine. "Maybe one of them wolves is getting' fucked, too," Red Feather said. He watched while Sam made a love-nest for himself inside my ass. He crept behind me, and pushed me forward toward Sam. He drove his cockhead into my ass, into position just above Sam's cock. I howled again, and the wolves howled back. "I've never been fucked by two guys before, so take it easy, guys," I said. By that time, Red Feather's cock was all the way up by ass. He clung to Sam's shoulders and pulled him tight while he thrust his cock into me with fierce strokes. Sam held me firm by the haunches, and fucked gently while Red Feather fucked mercilessly. The friction inside me dissolved into silky liquid when Red Feather shot his jizz. I lay on my belly and gave Sam free reign of my body. He mounted my backside and fucked intercursally. I like that term, "intercursal," referring to the curvature of ass-cheeks. It's more dignified than "doggie-style." "Have fun boys," Red Feather said. "I'm hitting the shower." Groans became moans during Red Feather's absence. Sam nibbled at my ear and whispered terms of endearment, like what a wet fuck I was and how snug it felt. I looked back at him and kissed his lips. He asked if we could fuck face to face. I lay spread-eagled while Sam knelt between my legs. "It'll work better if you prop my ass up with a pillow," I whispered. Sam reached for a pillow, anhelped me get into place. Our eyes locked in lust. He entered me in one steady thrust. He fucked gently at first. "I'm trying to make it last as long as I can, Jake, buddy," he said. "Do you want me to cum for you, Sam?" I asked. "I can cum while you're fucking me." We took turns frigging my cock while he cock settled in slowly. Sam was a tough guy, but tender. He kissed my cheeks and my shoulders. I didn't turn away when he offered to kiss me on the lips. This was more than an opportunity fuck for Sam. He was hoping that we could be friends. "I want to fuck you standing up," Sam whispered in my ear. He got behind me while I balanced my weight against the sofa. He milked my cock with his fingers while he fucked intercursally. We came together. On my back on the quilt, I told Sam to press his full weight over me. We lay together for a long time. "I know you're committed to Red Feather," he said. "I don't want to interfere with that, but I hope you'll find room for me in your life, too, Jake. You're sensational." "Yeah, we can be friends. I'd like that," I replied. "As for us being fuck- buddies, I think we've already established that." He laughed. We joined Red Feather in the shower. The three of us slept through the night, with Sam in the middle. At dawn, Sam and I trudged down the drive to the place where he thought he saw a figure duck into the darkness of the woods. In the snow, man-tracks formed a trail around some thick underbrush and back to the road. After Sam left for another day's work in the forest, Red Feather and I looked through the local newspaper, the Call of the Loon, to see if anyone had dogs for sale. "Here's one, on a farm near the Rice River," I said. Later that morning, we checked it out. It was a snarly spaniel mix. The farmer wanted $100. "I'm afraid we'll have to look further," I said. Our route took us past my abandoned farm, so I pulled in the drive and gave Red Feather a tour of the house, the barn, the chicken coop, and the other buildings. I told Red Feather about its history. The homestead was founded by a great grandfather on my mother's side, who was an immigrant from Sweden. "It was founded in 1890, and it was one of the first three homesteads in Leander; 160 acres, like all the homesteads around here. Officially the area is called Perkins Township, but its true name is Leander, as everyone knows who grew up here," I said. "I've been thinking about buying some cows this spring, and starting it up as a dairy farm again. The farm down the road belongs to a second cousin of mine. It was one of the earliest homesteads, too." We decided to drive to Hibbing, to check out the only Humane Society in the region. When we entered the dog pound, twenty dogs started barking at once. "The dogs love human company," Mrs. Wilson remarked. She was in charge of the pound remarked. "Your visit is the biggest event of their day." There were four young yellow labs in a cage at the back of the room. Three of them stood and barked like the others. The fourth raised his head, looked around at the commotion, and lowered his head and closed his eyes. "That's the one," I said. "Does he have a name?" "No name yet," Mrs. Wilson said. "When it comes to the young ones, we like for their new families to give them their names." "We'll call him Wolfie," I said. I paid his fees, and added $100 as a contribution to the Humane Society. "Come back again, if you discover that Wolfie needs a companion," Mrs. Wilson said. "He's a laid-back male lab. I've found that a dog like him gets along very well with an alpha female, like this loveable red ridgeback. Her name is Daisy. She's a bundle of energy." While we were in Hibbing, we paid Mrs. Ravitch an unexpected visit. I introduced her to Red Feather - and Wolfie. "We just stopped by to show you our new dog," I said. Wolfie played in the back yard while Mrs. Ravitch prepared coffee. I bragged about Red Feather's piano-playing, and promised that she would hear him play the next day, if she still wanted to go with us to the Mission Church in Crane Lake. "I wouldn't want to miss out on that," she said. "Actually, Mrs. Ravitch, I was hoping that you would show us some of your nudes," I said. She told us to go upstairs to the back bedroom and look for ourselves. The room was stocked with dozens of paintings, mostly male nudes. There must have several hundred sketches, and photographs. As Red Feather and I studied them, we noticed that some of the sketches and photos were linked to paintings in some way. Mrs. Ravitch arrived, carrying a tray with three mugs of coffee. "All the sketches and photos are studies in preparation for a painting," she explained. "Of course, many of the paintings have been sold, or given away. Only the impressionistic ones, though. The world isn't ready for my naturalistic nudes." She asked if we noticed anything else about the paintings. "I think I've noticed something," Red Feather said. "Not of the paintings depicts a single figure. All of them have at least two figures, even the ones that show only one nude." "Very observant of you, Red Feather," Mrs. Ravitch said. "Anything else?" "Well, there always seems to be someone in the picture who is looking at the nude figure," Red Feather guessed. "That's true," Mrs. Ravitch said. "The nude is always the object of someone's gaze within the painting --- a woman, a man, or a group, or two or three nudes together. My idea is to draw the viewer into the painting, by sharing the gaze." She showed us a series of six paintings of what she called "soldiers at a swimming hole." This was a traditional nineteenth-century scene," she said. "I struggled with this theme for years. The only version I'm satisfied with is 'Water Hole Follies'. It's a jungle scene in Vietnam." It depicted forty marines in various stages of nudity and dress. A few were swimming in the water. Two were perched on a log. The others were getting dressed in a panic, while a sergeant appeared to be calling them out of the water. A pale-faced lieutenant gazed with a worried look on his face. Overhead, in the sky, three black helicopters approached, ominously. "The impressionistic version of this painting is in the contemporary collection of Universidad Nacional Autónomia de México," Mrs. Ravitch said. "It's an idyllic water-hole episode interrupted by the urgent realities of war. Impressionism obscures anatomical correctness, but you can see it here, you see?" She handed me a magnifying glass, which disclosed the intricate designs of military dress, guns, ammunition, and --- in the case of the nudes --- the individuality of each male figure. Mrs. Ravitch showed us another painting. The foreground depicted a seaside shrine with Corinthian columns. On the wall of the shrine was a fresco, a triptych that depicted three scenes, each partially obscured by the columns. The first depicted Tantalus's murder of his son Pelops. The second fresco was twice the size of the others. It depicted the gods seated at a banquet. One of the columns split the banquet scene into two halves. None of the gods were eating, except for the goddess Demeter, who was devouring some flesh from the feast. In the third fresco, at the far right, the god Hermes and the Three Fates stood before a cauldron and raised Pelops back to life. One of the Fates, named Clotho, had fashioned an ivory shoulder for Pelops, to replace the one that Demeter had eaten at the feast. Pelops emerged from the cauldron as a handsome young man, his groin barely visible, but anatomically exciting. In the background, behind the shine, a chariot rose out of the sea, drawn by two winged horses. The charioteer was Poseidon, god of the sea. In his arms he held another nude Pelops, identical in appearance to the youth in the cauldron. Poseidon's and Pelops's legs were entangled with each other and with seaweed and waves from the sea. Below the groin, it was as if the two male figures disappeared into the mystery of the waters. "There are two competing stories about Pelops, you see," Mrs. Ravitch said. "Both stories are true to myth. In the first, Tantalus sacrificed Pelops and served him as a feast for the gods, but the gods knew, instinctively, that Tantalus was trying to get them to eat human flesh. This they refused, except for Demeter, who was distracted by the recent death of her daughter Persephone. So when Hermes and the Fates restored Pelops back to life, Clotho had to prepare an artificial shoulder for him, to replace the one that Demeter had eaten. That's why Pelops has an ivory shoulder. According to the second myth, there was no murder of Pelops. Instead, Poseidon carried him off to be his lover, and taught him to be a great hunter and horseman. Years later, Poseidon returned Pelops to his home in Elis. There he won his wife, Hippodamia, in a chariot-race against her father, King Onoemaus of Pisa. This chariot-race marked the beginning of the Olympic Games. The shrine in the painting is the hero-shrine of Pelops. My point in the painting is that both myths are true. Of course, the painting doesn't depict the chariot-race of Pelops and Onemaus. Maybe that should be the subject of another painting." Red Feather and I took turns examining the painting with the magnifying glass. The two figures of Pelops were identical in every detail. I asked Mrs. Ravitch if she had any plans for this painting. "It's such an important work," I said. "It ought to be in a museum somewhere." "Classical themes are out of fashion at the moment," Mrs. Ravitch said. "I'm hoping to bring them back, with the help of naturalism and correct anatomy in the nude figures." We descended to the parlor. Soon enough, our conversation returned to Mrs. Ravitch's paintings. "About your male nudes, are they all imaginary figures?" I asked. "I've tried doing that, painting from memory and imagination," Mrs. Ravitch said. "The result was never convincing, at least, not to me. I always ended up painting over the imaginary nudes, because they seemed to lack personality. It takes a real-life model to make a nude figure convincing." "If you're looking for a model, I'll pose for you, Mrs. Ravitch," I said. Red Feather smiled. He knew I would offer. "You're an excellent specimen, Jake," Mrs. Ravitch said. "But modeling takes time. I wouldn't want to impose. Still, if you want to do it, I can think of some classical themes that would be perfect for you." "He'd like to be Hercules, or Theseus, or maybe Achilles," Red Feather jokes. "Jake's an exhibitionist at heart." "Don't forget, Mrs. Ravitch's nudes usually come in pairs, like Poseidon and Pelops," I said. Red Feather blushed. "I can audition for you right now!" "If we do that, I'll need to take photos," Mrs. Ravitch said. "We'll need proper lighting. My lamps are upstairs." We agreed. Red Feather and I carried the lamps and set them up in the parlor. "Just your shirt for now, Jake," she said. She took several photos of me in different poses. I stripped down to my jockey shorts. She took more photos. She lowered the backside of my shorts, and took photos of me bare-assed. "And now, Jake, if you're ready," Mrs. Ravitch said, "If you're going to get naked with me, you boys will have to start calling me Anna. It makes me feel too conspicuous when my nudes call me Mrs. Ravitch." I stripped off my shorts and posed for more shots. My cock hardened in the intimacy of the moment. Mrs. Ravitch --- Anna --- continued her study and photography of my body. I couldn't stop blushing. "There's no need to feel embarrassed, Jake, if your body responds as any man's body would do," she said. "Physiology plus psychology equals art." "Is there room for me in this picture, Anna?" Red Feather asked. "I thought you'd never ask," Mrs. Ravitch said. "Take off your shirt, Red Feather, and let's get some photos of you two together." Red Feather approached me, shirtless, and held me in a variety of poses, each one more proprietary than the last. Acting on impulse, I stripped off his jeans and shorts. We posed in the nude as lovers. Mrs. Ravitch went to the kitchen, and came back with a bottle of olive oil, which she handed to Red Feather. "Let nature take its course," she said. I lay on my side, facing Mrs. Ravitch. Red Feather got behind me. He applied olive oil to my backside and coated his cock. He entered me slowly. I looked back at him lovingly when he started to fuck me. "You gentlemen make possession look so right and so natural," Mrs. Ravitch said. "I can only hope that my art will equal the high standards of your passion." Our passion was fueled by the knowledge of Mrs. Ravitch's gaze. We fucked doggie-style. We fucked standing up. I sat on Red Feather's cock, facing him. He missioned me, and got me to cum while Mrs. Ravitch photographed my facial expressions. He turned me over and humped furiously. Later, Mrs. Ravitch told Red Feather: "Jake is so beautiful, Nature intended that he should be possessed. When a man has such beauty, the act of possession is most convincing when it is accomplished by another man. The Greeks understood that. And you make an ideal partner, Red Feather. You are both blessed!"