West Otter Lake 29

West Otter Lake

West Otter Lake – Chapter Twenty- Nine – "Nature has concealed at the bottom of our minds talents and abilities of which we are not aware. The passions alone have the privilege of bringing them to light, and giving us sometimes view more certain and more perfect than art could possibly produce." – (Rochefoucauld)

The kitchen, permeated by our silence, as we were struck with a combination of sympathy, embarrassment, and awkwardness realizing Peter's sunglasses were not a fashion statement but related to his very physical problem—Peter was blind! Breaking the silence, I quickly stepped forward, extended my hand, then realized he couldn't see it, so reached down, clasped his when he began to raise it at the sound of my voice.

"Hi, Peter; I'm Conner Johnson and welcome to the Lodge at West Otter Lake Resort and Campground."

Gripping my hand gently in his smaller, fine-boned hand, nodding his head in acknowledgement, Peter smiled slightly responding softly, "Pleased to meet you Conner," and released me.

The others, Leandro, Craig, Loren, Ollie, and Luis stepped forward and introduced themselves. They each received the same courteous response. The Twins, however, stood back, their normal gregarious, inquisitive selves mute, subdued, veiled behind peering, piercing, evaluative eyes sweeping up and down our guest, deciding whether to accept him, reject him, be indifferent, or tolerant.

Leandro stepped forward, having shed his wet gear, and offered to hang up Roy's and Peter's. While he was doing so, I resumed my conversation with Peter.

"How old are you Peter?"

Again the small, almost shy smile, and the same soft, but very clear response.

"Eleven, but I'll be twelve next summer."

"Same age as the Twins." Ollie said informatively, hoping to draw a response from Terell and Treyvon – no luck there! They just stood there, remaining quiet and distant. The sound of Ollie's voice focused Peter's attention on the direction of the source, seeming to imprint the sound with the name and the handshake he'd returned earlier.

Roy coughed, just enough to move the conversation and relieve some of the awkwardness, I should suppose.

"Peter's mom, my daughter, is a career military person, widowed, and was just deployed overseas. In the past, she's been able to take Peter with her in the past, but this time, not! We might be powering down in some of those countries overseas, but there's still too much danger and a need for boots on the ground. As a result, Peter will be with us for at least the next eighteen months while she's gone."

Peter reached up, tapped his grandfather on the upper arm and gave a slight tug on Roy's uniform sleeve, signaling he wished to speak to him in a confidential way. Roy leaned over, nodded his head affirmatively, and inquired, "Conner, Peter wishes to use the bathroom. Terell and Treyvon, would you be so kind as to show him where it is, please?"

There's no way in hell they'd refuse; not only because Roy was a family friend, but he was also a law enforcement officer. Grandma Johnson once told me "Conner, never pick a fight with a person who wears a badge and carries a gun," so I instilled that same philosophy in all four boys in the time they'd lived at the Lodge. A nudge from Ollie and a flick of his head in Peter's direction sent his younger brothers on a cautious and tentative journey toward the young lad in the sunglasses.

Coming close to Peter, Treyvon looked at Terell and shrugged, one of those "what the hell" types of shrugs. It was then, when they were about four feet from Peter, I thought I heard two very distinct "click, click" sounds, very similar to someone clucking their tongue as Peter twisted his head in their direction.

"Offer him your elbow," advised Roy, "so he can grasp it and allow you to guide him."

Terell and Treyvon did as they were instructed!

"Not both of you," I snorted, "just one and use your right elbow."

Terell obliged by offering his right elbow and, as Peter clasped it lightly with his left hand, extracted from his belt a folding cane. With a "snap" as his wrist flicked, the cane extended, and he tapped the floor with it, testing its rigidity and reflective sound.

"Don't just stand there, Terell," admonished Luis, "show him the bathroom before he pisses his pants!"

Terell stepped off, leading Peter, while Treyvon, not wanting to be left standing, quick-stepped to catch up. We could hear the "tap, tap," of the Peter's cane as he lightly struck the floor, the door frame, and the floor on the other side as they traversed toward the bathroom near the office.

Once the trio left the kitchen, Roy sighed deeply and sat down, apparently relieved of some anxiety or just plain tired, it was difficult to say.

"Got some coffee, Conner?"

I quickly poured him a cup of the steaming brew, set out the sugar and cream, and joined him at the table. Leandro, Craig, and Loren plopped their butts in chairs, ready for conversation, elucidation, or just plain relaxation. Ollie and Luis leaned casually against a counter, participating in the conversation without gathering around the table and palavering with us.

"He wasn't always blind; when he was five, he and his daddy were in a terrible auto accident in Germany where my daughter was stationed. Jimmy Li, her husband, was a computer whiz working for a private company that had a contract with the government. Jimmy was killed outright and Peter was left blind – well, mostly. He claims he can see some shadows on some days and other days the world is just plain black. The doctors claim there's a chance, someday, a new surgical technique or discovery might come along that would improve his sight, but I'm not that hopeful. Maybe I'm just too much of a pessimist, but I guess I have to deal with the reality of it. Peter deals with it every day and complains little. My wife and I just want to do the best we can for him while he's here."

Roy's daughter Debbie, as well as Roy and his wife, and Jimmy's mother and father were devastated by the loss of husband, son, father, and son-in-law. Her one consolation from this tragedy was the survival of her son, Peter. Military doctors did an excellent job in repairing most of his injuries, but could do little, other than offer some encouragement, for his sight. A nice settlement would provide for his education, future medical expenses after he was on longer covered under his mother's, and a monthly annuity.

It was a struggle for her, dealing with his blindness, her career, and constant moving, but she was always able, with the help of the government and her commanding officers, to find good schools for him, proper tutoring and special education, and keep him with her. When she was working, she hired a nanny to care for him, getting him to school, and most importantly, teaching him life skills. Debbie knew someday she'd end up somewhere Peter wouldn't be able to go, so made arrangements with Roy and his wife to care for Peter when it happened. Peter's other grandparents, the Li's, lived on the west coast and both worked. Her father-in-law was an engineer and mother-in-law an accountant. Although they'd both quickly agreed to help, Debbie preferred sending Peter to the north woods and the lakes where she went to high school and where she considers as "home." Roy transferred in to this position from down state and found no reason to seek a move. He and his wife loved it here and thought it was a great place for families. Besides, her mother was a stay-at-home mom, without any children at home at the moment, and her dad was a cop. Pretty safe environment for her son, she reasoned. Since Jimmy's death, Debbie did all she could to make Peter as independent as possible.

Roy's eyes gravitated toward the door where his grandson and the Twins passed through just a few minutes before.

"He's a bright little shit! The little bugger records all his teachers lectures or lessons, listens to them at home, does some notes in braille, and away he goes. Tests have to be taken orally, of course, unless the teacher knows some braille which most don't."

"You mean he goes to regular school?" quizzed an astonished Loren, flabbergasted at the difficulties the boy must face, as well as his teachers.

"Yeah, the last two years at least I know of. The school ended up having a special teacher's aide to help him. In addition, my daughter hired a very gifted teacher, who'd instructed blind children before, to work with him. According to her, the teacher was phenomenal, as evidenced by Peter's progress."

Loren listened intently, scratched his head, pondering what could be done in the Otter Lake School District. As a grade school teacher, he still had access to the staff and resources at the middle and high school since they were all housed under one roof.

"Roy, the special education department many be able to help you. I know, from past experience, they have a cadre of volunteers in the area who either have disabilities or family members with them who freely give their time to the school to help out. I'd bet if you talk to Mr. Wilcox, the High School Principal, he could name those folks for you. He's been here forever and knows everyone."

Terell, acting as the guide for Peter in their journey to the restroom near the office, was intrigued with the sound of Peter's cane tapping rhythmically, wondering how the sound helped him find his way and avoid obstacles and vowed, given the opportunity, to ask him and seek the answer.

Treyvon stepped ahead of the duo and opened the bathroom door. Peter hesitated for a moment, a puzzled look on his face.

"Someone stepped ahead of me and opened a door!"

"Me!"

"Who's `me'?"

"Treyvon."

Peter stepped forward, after checking the open door by striking his cane on one door jamb and then the other. Satisfied there was no obstacle in front of him, he walked forward, following Terell's lead. He cocked his head to the side when he heard a light switch being clicked on.

"I really don't need that, you know."

"We do," retorted Treyvon. "I don't want you pissing on our legs just because we can't see which way you point your hose."

Terell led him to the toilet and Peter swung the cane back and forth until the "ping" of porcelain echoed in the bathroom. He let loose of Terell's elbow, folded up his cane, tucked it under an arm, and unzipped his britches. The Twins watched carefully as Peter extracted his light brown, almost golden-tan, flaccid, circumcised penis from the nether reaches it resided in. About the size of a man's fat thumb, it wasn't the largest in the world for a boy his age, but not the smallest either and decorated with a few black, cock-hairs.

"Well..." Peter said plaintively.

"Nice!" both boys responded.

"Not my cock, you droolers! Am I going to hit the toilet or pee all over the floor?"

"Close, but no cigar!" commented Treyvon as he reached forward, moved Peter's hand and replaced it with his own, grasping the warm penis with his thumb and forefinger, and carefully aimed it so the impending stream.

"Fire away!" he commanded.

The heavy stream of hot liquid squirted out of the fleshy hose, connecting with its intended target in noisy, splashing, cascading bursts and rivulets. Treyvon patiently held Peter's delicate instrument until the stream abated, then wiggled it several times to clear the head.

"You're starting to chub up," he said, noticing Peter's cock beginning to swell, now stretching beyond the size of a thumb to a fatter forefinger.

Peter just giggled, removed Treyvon's hand, and with his own, tucked his pony back into the barn.

The Twins were more than just a little curious about many things, but the situation at hand demanded some answers also; such as how did Peter manage alone in the toilets for one thing.

"Most of the time, at home or school, once I've located the restroom, I'm pretty good at peeing on target."

"Yeah, but how about when you have to take a dump?" speculated Terell. "How do you know if your butt crack is clean?"

"By feel, mainly; if it's sticky or moist, then I need to wipe some more."

"Yuck!"

"Double Yuck!"

"That's why hand washing's so important. I also carry a packet of wipes with me to make certain. Now, where's the sink and soap?"

While he and Treyvon were washing up, the boys were curious what function the cane provided, other than just poking ahead for obstacles.

"The sound of the cane hitting different objects makes different sounds and the feel of each item it touches reacts differently to my touch. For example, reaching a curb, I can tell if I'm at a corner or not by moving the cane back and forth along the curb edge. Concrete makes a different sound than blacktop or gravel, the same as a wood floor sounds different than a tile one. After a while you know the sounds just like you know the sounds of different birds or wild animals. A teacher taught me how to use those other senses I have left, such as hearing, smell, taste, and touch, to compensate, somewhat, for what I've lost. Oh, I wish I could see again, but until I can, I'll do the best with what I have. There's another thing I'm working on, but not quite ready to talk about it yet. Now, where's the sink and soap?"

At lunch Roy sat close to his grandson, pointing out locations of various food items on Peter's plate by explaining "burger at three o'clock," "fries at eight o'clock," "ketchup at ten o'clock," "milk outside at one o'clock," and so on. After he finished, Peter picked up the burger, ate his fries, and drank his milk just as easily as a sighted boy, only he ate more slowly, seeming to relish each and every bite. Terell and Treyvon watched and listened intently, absorbing every word of Roy's instruction and observing Peter's actions afterwards.

When the table was cleared and dishes in the dishwasher, I suggested to the Twins they take Peter upstairs and show him their room since he'd be spending the night with them. Before the trio left the kitchen, Peter asked if he could "see" each of us. There was no problem with that, but his way of "seeing" was interesting to say the least. He ran his hands up our sides, across our chests and backs, touched the top of our heads, and with those delicate, soft, sensitive fingers, traced our faces and our heads, translating what he felt with his fingers into a mental picture of what he thought each of us looked like.

Terell and Treyvon stepped forward when Peter finished with the adults. Before he touch Treyvon he said, "I can tell by the way you walk you're either Treyvon or Terell. Please say something for me."

"Treyvon."

Peter began tracing his body, then his face and head, again running those slender fingers across Treyvon's face, touching lightly his soft cheeks, then fingering gently his lips. Peter nodded his head and stepped back. Treyvon moved aside to make room for his twin. Terell obliged Peter with one spoken word as well.

"Terell."

Peter repeated the examination on him, smiled, and stepped back.

Ollie came forward for his turn and when asked to say his name, Luis, standing behind him, said, "Luis, Ollie's boyfriend."

I almost intervened, but Roy held up his hand, silencing me and grinned.

Peter frowned, reached his hands forward and touched Ollie's face.

"I don't think so! This face is smooth, thin, much like Terell and Treyvon but without the dimples. His fingers are slender, delicate, much like those of a pianist."

Dropping his hands to Ollie's shoulders and from there to his slim waist and almost non-existent hips, announced, "I think this is Ollie and you," pointing behind Ollie toward where the voice originally emanated, "must be Luis, Ollie's boyfriend."

We all had a good laugh while Luis stepped forward to participate in Peter's "seeing" exercise. I was simply amazed Peter could find and feel the dimple each twin sported. Those dimples were the only way any of us could differentiate between the two, while the casual observer couldn't. He finished with Luis and he, Terell, and Treyvon went upstairs to the bedroom.

The snow continued, albeit much lighter, giving every indication the storm was winding down, throughout the afternoon. Around three o'clock the power flickered a couple of times and went out. Three minutes later the generator kicked in and we had power again to the Lodge from it. All the boys came back down stairs when the power flicked on and then off, joining us in the Great Room where we had a toasty, glowing, ember red fire in the fireplace. Ollie and the Twins entertained us at the piano until supper time.

After a light meal, all the boys headed upstairs while the rest of us relaxed with cocktails in the Great Room. The snowstorm had finally spewed itself out and there were patches of open sky opening up, revealing bright stars and the faint light of the crescent moon. Bedtime drew near and the boys all trooped back downstairs to say their good nights. I reminded the Twins to shower before bed and they promised they would. Have you ever wondered why, particularly boys entering middle school, why they have to be reminded to shower? Ollie and Luis seemed to be fastidious, but I also think they take the opportunity, when in the shower, to give one another a good old-fashioned "rogering." I can only imagine what it looks like with Luis backed up to Ollie, spited as a roast on the grill, wiggling, trying to push as much of that "ginormous" dick up his ass as he can as the water cascades over them both.

The Twins and Peter, once stripped of their clothes, headed for the shower between their room and Ollie and Luis's. Opening the door of the shower, one handed a washcloth to Peter while the other the shampoo/body wash container. Terell moved Peter back, placing one hand on his lower abdomen just where Peter's new curlies were emerging, and eased him back, but allowed his hand to briefly drop and brush over the now growing, golden-brown cock of their new friend. Terell turned on the water, adjusted it to Peter's satisfaction, and as stepping aside, asked, "Want me to scrub that for you?"

Peter just grinned, replying, "Maybe next time."

They couldn't help but notice when Peter stepped out, after showering, and began drying himself with the towel they provided, his manhood was stiff as a rod and standing almost straight up, unlike theirs, sort of pointing forward when fully hard. The Twins wasted no time in the shower as they cleaned themselves, dried, and dressed in their sleep shorts for bed. Peter, clad in pajamas, heard the boys leave the shower and stood waiting for them.

"I thought I remembered where the bed was, but figured I'd wait for you guys to show me again."

Treyvon offered him an elbow and led him to the bed. Terell crawled in one side, Treyvon maneuvered Peter to the middle, and settled himself next to him. The three of them lay quietly, side by side until Peter asked, "Can I `see' both of you? Really see you, I mean?"

The Twins giggled, understanding exactly what Peter wanted to "see" and shucked off their shorts, leaving them bare but with cocks as stiff as ten penny nails, but larger. Peter carefully ran his hands down Terelle's body until he encountered the stiff, unsheathed and twitching penis, and ran his fingers down the length, around the head, back down the pulsing prod, reaching the developing gonads, and gently cupped them, rolled them about in his hands until he turned his attention to Treyvon and repeated the inspection.

"You guys are both bigger than me and have extra skin around the head, so you're not cut, like me. Your dicks feel real nice to the touch."

"Your hands didn't feel so bad either," Treyvon acknowledged. "In fact, I thought I was going to fire a load in your hand."

"Me too," chimed Terell, "but now we get to `see' you," and proceeded to reach for Peter's cock and balls. Treyvon joined him and between the two of them, they had their new friend's dingus leaking like a fire hydrant.

"Careful; I might squirt a bit. I've been doing that for about two months. How about you?"

"About the same," the Twins acknowledged, returning their hands to their own rigidness and began that familiar up and down motion of jacking their dicks. Peter, feeling the motion in the bed, realizing what they were doing joined them. It wasn't long until three young boys dampened their hands and stomachs with watery, thin, but promising deposits.

Taking a deep breath, as Terell wrapped one arm over his chest and Treyvon did the same, Peter, asked, "Are you guys gay too?"

"Yeah!"

"How about everyone else in the Lodge?"

"Pretty much except for Grandma Wilson and Cedric."

We visited until around ten o'clock when Loren and Craig excused themselves to retire also. After they left the Great Room, the conversation finally focused on the attempted murder of Luis and me. Roy was involved in the initial investigation, but the state police had become the lead investigators and charged with the case after that. He'd heard nothing new, but he'd been busy with conservation cases. He did pose an interesting thought for us to consider after hearing me speak of Ollie's Uncle Riedel being killed in Chicago.

"Has anyone run a ballistics test on the weapon used in the attempt on your life and Riedel Thompson?"

I had no answer for that, but it was a question I'd mulled over more than once. By the looks on Roy's face, he'd done the same. Roy furled his eyebrows in thought and nodded his head a couple of times.

"Maybe someone who carries a badge should ask. Don't you think?"

To be continued

***

Thank you for reading "West Otter Lake – Chapter Twenty-Nine - – "Nature has concealed at the bottom of our minds talents and abilities of which we are not aware. The passions alone have the privilege of bringing them to light, and giving us sometimes view more certain and more perfect than art could possibly produce." – (Rochefoucauld)

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