Date: Mon, 26 May 2008 19:03:35 -0700 (PDT)
From: plexadonn@yahoo.com
Subject: Within the Valley

WITHIN THE VALLEY part 1: The Wilderness, written by Plexadonn.

(the events here are entirely fictional, though based on a real experience
- a camping trip with my uncle, his son and my father.  For the soundtrack,
John Denver's magick is essential, as the metaphysics and philosphy used in
this story pertain to him greatly).

..,,;;:: /{1}\ ::;;,,..

Within the valley, The Grand Valley it was called, lingered the refreshing,
heated and invigorating climate of Summer.  In the utterly high elevation,
and quite far from any large bodies of water, the air in the mountainous
region of Colorado was plagued with little or no humidity, leaving the dry,
crisp air to be breathed freely -- save for the trace amounts of dust,
pollen and ash that was scattered throughout the atmosphere.

Along with this came a strange sense of enterprise and adventure that
infested the minds of many, any sentient beings.  Families, individuals,
animals of every single kind in nature and Life, desired to be rid of their
foundations, if only for one day: a reprieve of harsh stress and misery, or
to increase mirth and joyful loving which was already present.

As if by some unseen psychological force, people craved the experience of
something slightly foreign, to be away from the housing and sight of the
gloom and shadows of their homes or places of work, and to see the world at
its peak of tranquility before the comfortable Summer began to change into
the colder seasons of Autumn and Winter.

Even those unfortunate enough to lose sight of natural life, they still
could not permanently ignore the call of the clear blue mountain lands.
All human life, no matter how lost to modern, sheltered society, eventually
would see the fire raining in the sky, and the shadows from the starlight.
Life would be refurbished then, and spirits would join with the Earth once
more.

Emotions ran rampant, as well.  Sexual energy seemed to be escalating now,
higher than any other time of year.  Unions would be seen and experienced
by millions of excited youths; revitalized passion and affairs of rekindled
fire would light up the lives of hundreds and hundreds of long-time lovers
and friends.  In minds, those partners and lovers lost in darkness, would
sit around the campfires in the mind; anyone could and most certainly would
find Love there, anywhere in the Summer, in any sort of way.

Like the season around them - the season of the Heart - teenage folk and
their close counterparts, the young adults, found themselves utterly
restless and longing for these new experiences the most, more than any
spiritual seeker or mountain climber.  In the school halls, the male
persuasion wandered through their typical monotony with little else on
their mind other than to satisfy their lust for the carnal things.

George was no exception to this seemingly ubiquitous rule of lust.  The
Wind is a symbol for all that is free, and George felt like he was the
wind, and on it he flew with his spirit wings, and constantly sang to it,
shouting loudly to the Earth of his desires and respect.  He was a young
student of sixteen, with a fire in his heart and a light in his eyes, and
his heart full with the desire for adventure.

Occasionally, those in his circle of friends pondered with one another
about his ways of life, whether or not he was being too risky with his
decisions and if he was flying too high.

His parents knew nothing of that, though.  To them, George seemed to be
incapable of focusing his attention on one hobby for too long, or one
person for too long.  His romantic interests in other boys had been settled
upon long before his high school days, and now he was on a quest to
discover the untold aspects of sex.  He wanted to experience everything
that two males could do with each other, with only their bodies -- the
Heart, Spirit and Mind - and environment of the Earth.

His heart burst explosively with passion when he was in intimate contact
with his male lovers; he did not need to own or need, but just to hold and
see those smiles and feel the warmth of a willing body, and to feel their
auras ignite with each other.  George simply wanted to pour his heart into
Life, and the lives of others, as many as he could, and promote the
goodness of Mankind.

While never being caught at school secretly fornicating in the showers or
in a public facility with his current boyfriend (as he often loved to), he
had not been so careful and lucky at home.  It was at this time his mother
discovered his tastes in sex, and he felt ashamed of his lack of respect
for their quite obvious desire to not have these activities in their home.
The woman did not see much of anything during her own fiery experience,
only that her son was engaged in a passionate kiss with one of his friends,
while they simply lie on his bed and both dressed only in underwear.

She explained that she did not enjoy it at all, which of course was
apparent and did not need explanation.  But he was greatly thankful she did
not punish him, belittle him with tremendous tidal waves of guilt, or
worse, disown him.  He learned then that she was more tolerant and
intelligent than this, and as was his father.  But of course they were;
George's parents had more important things to worry about than that of
their gay son.  His paranoia about the World crashing down and bringing him
to the deepest parts of despair dissolved slowly.

In George's embarrassment and desire to let his mind relax from his worry,
he very strongly wished to escape their company in order to let the news
settle in for them, and for him to recompose himself.  Thus, he was quick
to request his accompaniment on his uncle Stan's solo camping trip up to
the Grand Mesa for three days (give or take).

Summer now, no more school days for a little while, and in George's
situation of irresponsibility, he had no obligations that tied him to his
house or hometown.  It was explained by Stan that his trip would consist
mostly of fishing and, probably, extensive hiking, in a strange search for
unrevealed relics.  Apparently, the land he was planning on invading had
been a place ancient Native American occupancy, and that he wanted to look
for arrowheads and the like.

Stanley was a large man, much like George's father, Frederick.  Both men
had been laborers for most of their lives -- starting in their teenage
years - and both worked mostly in construction or pipe-fitting occupations.
This left them both with impressive and comfortable musculature that did
not look forced and awkward, like the jocks at school with their perfectly
contoured bodies.  Uncle Stan's strength came from real, strenuous work;
his strength was in the heart and in his confidence.

And although much of a pervert, with a very vulgar and tactless sense of
humor, George felt a strange attraction to the man, his uncle Stanley; the
boy admired the man's candor, even if such a thing stemmed from some kind
of social idiocy and probably slight brain damage from long-beaten
alcoholism.

His father's lineage was Hungarian.  Stan and father possessed dark skin,
and dark hair, along with very strong facial features.  These men were
endowed with large hands, thick and strong arms, and deep voices.  They
were the epitome of masculine strength and beauty.  George wondered many
times if he would grow into the same kind of person, if his life would turn
him towards the labor and path of growth.  It was unlikely though, as he
was naturally a lean person and fair-skinned with blond hair, a trait from
his mother's lineage.

Nevertheless, he was eagerly anticipating the adventure with Stan.

Stanley and George had packed their necessary things, George bringing along
several books to read in case he needed or wanted them, during the hours
before sleep or during a pause between hikes.  But Stan assured his nephew
that they would have plenty of things to do while out in the wilderness.
And yes, that they would, for Stanley insisted on bringing along his only
acoustic guitar and banjo, the persuaded his nephew to do the same with his
own guitar and fiddle.

Both of the boy's instruments had been gifts from the adult, who was now
his temporary guardian for the trip.  Stanley had quickly taken a shine to
the boy once learning of George's interest in the Art of music.  Stan,
having played fiddle and banjo since he was younger than George, insisted
on the boy having access to these things, hoping that some day he would
bloom with them, and allow his skill to speak the language of the Earth and
breathe the music of the Sky.  Secondly, he had a longing for teaching and
helping to develop those skills, and eagerly looked forward to the few days
when George would accompany him with the instruments.

All these things they housed in the enclosed bed of Stanley's pickup truck,
being certain to keep all the items situated properly to not allow them to
scatter and fall together; they were especially careful packing up the
fragile guitars and violin.  Stanley, as explained to George long before
the boy could conjure any false impressions, was going to take as little
accommodations as possible.

This would not be a luxurious outing, and they would not be within range of
any conveniences and Stanley most certain was not about to forsake this
ideal for even the slightest kind of aid from modern society.  The most
advanced pieces of equipment he was bringing were the truck, two
flashlights and a cellular phone (which would be turned off unless either
male experienced a major injury during the trip).

In George's excitement for the adventure, and his eagerness to be rid of
the presence of his perturbed parents, the boy had completely disregarded
the possible ridicule and harassment he could receive from his uncle.  And
he only realized this folly during the traveling, as the truck noisily
flowed along the road and polluted the countryside with its poisonous
noise, and noiseless poison.

"So your mother tells me you uh... got them homosexual tendencies?"  It
made George sad, embarrassed that he could have allowed this to happen.
With this sort of subtle accusation, the boy could feel the sunshine drain
from his soul, and quite quickly, inspired by the hatred and intolerance
showered by millions in regard to his kind, George suddenly felt that he
did not deserve to enjoy life.  The prejudice was like those thoughts of
paranoia that brought him down to the depths of misery that which clipped
his wings and silenced the Wind of the father sky.

Paranoia, such evil paranoia, was cruel.

However, Stanley did not express the sort of merriment out of being cruel
as George had expected.  The boy had fantasized the grin of mockery on his
uncle's face, and the idea that he was now obligated to sustain three or
more days of emotional torture from the inhuman filth was only the sweetest
flavor in Stanley's mouth.  He could imagine the laugh and the hissing
snicker, being called a "fag" or "a cocksucker"... the poor boy shuddered.

None of this.  Not any of these insane delusions of hatred graced the boy.
Stanley, in a very rare show of compassion, actually seemed to understand
that paranoia, and expressed his deepest sympathies for the boy.  His
uncle, the man having now grown some kind of completely foreign respect for
this lifestyle, appeared now -- to George -- to be much more Human than his
mother had constantly made him out to be.  The man's face, upon hearing
from George that he was indeed a homosexual, showed tolerance, and other
than this one notion, nothing else.  And why should he be disturbed or
disgusted?  George's homosexuality did not affect his uncle's life, and did
not threaten him in the slightest.

George was impressed with the Human condition in his family.  While being
fairly quiet and relatively sheltered in their roundabout routines in
suburban life, they had shown the young boy that even here in his city, and
in his own family -- their Hearts -- the wind and peaceful love permeated
all those souls of Earth around him, in some way.  There was no Evil and
oppression, no hatred to be heard of.  And with this, he could fly again.
Even farther, he shared the freedom he felt when he flew, with all of his
family, and they would never bring him down again.

..,,;;:: /{2}\ ::;;,,..

George remembered the very first instance he had gazed upon the place,
their destination today.  It resembled a smaller sort of valley, a field
dressed with a multitude of painful scrub and unattractive-looking dry
brush and scattered rocks.  All this was situated between two jagged hills
of rock and soil, naked and stripped of its trees, while all the vegetation
grew thickly and impressively at the far end, opposite the valley to the
road.

During their previous visit, George's father and Stanley had entered the
valley and idled slowly through it, parking their vehicles at the mouth of
the forest at the far end and had managed to reveal a hidden pathway within
the dense vegetation, a vanished trail of sorts that had been beaten into
the earth under their feet.  It was practically useless now, being so
overgrown that it would take weeks to reestablish what someone or some
people had done many years ago.

Still, it did remain there, slightly visible and technically useable, if
one did not mind the extensive effort that would be required of any willing
soul to traverse the hills, to penetrate the dense forest and explore the
terrain beyond.

The path, if followed properly, lead around a treacherous and meandering
path that attacked the humans with thorns and bristles, covering their legs
with mud and swarming their faces with insects.  But withstanding this gave
the gift of natural, Earthly beauty.

It was a simple, happy shoreline, next to the river: a simulacrum of the
great beaches of the Pacific, and a minor cousin of the White Waters (not
quite as far).  And as relaxing and hypnotic as the rapidly-flowing stream
was, as brisk and brightly clear its fluid was, the river was potentially
lethal.

Especially to one boy as small as George, the quickened pace closer to the
center of the river would wash him away into the Earth, and forever to be
doomed, too fast to be saved by his powerful uncle.

It was easy to see the neutrally-colored grey rocks making the bed of the
river, nearer the shore, and the sharper, deadly rocks in the center that
lie in threatening danger.  However, upon emerging from the tangled forest
and looking leftward and venturing into the water, the two found a peaceful
and safe pocket of water close to the rockface that made the mountain of
one side of the valley.  This pocket, the still water, was trapped and kept
free of the undertow, and George imagined, pleasantly, how it would feel to
bathe his dirty and hot body in there after a long day with Stan.

Stanley explained that he, many a time, had done this sort of practice.  He
used to sunbathe on this secluded beach, and shower himself in the
waterfall of the pocket, using the vines to keep himself afloat, and
splashed about playfully in the stream.  George then imagined himself doing
this, as well, wading into the water naked, and letting the breeze chill
him to his very bones, and the cold water burning him, his flesh all
exposed to Nature, and letting the Earth inundate him with its ultimate
stimulation.

He wanted to be infused with the warmth of the sun, and the compassion of
the moonlight.  The boy could focus it into sexual energy, and this he
frequently loved doing.  To bring himself close to such passion, to release
himself with an orgasm caused by the Earth, fuelled by that deep warmth of
sunshine, or the freezing winds during winter... and the soft glow of
moonshine, washing across his entire body and psyche.  The connection, such
a joining of humanity and the spiritual, explosive energy of the Earth, was
the second greatest experience of human existence.  It did not exactly pale
in comparison to sex exchanged between two humans, but it was most
certainly not as invigorating.

George understood that with his uncle close by, and the adult wanting to
spend quite the bulk of their time together, the boy possibly could not
find a chance to experience his spiritual climax, might not get around to
fusing himself with the Earth in metaphysical ecstacy.  Yet, he was fairly
certain that Stanley would not mind it much, if the boy clambered back out
of their tent and trudged through the forest to his meeting place with the
Love of the Earth.  But... maybe the adult would not understand.

During their hiking and the first time they attempted to fish in the river,
there was, sadly, little conversation between them. Even during the few
minutes of rest during which they rehydrated and renourished themselves,
they found words to be broken and stuck in their mouths, and only awkward
sentences managed their way outward.

George was young, and relatively inexperienced at Life, and he also was
unsure of how he could possibly relate to an adult of such experience and
adventure as Stanley.  His uncle, divorced from marriage and essentially
unemployed, while having plenty of money to sustain himself in modern
society, was not exactly what one would label as "successful".  But the
sort of success and wisdom he had, the kind that George found to be
attractive and interesting, was the knowledge of the Earth and the life of
those before them, the Natives that lived in the countryside centuries
before them.

Stanley certainly did attempt pleasantries, however.  He gave his all with
topics ranging from George's business with school, if any of his friends
were musicians and wilderness adventurers like him, and even introduced the
boy's love life.  Stanley seemed very interested in how many boyfriends
George had, how many he had been with, favorite positions... and this last
part the boy knew was a joke, given away by the ferocious chuckle.

"Are you a top or bottom?"  He actually queried this!  George knew the
answer, that he was almost always a `bottom', but he did not respond right
away, and both of them laughed about it heartily.  Other queries made their
way through their conversation throughout the day, and the mere interest
lead George to disprove his family's harsh and negative opinions of this
usually oafish dolt.  Stanley was proving to be less bigoted and intolerant
than anyone had expected.

George could still see the goofy smile upon the man's countenance, but
underneath was quite an obvious foundation of something else; interest,
yes, though it could have been something more potent, or potentially more
sinister.  George let his mind infuse with his carnality, that rampant
crave for excitement deep in the primitive human mind: that place that
allowed us all to lust and crave ignorantly and hurtfully.  The boy
imagined his uncle in his place, imagined the gentleman touching him, and
with guilt and awkwardness, George imagined himself submitting to his
uncle, letting his hands encompass that muscular and robust body.

This fueled the passion of distraction even further.  Stanley's interest,
the first time he had spoken of George being gay, had given this weekend
adventure an unwanted air of peculiarity.  And now, with Stanley's
persistence, he had driven his nephew to unspoken and hidden desires that
had oozed from the deepest swamp in his cluttered psychology.  It was part
lust and part disappointment; that Uncle Stanley could do this to a young
man such as George, was unfair and uncalled for.

Yet what could the boy do?  He would not allow this setback in life stop
his flight; his wings would only grow stronger from these feelings, and if
he should experience his uncle like that... there lay in darkness a path
that he was unclear of, but he was willing to learn when the tides brought
this to him.

George soon grew very comfortable with this, however.  The two males had
shuffled themselves into a sort of dialogue that grew more fearsome and
silly with each passing minute: George growing more candid and playful with
his own questions.

Yes, the boy had insisted on his uncle reciprocating in every instance.
They picked and prodded at each other with growing curiosity and amusement,
and George felt like this exchange of data truly helped the two bond more
spiritually, though inconsequentially.

It was when Stanley wondered if George, at any time, had been with an adult
in these sorts of spiritual passions, that the boy faltered.  He felt
somewhat embarrassed by the question, and briefly wondered if he should
take this in stride as insinuation, accusation, or some kind of perverted
curiosity.

The answer: No, of course he had not.  It was something that which he did
occasionally fantasize, however, an experience he wished his mind could
know: the act of spiritual bond to an adult while still in his youth, when
his wings were bright and shimmering, and still aglow with love for Life --
when he could share the glimmer with a mature man whose wings were duller
now.

Yet, he could not bring himself to peruse this endeavor (although it could
not rightfully be called such).  It was curiosity, and he would not waste
too much mental energy, or stress himself out over something as trivial and
benign as masturbating his perversions and corrupted egocentricities.

Although he never had the opportunity, he was greatly relieved.  This ideal
was something he longed for on a highly spiritual and intellectual level
and the act would need to be special to him, passionate without being
hurtful.  Yes, he could easily seek out some unstable, older pervert to
fulfill the fantasy, but this would only destroy his aura and he would
forever be destroyed by a poison of life.  This would need to wait in order
to ensure that both parties involved would benefit and grown from it.
Otherwise, George would rather never bother with the goal.

George silently understood that no amount of sexual adventure, with those
his own age, older or younger, beast or otherwise, would ever help him grow
properly.  It would not help him or anyone else in the slightest.  For how
could a person learn and mature in this World, in this manner of Living,
with such primitive and unbecoming, blind lust?  All that would come of
this would be frustration, confusion, and leave him abandoned on the frozen
planes of ice below the hearth of the Earth, where the spirit was static
and unfeeling.  And George would rather commit suicide than succumb to this
fate.  He wanted to experience the sex, yes, but would not throw his life
away simply for that.

Nor would he rush headlong into an early grave, balanced on the biggest
wave.  George soared like an Eagle, sometimes needing neither comfort nor
pause, just the desire to infuse himself... but Earthly comforts called to
him so frequently.  Uncle Stanley was one of these comforts.

..,,;;:: /{3}\ ::;;,,..

The remainder of their day consisted of Stanley becoming a little too
heated and exhausted, thus the amount of hiking decreased significantly.
Before retiring for the day, he wanted to do a bit more of land surveying
for plans tomorrow.

George could see the man suffering slightly in the heat, his body becoming
slightly hunched and being covered with sweat and looking weathered.  The
adult looked like a laborer out here, and less of a free flying spirit such
as George.  But no, it was not his spirit that suffered, for that fire in
his Soul burned just as brightly as his nephew's (it seemed); it was merely
his body, too battered and too tired from long and hard living.  The body
was only the shell of the soul, but in this very case, the flesh must
certainly be given its due, for it utter and humiliating control over us
all as humans.  As much as Stanley wanted to continue, he now needed to
retire.

Before this, Stanley had successfully burned two wondrous images into
Stanley's mind.  First was the small mouth of an eroded cave system, this
particular pocket of stone facing the interior of the valley and looking
out onto the highway.  Second was a very tall and fatal cliff that the two
males had managed to ascend and lie prone upon, looking down to their
ultimate deaths if they should happen to fall.  But this was a thrilling
episode, and the racing of their hearts had been a pleasant paradise in
excitement.

Both of these places, George and Stanley wished to return to the next day
and further explore and they agreed to be sure to find the time for it.
For right now, both desired a repose from exercise, and to consume food: a
meal, moreover.  Stanley built a fire around their designated area and
proceeded to cook up some kind of sausages and green beans from a tin can.

Stanley had insisted on decorating the truck with a camoflauge of branches
and leaves, to help shade it from the eyes of the passersby on the highway.
This place was apparently "private-property", and he did not wish to risk
having a sheriff called to investigate.

During the nightfall, Stanley's mood shifted in tune with the ascending
reddish-gold colors of twilight.  Situated about the fire, opposing each
other, the man felt himself turn more demure and he acquiesced to the boy's
silent desires to learn more of him, and be rid of the typical personality
that he was accustomed to.  Stanley, although interesting and wise for all
his years, was incredibly rude and vulgar, as stated before; if one could
withstand the barrage of disharmonies from the man's lips, conversation
could be quite intriguing.

For another hour after the meal, both males practiced their Art on the
musical instruments stored in the truck.  Stanley played his songs, his old
time Mountain Music, and George displayed his more modern styles, taking
inspiration from some of the rock and pop music he listened to
occasionally, and both inspiring each other: playing rock music in country
style, or some folk music in blues style.

With the rhythmic melodies from the fiddle and the continuo from the banjo,
came Spirit embodied as sound.  They played the sounds of the Earth, spoken
via their souls and the rough edges of their fingertips.  This was the song
of the Wind, and George had learned it long ago, the notes cascading upon
their bodies, notes and tones like the ancient gods of Greece, each deity
taking those sounds of the Soul and lighting the way towards perfection.

If sound was visible, if the body could unite with it, separated from its
mind, the mind fusing with music, what shape could form?  It would be
spiral, spinning outward towards the Universe... or it would be circular,
encompassing them with the planet, eternally circulating the energy through
their ears.

All this flowed through them, but went unnoticed.  They simply played with
all their heart and loved every second of it.

And though George loved talking with Stan, hearing the words and stories of
past shenanigans and jokes, and playing music with him, the boy could only
take so much in one day.  And as night was approaching fast after the
twilight, the goddess Nyx was coming to bring the darkness, and the sleep
that would be induced closely afterwards.

"Are you falling asleep on me?"  Stanley inquired.  The answer was obvious,
however, for George had been drifting into a state of sleepy stupor for
about twenty minutes after their set, and he quickly took the advice of his
uncle that they should both go to bed.

They had set up their tent upon reaching their destination, and the
comforts of makeshift beds lie within for both of them: sleeping bags.  The
night air would soon turn cold, and the atmosphere would descend ice and
chill upon them, eventually covering all with frost and cold dew; thus, the
bags of plush down and padding would be a very welcome companion to them.

As they entered their tent, the males sharing one such device, Stanley
explained that he usually preferred to enjoy sleeping without the confines.
But, as he said before, his age made the elements of the Earth affect him
more severely than before, in his younger days.  In his youth he could have
slept outside by the fire (which they kept burning instead of dousing it).
But with the threat of a freezing rain or a bothersome raccoon possibly,
Stanley did not want to risk his health and discomfort.

In the shadows of the tent, and the faint, orange-colored hue of the fire,
George could see the moving body of his uncle, and the faintest, minute
details of his being.  He watched and listened to him groan with some
displeasure, stripping his clothes off to his underwear, and letting them
crumple in a pile on the other side of his pillow.  As he nestled down into
his sleeping bag and grunted again, George wished that he could have seen
the episode in the light; the boy admired his uncle, not only for his
wisdom, but for his physical body, the power of his arms and the thick
abdomen, the ultimate body of the male being.

George was now unguilty of feeling an attraction to his uncle's being.  He
found the skin tone beautiful -- the darkness of it -- the color of his
hair, and the intense fuzz that spread across his whole body, the deep
tenor of his voice, and his capability for strength and unrefined passion.
Stanley could be as kind or as cruel as he wished, with his strength,
violence and mind... and that he chose to give kindness, to bestow wisdom
and aid in a youth's experience made him the perfect Human Being, as far as
George was concerned.

The boy fell asleep, his sex engorged with the thought of his uncle taking
him into his embrace, both physical and spiritual.  George usually enjoyed
to have music playing, to rock him to sleep as it did when he was an
infant.  But here, this was unnecessary, for the shadow from the starlight
was softer than any lullaby he could imagine.

Sleep came quickly for both, and both fell silently into the pleasant void,
deeply and warmly.

As Stan had feared, the air froze and death hung close by to take away the
insects that could not withstand it.  The human males in the vinyl,
unnatural tent would go untouched by the frost and ice, the cold winds.
They were not interrupted by the various, scavenging, critters of the
nocturnal nature.  The sounds of other animals calmed them fully, and the
pale glow of Luna high above in orbit soothed their brains as it should.

Sunlight awoke George.  Apollo returned, as usual, bringing the star with
him to spread heat and yellow light across this side of the Earth, thus
awakening the day creatures.  The boy yawned, his mouth spreading open
wide, and he felt sticky in the heat.  The tent had trapped their breath
and body temperature, causing them both to sweat and feel slightly uneasy
in their bags.

George sighed then, and sat up, twisting his torso around to crack the
bones in his spine.

"Sleep well?"  Asked Stanley, it was clear to the boy that his uncle had
been awake for some time before him.

"Yeah, I guess."  Stanley then sat up as well, allowing George to see his
uncle's exposed torso.  It truly was impossible to not admire, for George
did think Stanley was the epitome of male beauty.  Both had Hungarian
heritage, giving them olive-colored skin, and Stan had received plenty of
the wonderful genetics.

The adult had a bit of girth around his torso and abdomen, adding to his
weight and strength, which only aided the impressive and attractive amount
of musculature.  Although the mere sight of men such as this excited the
boy, it was not merely the body and promise of passionate sex with it: it
was also the sense of strength.

George was both protected by and vulnerable to his massive uncle.  Those
hands could guard or kill, and this thought soothed him.  The boy stared,
unaware of doing such, and found the sight of his nearly-naked relative
easy to love and enjoy.  The idea that Stanley would abuse him in regards
to some awful, primitive human instinct did not enter the boy's mind.  He
respected and loved this fellow human, and he refused to fathom the notion
that his uncle would lose his mind and lose his Humanity like that.

Stanley was extremely hirsute, the entirety of his body being covered with
dark hair.  Heavy upon his abdomen, upon his stomach area, sparser on his
chest, spreading to his arms and legs and thickening there, growing dark
and deep upon his thighs, forearms, and his back as well (which George
could not see right now).  It looked soft and comforting.  It was raw and
animalistic in a way, yet confined to the fate of the human condition, and
the human, male body.  Exciting, yes.

With these fantasies, these passionate desires, George felt his genitals
grow, and felt himself grow erect in his boxers.  With this, he became
aware that his bladder would need to be emptied soon.  And he badly wished
to do both, to release his sperm and climax upon himself, and then to rinse
it out with his urine, as naturally as could be.  It would never happen,
unfortunately, with Stanley sitting there, watching him.

It was not so strong that he would need to flee quickly and urinate in the
bushes outside the tent, but he felt a bit embarrassed this morning for
sexually fantasizing about his uncle, and he did wish to be out of his
sight.

Thus, he stood up, "I need to take a leak."  His erect phallus promptly
fell out of its fabric confines and hovered exposed to both of them,
Stanley unmistakably eyeing it completely.  George of course could just
have tucked it back in and went out with a chuckle, but he only managed to
slurp in air through his lips and sink back to his `bed', then tried to
rearrange himself.  He spoke nothing more than an "oops", and his face
turned pink.

"Wow," Stanley breathed, his eyes a bit wider than usual and a smirk on his
face.  "You got a pretty big dick, man."

George knew he should probably flee quickly, simply to avoid any
antagonistic remarks, or degrading jokes, any verbal assault.  But he could
not; in his mind something seized him and anchored him to the sleeping bag,
paralyzed him -- his face grown stern now -- something in his mind did not
want him to leave.  He simply sat there in confusion, wondering if Stanley
would want to watch his nephew, or maybe expose himself as well.  Desires,
silly desires.

"You gonna take care of it?"  The adult wondered; his grin had left and he
spoke quietly.  Both males were still slightly away from reality with the
remnants of slumber still in their brains.

George glared at his uncle; though not quite with malice, he was cautious.
"What do you mean?"

"You could jerk off, and let me watch.  Or I could help you out a little
bit if you wanted."  He was cautious as well, it seemed, for he spoke
slowly, not wanting to scare his nephew, or upset him.

George did not respond with words, but with his eyes; he stared at his
relative, letting his tongue slip out and moisten his lips.  He might have
smiled, but neither of them paid it any attention.  Stanley moved slightly
in his bag and reached forwards for his nephew.  The boy was exposed to the
air and his uncle's hand, although his erection was now back into his home,
and Stanley was eager to find it again.

George shivered when he felt the adult touch his member, Stan using his
thick forefinger to stroke its length, pushing lightly and rubbing gently.
The boy loved it, he loved the sensation of the adult's hand now fully
gripping his sexual parts, and he was overjoyed that his uncle wanted to
play.  He saw Stan move closer, could gaze upon his well-built temple and
even receive a hint of his odor, and he would not stop this now.

"Is it okay?  Can I play with it?"  Stanley, still cautious, was eager as
well, and only wanted to be sure that his nephew would enjoy it.  George
agreed to it, and his mind wanted him to submit... yes, something there in
the darkness begged him to allow the loss of control.  His spirit was
glowing so effervescently, practically bursting the shell of inhibitions
that made the boy's mind, letting the bright white of lust ripple across
his synapses.

Did he wish to give in completely?  It depended, truly, on the manner of
lust in which Stanley wished to bestow on him.  But no darkness descended
upon him this morning, only a passion and an unfulfilled, erotic curiosity.
Stanley did not wish to abuse his nephew or torment him into submission.
He was Human, after all, and only wanted to share an experience.

Their eyes met, just once, both wanting certainty for the situation.  Both
consented, both longed for this and wanted to enjoy the proceedings.  There
would be no more hesitation or curiosity now: only experience.  Both males
stood at the precipice of spiritual enterprise, George's Wings as bright as
any white sun could be, flung open and ready to take flight, and in his
hand was the hand of his uncle's, the adult's Wings reflecting the shine of
the youth's, pleading -- as if in tears -- to be taken along for the
flight.  And George would take the gentleman with him, most definitely.

Stanley freed his nephew's eager and erect member from the boy's underwear,
holding the bulk of it in his hand, softly squeezing and admiring it.
"Mmm," he sighed, "looks real nice."  The adult stroked it smoothly,
molding the soft flesh with his fingers and very slowly masturbating his
nephew.  The heat trapped in the tent from the morning sun was enough to
cause light-headedness, and now with this new and magnificent stimulation,
and with George's heart beating so rapidly now, it was even hotter.  The
boy began to sweat more heavily, and he welcomed the sensation; the heat
seemed to sustain his passion even stronger.

George then felt his uncle's warm mouth on his phallus.  Stanley had
lowered himself to an elbow, propping himself awkwardly practically on top
of the boy, and let George's limb slip into his wet mouth, the male readily
licking at it.  George quivered with an erotic sigh, his heart fluttering
madly as his body felt the adult holding him, felt Stan's arms embracing
him gently while the sensitive erection felt such a pleasant warm and
moisture from the uncle's mouth and tongue.

Spiritually, George was pleased and invigorated, and in this situation,
bliss everlasting could be attained, and they both could sustain the
heightened grace of this kind of Love and passion quite easily.
Realistically, it was clear that the adult had never done this before, for
his efforts were quite sloppy and slightly uncomfortable.

So, George helped out as best as he possibly could, softly speaking words
of advice and encouragement.  Stanley obeyed every breath and took it all
to heart and mind, doing anything that his young nephew suggested, to use
his tongue more deeply, making it wet and sloppy and not to worry about
salivating too greatly.

Stanley was bent over the boy, his brown, hair-covered body hunkered over
his nephew's waist, his mouth working on the throbbing genitals there
zealously, wondrously.  The visual stimulant excited the boy more greatly
than the actual sexual simulation itself; his heart was fueled by the sight
of the powerful male's body lying upon him, the deep brown of his hide that
was covered with the fine, black hair, and all the muscles of his back
flexed beautifully, defining his power.

George could not stop himself if at all desired; he caressed his uncle's
body, touched with such fantastic electricity the warmth of his skin, could
smell the thick musk evaporating from his sweaty body, and enjoyed the soft
brush of the body hair along his back, and that of his head.

Oh yes, he was very close to coming now.  And to push it farther into the
clouds, farther into the brilliance of joy, the adult began his own
caressing.  Stan moved his gripping hands along the boy's body, squeezing
and pressing against George's thighs and back, his arms and hands.

George felt the rush of power flow into him, the exchange of electricity
then; as he was stroking his uncle's body, the male did the same to him,
creating a circuit of energy cascading along the pathways of the mind,
billowing up explosively and drowning them both in the ultimate sort of
human passion.  Dear God, yes, this was George's highest flight to the
heavens and he could feel his body respond accordingly.

He spoke the warning to Stanley, that he was about to dive from the edge.
His uncle heard, and happily continued, then swallowed down his nephew's
load without the slightest sound of discomfort, gagging or whimpering.  At
this zenith of power and sensation, minutes became seconds, and time longer
than this was unheard of.

"You liked that?"  Stanley wondered, looking up into his nephew's face with
a smirk, licking his lips and frequently swallowing in attempts to wash
down the taste.

"Yes, I did."  George grinned as well.  This was repose from the highest
exchange; after this orgasm, this half-hearted climax, it was George
sailing down to alight upon the trees of the Colorado wilderness.  The
physical pleasures were magnificent, but utterly not quite enough to
completely blow him from the wind.  He needed to continue.

Stanley smiled warmly, stroking his fingers along the boy's chest, and
still fondling his genitals, enjoying the soft warmth of the flesh.  That
look on the man's face, that glee in his eyes and the smile, the brightness
to it all, it was quite astounding.  Stanley looked like a young man again,
agreeing to and enjoying the fruits of Life, and bursting with delight.
The air, as in demeanor, and the atmosphere thrilled the young boy, and
with his tremendous uncle so close, the rich aroma radiating off his body
continued to fuel him.

"Can I suck your cock, too?"  George hoped it was yes.  He hoped Stanley
would let him continue with the exercise, and if the adult wished to pin
him to the ground and viciously sodomize him, the boy would quickly
consent.

Stan, as quick as his old body could allow, ascended to his knees and
dropped his underwear -- tight-fitting, white briefs that George found
aesthetically pleasing -- exposing his groin to the boy's pleasure.  He
reached forward to cup his uncle's testicles in his hand; impressively
large and soft with fuzz, and warm, George sighed with some sounds of lust,
loving how his uncle's package was just as large and powerful as the rest
of his body.

The adult moaned and exhaled silently, absorbing the lovely sensation of
his nephew fondling his balls so tenderly and passionately.  And just as
George felt, the adult was willing to submit to anything the boy wished to
do or try with him.  But as Stan did earlier, both males would limit this
initial romance and energy flux to simple practices; they were merely
testing these new places of the mind, experimenting with the currents and
warmth of the ascending wind, finding which way, which direction to take
next.

It was clear to George how the heat in here, now so many times strengthened
by the heat from their two passionate, sweating bodies, had affected his
uncle.  His body glistened pleasantly, seemed to practically sparkle with
his faint perspiration, and George could feel it on the adult's groin,
finding the touch of the moisture to be quite satisfactory.

George took his uncle's member into his mouth and wasted no time in working
the organ as best he could.  The appendage tasted wonderful to him; he
sucked Stanley's phallus hungrily, tasting his sweat and pre-ejaculate, and
taking it all into his mind as the perfect, uncluttered human experience.
The limb was beyond satisfactory, regardless of the length or wide; George
loved it because it was his uncle's, and the adult was giving it to him.

The boy moaned in harmony with his uncle's pathetic-sounding whimpering,
wrapping an arm around to circumvent the adult's body.  George firmly
pushed his mouth against Stan's groin, being able to take all of his
uncle's offering into his mouth, the lips and tongue working veraciously
and wetly, his chin digging into those wonderful, fuzz-covered testicles.

On the other side of this monument to male splendor, the young man fondled
-- likewise -- up along the muscled legs and plush buttocks, caressing with
gripping fingers and such an excess enthusiasm that the adult's own climax
approached exactly as his nephew's had.

"Ugh, fuck, George.  I'm coming!"  The proclamation invigorated George's
senses, and he shivered with bliss as he felt his uncle push against head,
forcing his mouth to remain upon the limb energetically exploding with
semen, the fluid coursing along the boy's tongue and draining down his
throat.  He gulped and swallowed, gripping at his uncle the same way,
digging his fingers into the hairy backside and pushing himself further
against the man's groin, slobbering helplessly into the sexual region.

Stanley pushed vigorously into the warm, sucking maw of his nephew,
spilling the remains of his come deep inside, his voice growling
involuntarily with one last wave of energy, the last big gush of his aura
fusing with George's, the duality spinning wildly and then spilling back
down into their minds.

The adult pulled his limb back, releasing his nephew and allowing breath to
come abck, the member dripping with fluids.  He wiped the mess away with a
hand, then resituated his underwear in their proper place.  He spoke some
word, some phrase of pleasure and praise, but it was mostly lost to his
nephew; the boy lie back onto his sleeping bag and did nothing else but to
embrace the moment, and let his spirit glide slowly back down to Earth.

Heat pressed down on them.  Now that their efforts and exercise were
through for the moment, they desired to feel the much cooler temperatures
of the outside world, away from the thick musk and aroma of sex that was in
the tent.

The males looked to one another, chuckled awkwardly, and both finally
alighted back to reality.  Here they proposed a silent contract of mutual
understanding the experience, that each would be the anchor and the Wings
for the other.  In some way, both had desired this from the start, during
the truck ride, and possibly before this on a highly ascended plane of
unknown telepathy...

Yet for now, they both desired breakfast.

End of part 1.