Date: Thu, 28 Sep 2017 08:40:57 -0400
From: Orson Cadell <orson.cadell@gmail.com>
Subject: Culberhouse Rules 13

See original story (www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/incest/culberhouse-rules/) for
warnings and copyright. Highlights: All fiction. All rights
reserved. Includes sex between related young-adult men. Go away if any of
that is against your local rules. Practice safer sex than my
characters. Write if you like, but flamers end up in the nasty bits of
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*****

I panted like I'd just run a dozen laps, "I {rasp} was gonna ask {puff}
what was first {wheeze} but I guess {gasp} that was a {huff} seriously
stupid question." Various parts of the mound chuckled or giggled at that as
we tried to figure out which body parts belonged to whom. "So how
about... what's next?"

*****

Culberhouse Rules 13: Busted (verb): See Fucked

By Bear Pup

*****

There was a collective eruption of movement in the pile as a very loud,
very sudden THUMP resounded; something had hit the side of the RV and hard!
To even get minimal body coverage took a minute. Dave was first out the
door with Ryan on his heels. They could see dust in the air from a car or
truck that had apparently left at speed, but no sign of a person or
vehicle.

The commotion has put a serious crimp in the lustfulness factor as well as
acting as a nasty buzzkill. We decided it was a fine time to start the
grill. It turned out that they had something even better, a laid-brick
barbeque. It was a stack of unmortared bricks loosely held by rebar through
the holes in each offset brick. It was a long, yard-high box open at one
end with a five-foot chimney-flue at the other. That allowed for everything
from grilling to hot-smoking to wet-smoking with little bother to change it
up. Jack used a charcoal chimney to start the coals while the rest of us
split some seasoned logs of black hickory into cordwood for the fire.

That was when the Ghost of Beenie-Weenies came back to haunt me and
Ryan. Every time we swung the hatchet or bent to pick up a piece of wood, a
loud announcement would accompany the movement. It became a running joke
for the Arnharts along the lines of, "Furl the sails! A great wind is
a'coming!" and similar wit. I couldn't blame them; it was funny. Ryan would
let off these very long, loud eruptions and I'd do this motor-boat-fart
thing going put-put-put-put-put-put-put as I stooped or stood.

Billy took ownership of the corn and did something neither Ryan nor I had
ever seen. He carefully pulled back the husks, stripped the silk and
slathered a load of butter everywhere. He added some spice mixture and
crumbly Mexican cheese, then replaced the husks and tied the end with a
twist of wire. They also had potato boats they'd wheedled out of their
mom. Those were wrapped in loose foil packets.

[ED: In the rest of the world, potato boats would be called twice-baked
potatoes -- the shells of a baked potato scooped out and refilled with the
fluffy potato innards now mixed with butter, cheddar, cream cheese, sour
cream and chives, ready to re-bake or, in this case, roast.]

We cracked another round of brews. Jack, Billy and I ducked into the RV to
refresh the buzz. "Guys, won't your uncle freak when he gets back and
smells the roasted chronic in this place?" Billy had just taken a huge hit
and was caught in spasms as he tried to laugh without losing the
smoke. Jack took his own toke, handed me the blunt and answered in that
unique 'ain't-gonna-exhale' voice perfected by generations of stoners that
made you sound like a cross between a Mouseketeer and one of those people
on the don't-smoke-or-end-up-like-me ads.

"Nah. He's not gonna {gulp air} say anything. We {gulp} leave him one
spliff {gulp} for each day he {gulp} lets us use the place. Rent, ya'know?"
I chuckle; damn but I wish we had an uncle like that. Actually... Mom had
two brothers and Dad had one. Hmm. Interesting thought. Dad's bro was out
because half the family tales were of Little Dougie acting as our dad's
stooge. But one of Mom's brothers, I'd have to ask Ryan which, had joined
the Army when he was twenty for "significant-look-don't-say-anything-dear"
reasons that remained murky. Hmm, indeed.

When all that was left of the roach was a square-millimeter of paper
clamped in the jaws of the clip, we went to rejoin Dave and Ryan. They were
nowhere to be seen but I thought I heard something. I gave the universal
HOLD-SILENT symbol from every video game and action movie (fist at the top
of a right-angled arm drawn down slowly), Jack and Billy went instantly
still. I poked my head around the end of the RV. Dave was looking straight
up to the sky, neck bulging as he tried to make zero noise in his impending
eruption. My brother was doing his "sipping bird toy" impression on Davey's
dickie, bobbing like a yoyo.

I moved as quietly as I knew how (which, if I do say so, is pretty damned
silent) and sensed two eyes, one each of the other brothers, peek around
the edge just as I got right behind Ryan's head. "DON'T YOU THINK you
should take that inside?" My huge bellow of the first three words had the
desired effect as Ryan jumped a foot and Dave howled in pain, having just
had his 'Precious' nearly bitten in two.

Billy and Jack were literally rolling in the pine needles, howling and
weeping with laughter that was only partly nug-induced. The rest of the
reason was evenly split between watching Dave, shorts around his ankles,
hopping about with both hands on his dentally-dented dick, and the comedy
act known as 'The Culberhouse Kids'. My brother had come off Dave's cock at
a speed that meant he head-butted me right between my eyes, leaving me flat
on my ass and shaking my head to clear it as he staggered around holding
the back of his head and moaning. Between the antics of Dave, me and Ryan,
I was surprised that the older Arnhart boys could breathe at all.

It got oh-so-much worse when, in a true Three Stooges (Three Spooges?)
moment, an utterly-outraged Dave threw a punch at me just as I felt back
from a wave of dizziness. To hear them tell it, Dave spun like Taz before
collapsing on me and knocked my wind out as their brother's own pants
situation made recovery impossible.

When the world stopped spinning, Dave was back up, pants where they were
intended and trying to whack his older brothers to stop the laughter at his
expense. Since they were both fairly baked, Dave's blows (probably weakened
by persistent prick pain) just made them laugh harder. Ryan was sitting on
the hitch of the fifth-wheel RV staring blearily at me.

"What the fuck, bro? What was that about?"

I wheezed in a new breath, "Well, it was a lot funnier in my head,
Ry. Sorry." I added sheepishly. "So, um, is Dave okay do you think?"

"Well, I didn't taste blood if that's what you mean, but I'd imagine that
he's out of the races for King Cum for the next hour or so." I was relieved
that Ryan started to chuckle at that, then laugh as he looked my own
disheveled state. I looked down as realized I resembled a cut-rate, Ozark
Bigfoot more than anything else as pine needles and dirt clung to my sweaty
body.

I moaned my way to my feet and found the hose on the side of the main
house. I slipped off the shorts and yelped as the too-hot-then-too-cold
water splashed over me. Ryan joined me, soon followed by all three
now-laughing Arnhart brothers (Dave limping slightly as he favored his
third leg). The inevitable water-fight ensued with the effect that none of
us were remotely hard after constant crotch-shots from the cold hose.

We decided against dressing, dragging the picnic table behind the RV,
effectively blocking it from view. We had rinsed our clothes out as well
(the shirts from inside reeked of reefer) and laid them on the table to dry
in the warm air, in easy reach if we heard a car. There was enough shade in
the pines around the house that we didn't feel sunblock was a priority so
we lounged around. Looking back across the years, I wish there had been a
painter there. Maybe a Paul Cadmus could have captured it and called the
work, "Stoned Jocks at Their Leisure," with the five of us representing
every high school athletic stereotype except Budding Bodybuilder and Track
Star/Soccer Fiend.

The fire had burned down enough by then and Billy, still hiccoughing in
mirth, collected the foil-wrapped potato boats and dropped them carefully
on the coals themselves along with a long, thick packet we didn't know
about. He also arranged the ears of corn on the grill and let them sizzle
and pop for a while. On the second turn, Jack and I both moved toward the
steaks. He literally *growled* at me so I threw my hands up in surrender
and let him take charge of the meat.

There were five (FIVE!!) cowboys in the white-paper wrapper. A cowboy steak
is a rib eye that includes a rib bone and is the thickness of one as
well. Each was easily a pound and a half with marbling that came from some
seriously-lazy and over-accommodated steers. Jack rubbed each with a
half-cut clove of garlic, added some pepper, flake salt (aka Kosher in
places that had Jewish folks) and a tiny pinch of something he said he'd
have to kill me to explain. It smelled of equal parts the power of winning
a football game, the sweetness of a kiss and the spice of deep and abiding
hatred.

The steaks exploded in hissing when they hit the grate and Jack fussed over
them like a mother hen. He gave them a quarter-turn at a few minutes, then
a flip and another quarter-turn later and let them sit and sputter until I
was about to scream with frustrated desire to kick his ass and do it
myself. He put all five on a cutting board and covered them with a HUGE
hotel pan, stepping back and looking smug.

Billy move forward and snagged the potato boats with tongs, then the
tragically-black ears of corn and the mystery package. He put a foil-packet
of potato on each plate (they had real plates, which made me smile). Billy
then used some giant scissors to clip the ends of the corn then WHACKed the
stems off with a cleaver (causing the husks to simply fall away) before
putting them on the plate. Each ear was a wonderland of butter, spice and
cheese flakes roasted into each piece of corn. My mouth erupted in saliva
as I watched. The mystery item was revealed as a huge loaf of crusty bread
stuffed with butter and cheese in the center that nearly drove me mad with
the scent.

Jack distributed the steaks slowly, deliberately torturing us. When my
plate got to me (thanks, Dave) I pierced the foil of the potato and nearly
fainted. The scent of char, smoke, cheddar, butter, cream and chives
exploded. The corn was slightly-charred and slathered with dairy
goodness. I bit into it first and moaned at the Street Corn flavor of
spice, hard-cheese, and a salted-butter adventure. I cut a piece of steak
(indescribably good) and added a bit of the fluffy innards of a potato boat
on a bit of the bread and chewed, moaning in ecstasy. Sure, sex was
wonderful but this... this was STEAK!

If anyone had placed a microphone nearby, he'd have sworn that an orgy was
in progress. Whimpers, whines, moans, groans and cries of delight spiced
the meal as each of us lost ourselves in the magic that was food charred
and consumed in the great outdoors. At that point, a fire truck parade with
Shriners in little mini-cars could have come by and not one of us would
have noticed.  The meal was so far beyond wonderful that we worried The
Rapture was on the menu for dessert.

I used the last crust of bread (which I elbow-wrestled away from Dave) to
mop up the last bit of steak juice and corn-butter. I was at that moment,
perhaps, as happy and contented as I'd ever been. The perfect meal. The
perfect moment.

"That," my brother intoned, "was one of the best meals I've ever
eaten. Stop, Billy. Just sit. We have to talk about stuff that isn't food
or sex, okay?"

Everyone looked at him in confusion. Then again, he was certainly the
least-fucked-up of the group. "I mean, to keep up the story, we have to at
least pretend to talk about religion."

"Aww." Echoed from all three Arnharts, but I had to agree.

"Guys, it's the only way this works. And, it's a great cover for any
other... adventures we might want to have." I waggled my eyebrows at them
and at least Jack smiled.

Dave sighed deeply. "Okay. Let's do a summary and you tell me what I've got
right. God is the good guy. Satan the villain but he has all the fun. If
*we* have fun we burn in the fires of hell for all eternity, but if we
swear off everything pleasurable for our entire lives were get to live
forever with hot and cold running virgins."

Everyone laughed at that. Ryan said, "Not *quite* on target. For instance,
the perma-virgins are from Islam, not Catholicism. Also, there are a lot of
fun things that aren't sins at all, and even the *really* fun shit can be
forgiven and you still can, if you Confess and Repent, end up in the
Eternal Frat Party."

"Whoa, there." Jack looked actually concerned. "Take a step back. What do
you mean, 'Confess and Repent'? Who do you confess shit to?"

"A priest." Ryan said, matter-of-factly. I moaned. Golden Boy or not, he
had no knack for soft-selling or for logical persuasion. As I expected,
there was a babel of voices at that pronouncement and Jack's strong
baritone took center stage.

"Oh, shit! Are you seriously telling me that you're gonna go in some little
box and tell a PRIEST everything that, like, *we just did*?!?"

"Jack, chill. First, Confession -- the Sacrament of Penance -- is the
ultimate secret." I let my voice exude calm, reasonable logic with a hint
of exasperation, "A priest can never tell anyone, not even another
priest. In fact, the priest is there to help you confess to God and to give
you God's forgiveness. He can't repeat anything you say, he can't even hint
at it. Ever."

"Dude, they *can't* fondle altar boys either, but they do!"

"That's totally different, Jack. Priests sin like everyone else, but the
seal of the Confessional is one of the most-sacred things for a
priest. I've never in my life heard of that being broken. He can't even do
it to stop a murder, even if it's *his* murder. He can't even tell his
BOSS, the Bishop. Not even the Pope. The only exception is if the person
confessing *asks* the priest to do or say something and even then, the
person has to tell the priest a second time *outside* Confession."

"So, you're telling me that I could go in and confess that I plan to kill
the Pope and the priest just -- what? -- says, 'Have a nice day'?"

"No, he'll do everything he can to convince you not to commit the sin, but
he'll never say a word. He might call the Pope's police or whatever--"

"-the Swiss Guard." Ryan interrupted.

"He might tell them that he thinks the Pope is in danger, but he can't tell
them why and can never, ever say who."

Dave's smaller but very forceful voice came next. "Just to be clear, what
we did -- and frankly, what I plan to be doing for quite a while today --
is going to be known by the priest of your church. Who we are and what we
did? I am so not cool with that!"

Ryan jumped in. "Absolutely not! The sins we commit have nothing to do with
you. My Confession would go something like," he blushed scarlet and it
showed in his voice, "I committed impure acts with another person. I let
him touch me in impure ways and I did the same to him, including
yada-yada-whatever-we-do. *I* am the one in Confession; you'd never, ever
be mentioned."

"So, like, what's the POINT? If he can't do anything, can't say anything,
why does the priest even make you do it?"

"He doesn't *make* me. I'll confess because I want to be free from the sin
and the guilt -- though, to be honest, there's not a lot of guilt for me in
this one -- and want to be right with God. And it works, too. I won't tell
you what -- Taylor knows -- but I confessed something that had been eating
me alive for years, just destroyed me, you know? And once I Confessed, it
became... tolerable. Not gone; the hurt will never go away, or the
guilt. But I feel that God's handling it now, at least a little, and I can
do... better things than rip myself up."

"Why?" Billy was honestly interested and a bit puzzled.

"Telling someone makes it... makes it a shared problem, maybe? And knowing
that a man I really respect tells me that God understands, and forgives me,
and wants me to be happy and all... well, it really makes a
difference. Taylor, I'm fucking this up."

My voice was soft and confident. "No, Ry, you're not. That was a good and
brave way to put it. The Sacrament of Penance isn't about the priest, or
the Church. It's about the person confessing. Things you keep bottled up --
especially those that you're ashamed of or hate yourself for -- can destroy
you. Confession sort of lances the boil and lets the poison out."

Dave smiled, "So, to recap, Confession is a Sacrament -- I assume there are
others? --" Ryan and I nodded. "And it's good for the person confessing and
the confession never sees the light of day again. God forgives you and you
go back to a clean slate? What if you do it again?"

"Then you confess again. But you always try to do better."

Dave licked his lips. "I thought we did it pretty damned well the last
time, but I'm up for a rematch. Let's make sure you get your Sacramental
money's worth..." He stood and walked into the RV and we followed. I helped
Jack gather all the clothes up and helped carry them in.

When I got through the door, a jock strap hit my face. I pulled it off,
huffing, as Billy handed me a pair of jeans and my shoes. "You said that
'next time' you'd give us the post-mowing show that Ryan got. It's next
time, dude. Get your hoochie-coochie on, bro."

I laughed. "Pass me the fatty that I smell burning first." What Dave passed
me was a freshly-lit joint of a type we called a Marley, as in Bob Marley
and the Wailers. The thing looked like a stubby white cigar, just barely
thin enough to actually smoke. I took a monumental hit and slipped on the
clothes, making a little show out of that as well.  I was dressed by the
time my lungs put in a final notice of inhale-or-die. A huge blue cloud
joined the one hovering over the other four jocks.

"Kay, dudes. Oh, fuck, that shit's dank. Whew!" I swayed a bit at the hit
took its toll. "Ya gotta remember that I was totally soaked from the
heat. I mean, I smelled like--"

"He smelled like God, guys."

"Thanks, Ry. Anyway, So's I turn my back to bro and drop trou like this."
Jack, Ryan and Billy were on the sofa and Dave was perched on the arm, so I
stood in the middle of the RV and let the jeans slither down. Jack gave a
ragged, shuddering, squeaking gasp. "So's now I've got an excuse cuz my
sneaks are still on and, like, tied." I bend forward and pretended to
fiddle with the laces, grinding my ass-cheeks together and apart, twisting
this way and that to make damned sure every one of them got an
up-close-and-personal meeting with my pucker.

"I sloooooowly get one off and lift my leg waaaaaay up." My balls flopped
down into the gap and I heard Jack's breath catching. "Then the other."
Suddenly, I jumped as Jack's face was buried in my ass, eating me like the
last burrito on a desert island. His hot breath suddenly chuffed into me
and I looked down to see my brother sucking a load out of Jack's cock as
the elder Arnhart feasted on my ass. Jack moaned into my asslips through
his orgasm, making me moan in tandem.

Suddenly, like some magician's trick, Ryan was gone. I looked over and he
was face-first on the couch, his own ass the star attraction in a flick I'd
call 'Dinner at Billy's'. I could tell that one of the two, Jack or Billy,
had taught the other the fine art of rimming. Ryan was squeaking with
pleasure.

I felt myself spun around and it took a minute for my eyeballs to
track. Whatever the fuck was in that joint was dancing through my skull
like Grateful Dead Bears. When I focused, Jack was next to Ryan on the
couch, his knees in his armpits and his feet splayed wide, ass open and
waiting. He looked up at me with fire in his eyes, a man possessed... or
about to be.

"Fuck me, Culberhouse. Get that fucking dick in me or I swear to God I'll
rip the fucker off. MOVE IT!"

"Well, since you asked so nicely..." I lined my cock up with his lubed --
already LUBED! Jackpot! -- back door and prepared to enter him
slowly. Jack, though, had other ideas. As I leaned forward over him, he
latched onto me and pulled me into a tongue-fuck kiss as his legs came down
and slammed my dick into his ass in a single, irresistible plunge. I
screamed into Jack's mouth as his tongue fought mine, the steamy warmth of
his ass rippling along my cock and making me cry out again and again.

I finally was able to get my own mojo running and Jack let me drive -- as
long as I kept it long, deep, hard and fast. He was a pile-driver kind of
fuck-toy; when he wasn't trying to rape my mouth, he was spewing taunts and
insults at me to "put some back into it." You want back, muthuhfuckuh?
Here's BACK.

I pushed my chest hard into his, brilloing his nibs with my wiry chest
hair. At the same time, I started to put my abs, obliques, glutes and lats
into a spiral rhythm that kept my chest locked to his but power-drove my
cock into his jock ass like a jackhammer. HA! That's precisely what I
was. I was the Jack hammer.

A loud keening drew my attention to the left where Ryan was sandwiched
between Billy and Dave, getting his ass fucked by the younger cock and his
cock fucked by the middle brother's ass. I started to wonder how long he
could last but suddenly had other things to worry about.

Jack was a big guy. A *really* big guy with serious leg muscles. When he
started heel-punching my ass and screaming for more, not paying attention
was off the menu. That shit HURT; I'd have bruises on my butt-cheeks for
days! I started slamming in as deep and fast as I could and Jack sort
of... well, if you read online porn, you've probably stumbled across
were-this and were-that. Jack sounded like I'd always imagined a werebear
if he were simultaneously cumming and being gored by a stag. The whole
trailer vibrated with the sound and its echoes as he came between us, gush
after flood of spooge.

The sound, the feel of his cum, the sensation as his ass bit down on my
pile-driving Jack hammer sent me into orbit. I bellowed like a bull. Ryan
exploded into sound like he was a pig at the sausage-maker's and a shriek
erupted from a spasming Dave that sounded like a very pissed off
eagle. Completing the menagerie was Billy, coming into my brother's hand
and doing a passable vocal-impression of a werewolf.

I slid out of Jack's still-rippling ass and collapsed on the floor, Jack's
feet coming down on my chest and absently rubbing my nipples with his
toes. Dave was wheezing in the armchair, apparently about to expire. Ryan
and Billy were trying to suck in oxygen without breaking a kiss. Yeah, the
first thought that crossed MY mind was "Bible Study."

When we recovered, it was getting dark. We said our goodbyes and they
promised to keep us posted on the schedule for when Uncle Whoever would be
out of town again and we promised to figure out other rendezvous options.

"By the way," I asked as we opened the door onto the fresh air (VERY fresh
compared to inside the metal cum-cannabis hot-box we were leaving), "I get
how you explain the pot, but what about the sixteen gallons of cum and the
smell of that?"

Without skipping a beat and with a completely straight face, Dave said,
"We'll tell me we whitewashed the RV as a thank you." I was still
hiccoughing with giggles as we pulled out and headed home.

We got there about nine, having driven around for another thirty minutes
with the windows down in an effort to get rid of as much "herbal essence"
as possible. We made a beeline for the bathroom, telling Mom and Dad that
we had to shower cuz we stunk from "playing around outside" at the
Arnhart's. Mom smiled but Dad had a very-interesting scowl on his
face. Showered and dressed, we went back to the living room for the
interrogation.

"So," Mom started, "what did you boys discuss tonight?"

"Actually," Ryan took the reins, "We thought we'd let the guys ask
questions. You know, figure out what they wanted to know most about and
what they already knew that was wrong."

"Oh," Dad's eyebrows shot up, "and just what topics... came up?" His tone
and expression were beginning to make me nervous.

"Well, we talked a little about the church and the structure, since they
had the idea that everyone sorta... I dunno, 'served' the Pope. But the big
conversation was about the Sacrament of Penance."

"Confession?" Mom was genuinely puzzled. "Why on Earth...?"

Ryan was on a roll. "Well, sin and forgiveness are very different than most
of the Protestant churches. Well, sin is the same but the idea of
Confessing sins and having them forgiven is really unique. How it works was
part of it, but why anyone would want to was the real conversation. They
really got into the subject."

I stepped in. "Ry was brilliant, Mom. He explained how it felt to -- how
did you say it? -- let the poison out by confessing, and the feeling you
get knowing that you're not alone and that God has forgiven you. He made it
sound... important."

"Well it is!"

"But that's what I'm saying. It's so easy to think of The Church as
Communion and Mass and stuff. Ryan really made them understand that
Confession is just as big a deal, and just as helpful. You would have been
proud of him, Mom."

"Yes," Dad's voice stretched the single-syllable word, "I am certain she
would have been very proud hearing you minister to those three
brothers. Gathering sheep for the flock. Bringing people to... Glory. I'm
proud of you, too." The words were right but his tone was so very, very
not. We chatted along those lines for a while before claiming exhaustion
(true) and heading to bed.

I was worried so I decided to wait until I heard both Mom and Dad go to
bed. Good idea since Dad popped his head in to say goodnight. Curiouser and
curiouser. I waited another ten minutes before locking my door and stealing
over to Ryan's room.

"What the fuck took you so long, Taylor? I thought you'd passed out over
there!" He whisper-shouted at me.

"I dunno, Ry. Something is up with Dad. He sounded... off and then he
actually stuck his head in to check on me in my room on his way to
bed. Something's going on, big brother, and I don't know what... yet."

"Oh, God, Tay. Now you've got me worried. Snuggle with me? Please? I mean,
I know we're both sexed out from the shit that went down with the Arnharts,
but can we still, you know, cuddle?"

"Every fucking night of our lives, big bro." I kissed him long and deep
before arranging us, him curled into my arms and chest. We were both asleep
before we knew it.

Monday morning dawned, which is kinda the definition of suckage. Monday is
always too early, too bright and the weekend is, like, five days of school
shit away. We got ready, neither of us actually into anything sexy in the
shower other than some teasing and tickling.

I ran into Jack at his locker and he beamed at me. He made sure a couple of
gossip-queens were nearby as he said, "I really appreciate you and Ryan
talking to us about The Church and stuff. We've never been religious at our
house and now, you know, I think we've really been missing out on something
important. I'm not blowing smoke, Culberhouse, the stuff you and your
brother said really... sunk in."

I managed not to bubble over in laughter as we slapped each other's backs
and headed to class. I caught up to Ryan before lunch and he had a similar
story about Billy. Apparently, Dave, the brains of the Arnhart Gang, had
explained how good a cover it was if the gossips knew and spread around
that we were trying to convert them to Catholicism. He'd been right. By the
end of the day, two guys from my pack had hinted about the "religion stuff"
and if we were really into it or just trying to butter up the 'rents.

We got home and found Mom had gone "visiting" which meant she was on a
gossip-exchange mission and wouldn't be back for supper. Dad had ordered
Chinese which damned near sent Ryan into orbit. I loved Chinese but he had
a serious addiction to Mongolian Beef. We're talking intervention-level
shit.

"Drop your books and come back down. I'd like to chat for a minute anyway."
Ryan and I exchanged ominous looks and quickly divested ourselves of our
backpacks and went back to the living room. Dad had three dark-brown
bottles of beer on the coffee table. "Have a brew, guys. Just don't tell
your mother."

We each grabbed one of Dad's favorite beers, something called Pliny the
Elder. It was strong, smooth and very, very easy on the tongue. Not that
we, of course, could admit knowing anything about comparing it to, well,
anything.

"How was school?" He made small-talk for a while until we settled
down. Apparently, there would not be an inquisition that night. About
thirty minutes and another beer later, Dad asked casually, "How are the
Arnhart boys? Any lasting impression from your ministry work?"

"Yeah, actually," Ryan started. "Jack talked to Taylor and Billy talked to
me about it. Apparently, they really thought it was good and wanted more."

"Hmm. Yes, I'll bet they did. Oh, I almost forgot! I have something I
wanted you guys to hear. I found a track you might like." Dad was always
bringing music to us, trying to get us to give up on "noise" and listed to
the crap he called "country rock".

I stifled a groan; if I made a fuss he might take away the beer! "Who's it
by, Dad?"

"Oh, I am certain you'll recognize the artists."

He reached down and hit [play] on the remote. The recording was scratchy
and faint, but Ryan's whispered voice was clear enough. "I mean, I know
we're both sexed out from the shit that went down with the Arnharts, but
can we still, you know, cuddle?"

Did you know that beer can turn to ice halfway down your throat? I choked
hard as I watched my brother's eyes get bigger and bigger, or maybe it was
the fact that all the blood had drained from his face and the flesh shrank
around them. "I happened by Ned Arnhart's place over on Timberline. He's
the brother of your friends' dad and an old buddy of mine.  You know, just
to drop by and say hello. Not that I would have *ever* followed you boys or
anything. I really didn't mean," he sneered, "to startle you when I pounded
on the side of the RV when I was finished watching through the window. So,
boys, let's have a nice father-sons CHAT, now, shall we?"

<eof>

Thank you to beta-readers Lee, Peter and Pawl for making this chapter
readable.

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Active storelines, all at www.nifty.org/nifty/gay...
Canvas Hell: 35 chapters .../camping/canvas-hell/
Beaux Thibodaux: 27 chapters .../adult-youth/beaux-thibodaux/
The Heathens: 29 chapters .../historical/the-heathens/
Lake Desolation: 20 chapters .../rural/lake-desolation/
Culberhouse Rules: 13 chapters .../incest/culberhouse-rules/
Raven's Claw: 11 chapters .../authoritarian/ravens-claw/
Ashes & Dust: 6 chapters .../rural/ashes-and-dust/
Maybe Next Time: 6 chapters .../authoritarian/maybe-next-time/
NEW! IRMA'S BOYS: .../adult-friends/irmas-boys/