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, history, and so on are totally invented,
and are not intended to represent any specific tribe or actual customs.


Chapter Seven

    There were so many legal items to sort out, but the day being Sunday, most would simply have to wait.  I called my lawyer at home and gave her an edited version of my finding Bo and his family situation.  The legal situation seemed to be that he would have to be first declared a ward of the state, then placed in foster care with me, and then I could file to adopt him.  She thought that it could move quickly if we could convince the child welfare people that Bo was in good hands with me.  She thought we could, given my position at the college and Bo’s eagerness to have this happen.  It seems they actually listen to kids these days, and teenagers’ preferences do get some consideration.  She promised to meet me Tuesday and file preliminary papers.

    There was also the problem of his uncle’s burial and funeral.

    And we had to go back to his house and search for a will.  I dreaded that last part, fearing that it would plunge Bo back into his hysterical fear again.  But as usual, he surprised me.

    “Let’s go over to my uncle’s house today,” he said at breakfast the next morning.  “I have some things of mine to get, and I have to find his will.  And he wrote down his burial instructions, too.  He told me that when he died, I was to find his will and take it to the proper people, so that his wishes would be followed.  My uncle was a traditional Indian, but he knew what he had to do when it came to legal things.  So can we?”

    “We sure can,” I replied.  “I was worried that you wouldn’t want to go back there.”

    “Well, it might seem a little creepy, but it won’t be like his body is there or anything.  I don’t like dead things.  But I learned to respect my ancestors, and to honor their spirits, and even to talk to them, so I know it’s OK.”

    “Yeah, that was an awesome thing you did with the spirits in the secret room,” Cory added.  “Made a believer out of me.”

    “You have to have the right attitude,” Bo told him.  “You can’t just go asking for stupid stuff, and you can’t bother them all the time.  But when it’s important,  they will usually help.”

    “So, why don’t we go over this morning, and then figure out the afternoon when it happens?” I suggested.

    “Cool,” they replied in unison.

    We arrived at Bo’s uncle’s house and entered.  The hogan was dim and cool, built partially into the hillside in the traditional way.  It smelled of herbs and roots and old leather.  As our eyes adjusted, we saw a curious blend of the traditional and the modern.  Woolly goatskins and flat-weave rugs covered the floor, and a couple of simple benches provided the only extra seating, beyond a Lazy Boy recliner.  A new electric oscillating fan stood near the door, and a small, color TV sat on an old steamer trunk, a cordless phone on top of it.  A table near the window held various papers and a calculator.  Overhead, pouches and bags hung-- some leather, some plastic from the supermarket -- containing a variety of dried herbs and spices.  An old electric clock on the wall advised “Drink Ice Cold CocaCola” while next to it hung painted gourd rattles  and a beautiful handmade dream catcher.

    Bo was rumaging through a pile of papers and files on his uncle’s table, seemingly without order, and soon came up with two sealed envelopes.  “Here it is,” he said.  Handwritten on one was “Last Will and Testament of William Beauregard Stillwater, and on the other “To be opened in the event of my death. ”    He placed the Will on the table by the door, and looked at me.  “I guess I should open it, huh?”

    “Yes.  I guess you should.”

    “He slit the envelope and pulled out a single page.  We read it together.  “Dear Bo,”  it  said, “Since you are reading this, I guess I’m dead.  If I did not have a chance to say goodbye, then I’m saying it now.  I will love you forever, you know that.  And I know that you will make me proud.  May you walk all ways in the shadow of the Great Spirit.

    I would like my body to be returned to the earth as simply as possible.  A simple pine casket is reserved and paid for at Sunset Funeral Home in town.  They will take care of satisfying the legal requirements.  You will take care of satisfying our traditions.

                                    Fare well, Nephew”

It was signed “Your loving uncle,” and continued with a Post Script for anyone other than Bo who opened it, simply directing them to contact Sunset.

    “Well, I guess we should call the funeral home,” I said.  “Do you know what he meant about the traditions?”

    “Yes,” Bo said solemnly.  “I know what to do.  When we bury him.”

    I called Sunset and transmitted Uncle’s instructions.  Bo said nothing and turned to other things.  He wanted the CocaCola clock, and some of the ceremonial items.  “You know,” he remarked, “I know he’s dead and everything, but I still keep expecting him to walk in the door at any moment.  Or I hear a noise outside and I look out to see if it’s him.”  His eyes got a little misty, but he did not cry.   

    Cory put an arm around his shoulder.  “I guess it takes a little time to get used to, doesn’t it.”  Bo just stood for a moment or two more, and then returned to his collecting.    He did not take much:  just the things his uncle had told him he wanted him to take.  We expected the Will to name Bo as heir, but we did not know for sure.

    When Bo had collected his own things and those of his uncle that he knew he should take, we went across to the dumpy double-wide that had been his home.  Inside, he ignored the shabby household furnishings and went straight to his small bedroom, where a nearly new computer sat on a card table.  “One thing Mom did right,” he said, “was buy me a good computer.”  He set about disconnecting the machines, and we carted them out to the truck.  He pulled a meager collection of clothes out as well.  Then, loaded with the immediate things he wanted from the two houses, we considered the remainder of the day.

    “Maybe you’d like to go home and get your stuff organized,” I suggested to Bo.

    “Nah, I’m gonna do that tomorrow while you’re at school,” he answered.  “I mean, if that’s OK.”

    “Bo,” I said, turning to face him,  “remember this:  we’re together now.  MY home and YOUR home have changed to OUR home.  You don’t have to ask permission.  OK?”

    “OK,” he said, his voice muffled by our hug, a tear or two escaping his eyes and landing on my shirt.

    So we returned to the rest of the day.  Cory suggested the lake again, I thought we might drive out some of the forest service roads and explore.  Bo settled it.  “I know some more trails around here that lead up Boulder Mountain,” he said.  “Let’s go up.  You don’t have to do any mountain climbing,” he hastily added to me.  “It’s all trails.  You can go up the hard way another time, Cory.”  So we did.

    We hit the local cafe for lunch, and luxuriated for awhile under the sun before setting out up the trail.  Bo knew his stuff, that was obvious, and as he had before, led us along a trail that a trained guide would have had a hard time following.  It was not a hard hike, but it was steadily upward, and we were all getting a good workout.  We reached a junction that actually had a rustic sign posted.  “<-- Express route /  Scenic route --> ” it read.  We stopped to consult. 

    “The scenic route is nice,” Bo said, but it’s better coming down that way.  “The express route is there.”  He pointed to a narrow path that more or less went straight up the side of the boulder-strewn mountain.  “Come on,” he said, and started up.  We had no choice but to follow.

    The “express route” was sort of like a rough staircase right up the side of the mountain.  It was not mountain climbing or anything, but just real steep uphill hiking, from one boulder up to the next.  In about five minutes, we emerged in a wooded plateau, all of us -- even Bo -- huffing and puffing.

    “OK,” I said.  “We’re here.  Now what?” 

    “Walk this way,” Bo instructed, adopting an extremely silly gait across the level spot, and heading between a massive boulder and some bushes.  So we did.

    No sooner had we passed the bushes and climbed a up a couple more boulders, but an awesome vista opened before us.  Suddenly we stood on the top of the mountain, a boulder field strewn like pebbles across the top, with  360 degree views.  The valleys below spread out before us, the neat fields like patchwork, the cars and trains below looking like toys.  In the distance the adjacent peaks rose to our level, and the blue sky seemed close enough to touch.

    “Awesome,” breathed Cory, putting an arm around Bo.  “Absolutely awesome.”

    I stepped behind both boys and encircled their necks with my arms.  “Wow,” I added profoundly.

    We drank in the views for some more moments, and then decided we should sit down to rest.  We had only fanny packs with us, and we broke out sodas and cookies.  “I’m still thirsty,” Bo said after finishing his.  His hand was moving into my shorts, and I of course was responding. 

    “Uh, Bo, I don’t think this is the right time or place,” I said, as he left his hand where it was, doing what it was.

    “What’s the matter, haven’t you ever had sex on a mountain top before?” he asked.  “The public trail’s closed for the falcon nesting season; we came up a private way.  Nobody’s going to disturb us.”  His hand continued to stroke and squeeze, and his other hand was opening my shorts.

    “Yes... but what if...” I offered, finding no good arguments to counter with.

    He had my shorts open and was moving his mouth downward when I conceded defeat.  “Cory, move over here,” I said.  He dropped his shorts and presented his erect member to me.  I took him into my mouth at the same time Bo took me into his, and Cory twisted himself so that he could reach Bo.  We formed a crooked triangle on the warm rocks, each prick in a mouth, six hands roaming over three bodies in the hot sun.  It was heaven, and for once Bo wasn’t the first one to come.  I exploded into his mouth, pumping hot semen into him and out his lips, and he did the same for Cory, who quckly spurted into me.  It happened with speed and urgency; it had been a release we all needed.

    “See, I told you no one would catch us,” Bo crowed as we rearranged ourselves and our clothing.  He was right, but just barely.  Voices in the distance became audible, and within minutes two more hikers appeared.  It was a close call that made our open air sex seem that much more exciting.

     None of us had any desire to meet the other hikers, so we collected our trash and walked down the “scenic route” trail.   It was indeed lovely, and after a half hour of breathtaking vistas and gorgeous mountain wildflowers, we arrived back at the truck.  It was time to head home.


    I let Cory drive, since I wanted to be close with Bo just now.  He sat on my lap as he had with Cory, his hand idly exploring my crotch, mine exploring his.  “You know,” I said, “Cory and I have school tomorrow.  You’ll be alone all day -- I won’t get home until about 5.”

    “And I need to stay in the dorm tomorrow night,” Cory said.  “If I stay with you guys every night, it’ll look really strange.  And I am NOT ready to come out at school.”

    “Cory and I have talked about this,” I said.  “He will have to continue to stay in the dorm during the week most of the time, or else it will look real unusual.  And besides, if he started living openly with me, it would create a conflict of interest as far as his grade in the class is concerned.  So he has to stay on campus for the rest of the semester.”

    “But he can come with us weekends?” Bo asked.

    “Yes,” Cory replied,  “and some weeknights.  I’ll just say I’m spending the weekends at home, I’ve got stuff to do there, and I’m getting along good with my mother again.  Next semester I can move in with you guys.”

    “So you’re going to be alone at home tomorrow,” I told Bo.  “Are you sure you’re OK with that?”

    “Yeah, I’m fine.  I’m gonna set my stuff up in my room, you know , my computer and stuff.  And I’m gonna explore outside a little.  Don’t worry,” he hastened to add, seeing my worried face.  “I won’t go far enough to get lost.”

    “I’ll call you at lunch time,” I said.  “So be home then, OK?”

    “Me too,” said Cory.  “Around 12:30.  If you’re not there, I’m gonna whip your skinny butt.”

    “Oh yeah? You and what army, ya big jerk?”

    “You already know, you little shit.  Just be home tomorrow.”  And with that, we arrived at my gate.  Bo slid off my lap to open it and we drove in.  “I think he’s going to be OK,” Cory said.  “But I’m still worried about him.”

    “Me too,” I said.  “I think I’m going to see about getting him into some classes at school or something.  I don’t like the idea of him being alone when we’re at school.”

    Tuesday morning came all too fast, and Tuesday evening all too slow.  Both Cory and I had called Bo at lunch time, but we both still worried about him.  My lawyer had filed initial papers, and I had an appointment with Children’s Protective Services Wednesday.  We would take the Will to my lawyer then as well.  But first we needed to get the rest of the way through Tuesday.  The half-hour drive home seemed interminable.  Every slow driver in Arizona must have pulled out in front of me and then poked along in the “No Passing” zones.

    I finally pulled in, closed the gate, and entered the house.  “Bo?  I’m home,” I called.  One of the cats appeared, but no Bo.  “Bo?” I called again.  The house remained silent.  Getting a little worried, I walked toward the living room.  And nearly had a heart attack when Bo ambushed me from the loft ladder, jumping out right in my face and wrapping his thin arms tight around my neck and his legs around my waist.  “You Little SHIT!” I exclaimed, hugging him hard.  “Don’t DO things like that to a man my age!”  I carried him to the sofa, and we sat down, him straddling me still, on his knees facing me.  I noticed that he was wearing his Band-Aid breechcloth, and that he was hard.

    “I missed you today,” I told him.

    “I missed you too,” he answered.

    “So what did you do today?  Spray cum all over the house, I suppose?” I fingered his obvious erection.

    “Nope.  I’m saving up for you.  I put my stuff away this morning, and I hooked up my computer, and I put up some of Uncle’s stuff.  C’mon, I’ll show you!”  He climbed off me and pulled me onto my feet.

    I cannot say that he had made his room into a hogan, but it certainly bore a resemblance to his uncle’s home.  A soft, furry hide was in the middle of the floor.  Some of the ceremonial pouches hung from the walls and ceiling; the CocaCola clock was up, and the room smelled of dry herbs and animal skins.  The computer sat on a desk in one corner, a boombox on top of the mini-tower.  He opened his closet and showed me his small assortment of clothes, all neatly hanging.  “What do you think?” he asked, looking up at me.

    “It’s really neat!” I told him.  “You’ve really made this into your own space.  I’m impressed.”

    “There’s something we have to do now that you’re home.  We have to identify this place to the rock painters, so they know where I am, and we have to identify you as my friend and protector.  There’s different ways to connect with them.  The secret room is one way, but another is by joining us as if we’re one.  That’s what we have to do.”

    And with that, he unbuckled my pants and pushed them down my legs along with my briefs.  His delicate hands roamed about my abdomen and groin for a few tantalizing moments before he took my growing erection in his hands and brought his mouth to it.  He took me into his mouth straight on with no preliminaries, and licked my entire length.  But he did not continue with his usual exciting blow job, but rather stood up again and half pushed, have led me to his bed.  I sat on it, and he pushed me back so that I was lying flat on my back.    He climbed on me again, and without preamble or hesitation, sat on my wet dick, squirming a bit as the head found the hole.  Apparently he had pre-lubed himself, for I glided in as soon as he had me properly positioned.  Bo began raising and lowering himself on my wet rod, making me harder yet.  I reached into his breechcloth, which he had not removed and began to massage his stiff little prick.  When he sensed that I was pretty well pumped up, he stopped his movements.  He sat back, pushing me deep inside him.  Then he raised his hands and began a low chant, eerily seductive and hypnotic.   Outside, I heard the wind pick up suddenly, and the windows rattled from the intensity of the storm.  Bo began to move on me again, raising himself up and then settling back down, pulling almost out and plunging back down again, massaging me with his sphincter as I massaged him with my hand.    He chanted with more urgency, more intensity in his voice, and then paused.  In a normal voice he uttered a short phrase, and then another.  The wind ceased.  Bo leaned forward to lie on top of me, no longer humping me.  His hands slid under my shoulders and he hugged me tight. 

    “I introduced you to them as my friend, my lover, my protector,” he said.  “I let them feel our bond.  You and this place are known to them now, and they will keep you safe.”  We lay that way for some minutes, neither needing to talk nor continue our sex. 

    I broke the silence.  “How would you like to go out to eat tonight?” I asked.

    “You mean MacDonald’s?”

    “No,” I replied.  “I was thinking of a real sit-down restaurant.  The Wishing Well is just up the road, and they put out a fine dinner.  How ‘bout it?”

    “Cool,” Bo answered.  “I don’t think I’ve ever been to a real restaurant.”

    “Well, let’s get ourselves ready then.  Why don’t you put on a pair pants and a clean shirt, while I change and find myself a beer.”


    I snapped open a beer, changed from my school clothes, and returned to his room.  I had to laugh at the sight he presented.  A too-small plaid shirt left a good inch of flesh revealed above the waistband of jeans that he was struggling to close.  They ended well above his ankles.  “Oh oh,” I said, “Looks like someone needs to go on a diet!”

    “I do not!” he retorted.  “I am not fat.  These must have shrunk in the closet.  They fit fine the last time I wore them.”

    I pulled him onto my lap as I sat down on his bed.  “Bo, you probably don’t have two ounces of fat on your whole body.  You’re just growing, that’s all.  Probably you’re in a spurt now.  You’ll grow real fast for awhile, and then you’ll slow down, and then probably do it again before you’re full grown.  And do you know about the other things that will happen to your body?”

    “Like what?”

    “Well, like muscles.  And height and weight.  And bigger balls and penis.  And more body hair, although probably not a whole lot.  But some under your arms, and more around your penis, and some beard and mustache.  The body hair will depend on which part of your ancestry is dominant:  if it’s the Indian side, you won’t have a lot of facial hair or over-all body hair.  If it’s the Anglo side, you might.  But the hair may take several years to come in.  Probably the height and weight and the cock and the balls will be growing fast.  Do you know how much you weigh?”

    “Not exactly,” he said.  “The last time I checked was when I had to go to the doctor for a tetanus shot.  That was about a year ago.  I remember my clothes fit fine then.  I hardly ever wear regular long pants, ‘cuz in the Winter I just wear sweat pants.  I think I was about 75 then.”

    “You’re probably more like 90 or 95 now,” I said.  “We’ll check.  Let’s look at the rest of your wardrobe.”  We went to the closet and looked over his meager selection.  Basically, nothing fit, except for the shorts he had been wearing and a couple of over-large tee shirts.  “Tomorrow we’re going to go clothes shopping.  You can pick out anything you want, and there are some things that I want you to have even if you don’t.  How’s that sound.”

    “Cool,” he said.  “You mean I get to pick?  Mom never let me pick.  She just brought stuff home and  told me to wear it.  That was another reason I got beat up at school.  She only bought the stuff on sale at K-Mart that no one else wanted.”

    “Well, I guess you can wear your shorts to dinner tonight.  It’s warm enough, and the Well is real casual.  But tomorrow you’re going to be one outfitted dude!”