Cory, Bo, and Doc
by Ashley Hardric ©2005

    This is a work of fiction.  That means it is not true.  Didn’t happen.  It’s a figment. No boys were involved or harmed in the writing of this story and no trees were sacrificed.  The author does not condone sex with boys; he just writes fantasies about it.  Further, sex in reality requires caution and protection, but my characters won’t catch any bad bugs unless I write them in.  Be safe and legal in the real world, and enjoy the story only if you are of age and location to do so legally.

    **This story is the property of the author and may not be reproduced elsewhere (i.e. other than Nifty Archive)  without his permission.**

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The references to Native American tribes, customs, and so on are totally invented, and are not intended to represent any specific tribe, or actual customs.

Chapter Two

    “I have to pee,” Bo announced.

    “I’m hungry,” Cory added.
    “Ditto to both,” I agreed.  We got ourselves up and went to the entry passage, where we peed together out into the larger canyon. 

    “What about lunch?” Cory asked, shaking himself dry.
    “I have a baloney sandwich we can split,” Bo offered.
    “There’s a cooler in the truck with some bread and cheese and stuff. I think we can manage.  Maybe we should get dressed first, though.  Bo, do you wear real clothes or just that Band-Aid?”
    “I have shorts and a tee shirt in my pack,” he said.  “Even my mom would freak out if she knew I was out in this ‘Band-Aid.’ ”

    We all reclaimed our minimal clothes and walked back to the truck.  The midday Arizona sun beat hot on us, and simply walking soon had us sweating.  Fortunately, the truck was parked under a tree, so my cooler had kept the food sufficiently cool.   I pulled out a couple hunks of cheese, some hard Summer sausage, and a loaf of bread.  I had both beer and soda; I opened a large beer and offered the rest to the boys.  Cory suggested we split the beer; Bo hesitated a bit.

     “Will you let me have some beer?” he asked.

    “Bo, if you are old enough to make the choices you made an hour ago, you’re old enough to have a little beer,” I answered.  “But not a lot.”  We took the food and drinks under the tree and sat down, leaning against a convenient boulder, as well as each other. 
    “Where’d the sausage go?” I asked looking around.  Then I noticed the huge tent pole in Bo’s shorts -- twice as big as his own equipment -- and laughed.  “In your dreams, boy,” I said, reaching in and retrieving the meat, and giving Bo’s meat a squeeze on the way.  His shorts remained tented, although at a much more appropriate size.

    We munched and sipped and passed food and drink back and forth for a time, content to share sustenance and each other’s company.  Eventually Bo broke the comfortable silence.  “I’m full,” he announced, and then yawned.  “And sleepy.”  He scrunched down a  bit and laid his head in my lap.  “I think I’ll take a nap.  Don’t go anywhere, OK?”  He closed his eyes and within 30 seconds, he was asleep.  I laid one arm across his chest, and the other around Cory’s neck.  He too was feeling the sedative effect of the food and the heat and the beer, and rested his head against my shoulder.  And so, we three snoozed through a nice siesta, needing no dreams, with reality so fine.

    As the beer had put us to sleep, so it woke us up.  Three full bladders demanded attention at about the same time.  So we got up and recycled the beer, stretched, and turned our attention to the rest of the day.  “Bo, when you have to be home?” I asked.

    “Well, I’m sposed to be in by dark, but I can call if I’m like at someone’s house or something,” he replied.  “So I really don’t have to be home at all.”

    “Cool,” said Cory.  “I have an idea.  Let’s go swimming.  I know a trail to Hudson Lake that leads to a private beach.  It’s kind of out of the way and a little bit rough, so not many people know about it.”

    “Cool!” Bo exclaimed.  “What are we waiting for?”

    So we locked up the car and set out for the lake.

    It took nearly an hour of scrambling over boulders, under branches, around trees, and through shallow streams before three very sweaty guys reached the lake.  Cory had been right:  we met no one else the entire way, and the arm of the lake we now faced was totally deserted.  It was virtually enclosed by steep rocks, and the beach we stood on was the only access from land.  Boats were not permitted.  “Last one in’s a rotten egg!” Bo yelled, shedding shirt, shorts, and shoes, and dashing into the water.  Cory had been shirtless for much of the hike, so he merely dropped his shorts and kicked off his shoes before running to join Bo in the warm water.  I followed at a more sedate pace, stepping into the lake and then gliding into a leisurely float in the waist high water.  I enjoyed seeing the naked boys have so much fun.  Bo was jumping on Cory’s back, trying to duck him, but Cory slipped around, got a hand under Bo’s crotch, and flipped him over headfirst back into the water.  Bo came up sputtering and laughing and took revenge with a huge splash at Cory’s face.

      “You big jerk!” he yelled.  “I’ll get you!”  Then he dove under the water and disappeared.

      Moments later Cory let out a yelp, and yelled “You little shit!  I’ll teach you to goose me!” He hauled a giggling  Bo up next to him in mock anger, trying to get a good grip on the other boy’s balls.  Bo, however, had other plans, and reached again for Cory’s groin.  This time he gave his prick a squeeze, and didn’t let go.  Cory, of course, was immediately erect after the sudden stimulus, and returned the squeeze for Bo.  Their horseplay had turned to sex play in about 3 seconds flat.  Bo jumped onto Cory frontwise, wrapping his arms around his neck and his legs around his waist.  Cory held him tight and carried him out of the water.  He put him down on his back on the soft grass and knelt on top of him, holding him down by his wrists.  “You little shit,” he said affectionately.  “You’re in big trouble, boy.  I think I’m going to have to punish you.”

    “You and what army?” teased Bo. 

    “Me and Major Peter,” Cory said, waving his hard on in front of Bo’s face, brushing it against his lips.  Bo flicked his tongue against the tip.  “Maybe I should take off my belt and give you a good licking.”

    “Sure, you do that,” Bo said.  “Except you don’t have a belt.  All you’ve got is a wet shoelace.”

    “Oh yeah, I forgot about that.  Hmmm.  Oh well, I guess I’ll have to do the licking without the belt.”  He lowered his lithe body onto Bo’s, and kissed him.  Then he started licking and kissing down the boy’s body, bringing both nipples into full firmness, caressing with mouth and hands until the boy could not lie still, but squirmed with each new pleasure.  Reaching Bo’s pleasure central, he touched and tongued every place he could find, except for the ready-to-explode pubescent penis.  He took both balls into his mouth, he stroked the inner thighs, and the groin.  He rubbed dripping precum on the smooth belly.  Only when he sensed that Bo could hold back no more, he took the turgid rod into his mouth.  At the first touch of his warm wet tongue, Bo let loose.  His hips arched up off the ground and he thrust himself into Cory’s face, pumping pent-up boycum into his mouth.  Cory opened his lips and let some of it drip  back out onto Bo, and then rubbed it into his soft skin like fine lotion.

    Watching their erotic performance had me hard as a rock.   I’d moved from the water to an adjacent rock where I had a front row seat, so to speak.  “Anyone who wants to can punish me like that any time they want,” I said.  Cory moved to me and started ministering to my cock.  Bo rolled over and got to his knees as well, joining Cory on the other side of my lap.  For awhile two young tongues competed in the Oral Olympics, both earning perfect scores.  Then I decided it was time to join that action, and I urged Cory to his feet, and then pulled his crotch to my face.  He did not resist, having been on the edge of shooting for quite some time now.   One hand on Bo’s head and one hand on Cory’s ass, I took Cory’s swollen head into my mouth, giving it a good tongue wash, and then sucking his whole five inches in.  He and I began simultaneous pelvic thrusts, his into me, and mine into Bo.  Bo’s incredible tongue once again worked its magic, and I erupted, shooting cum into and onto his mouth.  Sensing my orgasm, Cory came too, likewise spewing cum in me and at me.  I pulled Bo up, and Cory down, and we indulged in a cum-slickened three way embrace.

    A solitary cloud floated across the sun, and the momentary change in the light broke our attention to one another.  “Maybe we should clean up a little,” someone suggested.  It hardly mattered who, since we were nearly telepathic in our communication by now.  We re-entered the lake, relaxed now, and quiet.  We floated easily next to each other, touching here and there, squeezing a hand or a foot or a penis,  allowing the water to soak us clean.

    The afternoon sun had sunk to begin casting long shadows, and although it was still hot, the intense heat of midday had passed.  It was time to get out and dry, and start back.  In the nearly nonexistent humidity of the high desert, we were dry in minutes after leaving the lake, and after donning shoes and shorts once again, we started the hike back to the truck.  We took our time, wandering slowly along the canyon trail, stopping often to hug, keeping arms around each other when the trail permitted, touching each other at every chance.  Once Bo darted aside and dropped to the ground, apparently picking up a stone.  His Indian eyes had spied not a stone, but a tiny arrowhead no bigger than the tip of his little finger.  He showed it to us excitedly.

    “These little tiny ones were used for shooting birds and rodents,” he explained.  “See how perfectly it’s notched, and feel how sharp it is,” he instructed, full of pride in both his discovery and his heritage.

    “Cool!  Maybe one of your ancestors made it,” Cory suggested.

    “Probably not,” Bo told us.  “I’m part Arapayo, and they didn’t live this far south.  The area around here was mostly Yualapai.  We were always a small tribe, and they didn’t intermingle with the bigger ones too much.”

    “Well, it’s still really neat.  How did you even see it?” Cory asked.

    “I just see ‘em,” Bo replied.  “Once you know what to look for, they sort of jump out at you.  Look!  There’s something else.”  And again he squatted down to pick up another stone.  This one, however, was a bead of turquoise, maybe a half inch round, with a hole directly through the center.  It was beautiful, not quite pure but flecked with gray and black, and very slightly marbled.

    “Awesome,” I breathed.  “To think that in this exact same place, thousands of years ago Indians lived and hunted and swam and...”

    “And fucked,” Bo finished.

    “Let’s come back here and look for artifacts,” Cory said.  “When we have more time.”

    “Yeah, let’s do that,” I agreed as we resumed our walk, my arms around a boy on each side.

    Rounding a bend, our “secret bush” came into view.  ”Let’s go in for a minute,” Bo said.  “I have to do something.”  Inside, he took charge.  “We cannot leave without leaving a small gift to honor the spirits of the rock painters.  Stand here,” he instructed me, pointing to the center, “and Cory, you stand here, no, over a bit, yes.  There.”  With us in place, he unzipped a pocket in his shorts, and pulled out a small, jet black feather.  This he placed directly beneath the petroglyph, and then stepped back, standing just in front of us.  He raised his hands to shoulder level, palms open and upward, and raised his face to the sky.  He began to chant softly, his still pure soprano seeming to fill the air, and float out of the room.  After too few seconds, he stopped, and remained frozen in his stance, barely breathing.  Utter and complete silence filled the space, and awe filled our hearts.  We had witnessed great power and beauty, and we were humbled.

    “There.  That oughta do it,” he announced, dropping his arms and ending the spell.  “C’mon, let’s go.” He turned, and was out the door before Cory or I had even moved.

    “Wow,” Cory breathed.  “Was that cool, or what?”

    “Come on, you guys, let’s go!” Bo called, insistent.  We slipped past the entry bush and caught up with him.

    “What happened back there?” I asked.

    “I told you.  You have to say thank you.   Didn’t your mother teach you any manners?  So we did, and now we have to go.  Come ON,” he urged, grabbing our hands and giving us little choice.  We got in the truck, Bo choosing to sit on Cory’s lap rather than the back seat.  I backed until I could turn around, and we left the Canyons.

    “Dairy Queen?” I asked.

    “Cool!” replied Cory and Bo in unison.

    From his vantage point on Cory, Bo checked out the back of the truck.  “What’s that big bag back there?” he asked.

    “That black one?  That’s just my photo stuff.  Cameras and lenses and stuff.”

    “You’re into photography?” Cory asked.  “I’d love to learn how to do that.”

    “Me too,” Bo chimed in.

    “Cool,” I said.