Midnight Blue

Chapter 11

 

© 2023 by Lootah Akecheta

 

Warning! This story may contain physical violence and strong language. Read at your own risk.

 

Disclaimer: This is an erotic tale between underage teens and adult men. It includes incest, seduction, and some forced sexual play. If you are offended by this type of material, then please do not read further. If you are under the age of eighteen (18), then read with parental permissions only. It is strictly intended for mature audiences who enjoy reading material of this content. This is a purely fictional story and any resemblance to any persons is strictly coincidental. It is not my intention in the writing of this material to shed an unsavory light on any person using any names in this material. This material is copyrighted by me and may not be used in part or in whole for group entertainment or education, including classrooms, without first obtaining written permission from me. I would appreciate any constructive criticism, complements, or suggestions my readers may have to share with me; however, I will flatly ignore flaming out at my material. You may write to me via: akecheta@live.com.

 

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Jacob's account of New Orleans

 

"The heart of man is very much like the sea, it has its storms, it has its tides and in its depths it has its pearls too." ―Vincent van Gogh, The Letters of Vincent van Gogh

 

My mind churned over that quote by the great artist Vincent van Gogh. I can see how it is true, especially in someone as complex as Uncle Al. I knelt beside him, chattering away about anything and everything, trying to keep his mind engaged without even knowing if he was capable of hearing me, or understanding me. Occasionally I'd look out the pilothouse windows at the storm raging around us wondering what we got ourselves into. It didn't look like a storm, but a tempest, with almost hurricane strength winds. The wind blew from our starboard side. Dad said starboard is the right side of the boat, so it blew from east to west -- the opposite direction from where storms usually blow. It kept trying to push us into the western shore of the Mississippi River. Visibility was almost nil and only one of the windshield-wipers worked on the window just left of center allowing the other windows to streak with rivulets of water. Rain blew in through the broken hatch to the pilothouse soaking the old, stained, wooden, decking. I wondered, not for the first time, if the bilge pumps would be able to keep the increased amount of rainwater from sinking us.

 

"Fucking hell!" Dad exclaimed wiping the inside of the windows with a rag I found for him in a drawer under the chart cabinet. Wind blew so violently that mist from the rain coated the insides of the windows. "It's as dark as night out there!" He yelled over the hurricane -- guessed that is what this was, if not, then a tropical storm.

 

Uncle Al was still breathing, but I thought his breaths were getting shallower. I hoped I was wrong, but the wound in his chest was so terrible. Before we left, dad followed instructions he got from Doctor Brenner over the phone to treat Uncle Al's injuries. He said it was a sucking chest wound and would kill Alvin if he didn't stabilize it before transporting him. He found a plastic bag and masking tape and fixed it, so the wound wasn't sucking air like when we found him. Somehow, it allowed air to escape without sucking it in. Then dad turned Uncle Al onto his side, something about helping relieve the pressure on the wound and make it easier for him to breath. I found blankets down below in the cabin area of the boat that I put over my uncle to keep him warm. The storm wasn't helping much with that considering the rain and wind.

 

"Son, go below and see if there is another blanket you can rig to cover that damned doorway. I don't know how you can rig it up to stay put in this wind, but we gotta try, or I'm going to run into something. I can't see a damned thing." I nodded my head and went into the cabin to see what I could find. There was another blanket, or rather quilt, in a small cupboard under one of the bench bunks at the table. I grabbed it and, on my way back out, I spied a hammer and nails on the floor near what looked like recent carpentry work Uncle Al, or someone, was doing. They were medium sized finishing nails, but hopefully they'd work. I started nailing the quilt in place as soon as I got back into the pilothouse and soon it was doing a decent job keeping the wind and water out of there. "Good job!" Dad praised me when I finished. The quilt cut back on the wind considerably; it also helped muffle the noise.

 

It seemed like hours we trudged our way up the river. Twice dad had to steer the boat sharply to the right, starboard, to avoid obstacles and once to avoid hitting the levee. I stood beside him looking out over the dark river as wind drove four- or five-foot waves at us. The waves hitting the hull tossed us about and made the deck heave. I found out later that The Shrimp Tale was a small vessel as far as shrimpers go and the storm made standing difficult and walking almost impossible.

 

"Dad! Look out!" I yelled as a dark shape loomed over us. Dad quickly spun the wheel to port, left, and reversed the engine. The Shrimp Tale spun around almost on a central axis. For once the wind helped us out by pushing us faster than the old girl could move on her own swinging us around just in time to avoid a collision with a barge as the winds pushed it past us. I distinctly heard wood splintering as the side of the barge rubbed up against us and I cringed imagining all sorts of things, the first of which was us sinking into the muddy depths of the Mississippi River. I noticed no tug piloting the behemoth, so I assumed it must have broken free in the winds and was adrift.

 

"Blessed Mary Mother of God! That was close!" Dad breathed just barely loud enough for me to hear. "I'd ask you to go see what sort of damage we sustained, but I don't want you out there in these conditions. If we start taking on water, we'll know it soon enough." Dad decided and resumed piloting the boat and studying the dark waters outside for anything that we might run into. Then I heard dad muttering to himself, or so it seemed until I caught the name Jude. He spun the wheel to starboard again to avoid what looked like a tree floating past us in the currents. Then he started his prayer again. I'd never heard dad pray before, so I stood there and intently listened.

 

"Most holy Apostle, St. Jude, faithful servant and friend of Jesus, the Church honors and invokes you universally, as the patron of difficult cases, of things almost despaired of, pray for me, I am so helpless and alone.

 

"Intercede with God for me that He bring visible and speedy help where help is almost despaired of. Come to my assistance in this great need that I may receive the consolation and help of heaven in all my necessities, tribulations, and sufferings, particularly in this hour of need for deliverance form this storm and to see us safely to shelter available in New Orleans. Keep watch over my brother Alvin and keep him alive and breathing so we may find him help, and that I may praise God with you and all the saints forever. I promise, O Blessed St. Jude, to be ever mindful of this great favor granted me by God and to always honor you as my special and powerful patron, and to gratefully encourage devotion to you.

 

"Amen."

 

I'm not sure how much faith I put in the Church, God, the Saints, and all of that, but I'll be damned if the compass didn't help us know which direction we needed to go and so we didn't get turned around, even though the river wound its way left and right through marshes and swamps. It seemed to me the waves were not as violent and the winds ceased pushing us as hard as they were only moments before, and so we continued like this until we finally saw lights in the distance.

 

"Dad look!" I shouted pointing at the lights. They were just barely visible thought the rain, but it was obviously a city. It had to be New Orleans.

 

"Oh, thank God!" Dad said as he reached for the mic of the radio again. "Mayday! Mayday! Mayday! This is Mitchell Chastain on The Shrimp Tale. We are in the Mississippi River down river of New Orleans. We have a seriously wounded man aboard with a sucking chest wound. Does anybody read me? Over!" We listened for what seemed like forever but was only about fifteen seconds or so and dad repeated his Mayday call. Twice more he called out and finally over a static popping signal we heard a man's voice respond.

 

"This is Captain Roger Winthrop of the British Freighter Ridge Park of Cambridge. You need to switch to channel one-six, which is the US Coast Guard's frequency. Over!"

 

"Thank you. Switching channels to one-six now. Over" Dad said and spun the dial on the radio to sixteen and repeated his Mayday call.

 

The gruff sounding voice of an older man responded. "What is your emergency?" Dad told him and repeated his location as best he could, what the state of emergency was, other than being in a vessel in this storm, telling the man about Uncle Al and the sucking chest wound. By the time the man had all the information he needed, dad was sweating bullets. "We've dispatched a rescue crew to your approximate location. If you have a flair, send it up when we ask you to. It will help us locate you." There was a lot more chatter than that, but I kind of tuned it out. It was established quickly that dad was not the owner of the boat, or its captain, that it was an old, leaky shrimp boat that looked like it should sink, and that there were three of us aboard, two adults and one child, with one of the adults seriously wounded.

 

Finally, we saw the lights of several vessels approaching from upriver. At least two were the Coast Guard, while the others were the Port Police. Dad was informed over the radio the flair was not needed. They had us in their sights. We were the only ones foolish enough to be out in this weather. Once they boarded The Shrimp Tale, it didn't take long for Uncle Al to be transported to the University Medical Center -- New Orleans while The Shrimp Tale was toed into a police dock where it was confiscated. The boat was not only not seaworthy, but it was deemed to be a hazard to water traffic on the Mississippi.

 

"Hello Mr. Chastain and Jacob, is it?" A man asked us as he walked into the small interrogation room where we waited. He was about one-hundred pounds overweight and wore a two-piece brown suit that looked like he'd slept in it. The badge hanging from a lanyard around his neck identified him as DCS Claude Marcel Thibodeaux. "I'm Claud Thibodeaux the DCS of the Criminal Investigations Department New Orleans. Since Mr. Alvin Chastain was shot in another jurisdiction, I've been asked by the Sheriff of Plaquemines Parish to take over the investigation for the time being. Since there is no evidence left in Plaquemines Parish, Sheriff LeBlanc has asked me to ask you some preliminary questions. He'll come up as soon as this storm blows over, so I'm afraid I must ask that you do not leave the City of New Orleans until you have been told you are free to do so. Your brother, Alvin, was shot, which is attempted murder, and if he dies, it will be considered a homicide. Now, you are not being charged here. I simply need to ask some questions, so we can get a few things straight for the record. Personally, I do not believe you are guilty of this crime, because there's no reason for you to risk yours and your son's lives to get Mr. Chastain to help if you were trying to kill him -- especially not during a tropical storm. However, I must inform you that if you want your lawyer present, you may of course do so."

 

"I would like to speak with my lawyer, please." Dad said.

 

"Of course. Of course. You may use the phone in the hallway, or if you prefer, another, more private telephone can be provided." Chief Thibodeaux said.

 

"The one in the hall is fine sir." Dad said as he got up and walked out the door. I followed him because I didn't want to be left alone with this stranger. Dad dialed the number and waited until someone answered. "Hello. Yes, I'd like to place a collect call to Davin and Gaston Law Firm in Hattiesburg, MS please." After a moment's pause, he started talking to someone at the law office. "Sheela, this is Mitchell Chastain. Is Mr. Davin available. I really need to speak with him. It's very important."

 

Thibodeaux walked up to us and said he was going for some coffee and asked if we wanted some. I didn't, but dad nodded his head yes. The chief left allowing dad to talk with his lawyer in relative privacy. I was only privy to half the conversation, but essentially dad told Mr. Davin what happened and that we were now being interviewed by the CID. The conversation didn't take long, and soon after it was over Thibodeaux walked back up the corridor like he waited just out of sight before coming on carrying two coffees. He handed one to dad who took it graciously. "My attorney advised me not to speak to anyone about the events that happened in Plaquemines Parish without representation present. Since he is in Hattiesburg, MS, he's contacting a colleague of his here in New Orleans to represent me until he can come down himself." My dad said.

 

"I understand, but I really wish you'd just talk to me. You're not under arrest, and at this point, you're not even a suspect." He lied.

 

"Well, rather I'm under arrest or not, the perpetrators are still at large. So, everyone is a suspect at this point. I'd still rather have representation available." Dad would not budge on this, so Chief Thibodeaux relented, and we all sat in the interrogation room exchanging small talk until an older man walked into the room. "Hello, I'm Mr. Theodore Ericson, of Ericson's and Ericson's Attorneys at Law." He said in greeting as he shook dad's hand before shaking mine. Chief Thibodeaux eyes widened at the sight of the elderly gentleman.

 

After shaking the man's hand, dad said. "I take it Mr. Davin called you?"

 

"Yes, we just got off the phone with each other. I'm glad to be of service Mr. Chastain. May I speak with you and your son in private?" After a short meeting with Mr. Ericson where dad and I told of the events leading up to us following Alvin down here and finding him in his boat beaten and shot, then the voyage up the Mississippi to New Orleans, and everything else that happened, we allowed the officer guarding the room know we were ready for Thibodeaux.

 

The questions went pretty much as expected. Dad, and I, were asked about how we found my uncle and what happened after. Dad was asked why he came to Plaquemines Parish looking for Mr. Chastain in the first place and why he chose to run The Shrimp Tale, a dilapidated and unstable boat, up to New Orleans in a tropical storm putting the lives of everyone, including a child, in danger. Dad made it clear it was our only option if we wanted to give Alvin a fighting chance of surviving and there was no way in hell, he was going to leave his son alone in the delta of the Mississippi River during a tropical storm. They asked questions, and we answered them with Mr. Ericson intervening on our behalf when the questions got too accusatory. In the end, dad and I were released to go, and Mr. Ericson dropped us off at the hospital Uncle Al was taken to.

 

Even though we were late getting to the hospital because of the "interview" and the weather, the time we spent in the ER waiting area took forever before a man in scrubs came out to speak with us. He had a very serious expression as he approached us. "Mr. Chastain?" He asked in a deep South genteel accent -- like a Southern Aristocrat.

 

"Yes sir, I'm Mitchell Chastain and this is my son Jacob." Dad introduced us.

 

"It's nice to meet you although I wish it were under better circumstances. I'm Doctor Steven Stevenson. Alvin Chastain is your brother, is that correct?"

 

"Yes sir." Dad said. "Look Doc, how is he doing? I'm about to go nuts not knowing."

 

"That is understandable Mr. Mitchell. I won't lie to you or try and honey-glaze things over here. Alvin is a very sick man, and he is in critical condition. He's still in surgery, but I must warn you, his chances are not good. The bullet was shot into his chest at point blank range. Fortunately, it was a small caliber, most likely a twenty-two revolver. The bullet is a twenty-two caliber at any rate. It passed through his right lung, hit his scapula, and ricocheted around to puncture the same lung a second time. Then it hit a rib and ricocheted back and came to rest in his spine. Fortunately, we believe it did no serious injury to his spinal cord, but the bullet must be removed to prevent it causing further damage from shifting. We do not know yet if he will suffer any paralysis. The bullet is lodged between the T4 and T5 vertebrae and at present it is pinching the spinal cord, but it has not severed it." The doctor looked at the chart in his hands. "We do not know why it did what it did, why it stopped without causing more damage to the spine, but in that regard, Mr. Alvin is a very lucky man provided he survives the surgery. Do you have any questions for me?"

 

Dad shook his head no, but I doubted it was from not having questions. I could think of a thousand. "How much longer do you believe the surgery go?" Dad asked.

 

"It's complicated to say Mr. Mitchell. The surgery is a difficult one. He's been in there for eight hours already, and I would say he's looking at least another four to six hours. The bullet caused a lot of damage where it passed through the lung twice, and we are doing everything we can to save his lung. If you know of any immediate family like a spouse, parents, or children, you may want to call them and let them know what's going on. He is in critical condition, as I've said. If he survives the surgery, he'll be in the Intensive Care Unit for quite a while. It would be nice for him if he has people here, he loves and trust. I'd say his chances are about twenty-five percent surviving. The amount of time it took to get him here took its toll and he's lost a lot of blood. By the time they got him to the ER, he was going into Septic Shock from low blood pressure. We were able to stabilize him in time to take him into surgery. But at this stage in things, he's very lucky to be alive at all. So, if he pulls through the surgery, his chances will improve considerably, maybe to fifty/fifty."

 

"Thank you, Doctor Stevenson." Dad said to the doctor. "I appreciate your candor. I'll make the telephone calls. I can't believe I didn't think to do it earlier. Please keep us informed about any changes."

 

"Of course." The doctor said. "You should find a hotel and get some rest. There are several withing easy walking distance of this hospital. We'll call the moment we know anything."

 

"Of course, doctor. That's a good idea. These waiting rooms are not very comfortable." The doctor nodded his head and turned to go. I watched him retreat through the double swinging doors leading back into the operating theater. "Come on son. He's right. No since in hanging around here being uncomfortable. Let's find a hotel. We may need to stay here for the foreseeable future anyway." I turned and followed daddy out into the ER foyer. On the way he stopped at the reception desk to find out what was available and to get the direct number to the ER desk so he could call with a number where we could be reached. Le Pavillon Hotel was close by, so we waited in the ER foyer for a cab to take us there. The storm made walking impractical even though it was only a mile away.

 

I was surprised at the luxury of the place. A doorman opened the cab door for us and looked kind of askance at our attire, but dad's credit was good, and we had no problem acquiring a room. Dad booked the whole week. Even if I had to go home early, dad had no intention of leaving until his brother was out of danger. As soon as we got into the room, dad called mom, and then he called Aunt Terrie. The latter was beside herself with worry upon hearing the news, but dad assured her they were doing everything they could for him, and he'd let her know the moment he found out any new updates. "I promise you sis. The moment I find out anything, I'll call you." Pause. "Yes, we will." Pause. "Love you too honey."

 

We were near the top floor of the hotel and while dad talked on the phone, I stood by the window looking out at the storm still raging along. How had we not known a hurricane was due to land before we headed down here? I wondered -- not for the first time. I mean, it was no wonder I had no idea of it, but it surprised me dad didn't know. He kept up with that sort of thing. "God!" I heard dad exclaim. "This whole trip has been a total fucking mess!"

 

"I agree, but what do you mean?" I asked.

 

As if answering my earlier mental question dad answered. "First we come down here halfcocked looking to talk my brother into coming home, then we find him shot and nearly beaten to death, then this fucking tropical storm hit -- which I knew was out in the Gulf, but I had no idea it was supposed to make landfall today, then the truck got stuck, then we had to take that total deathtrap of a boat up the bloody Mississippi in this storm and nearly got killed at every turn, then the cops interrogated us -- and mind you, they do suspect me of shotting Alvin no matter what that fat bastard said, and now we're stuck in this town for God only knows how long. That's what I mean by the trip was a total fuck up from the beginning." I smiled. I couldn't help it. "What's so funny?" He asked.

 

"Well, the only really fucked up part that I can see was Uncle Al coming down here to begin with. That, and maybe this storm. But if we hadn't come, we'd be planning Uncle Al's funeral in a few days. As it is, he may live, so maybe it was providence we came after him. Even though we were nearly killed every moment we were in that damned boat, we're still alive and well and Uncle Al got to the hospital before he died. Even though the police suspect you, they only have suspicions, no proof. So, they couldn't hold you and the lawyer Mr. Davin called in to handle the case is a formidable defense attorney judging by Chief Thibodeaux's reaction to seeing him come into the interrogation room. Plus, I don't know how much faith I have in the Church right now, but the storm seemed to be less threatening after you prayed and we did get the help we needed, when we needed it most." I fell silent but continued looking at dad.

 

He sat there thinking for a moment before responding. "I guess you're right. Maybe it's a good omen for Alvin's survival. I may not be very happy with the little shit right now, but I don't..." dad's voice choked. "I don't want him to die." He whispered. I didn't answer, I just walked over to dad and pulled him into an embrace, and we held each other for quite a long time. If this trip taught me anything, family is worth fighting for.

 

Spencer's Accounts of Home

 

After dad and Jacob left for the coat, I spent a lot of time in the barn with Blue. He seemed be pining for Jacob, but he was grateful for the attention I gave him. I was out there grooming him the following morning about eleven o'clock when I heard someone come up the drive. I looked around to find Jimmy walking into the barn. He smiled at me. "Hay there sexy pants. Is Jake home?"

 

"No, he went with dad to Venice, Louisiana to fetch Uncle Al." I said running the brush over Blue's flank while he munched on hay I hung in a hay-bag for him. The horse was content to stand still while I groomed him as he happily ate.

 

"What's Al doing down there. Isn't that like way down below New Orleans?" James asked.

 

"Yes, from what mom told me. It's literally about as far south as you can go in Louisiana down at the tip of the Mississippi River Delta. Mom says he has an old shrimp boat he keeps down there, which he goes too occasionally when he wants to get away." I answered.

 

"That's odd." James said. "I didn't think there was much of anything down there except brackish marshes and saltwater."

 

"Apparently there's several bays, canals, bayous, and a narrow strip of land that is large enough to build a road on. I'm not sure what else is down there. I was surprised to find out a road goes down that far. It's literally at the tip of the delta. She showed me pictures of the place and pointed it out on a map for me. She also said the boat was in such bad repair she was surprised it wasn't sitting on the bottom of Yellow Cotton Bay where he has it docked. Also, she said it's not actually in the bay itself, but in a canal between the bay and the river."

 

"Yes, but my point is that he wanted to get away from Buster, yet he went down there into Louisiana almost exactly where Buster went. Buster is in New Orleans, isn't he?" James asked.

 

"Yeah, that's what I heard, but Venice is nearly a hundred miles away from New Orleans. Well, closer to seventy-five miles by road. It's not like he's right there where Buster's at." I said.

 

James harrumphed! "Still closer than I'd like to be." He leaned against the stall wall and watched me brush Blue. "I still can't believe he actually accepted that horse." He added speaking of Jacob.

 

"Why not?" I said looking at James. "Blue is a sweet boy and he's totally innocent of what Buster and Uncle Al did to him. I see why Jake loves this boy so much. He's the gentlest stallion I've ever seen." I bent over and resumed brushing Blue's leg.

 

"Oh, I don't doubt that at all. But he's still a reminder of what Jake went through this summer. Anyway, I was going to see if you and Jake wanted to fool around this afternoon, maybe go swimming, fuck on the bank of the river, that sort of thing?" He walked over to the other side of Blue and started petting the horse's neck. "But since Jake isn't hear, how would you like to fool around, just the two of us?"

 

I looked under the horse at James' legs and noticed Blue was relaxing another appendage that hung low between his hind legs. Damn! This horse was large everywhere! "You know damned well Jimmy Wright, that I'm always game to play. But I've gotta muck the stalls after I finish grooming Blue. After that, I think I'll be ready for a nice cold swim and a good old-fashioned fuck."

 

"Awesome! Need help mucking the stalls? How many you gotta clean anyway?" He asked.

 

"Two of them. I've already cleaned Blue's stall, but I've not started on Angie's or Buck's yet. I groomed them before I got to Blue. I'm finding out exactly how difficult this farm is to work by oneself. Good thing Becky helped me this morning, or I'd be here all day long getting this done." I said.

 

"Cool, I'll help you and then we can get to the fun stuff that much faster. Where you want me to start?"

 

I looked at James around Blue's chest. "You know where everything is. Just pick a stall and start mucking it." He laughed and headed off towards our equipment room. Soon he had the extra manure-rake and wheelbarrow. He slipped into Buck's stable and let him out into his paddock before starting on the stall. I put Blue up and gave him half of a carrot before letting him out into the pasture. Then I let the other two out to join Blue before heading inside to clean Angie's stall. It didn't' take us long. "Neither Angie nor Buck make anywhere near the mess Blue does. I swear that horse can shit!"

 

"I bet!" James laughed. "He a really big horse. I bet he eats you out of house and home."

 

"He ain't so bad." I said standing up for Blue. "Of course, we've only just got him. Ask me again after I've mucked his stall a hundred times." I said laughing. "Whew! I'm glad that's finished." I said. "Thanks Jimmy."

 

He laughed. "You can thank me by letting tap that tail of yours."

 

"You've got a deal." I grinned. I loved it when James fucked me. "But I've gotta tell momma where I'm going. She's been extra protective of me ever since all this shit with Buster and Jake. Plus, Buster may be gone, but some of his lifelong friends are still around. She's afraid one, or more, of them will want revenge against Jake and me." I ran off to the house to tell momma we were going to the swim hole. Since it was a Saturday, she was usually off work.

 

"Mom?" I called as I entered the kitchen door. I saw her standing next to the table holding the phone receiver to her ear. She had a very worried look on her face and I stopped dead in my tracks to find out as best I could what was going on.

 

"I see." She said and paused a moment. "How is he doing?" Pause. "A sucking chest wound, oh my god!" Pause. "Of course, I'll call her." Pause. "Yes, I will. You be safe and give Jake my love." Pause. "Of course." Pause. "You too honey. Love you." Pause. "Goodbye." And she hung up the phone before turning to look at me. Tears welled in her eyes. "Spencer." She said, almost surprised like she hadn't heard me enter the kitchen calling her name, or maybe it was just all she could get out in her grief and worry.

 

"Mom?" I asked. The unasked part of my question understood. "Is..."

 

"You're daddy and brother are fine, although they were in a very dangerous situation last night. Uncle Al though..." She paused gathering herself. "They found Uncle Al in his boat badly beaten and shot in the chest. They got him to a hospital in time, but they don't know if he will make it. It's a horrible wound. He's still in surgery." She pulled me into a hug and ran her fingers through my hair. "It'll be alright baby. They'll be fine and they're all coming home." She said it bravely like she was trying to convince herself of that. "Now, what is it you came barging in here for?"

 

"Jimmy's here and he wants to go swimming. I came in to ask if I can go. We're just planning on going down to the river." I said.

 

"Yes, that's fine dear. Just don't stay too long. We may need to go to New Orleans sometime today." She patted my back and released me from the hug. "Tell Jimmy hi for me."

 

"Alright." I said as I headed back to the kitchen door and paused before heading out. "Are you going to be alright mom?" I asked.

 

"I'll be fine dear. Go and have a good time. Don't let yourself worry about all of this just yet. Your brother and daddy are alright." She looked off into the distance like she was remembering something. "I've gotta call Aunt Terrie." She said somewhat absentmindedly.

 

"Alright, love you momma." I said as I slipped out the door. I really wanted to listen to her conversation with Aunt Terrie, but I didn't want to seem like I was prying. Also, James was waiting for me.

 

"You ready?" He asked.

 

"Yeah, let's go." I said and headed towards the river. About halfway there I turned onto another trail that went off more to the right towards the DeSoto National Forest towards a small creek that bordered our property where it meets the forest.

 

"Where are you going?" James asked me.

 

"You've never been to our other swimming hole?" I asked with a wicked grin on my face.

 

"I've swam with you guys plenty of time in the river, but Jake never took me up this way."

 

"Well!" I said. "Let me show you then." I smiled at him again. "This swim hole is more private, and we won't have to worry about anyone canoeing down the river seeing us. Plus, mom is less likely to come to this swim hole looking for us. If she does, we'll hear her calling for me a long time before she gets within sight of us."

 

"Ah, OK." He said sounded a bit nonplussed. "I can't believe you guys have never shown me this place before. I thought I knew of all your secret places."

 

"It's a well-guarded secret." I said. "Dad, Jake, and I, discovered it and mom is the only one we told. Even Becky doesn't know about it -- or at least I don't think she does. She is sneaky when she wants to find things out."

 

"So, why are you showing it to me now?" He asked.

 

"In part because you're one of the boys now, you know, we consider you an honorary Chastain. Another part is because if we want to fool around, it's a lot safer to do it up here than it is at the river. Too many people use the river, even this late in the year."

 

"I guess I see your point." James said. He sounded a little put out that we hadn't confided this in him before now.

 

"Honestly, I figured Jake told you about this place a long time ago. We mostly keep it secret from the girls. It's a great place to skinny-dip, but not if Becky and her friends start coming down here. About then we entered the forest, that is, our side of the forest before entering the DeSoto. There was a scattering of pine trees before giving way to hardwoods as we drew closer to the water. Several weeping willows grew along the banks. Then the trail abruptly ended in a sandbar at the bank of a medium sized creek that almost rivaled the Little Black in size. The creek, I never knew its name, veered off to the right winding its way into the DeSoto before running into the Little Black. So, most people don't associate it with our property when they see it on the Little Black.

 

"WOW! This is awesome!" James exclaimed.

 

"I know, right?" I said pointing to an old oak tree growing over the creek where a rope swing hung over the water. A leader rope connected it to the trunk of the tree where a warn knot served as a launching platform. "Dad and Uncle Al hung the swing for us." I stated as I stripped off my clothes and made a beeline for the oak tree. James watched me climb up onto the knot and pull the leader rope and grip the swing. "Yahoo!" I yelled as I swung out over the deep black water before letting go and falling into the brink.

 

I came up just in time to see a naked James pulling the swing to himself as he stood on the tree knot. He yelled happily as he swung out and landed not five feet from me. We grinned at each other when he came up before trying to dunk the other. It was a lot of fun, but we soon got tired of the antics and started kissing in the shallows. It was fun kissing this wrestling, football playing, jock. I loved his muscles and the fact he didn't view me as a little kid even though I was three years younger than him. Now, as an adult, that isn't much of a difference, but at thirteen and sixteen, it was.

 

Of course, it took all about a nanosecond for both of us to get as hard as steel and our fingers quickly found each other's tools. It felt amazing having James' hand wrapped around my cock and I swooned at the feel of his big meat in my hand. Soon, I felt his other hand groping my ass cheek before slipping his fingers into my crack to toy with my hole. God! I loved the way this boy messed with me. I was puddy in his hands. "Fuck Spence! I need you so bad!" He growled. "I need to feel my dick inside that tight little hole of yours. You want me to fuck you, don't you?" He ground his hardon into my stomach. "You want my fat dick inside that tight little hole. Tell me you want it!" He demanded.

 

"Fuck, yes! I want it, Jimmy! Fuck me silly!" I begged.

 

He picked me up and carried me to the beach where he laid me down on top of a towel I thought to grab at the last minute. We didn't have lubricant, so Jimmy did the best he could with eating me out and letting me suck his cock to prepare us for taking me to pound-town and I was all for it. When he rimmed me, my mind launched into orbit. How can any part of the body feel so damned good just from licking it? Jesus! And I've always loved sucking on his turgid meat. The taste alone nearly makes me nut. I ran my tongue up and down his sappy post enjoying the slick treat he fed me and then after mixing it with my saliva, I reapplied his own pre back onto his cock along with my throat slime to prepare his cock for entering my hole. Man! I wanted him so badly.

 

Yes, it hurt when he first entered me, but damn he made up for it as he rode my ass but good! Feeling him thrusting in and out of me with so little lubricant made it that much more intense. "Fuck Spence! I'm not sure you've ever felt this good buddy!" He crowed. "I've gotta do something else for a bit, or I'm not going to last." He pulled out of me and had me sit on his cock after he laid down on his back. "Ride me slowly bud if you want this to last a little longer. I ain't far from shooting."

 

"Fuck me, Jimmy! Damn! How does a cock feel this fucking good?" I asked. I'll try and keep it slow, but I'm not sure how much control I have right now." Jesus, I was seeing stars every time his flared corona hit that special place inside my butt. I just wanted to sit on him and rotate all fucking day long. "Oh God, Jimmy!" I said as he started thrusting up into my ass as I bottomed out on his cock. It was jarring and hit that spot inside oh so right! Next thing I knew I was spraying cum all over as I yelled out my release. "Fuck! Jimmy!" I cried out.

 

"Fuck Spence, I can't hold back anymore!" Then he screamed his release as he came deep in my ass. "God damn it boy! That hole of yours is so fucking awesome! I love fucking you." He grunted as he finished pumping his load. We both panted as I collapsed on top of him to catch my breath. I needed that. As if he read my thoughts he agreed. "Damn kid! I think we both needed that. Hell! Spence, you da man!" He clumsily high-fived me and we both burst out in giggles.

 

"Well, well, well! Looks like Buster chose the wrong brother!" An unfamiliar voice rang out. I looked up and my blood curdled. How did that fat bastard get up here? I thought.

 

"Evans!" I snarled. Then I jumped up off James so he could get up too before things got worse.

 

"I owe you boy!" Evans said with a ton of menace in his voice. "Actually, I owe you twice! Once for hitting me with that damned rusty pitchfork, and again for chasing off my best friend. Since that pansy-assed big brother of yours is not here, I guess I'll just have to make do with you." He started walking towards us like he expected to get his nut right here and now. At least, it wasn't worse. It could be worse, a lot worse. Then it got worse as Bishop walked over the hill behind Evans.

 

Take one more step you fucking bastards, and I'll send you both straight to hell where you belong!" Another voice spoke up. I turned to find David Wright holding a Colt .45 aimed right at Avery's head. "Go ahead, try something." I was never so relieved to see someone friendly in my whole life.

 

"Dad!" James exclaimed. Apparently, he was relieved to see a friendly face too.

 

"Now hold on Dave. I was just kidding with the boys. No need to get all itchy fingered now." Reverend Bishop said holding his hands up. "Come on Evans, we don't need none of this. It ain't worth it."

 

"That's right, now you two just get on out of here before I burry you." Mr. Wright said. His voice held a threat nobody would mistake for anything other than what it was.

 

"We'll get on out of here, won't we, Evans." Bishop said pulling on the fat man's sleeve.

 

"Yeah, we'll get on out." Evans spat. But when he looked at me his eyes clearly said this wasn't over. The two men turned and left the way they came.

 

Mr. Wright slipped his gun back into a side holster I hadn't noticed until he pulled his suit coat away from his side to slip it back in. "I was coming over to get you Jim, when I saw that fucking Cadillac the Evans drives parked up the road from your house Spence. I knew it was no coincidence and that he was up to no good, so I followed them in. I was afraid he was casing the place to see how and when to attack you."

 

"Thanks Mr. Wright." I said. "I'm not sure what we would've done against them both. I think we could've taken Evans, but Bishop too, I don't know." I said.

 

"Yeah, don't mention it Spence. I've been keeping an eye on the place ever since your daddy and Jake went after Al. I'm glad I did now." He chuckled. "What you say we get you boys home. I'm sure your momma is looking for you about now too. I just got a call from her about an hour ago asking if I've seen you. She said you weren't at the river like you said you'd be.

 

"Yes, I changed my mind at the last minute. I figured this spot would be more private. Speaking of that, how did Evans and Bishop know to find us here?" I asked.

 

"They followed you in." David said. "And I followed them in." I wanted to see what they were up to. When I saw what you boys were doing, I decided to wait and see what transpired before acting. I don't especially want people knowing I have this gun since I didn't get it all nice and legal. Anyway, they followed you boys in, and I watched to make sure they didn't hurt you. When they saw what you were up too, they hung back and watched. I must say, it was a pretty show."

 

"Well, thank you David." I said.

 

"Yes, thanks Pop!" James agreed.

 

With that, we headed back to the house where I found momma and Becky ready to leave. Mom was none too happy with me since she couldn't find me, but she just thanked David for finding us and told me to pack a bag for a few days. "We're going to New Orleans son. Uncle Al's not doing well."

 

This concludes chapter eleven. Please feel free to write to me and share what you think about this story so far. And remember that constructive criticism, comments, and complements are welcome, but if you just want to flame the story, then I respectfully ask you to keep your opinions to yourself. I may be reached at:  akecheta@live.com