ADVENTURE - part 7
			       by joe wilson

Silver light bound the edge of the drapes that covered the windows, melting
away the darkness and the night shadows.  Another dawn streaked the sky.

I looked at him as he slept beside me.  There was a thin layer of
sweat on his brow.  The lingering odors of sex pervaded the room.  Except
for leaving it to eat a sustaining meal, we had been there, in the shabby
worn-out motel room for four days.  Holding, touching, kissing, tasting,
loving.  Ah!  How we loved!  Expressing our passion in every way our
experience and imagination suggested.  Drowning in  splashing golden
streams and shooting luscious cream, we exclaimed out enslavement to each
other.

"I love you, Michael Davis."

"I love you, Danny," he murmured, half asleep.

His cock was erect.  How could it be, after he had exercised it so
insistently in my ass-hole.  But then mine was hard too.  I couldn't
resist another kiss on the head of it.  I tasted the bitterness of last
nights' fucking.

Slipping my body around, I placed myself in the contra position, the
famous sixty-nine.  He groaned his approval as I swallowed his cock into
the back of my throat.  My nose was buried in his thick pubic hair, still
damp and smelly from last nights' pissing games.  We had come a long way
in our adventures, since leaving New Orleans.  There was little left to
be tried.

It began slowly, as he sucked on my cock, but it was there.  The exquisite
pleasure of it caused thrills to creep along my spine, increasing with
every moment of the suck, growing faster now, and then the sudden
simultaneous blast of pleasure as we each ejaculated again.  We fell
apart, lying back upon the bed, our breathing, short and staccato, panting
like animals in heat, as surely we still were.  His hand reached for mine
and held it tight.  We lay still for a long time.

"You hungry, Danny?" he asked.

"Um hum.  For you," I said pulling my hand from his, seeking his ball sac,
shriveled and limp.  I raised myself and leaning over him sucked them into
my mouth.

"Shit man," he laughed, "You're a fucking pervert now.  A pretty little
piss queen."  The tone of his voice was sweet and gentle, and I new he loved
me for whatever I was, despite the things I did and submitted to in the
last four days.

"I guess we got carried away.  Doin' all that stuff, but I loved it.  It
was fun."  My voice trailed off I know.  Thinking about it excited me.  We
had been together for a little over four weeks now.  Only twenty eight
days since we sat in the French Market in New Orleans, eating beignets.
How innocent I was then.  So unaware of the adventures that were waiting
for us on the road ahead.

In the way that lovers do, he read my thought.  "You've come a long way,
baby," he said with a laugh placing his hand on my head, and holding it there
at his crotch, buried in the tenderness of his loins.  I comforted myself
by sucking on his cock again.

"It's time we moved along, Danny.  Let's hit the road and seek out some
fresh love-juice.  I'm getting hungry for some of that strange meat.
We'll find us some fresh bodies.  Okay?"

The thought of it set my gonads flowing again.  Yes, he's right.  It's
time to move along;  look for more fun.


We headed west, out of Houston on a narrow two lane road that was not
important enough to merit a name or number.  The warm moist air was
conclusive to our purpose and, once we were clear of the city we took
off our clothes.  The sensual pleasure of the humid breeze licking our
naked bodies was a luscious pleasure.  I still felt the wonderful
excitement of being naked, and know Michael felt it too, for his cock was
sticking up out of his lap like the giant salami it was.

We flirted with a truck driver for several miles.  He smiled, nodded
approval as he looked at us.  When he turned off the road into a patch
of cottonwoods we followed him.  He was young and vigorous, and we each
tasted his hot sweet sap.  When we were finished, he gave us his address
in Tucson, with a candid invitation to visit he and his roommate lover,
who "Was just as queer as you," he said with a smile.


We had lunch at a McDonalds that sat alone on a no-where stretch of the
deserted road we were following.  The two boys that worked the counter
looked almost too young, but they both proved to be more than capable.
Michael and I bent our bodies over the table, facing each other.  Our
open mouths close enough for a tongue duel as the boys fucked us.  Ah Yes!
The adventures of the open road were still there!


The towns were far apart.  The empty spaces seemed to stretch forever
into nowhere.  They were lonely too, for as the road stretched its'
distance into the empty miles ahead, there was no sign of traffic, nor
of people, nor of men or boys.  It was as though we were on another planet.

The sun had been brilliant in a cloudless sky, but it was low on the
horizon now, ready to bed down for the night, slipping into the west.

"Take heart, Danny, we're just a little more than a hundred miles from
Van Horn.  We'll get a room there," he said, and then he mumbled, "And
a thick, juicy Texas steak."  He added, "Hopefully, that is."

"Yeah man!  I'm hungry.  Guess I could eat a horse."

Michael laughed.  That was one of the things I loved about him.  He was
always so cheerful.  Nothing seemed to bother him.  "Seems like you've
eaten everything else."

It was then it happened.  With one enormous sigh, the motor of our trusty
chariot stopped.  It was so sudden and unexpected, that we looked  one to
the other in astonishment.

"Shit!"

I looked at the gauge, but it indicated that the tank was more than half
full.  We had filled up in Fort Stockton.  Michael guided the silent
vehicle to the side of the road.

"Shit!  You know anything about cars, Danny?"

"All's I know is how to turn them on.  And then I'm not sure of some of
them."

"Christ!  There's nothing we can do now but wait for someone to come
along.  Once that sun goes down it's dark, man, not much twilight out
here in this flat country."

Michael got out of the car and pulled on his jeans and shirt.  "Better
cover up, Danny.  Never know who's going to come along."

We sat together, comforting each other for what seemed like a long while.
The clock in the dash reminded us that it had been several hours since
the motor gave up the ghost and died its' sudden death.

Michael pulled away, raised his body up, turned, and looked out the rear
window.  Far off in the distance behind us, were two tiny lights.  We
watched as they approached us with the speed of ageing turtles, growing
larger and larger with each stretched out minute.  As it came closer to
us, Michael put the hazard lights on.  Neither of us spoke, but I know he
wondered what new adventure was coming up, just as I did.

It chugged up to us, sounding like a boiler that was about to burst.  When
it was along side, it screeched to a halt.  Even though it could not
have been travelling faster than ten or fifteen miles an hour, it seemed
to skid to a stop.  It was too dark to see it, or who was driving it.

"Are you having trouble?  If so perhaps I can be of assistance."  The
voice was strong and firm in its sounding, and we heard the door slam shut.
He walked in front of his headlights as he approached us.  His image, caught
in the light, I saw that he was a man of vintage years, somewhere between
sixty and eighty, a military bearing, his head held high and shoulders back.
There was a thick shock of pure white hair that rolled over his forehead
to the back of his neck and over his ears in soft waves.  He was clean-
shaven with a ruddy complexion of a man who had spent time out of doors
in the sunshine.  There was a calm and complacent expression on his face that
relaxed into a smile.  In the brief moment that I saw him in the light, I
knew he was a man of quality, a gentlemen.  He had class.

"My name is Henry Mergatroid Higgins," he said extending a long arm
attached to a huge hand.  His handshake was firm.

"My name is Danny Tobin and this is Michael Davis, Mr Higgins."

"Henry.  Please call me Henry.  Having car trouble I see.  Well sir, we are
One hundred miles from Fort Stockton that way, and one hundred miles from
Van Horn that way.  There are no garages, no gasoline stations, no mechanics
in between.  I suggest you lock it up and come with me.  We can call for
assistance on the morrow."

"That's awfully nice of you, Henry," Michael said.

"Nonsense.  I wouldn't let you sit out here all night.  Besides, you've got
to call for help and my telephone is the only one for miles around.  Come
along then Michael, you too, Daniel."

His automobile was old and tired and moved at a slow pace, but eventually
we turned off the road onto a small dirt trail that led behind a clump
of chaparral and mesquite to a surprisingly large and beautiful house,
surrounded by grass and a garden, and bordered on a rushing stream.

"It's like an oasis," I cried as soon as I saw it.

He looked at me, a tinge of surprise in his handsome face,  "Why that's what
I call it," he said.  "Oasis of the Desert,  however did you know?"

"It's just that it is so peaceful," I answered.

We helped him carry the supplies he had purchased in Fort Stockton.
"Once a week,' he said.  "I go there once a week."

"Are you all alone then, all the time, all by yourself?"

He lowered his eyes and brushed his hand across his cheek. "Yes, I live
alone."  But he straightened up and smiled.  "But not now, not tonight.
Tonight I have company," and there was a tremor in his voice.  "I haven't
had a visitor in over twenty eight years, so if I forget to put out towels
or soap or do something wrong, please let me know.  You have a tendency to
forget after twenty eight years," he said wistfully.


He handed each of us a glass of Glenlivet splashed over cubes of ice in
sparkling Waterford crystal.  And while we sipped the velvet liquid, and
felt its' warming tentacles reach into our bodies, he somehow prepared
a sumptious meal of porterhouse steak and salad with no effort.  All the
while he sliced vegetables and made french fried potatoes, he chattered
happily.  It was 'good' to have company, as he called us.

When Michael asked why,  "Why do you live here.  With all these beautiful
things, the furniture, the paintings on the walls, you could be anywhere.
You should be in Dallas or New York or Los Angeles.  Why have you isolated
yourself here in the middle of nowhere?"

"Why, this was my Daddys' house.  He left it to me.  I was born here.  Why
in the world would I want to live any where else?"

And the conversation continued this way through dinner and after.  He was
flattered that we had enough interest in him, to ask personal questions.
They did not offend him as you might expect, and he was candid in his
answers.

"Then you've never married," Michael asked.

He shifted his position and reached to his snifter of Armagnac.  We were
sitting outside on the patio looking at the reflection of the moon upon
the silvery waters of the river.  Our stomachs were full, and the three
of us were as 'content as Texas cows'.  He laughed,  "No, I never married.
I was never much interested in women.  I was like you boys.  I hankered
after men----Texas men.  But being that way in Texas, in the 1930's was
hopeless," he sighed.  "I'm seventy years old now.  A little older even.
And you know I never once lay with a man.  Not once."

I was shocked at what he said.  Not about himself, but that he recognized
that Michael and I were what we were.  Neither of us had said or done
anything to suggest that we were lovers.  But Michael, ever alert and ready
caught the implication immediately and recognized the possibiities.

"Maybe it's time you did," he said.

The sounds of the desert at night, the singing and rustling of nocturnal
insects increased in the silence that followed.  It was not the quiet of
embarrassment, but of contemplation, as each of us dwelled in his own
thoughts.

Henry was the first to stir, and in a quiet voice that spoke louder than
its' sound, he said,  "I always regretted that I would leave this earth one
day with no memories to take with me.  But I have accepted it.  Now that I
have become old, the fires are fueled by dying coals.  The warmth is there,
I guess it always will be, but it's not as hot as it used to be, not as
immediate.
"It's better to let sleeping tigers alone.  You awaken them, and they might
snap at you.  Might even eat you alive."  And we watched the fire die slowly
in the pit.  Its' light faded, as the glow from the full moon increased its'
asscendant ride into the dark sky.  The sounds of crickets, as they rubbed
their legs together, interpolated the comfortable silence that followed, and
we sipped our brandy, and poured more and sipped again, until the luscious
liquid in the snifter was gone.

"Well sir, if you boys don't mind, it's time for me to ready myself for
bed," he said quietly,  "Out here, we bed down when the sun does, and it's
been long gone, so I will say goodnight."  The lonely sadness in his eyes
was overcome by a twinkle and a sudden smile.  "Enjoy yourselves, my
friends, and thank you for being here."  He arose from his chair, and
bending toward me, in the dim light of the night, he kissed my cheek.

"Oh to be eighteen again," he said wistfully, and we followed him up the
stairs to our bedroom.



Michael kissed me with fervor and passion, sucking on my tongue, rolling
his over it, exploring secret hollows in my mouth.  His hands were on my
buttocks pulling me to him, forcing our hard-on cocks to probe the bristly
pubic hair.  Something in the evening, perhaps the spicy Texas steak or
the silky armagnac had unleashed his passion with an accustomed force.

"Oh God, I love you Danny."

"I love you, Michael, so much."

"We're lucky to have each other Danny, now, while we're young and able
to do something about it."

"Yes, I know," I said holding him, my hand gliding over his warm, hairy
skin.  I found his nipple and kissed it, sucking on it.  My hand slid down
his hard stomach, my fingers wrapped around his solid cock.

"Fuck me, Michael.  I want you inside me.  I want to feel your cum spurt."

"Yes," he said.

Afterward we lay together, arms and legs entangled in a loose knot.  I could
feel the pounding of his heart against mine and, as the beating gradually
slowed, he fell asleep.


Somewhere in the night, the moon gave a twilight cast to the bedroom.
Michael was on his back, a quiet snore escaped his full lips.  He was deep
in slumber.  I could still feel the throbbing cock inside me, hitting the
prostate with measured prods in a consistent rhythm.  The pleasure had been
wonderful.  I lay beside him, looking at his beautiful naked body, and I
started to masturbate, to jack my cock back and forth in ever increasing
pleasure.  And then I thought of Henry, alone in his bed.  Could his cock
be hard too, waiting for fulfillment?  How sweet and gentle a man he was.
So thoughtful, in every way, to make our presence a welcome one.

I eased out of bed with little disturbance.  Michael was deep in a dream,
maybe a wet one, and I slipped out the door into the hallway.  There were
several bedrooms and bathrooms off the hall, but only one had its' door
closed.  Going up to it, my fingers on the knob, I hesitated.  Should I,
I wondered.  And the power of needed contact told me what to do.  I slipped
inside, closing the door as soundlessly as I had opened it.

In the soft light of the moon, I saw Henry lying on the bed.  He was naked.
And as he had shed his clothes, he shed his years too, for his body was firm,
young, long and lean with stringy muscles.  Except for the patch that grew
around his cock, there was little hair.  The most predominant thing to
notice were his huge nipples, sticking out like swollen thumbs on his
narrow chest.  I hungered for them, to taste, to feel, and to turn on the
exciting nerves that dwelled inside.  I wanted to give Henry the pleasure
that had been denied him all these years.

I slipped into bed.  Beside him, I touched his warm skin with pursed lips
and light fingers.  First his nipples, one then the other.  How sweet was
the taste of him.  He stirred, but did not awaken.  I held back by rising
passion so as not to disturb him, not yet anyway.

I loved the secret intimacy of acquainting my body with his, learning all
his secret places.

He stirred again.  A soft moan.  My nose buried in soft pubic hair, inhaled
the scent of sandalwood.  My tongue licked his testicles.  I could feel his
cock as it grew along the side of my neck.  How big it had grown as blood
rushed into it.  Like his nips it was oversized, a giant phallus reaching
into the air.  I took it into my mouth, and my tongue rolled over the slick
tight skin that covered the head of it.  Now my passion controlled me,
and I could hold back no longer.  I wanted this cock that had never been
tasted by anyone.

"Oh no," he whispered, "Oh my, no!  Oh no."  and his hips forced his huge
cock deeper into my throat.  It was as though I were swallowing the whole of
it as it rolled along my tongue, and I sucked.  Sucked and bobbed my head
back and forth.  My hands cupped his balls, my fingers found his hole.
then the thrashing of his body began, and we cadenced our movements in a
parallel rhythm which grew and grew in intensity until the point of no
return was reached and passed, and with an abrupt cry and a final lurch,
he exploded his cum in a spasm of ever-increasing pleasure.

"Aaaaaaah," he cried.  "Oh, Oh, Oh, my god!"  and his breathing became
furious pants of heated breath.  "Oh Daniel.....Ah Danny....."

And I pulled away and slipped my body up on the bed along side him and
held him in my arms in a lover embrace and he started to cry.  I could
taste the tears as they wetted his cheeks, and I held him close.  The
shaking of his body, gradually eased itself as a lovely calm washed over
him, and we lay together for a long time, only half awake, each of us
dreaming his private dreams.


Somewhere in the night I fucked him, giving back the cum I had eaten.  And
somewhere he tasted me as my own cock erupted its' cream down his anxious
throat.

We said no words.  Only the cries of love and the groans of passion were
heard as we performed our sexual pleasures upon each other.  When dawn began
to lighten the eastern sky, I slipped back into the guest bedroom and into
Michaels' arms.  He had not missed me for he slept through the deflowering
of Henry, our gracious host.


By midday the mechanic had come and repaired the car.  It was time for us to
be on our way so that we could be in Van Horn before dark.  All morning
I had expected Henry to say something, make some comment of what we did
through the night, but only his eyes, touching mine, announced his love,
the love of a seventy year old man for an eighteen year old boy.  And so 
I kissed him good-bye with the spoken promise to write, and the secret and
silent promise to one day return.

I looked back at him standing on the highway, a diminishing vision reduced
to an invisible speck by the turning of the wheels, and I thought how
sweet this adventure had been, and I put my arms around Michael and kissed
him.

"I love you," I said.

A sly smile crossed over Michaels' face.  It was knowing and wise, "Well,
at least Henry has a memory to take with him," he said.

And we were on the road once more.......


joe wilson

I hope you liked my story
if you did please let me know

wilson583@aol.com