This story is posted for the exclusive enjoyment of readers of the Nifty Archive. While you are free to make a personal copy, no copy of this manuscript may be published, copied, posted to another web site, or otherwise disseminated without express permission from the author.

The contents of this story are fictional. Any resemblance of characters to living or lived persons is strictly coincidental. Certain characters engage in sexual acts which may or may not be legal in the state or country in which a reader may reside. Any reader with objections to graphic descriptions of sexual encounters between males who may not have reached the legal age of consent, or whose local, regional, state or national jurisprudence prohibits such descriptions, should not read further.

Chapter VIII

Thursday, July 1, 1993

We eventually made it outside, and Brad let me drive the pickup to haul the chipper up to the first pile of brush. We put the netting up to keep the chips from going outside the truck bed, and fired the thing up. It didn't roar as loud as I expected, but that soon changed.

We donned our work gloves and started feeding the hopper, and the machine howled like a banshee. We just kept pulling and stuffing, using the lopper sometimes to get the branches off so the pieces would fit through the chute. The first pile was not quite enough to fill the pickup, but we took a break from the noise, and unhooked the chipper. I drove the truck over to the right side of the cabin, and we shoveled the chips into a pile in front of the flower bed, so we could spread it as mulch. It was hot and hard work, even though it was starting to get cool. I didn't grind any hamburger with the gears of the truck, even when I put it in reverse.

By the time the second pile was chipped and in the truck, the sun was starting to get close to the Coastal Range peaks, and by mutual agreement we just left the pickup backed up to the other side of the front bed, to unload in the morning. I was bone tired, and I think Brad was too - he insisted on doing most of the heaviest work, feeding the chipper. He's like that, always trying to do more than me, keep me from having to work too hard. It's a problem sometimes, because I feel like he's treating me like I'm weak or something, but that's just my damned ego getting into the way again.

"Okay, Loon," he said as we trudged into the cabin. "You hit the shower, I'll fire up the barbie."

"We gotta call Mom and Dad," I said. "Let's do that before we eat."

"Okay," he said. "We'll shower and go." He just picked me up and carried me into the bathroom in his arms, like I weighed nothing at all, kissing me all the way. He's not weak, that's certain. Of course, then I only weighed maybe 130 or 135. We still pick each other up like that, although not with the same ease, as we both weigh in at 165 after a full meal.

I got half hard without thinking.

"None of that." He swatted at my dick as I stripped off my shorts. My legs were full of sawdust.

"You should be glad I can still get it up for you, old man," I teased. "After all we've been through together, it's hard to believe I still find you hunky."

His shorts came off, and he wasn't hard. Not completely soft, either. Hunky. Big time.

"Can't get it up for me, I see," I said, squeezing him.

"Don't bet on it," he laughed. "You're gonna be fighting me off when we're in our eighties."

"Don't be ridiculous," I said, stepping into the shower and grabbing the soap. "First, there'll never be a time when I'll fight you off. Second, you know as well as I do, there's no sex when you get old."

He got this serious look on his face. "But I'll always love you Loon, even if we can't shoot our loads any more."

"Don't take everything so literal," I said. "Turn around." I scrubbed his back, and massaged his muscles a while under the hot water. Just touching him is a turn on for me, and I was hard, I couldn't help it.

"Here," he said turning back, then turning me around to do the same scrub-a-dub-dub. "I see my pheromones are working on you."


"You've got a hard again."

"Of course," I said, leaning back against him as his hands washed my chest and tummy, worked under my arms, washed my balls and hard dick. Not sexual, but really sensual. I felt his sex wedge in my butt crack. It was pointing at the sky, not the ground. "I notice your dick found something it likes, too."

"Not likes," he whispered. "Loves."

He always gets in the last, best word. Perfect, like I said.

We lathered again, washing away the crud and the tiredness, then the water started to cool, and we had to rinse really fast and get out before it was too late. I could shower with him on stage at Radio City Music Hall under a spotlight.

We were both hard and itchy to make love, but we had to call Mom and Dad, so we dressed and got the 'Maro out, the pickup being full and all, and drove into Radford. We called from the pay phone at the Marina. The one in front of Murdoch's had a couple of people waiting for a big beefy guy in baggies and sandals to finish talking. Murdoch's was still open, even though it was almost eight o'clock, the registers still ringing away. Summer trade keeps the village alive all winter long - you've gotta make it while you can. I wonder if the weekenders know how hard the locals have to work for them in the summers, just to survive?

I had quarters, so I called, only to get the answering machine.

"Hi! We've gone to dinner. Won't be back until late. Leave a message after the beep."

"Answering machine," I said at Brad while it was playing. "Out to dinner."

I said "Hi, Mom. Hi, Dad. Everything's going okay, we'll have it done by the time you get here tomorrow night." I gave the phone to Brad to leave his message.

"Hungry?" Brad said as we got back to the 'Maro.

"Nah," I said. "But I could force myself."

He laughed and we sped through the tunnel of light under the trees back to the cabin, the cassette playing one of Brad's oldies. We 'Classical Jazz' by John Williams is cool. We forgot the ice.

We decided to pan fry the steaks on the stove, not wanting to wait for the charcoal. I did some mushrooms in butter, slow so's they wouldn't shrivel up, and steamed some broccoli. I can't figure why some people don't like broccoli.

While the pan was heating for the steaks, Brad opened a bottle of wine and poured us a glass each. We had our first toast.

"To our love," he said when he clinked our glasses together. I got teary, but kept it in, and sipped the red nectar while I looked into his eyes, and he did the same. He beamed at me, then turned and threw the steaks on the grill pan.

Dinner was wonderful. Brad and I both like our steaks the same way as Dad - seared on the outside, cold on the inside. The French call it "bleu," my mom called it cannibal food. It's the only way to eat good beef. We ate in minutes, and threw the dishes towards the sink, Brad saying "tomorrow."

We took the half of the bottle of wine that was left and sat in front of the fireplace, not lighting it, just staring at the fire we had for each other. We sipped the wine slowly, and talked of something or other, but not a lot. It was enough just to be together.

"We still have a little unfinished business," Brad said as he poured the last of the wine into our glasses.

"What's that?" I said, a little buzzed from the Cabernet.

"You haven't taken me yet," he said softly.

"Where's . . . " I started to ask, and then knew.

"Let's turn in," he said with a little smile.

What if I was no good? What if I hurt him? How could I . . . My mind went into hyperdrive.

We got up in slow motion, the wine glasses in our hands, and went to the bedroom, holding each other. I was limp as a dishrag. My dick was scareder than me. It took hours to get there.

"I have to brush my teeth."

"Me too."

We went into the bathroom, suddenly quiet. I held him while he brushed, and he put on some of his cologne.

I started to brush, and he went back to the bedroom. I flossed. I combed my unruly curls. I smelled my pits. Ugghhh! A little deodorant? No, gotta be natural. Okay. I took off my shorts and examined my dick, then rinsed it with the water from the sink. Dried it. Told it to be good for my love. I shriveled up like a prune. Oh, shit. Took a little of his cologne. Wiped under my arms with the wet face flannel. Thought again about deodorant. No. Dropped the damned sponge bag on the floor. Nothing broke, the zipper held.

Now what? I put a towel around my waist. I turned down the lantern, and walked towards the bedroom. There was a light from the door. I turned the corner, and he was sitting up against the headboard, the sheet drawn over his legs, a single candle on the night stand next to the other bed, his bed, that we'd never used. Our wine glasses were next to the candle, sparkly red. I stood there, a little stunned at how wonderful he looked.

"Beautiful," he almost whispered. "You are so darned beautiful." He used my line again. I didn't care.

He held out his arms to me, and I just walked across the old rag rug Gran Weston had made, dropping the towel somewhere along the way, and lifted the sheets as I moved under them into his arms.

"I love you, Brad," I said with all my soul.

He kissed me, tenderly, and wrapped his arms around me, sliding down onto the bed with me, our sexes together, soft but waking, our lips glued.

"I want you,"he said. "I want your seed inside me, I want you to take me, to have me, now and for as long as you want me."

But he couldn't have said that, his mouth was full of me. My imagination was giving me the words I wanted to hear. But our bodies spoke in couplets, the verse more passionate with every second's passing.

I was hard, like granite, for him, and I felt his dick under me was the same for me. My hand moved under his neck, to give his head support, and I rested my weight on my arm to keep from weighing too heavily upon him. My right hand moved over him, touching his tiny hard nipples, his ear, his temple. His legs parted, and my knees were between them, and I could feel the liquid already pushing to the tip of my dick, wanting him, wanting his touch.

His legs moved again, and I felt them rise around me, felt my legs move forward, ever so slightly, to take his weight as he pulled himself to me. His right hand let go of my neck, and moved down my side, then away, and back onto my ass, and around, and under me, and held my nuts, kneading them a little, gently tickling my passion.

"Oh, God! This feels so right!" he whispered in my ear, and I felt the tip of my dick touch him, in the cleft of his butt; his hand moved me a little bit down, to a little hollow there, and I knew it was the entry to his body. I moved my hand to my dick, and squeezed some of my lubricant out, a little in my finger, mostly on his pucker, and my finger was drawn into him, the lubricant doing its job perfectly. He tensed, but only for a second, and then relaxed, and I felt the warmth of the place he wanted me to have, to call my own.

I was dripping, and I put more of my lube on him, and smeared some onto my dick, to make it easier for him. His mouth on mine drew me into him, and his yoke opened to me, and I inched forward, only a tiny bit, and could feel the warmth on the tip of my dick, as it moved into him ever so little. I started to fuck the very last quarter inch of the tip of my dick into the tiny pair of lips that touched it, feeling his ring of muscle resist, but gradually let just a little of me move forward.

I could feel more and more fluid gushing out of my dick, as if a tiny faucet had been turned to the 'on' position, and I knew some of it was going inside him. My legs trembled, and I slid my hand under his ass, like he had, to help him stay in place. I was rocking back and forth, a millimeter at a time, and each time, he opened to me just a little more. He moaned, and I knew it wasn't a hurt moan, that I was pleasuring him, that it was good for us both. It was resisting, trying to keep us apart, and I felt him push out a little, then relax and open up a little more to me. I kept the pressure constant, my dick almost bending with the force behind it, feeling as if it might snap like an icicle.

The spongy part of my dick was almost there, almost, almost, and there was a tiny 'click' as his ring passed over the hood of my dick, then beyond it, and I immediately stopped pushing, to keep from drilling all the way to China. His ring trapped the knob inside him, drawing me further into him, unwilling to release me until my love for him had come forth. He almost lunged into me, taking fully a quarter of my length into him, and cried out "Yes!" into my mouth. It was warm, almost hot, and his ring felt like a tight rubber band on my dick.

I moved farther inside the heat of him, carefully, watching his eyes for any sign that he was not enjoying my entry, wanting to plunge all the way in, wanting to pull out before I hurt him, wanting to feel his prostate, so I could pleasure him more, not knowing if I could. It took forever before I was even half way inside him, even after I swiped some of his lube to put around the outside of my dick to make it more slippery. Our tongues kissed the insides of our mouths, then spoke of love, and again plunged back into our beloved.

My eyes closed for a second, and I imagined I saw me somehow from below, felt myself opening to me, felt me as I entered me. I snapped my eyes open, and saw my eyes as if in a mirror, saw that green spot on his left eye, the gold flecks in his pupils, felt myself opening to him as he moved inside me. I shook my head to get rid of the fantasy, and felt him squeezing and relaxing on my dick, almost drawing me into him. His right hand pulled my balls gently towards him, his left hand on my hip and his heels in the small of my back urging my ass down into him, forcing me further into his warmth. I told him how fantastic it felt to be inside him, knowing that he wanted me there, that I was his first, and how proud he had made me, of him, of us.

"Oh God, Loon! Fuck me!" He wasn't using dirty language. He was telling me it was okay, we were doing the right thing the right way, at the right time. I hit bottom, or I thought I did, and started to pull out, to begin pleasuring his prostate, and he helped. His legs parted more for me, and as I moved back down inside him, there was another little snap, and I went in even farther, until my pubic bone would let me advance no farther.

"Yes!" he said. "Yes!" and I moved inside him, back and forth, feeling his excitement grow, feeling his insides relax but at the same time wind up and clasp me each time I pulled back. His trembling increased, and I knew he was close, so I stopped, not wanting him to lose this moment so quickly. I pulled away from his mouth and told him I loved him more than anyone ever had or ever would, and he looked at me and nodded, because he knew it was true. He started to talk, but I 'sshhhhed' him, telling him what I felt in my heart for him, all the things I so loved in him, of him, and he calmed down a little and the trembling stopped. I started to move a little again, and looked into those wonderful green eyes, full of love for me, and kissed his sweet lips again and again, letting him talk finally.

"Loon, it's better than I imagined, even better," he whispered. "I can feel you, your power, your strength, your love all at once." He kissed my lips, licked them, raised his butt further to me. "Loon I want your seed, I want you to come so deep inside me that it can never leave me. Give me all of it, Loon. Give it to me."

I could hold back, I knew it. I could prolong his pleasure for minutes, if I wanted. I stopped again, just before I thought he was going to go over the edge, and asked "how close?"

"So close I never thought I could stop it," he said. "Loon, don't stop, take me with you, Loon, I'm getting so . . . " I shut him off with my tongue.

I started again, but I didn't stop it this time, I couldn't stand not giving him everything there was in me to give, couldn't hold back any more. I moved no more than two or three times inside him, and his trembling was back, even stronger than before, and I felt him tightening his legs, felt him pull me inside him, and there was a grasp on me, deep inside him, starting at the tip of my dick. He screamed his joy into my mouth, and his whole body grabbed at my dick in wave after wave, and I plunged down as my own climax began, from somewhere under my shoulder blades, and rushed to the tip of my dick with the speed of a bullet. I pulled away from his lips in shock, as the jolts hit me, and I exploded into him so hard, I thought some of it came out of him, as a glob of his semen suddenly sprayed onto his cheek. I shamelessly, hungrily, lapped it into my mouth, and another jolt hit me, forcing me impossibly further into his body, pumping my semen into my love, filling him with me.

He pulled me back to his lips with his left hand, and kneaded my nuts with his right, and I swear I had the feeling of doing it to him at the same time, but my hands were under him, and I could do nothing with them but hold him even closer to me as I sent my love deep inside him. We were so closely melded that his dick was pressed between us, and I felt the warm spurts of his semen on my belly as it continued to spout from his loins. The waves passed, and we gradually sank into the euphoric bliss we always have after making love. We rolled to our -- my -- right side, and I stayed inside him, remembering how right this had felt when he had made love to me. We caressed and kissed, whispered our love, and I gradually drifted towards sleep, as the light touch of his fingers on my back sent little shivers of pleasure through my body..

"Loon?" he called to me.


"I love you, Loon."

"I love you Brad," I answered, not sure if I had slept or not. I was still in his embrace, my dick was still inside his warmth.

I felt him move away. "Where are you going?"

"My leg is falling asleep," he said softly.

"Don't go," I said. "I'll do it."

I rolled us over so he was on his back again, then lifted his leg over and around my head, so that his legs were now together, and I was still inside him. I then twisted around behind him, rolled a little over on my back, and pushed myself back inside him, his torso a little twisted, so his ass was in my groin, his arm under my neck, my head in the crook. I petted him gently, and moved my legs so that I was grasping his left leg between mine, using it as a fulcrum to keep me all the way inside him, then rolling just a little so that I wouldn't fall out, and fell into a deep sleep.

Some time during the night I awoke, and I was still inside him. I moved gently, so as not to waken him, ready to pull out, but he grasped me with his inside muscles as he wakened, and said "again?"

"I, uh . . . "

"Fill me up again, Loon," he whispered.

I don't know how, but I came inside him again, this time gently jacking his cock, bringing him to his climax almost at the same time as me. I brought his seed in my hand to my lips and savored it, wondering that I would find this so wonderful when a week earlier I would have puked if I'd so much as thought of doing it.

Friday, July 2, 1993

By morning, I had slipped out of him. I woke to bright light streaming through the shutters, birds chattering away, my lover's regular breathing telling me he was no longer in sleep.

"I love you," I said into his shoulder.

"I know, and I love you," he whispered in to my hair.

"I didn't hurt you?" I asked.

"Don't be daft," he said, kissing the top of my forehead. "Loon, I feel . . ."

"I know," I said as he paused. "So do I." I felt as if I was alive for the very first time, that I'd really only been a Pinocchio doll before. I knew that's what he felt, too.

We lay there another half hour or so, just caressing, giving little pecks, petting -- until nature called insistently. I let Brad go first, because I could tell he needed to dump more than I did. While he was in the toilet, I stripped the bed -- there were some stains that would be hard to explain to Mom, so I figured on washing the sheets down in the village.

When he came out, I almost bowled him over getting into the toilet, as my bladder was about to burst. I think he was a little afraid I'd be offended by the odor of his shitting, but it wasn't bad. He made some silly comment about something crawling up there and dying, but I ignored it. This probably sounds gross, but I actually enjoy Brad's smells, even his occasional farts at night in bed. As I finished peeing, my own bowels got the message, maybe from the faint smell of Brad's movement, and I dumped. I wondered if my sperm had got through the walls of Brad's rectum and into his body before he shit them out. Silly, eh?

By the time we had some cereal and milk (and of course OJ with a vitamin pill!) it was nearly eight o'clock.  I told Brad we had to get laundry done down at Chan's, and we agreed to do a little more on the chipper before heading down to Radford. We left the dishes to soak with the dinner plates, and didn't even shower before we went outside.

We emptied out the bed of the pickup, and attacked the other two piles of brush, which took only a couple of hours to complete, the chips going to the back in piles as mulch for the vegetable garden.

"Let's take the laundry down to the village and spend the afternoon on the beach," Brad said as we wiped down the chipper. "Get some grub there, too."

"Sounds good to me," I said. "I figure we're doing pretty good on the chores."

"Still lots to go, though." was the response I got, as we turned towards the house.

"What's left to do?" We walked towards the back door

"Just the tilling, patching those canyons on the drive, and spreading the mulch and stuff," said Brad. "We can do some of that after the beach, and the three of us can finish up everything outside while Mom disinfects tomorrow."

"Deal!" I said, running for the shower.

"Leave some hot water for me!" yelled Brad from the kitchen, as he went to wash up the dishes from dinner and breakfast, leaving them for me to dry and put away while he showered. It didn't take long, so I bundled up the shorts and T-shirts we'd managed to get filthy in just three days, a few kitchen towels, and went into the bedroom to fetch the bed linens. The wine glasses were still by the side of the bed, untouched. I thought about what we'd done the night before, and a tear started to form in my eye -- I don't know why. I felt a little guilty as I threw away the old wine in the kitchen, then rinsed the glasses.

We took the pickup to town, the Cash pouch under my seat. The sky seemed bluer that usual, and the smells of the forest sharper. Radford looked pristine, despite the ravages of time on the old buildings. Chan scolded us for being so late - his sign said 'in by eleven, out by five' and it was already half past, but he let us get away with it, as always.

The beach was pretty crowded, but there was still plenty of space. We picked a spot off to the side, spread our mats, and took a swim right away to cool off. There were too many people on the diving raft to make it interesting, so we just swam a little in the cooler deep part, where few people went. After a half hour or so, people started to come into the area where we were swimming and splashing, and after I bumped into somebody, I wanted to get out. Brad was ready too, so we went back to the mats, and lazed in the sun's heat. I figured we could eat later, since we wanted to start some serious ray catching. The beach was noisy - lots of kids, yelling and having a good time, but I wanted . . . something else.

"What you think?" asked Brad at one point, maybe twenty minutes into my cat-nap.

"I love you," I said without thinking.

"No, dum-dum! I know that!" he said laughing. "I mean about that."

I opened my eyes and looked at him, then at what he was looking at. There was a bodybuilder type on the beach, a few yards away, walking slowly in our direction, looking at the water as he went, splashing a little. Handsome, what they call "buffed," I think - muscles that showed the veins through the skin. Nice to look at. He was wearing short boxer-type trunks, and they looked sext on him. He had a big basket.

"Nice bod," I commented. "Not my type." I looked around on the beach. A couple of girls had parked their beach towels a few yards to out right and were pretending not to be looking at us. They weren't locals - we know most everybody up here. I thought to myself 'I don't want to be here, not really. With Brad, yeah. But I have nothing in common with these people, I'm not comfortable with the crowds, the extra noise. I'd rather be digging Mom's flower bed with Brad, building something together, than this.'

"You don't want me to build up my muscles like that for you?" he said.

"Steroid Steve?" I couldn't believe he was serious. "I only want a real man, Brad, not a puffed-up parody. I want you."

"You don't think I'm too skinny?"

"Slim and handsome," I said. "Besides, slim people live longer. I expect you to be servicing me on my hundredth birthday."

"I love you."

"I know." I said. "I love you like you are. Don't even think about changing yourself to be like somebody else."

"Let's do something besides . . . this," he said, tossing his head at the crowded part of the beach to our left..


"Let's plant the front flower beds to surprise Mom."

I looked at him in wonder. How had he known what I was just thinking? God, I guess when two people love another enough, they even start thinking alike.

"You read my mind," I said.

"Let's take a Monster back," we said in unison. The man is awesome.

We got up and left, almost grateful to get away from the crowd. The girls looked at us as we were leaving. Or rather, at Brad. They had their eyes glued to his groin area. I felt something inside me akin to anger, but not quite. A little pride that they found him attractive, hurt that they thought he was available, defensiveness, as in wondering if they would try to take him away from me, and resolve that they'd be nuclear cinders if they so much as smiled at him, much less came on to him. I guess that's what jealousy is all about.

We stopped first at Herb's to order the food: a pair of Monsters, two giant cones of fries, two two liter ice teas. Brad told him we'd be back in ten minutes, then we whipped over to Parker's to pick up flats of bedding plants. Amazingly, there was no one there but us and Junior. He looked frazzled, though -- said he'd only just sent Ed to get a sandwich, it had been so busy. I got a couple of five gallon sweetheart roses for Mom, one yellow with pink center, the other an almost white pink with deep red center.

We threw in a couple mixed flats of veggies - tomatoes, squash, zucchini, eggplant, more onion sets, and parsley, and loaded them in the bed of the pickup in the stackers that Junior gives out when you buy more than two flats. I held them steady while Brad attached the bungees, and he brushed up against me every chance he got, setting me all a-tingle.

When we got back to Herb's, the burgers were ready, but I had to wait a minute for the fries, while Brad waited in the pickup. I took him the stuff that was ready, and went back for the fries. Herb gave us a whole triple order, even though we'd only ordered two large cones. As I got in the pickup, I remembered.



"We need more ice!"

Brad did a "U," I dashed into Murdoch's to get a couple more blocks, and we laid a squeak on the way out of the parking lot, the ice slithering to the back corner of the liner. There was still plenty of life in the old pickup, despite the aged look of the outside, especially the ripple in the back fender where Brad had clipped the side of the shed when he was fifteen. He'd been grounded for a week, 'cause Dad hadn't told him he could get it out of the shed on his own.

We scarfed down some of the crisp fries on the way home. They were still piping hot. Herb can really do 'em right. Says he learned how to do them in the War. (His war was World War Two, in Europe.) He says the Belgians make fries better than anybody on earth. If they're half as good as Herb's, he's right. They were half gone by the time we reached Reston. It wasn't even two o'clock.

We ate quickly on the steps of the porch, washing the food down with the cold tea, and went into action. I tilled the right front bed with the tractor, being careful not to disturb the perennials, as Brad raked behind me. As soon as the tilling was done, no more than twenty minutes or so, he took the tractor over and tilled the left front bed, while I finished raking the first. I planted an assortment of Begonias, Johnny Jump-ups, Marigolds and Alyssum, centered on one of the two rose bushes. The perennials -- mostly herbs -- in the back, I just trimmed down, putting the cuttings on the porch to put into the bathroom to keep it fresh smelling. Brad was finishing up the left bed at the same time as me, somehow catching up. His pattern of plantings looked identical to mine -- like a mirror copy -- when I stood on the top of the steps, looking down. I wondered how he did that, without even making out a plan. The guy's amazing.

We spread mulch around the plantings, then tested the drip system and lay out the strips -- it was getting a little late. Brad didn't bother to wash himself up, just jumped in the pickup and went to the Village to get the laundry, while I tilled the back patch for the vegetables, getting real satisfaction from being a city farmer. The little tractor made quick work of the soft bed, made loamy by the decades of tilling, mulching, cow manure and compost. I was almost done poking the onion sets into the back row when I heard the pickup chug up the drive.

"I picked up some asphalt patch at Parker's," Brad hollered as he threw the paper-wrapped bundle of laundry on the side porch. "We can fill the holes tomorrow when Dad gets up."

He stooped to help me finish the veggies, not before I got a sloppy kiss that redoubled my energy. We laid out the last drip strips, mulched everything, and it was done. We looked at what we'd accomplished in just a few hours, and knew we'd done good. Not perfect, but good. Brad put his arms around me from behind, and we drew close and stood there for a minute, my head leaning back against his shoulder, his lips nuzzling my ear. "I love you, Loon" he said in a soft voice that broke just a little. The air was so still, the clearing so quiet, it almost sounded like it came from in front of me, instead of behind me. He licked my neck behind the ear, sending chills down my spine. His fingers roamed my chest, tweaking my nipples through the T-shirt in a teasing way, getting them to stand up.

While we worked, we'd decided on making a cold supper for Mom and Dad and us when they got up, since they'd probably get there late, maybe nine or ten o'clock if the traffic was bad. Brad and I checked what we had, and decided to get some more lettuce and mustard for the ham sandwiches, tomatoes and mozzarella for salad, and milk for us, coffee for them - and Brad, of course. We threw out the chops they smelled a little off probably got too warm in the back of the car on the way up.

We washed up again, gathered up the wine bottle we'd emptied for the recycling bin, and went back down to Murdoch's for the grub. We took the 'Maro, even though we were a little grubby. Murdoch's was crowded, but not mobbed. It was getting towards closing time, and everybody was picking up last minute stuff, so we didn't get stuck in line behind anybody doing their weekly shopping.

"Your folks up yet? Mary asked as we checked out.

"Nah," Brad said. "They were leaving Sacramento this afternoon, so I guess they'll be here 'round nine or ten."

"More'n likely after midnight, I reckon," Mary said.

"Why's that?" I asked. "Traffic so bad?"

"Big accident on the interstate," she said. "Heard it on the radio half an hour ago. Freeway's shut down outside Redding 'til they get all the vehicles (she said it like it was spelled 'vickles') cleared. More'n a hundred in a chain bang."

"Anybody hurt?" asked Mrs. Parker, Junior's wife, who had been behind us.

"They said a trucker was in the hospital, and a woman died from a heart attack, but there were only minor injuries for the most part," said Bertha from her cage next to the registers. Bertha is solid, dependable, and big -- built like a mailbox.

"I heard the bulletin on my break a few minutes ago," Mary interjected. "There's the trucker dead, the woman with the heart attack, and a man who got out of his car before the thing was over and got run down by a truck."

"How awful," said Mrs. Parker, to no one in particular.

The three women then agreed that the big trucks were too dangerous, went too fast, and came from out of state. Of course the big log haulers, driven mostly by local folks, don't count. I guess they were the experts, seeing as how they had been on the interstate at least once a year, and the biggest truck that ever came to town was the gasoline tanker for the Marina and Cal's service station. Just one tank, too, not one of those double or triple trailers. I feel safer surrounded by big rigs driven by professional drivers than a flock of Lexus SUV's driven by the newly rich.

We paid for the stuff and headed back towards the cabin.

"Figure they'll get here tonight?" I asked Brad.

"They'd stay in a motel, rather than drive late," he mused. Dad doesn't like to drive after dark.

"Think we should call?"

"Worth a try."

Brad turned around and went back to Murdoch's to the phone. There was, miraculously, no one using it, so I got right on it, Brad waiting for me in the pickup.

"Hi! We've gone to dinner. Won't be back until late. Leave a message after the beep."

They'd forgotten to change the message. I left a message saying we'd heard there was an accident on the freeway, and if they were late, we'd understand. The phone ate my quarters all up, I checked.

"Nobody home?"

"Nope!" I grinned. "And they forgot to change the message from last night!"

"Maybe they got up to some hanky-panky while they had some time off from the boys," said Brad.

"While their boys were up to a little on their own, huh?" I smart mouthed.

"That reminds me," said Brad.


"What are we gonna tell them." He said a little grimly. "And when?"

"I hadn't thought about that," I said, watching the trees pass over us, my head flung back over the seat back.

"They'll know," he said.


"The way we look at each other when we're horny."

"We're always horny."

"See what I mean?"

"We can't carry it off?"

"With Mom and Dad? He laughed. "They can tell if we're hiding a secret birthday present, or a kitten in the garage, for chrissakes! How the hell are you gonna keep secret the fact that we've been doin' it with each other, and me the fact that I'm hopelessly, head-over-heels in love with you?"

"Kept it secret from me for a long time!" I shot back.

"You know what I mean."

"We'll just have to tell them, that's all."


"That we're in love, that we want to . . . " I had a logic attack. "Oh."

"Exactly, Loon." said my lover. "Incest? Horrors! And our baby is only fifteen!"

"I'm almost sixteen," I defended my honor.

"Not that that will make a heck of a lot of difference," he said darkly.


"When I turn eighteen, if we . . . make love, it's statutory rape."


"Sure," he said. "That's the law. An adult that has sex with a kid under eighteen is guilty of statutory rape."

"What's the kid guilty of?" I asked out of spite.

"Seducing me," he punched me on the shoulder. Hard enough to register, not enough to hurt.

"Who is he? I'll kill 'im" I said in mock ferocity.

"You, Loon. It's you."

"We'll just have to keep quiet about it, then," I said. I actually thought: 'maybe I could.'

"Unh - huh."

We drove the rest of the way back in silence, each lost in thought as the wind rustled the tops of the cedars and the wonderful scent of the woods caressed our noses.