Montgomery Hall

a continuing series of interrelated stories


By John Yager

The following story is a work of gay erotic fiction dealing with the sexuality of boys of high school age. If such stories are not to your liking or if you are not of legal age to read such stories in your jurisdiction, please exit now.

This is a work of fiction and in no ways draws on the lives of any specific person or persons. Any similarity to actual persons or events is entirely coincidental. I should also add that after the first story in this series, Montgomery Hall: Peaches, was posted, I had several inquiries about the location. These stories have been located in central Mississippi. Any other of a dozen or so locations would have been equally appropriate and the author is not attempting to suggest anything about the characteristics or culture of the locations chosen, and as previously stated, these stories are entirely works of fiction.

This work is copyrighted by the author and may not be reproduced in any form without the specific written permission of the author. It is assigned to the Nifty Archives under the terms of their submission agreement but it may not be copied or archived on any other site without the written permission of the author.

This is the fourth of a projected series of interrelated stories which will appear under the collective title, Montgomery Hall. While it is expected that the individual stories will stand independently, they should be more enjoyable if read as a group. If you wish to receive e-mail notification of subsequent posting, please let me know by sending your request to the e-mail address above.

Sunday was quite a day.

Ben woke me at 7:30, a fresh cup of hot coffee in hand.

"Morning, Mister Martin," he said, clearly intending to go on. But I interrupted his morning ritual by reminding him that we had agreed the "Mister" had to go.

"Lord have mercy. Ain't life complicated enough but you wanting to break the habits of a lifetime?"

"Ben, what do I have to do to convince you I don't want to be addressed as if I were my father. Shall I start calling you 'Mister Ben?'"

"That'll be the day," he laughed, "that'll be the day." Ben is a big man. I remember as a kid thinking of him as some sort of loving, protecting mountain. He was only taller than me by two or three inches but he outweighed me by at least fifty pounds and none of it was fat.

"Well, sir," I said as I looked up at his hulking mass and threw the sheet off my naked body. I rolled into a setting position on the side of the bed and said, "I had this same conversation with young Tim yesterday, and I must say, he was more adaptable then you are."

Ben laughed again, a deep laugh which came from deep in his massive chest. "That boy got years on me. He should be more adaptable. He young and he white. What you trying to do to an old man sat in his ways and schooled from his mammy's knee in what's proper and what's not?"

I stood up and took the coffee from him, finding that I was surprisingly at ease being naked in front of him. I remembered all the times he had cared for me as a child, as a teenager and as a young man. It seemed perfectly natural to be naked in Ben's presence and I made no attempt to cover myself, even when I became aware he was clearly casting his eyes over me, examining my body with deliberate scrutiny and letting his gaze linger on my groin and my rather hard cock.

"I see you still get the morning rise, Mister...."

"Ben, don't you do it," I grinned.

"Oh, all right..... Martin." He looked pleased with himself. He stood looking down at me like some tribal god, his powerful body evident under his light summer clothes, the dark forms of his massive pectoral muscles, stretching the almost gauze-like fabric of his white shirt. He seemed ageless with his close-cropped hair revealing the noble form of his head and with a physique which clearly deified age. I was again reminded that I should ask mother exactly how old Ben was.

"Very good. That's not so hard, is it?" I asked, referring to his omission of his usual "mister" or "sir."

"Well, looks fairly hard to me," he grinned, ignoring the real meaning of my question.

"You just commenting, Ben," I teased, "or expressing interest?"

"Watch you mouth, boy," he parried, "you not too big for old Ben to take care of."

"I never doubted it, Ben, never doubted it at all."

Again he laughed, the deep chuckle which came up from deep in his massive chest. It came in waves like distant thunder. "You mama ask if you be driving Mercy, or you want me coming along."

"I'm fine with her, Ben. She been behaving her self?"

"Oh, yesir, she be always a lady." He was referring to the 500 SEL Mercedes Benz, the last car my father had purchased before his death, and which I was sure my mother would never sell. It was a massive automobile, dark gray, the color Mercedes Benz calls Anthracite, and had never seemed at all feminine to me. If such a car could have a gender, this one spoke of powerful Germanic masculinity, at least to me. But from the day the car had arrived, Ben had called it Mercy and always spoke of it as a lady. No one argue. Perhaps for him it held some dark Wagnerian sexuality, a Brunhild of automobiles. Or, I thought, more likely, some sense of a dark and brooding earth mother, large of breast and eternal in her passions.

"I'm fine with it, Ben, really. Besides, I think mother said we were staying on in Greenwood for lunch."

"Well, you get yourself Sunday ready. She be wanting to leave by 'bout nine o'clock."

"Will you go with us, even if I'm doing the driving?"

"No, not today. When I drive your mama I goes to church with your mama. When I don't drive I stay right here and make good use of the time."

"Well, suite your self, Ben. I just hope you take a day off from time to time."

He laughed again . "I take time off like your mama take time off. Work's to be done, work come first."

With that he gave me one last fleeting examination, his eyes running slowly, carefully, over my body. He made no attempt to hide his interest. I stood my ground, not backing off from his scrutiny. I sipped the coffee and looked directly at him as his eyes moved over my nakedness, feeling my morning arousal increased by the boldness of his appraisal. Then with no further comment, he turned and left and I went off to the shower wondering if his interest in my body was that of a serrate parent, which he had certainly been, or something more sexual, more possessive. Interesting, I thought, and it reminded me that there were questions I wanted to ask him, questions raised by my mother's comments about our family saga.


As mother and Bess and I drove over to Greenwood I was again struck by the beauty of the countryside. No matter how long I am away, I had to admit that this land was still so much a part of me. The hot fields lay in orderly progression on either side of the highway and the lines of dark green trees danced long the horizon. We passed orderly farms with big, well kept houses and barns and others which looked like battered survivors from share cropping days.

We arrived at the church early but I knew mother had people to meet and parish business to attend to. Bess and I took our places in our usual pew and watched as the congregation assembled. I knew many of them and they me. There were dignified nods and a few quietly spoken greetings. David and his family arrived and took the spaces to my right, filling the row except for the space to my left, which was reserved for mother. Bess smiled at me and then slipped over to set with David's daughter.

James and his brood arrived and took their usual place across the central aisle from us.

The Arnolds came in and sat directly behind us. I noticed Dave and Monty turning to smile and silently greet Tim. When I looked back over my shoulder I was struck by how much Tim looked like his father, a strikingly good looking man only a little older than myself. His mother was also very attractive and a pleasant looking woman. They seemed to be a good-natured and loving family.

Tim caught my eye and held it, questioningly. But I couldn't decide exactly which of the issues that remained unresolved between him and me was the focus of his thoughts. I wasn't sure what his expression meant but is was clear that deep, brooding thoughts were going through his handsome young head and he expected we would have a chance to talk later. I raised an eyebrow and turned back to face the altar just as mother joined us and the service began.

The Opening Sentence, the Collect, then the first reading; the forms of the old liturgy came back almost by rote, different than the newer forms preferred at the parish I attended intermittently in New York. Then after the Gospel, the new Rector moved to the pulpit. I was surprised by his youth and by the easy way he spoke. It was casual, conversational, and the contrast between the formality of the old rite and the informality of Miller's delivery struck me. I wondered how the older members of the congregation were taking to him. My mother, I knew, had taken her own sweet time appraising him, but, in the end, had made her peace. As he began to speak I found myself paying attention, not only to his friendly and informal delivery, but to the content of his homily.

"We're not loved by God because we're good," he had begun, "paraphrasing St. Paul, 'we love Him because He first loved us." It was a quote from the second reading, the Epistle, but from a different translation than had been read a few minutes before. "C.S. Lewis put the same thought another way, 'God didn't love us because we deserved His love, but because of His own desire to draw us into community, into communion, with Him. His desire, and the great truth of the Gospel, is that God wants us to be part of His family, and family to one another.'"

At that point Miller took what I first thought was an abrupt and unrelated turn. "I have done a survey of our congregation," he said. "and I think I can report with some degree of certainty that there isn't one member of this congregation, myself included, myself, perhaps more than any other, who had not sinned. The Greek word for 'sin' means 'to miss the mark.' The term comes from archery.

"So we're all 'mark-missers.' We're a community of 'mark-missers.' But the neat thing is that God loves us anyway.

"The Church has spent far too much of its history trying to convince its people that they're sinners. Hay, we knew that! I think the Church has missed the point. We've screwed up but God loves us anyway.

"The question is 'why does God love us?' He does not love us because of what we do or don't do, but because we are His creation, each of us, individually. We're His creation, each of us in our uniqueness and individuality. And every person God creates is of great value to Him. And remember, God makes no mistakes.

"We can displease Him, just as a child can displease a loving parent. But the parent's displeasure with the child's behavior does not decrease the parent's love. The child may feel guilt, and with that guilt, comes a sense of separation from the love of the parent. What the parent wants in such situations, is not retribution, but to mend the fractured relationship .

"The business of the Church is not to lambaste its people, but to show us how to love one another, and through one another, to love God. I don't believe that real mission, the one God Himself gave us, can ever be properly fulfilled by preaching, by words, alone. It must be 'modeled' by the Church for all its members, and for the entire world beyond our own walls, to see. We are told to go into the world and tell all of the love of God. That message is best conveyed by the way we live our lives with one another.

"We are called to be lovers. We are called to lay down our differences, to stop worrying over who has committed the greater sin, or better put, missed the mark by the greatest distance. The Church, it has been said, is not an exclusive club for perfect people, but a way-station for those on the path, those truly seeking God and a deeper relationship with Him.

In other words, if you will permit me to mix my metaphors a little, we are all in this crazy boat together and we are called to love, cherish, value and accept one another. And, for God's sake, stop rocking the boat, lest we swamp it and we all drown." There was laughter from the congregation. It was real laughter, not the self conscientious kind, but friendly, accepting, even happy laughter.

"I have one further bit of advice, for myself, and for all of you. As we get on about this business of loving one another, as we live together, share and respond to each other's needs, let us do so with gentleness and true affection. Let us love one another, as God loves us, accepting our weaknesses, acknowledging our differences - always treating each another with the care and patience we would want others to show toward us. And remember, we really are part of one family.

"In the Name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit, Amen."

My goodness, I thought, things are definitely changing in Mississippi!


Later, over lunch, I was able to thank the Reverend Peter Miller for his sermon.

"Oh, it wasn't too original, I'm afraid, but I do think it's the message the Church needs to hear."

"I couldn't agree more...." I hesitated, not knowing how to address this young cleric.

And he, sensing my hesitation, said, "Just call me Pete, Martin. That's what I've answered to since I was a kid."

"How does that go down with your parishioners?" I asked, thinking especially of my mother.

"Oh, they're getting there. The kids are fine with it, and most of the people near my age manage. There are still a few," he grinned, looking down the table toward my mother, "who have settled for Peter, but that's fine, too."

"It is interesting how difficult it is for us to give up old titles and forms," I said, thinking of my conversation with Tim the day before and with Ben again that morning.

"Sure it's hard. The titles are walls. They let us know were we are, but, unfortunately, they more commonly 'put us in our place.'"

"They impose rigidity on society," I said, "young to older, black to white, rich to poor."

"Exactly," Miller continued, "old walls, old structures."

"And by the way," I added, "my friends all call me Marty."


But I'm getting ahead of myself. Earlier, as our tribe was leaving the church, I had been greeted by several old friends, some my own age, others, older than my mother. I was always surprised by the deep roots of this community, so unlike the ever changing social structure I knew in New York, were an "old timer" was anyone who'd been in the neighborhood more than two years.

Bill Kyle, and Old Miss classmate and a fellow attorney, came over and said hello, asking about my life in "The Big City."

"You made partner, Martin. Congratulations, I saw a notice of it in the Mississippi Law Journal."

"I didn't know goings on in New York merited mention in the MLJ."

"When one of our native sons makes it big, we take note," he teased, "besides, the folks around here want to know who to call if they have a problem in your neck of the woods."

"Oh, that reminds me, Bill, I had a question brought to me the other day about Mississippi law which I didn't know the answer to."

"Well, there you go, Marty, we never know when we'll need to pick up the phone and talk to a local expert. especially when we got some delicate bit of business needing attention."

"Well, I'd say my... ah, my client's question is a delicate one."

"Quick asked, quick answered, Marty? Or do you need to generate some of those high priced fees by putting it in a complicated letter and billing a couple of hours for your troubles?"

"Well, no. I mean, not exactly complicated, just my client, in a personal sense, you understand?"

"Want to ask me now, or come by one day next week?"

"Well, it's simple enough. The question, Bill, is what's the legal age of consent in Mississippi?"

"You know that, Marty, we get hell over it all the time."


"Yes, sir, you got it, been on the books since 1857. No matter how many times they've tried to change it, still fifteen. And still giving our fair state a rather backward reputation."

"But that applies to the age at which a girl can marry without her parents' consent."

"And other things as well."

"Yes, Bill?"

"Well, you know, if an older man takes a fourteen year old girl out and 'has his way with her,' as they used to so delicately phrase it, he was, in what you'd call, in a not too technical turn of praise, 'Deep Shit.' But just let the girl in question get by her fifteenth birthday and the guy in question has nobody to answer to besides maybe her very angry father."

"So 'Age of Consent,' in that sense, applies to sexual relations outside of marriage, not just to the girl's right to get married without her daddy saying yea or nay."

"That's the gist of it, Marty, my lad."

"One more question, Bill, given the fact we do live in a rather different world than the one our forefathers had in mind in, when did you say, 1857, would you say the same standards apply with regards to an adult man who had sexual relations with a younger man, so long as the kid was over fifteen?"

"Now that, Martin, is the kind of question you might have raised in a court in New York, but no judge in Mississippi would ever permit such an issue to be brought before his bench."

"You mean it does or doesn't apply, the definition of 'Age of Consent' I mean."

"Oh, it applies, Marty, I didn't say that. But it applies due to a kind of unspoken code. You might even call it a conspiracy. As long as fifteen is on the books it has to apply to both women and men, or, if you prefer, boys and girls. That's were we come up against federal standards. There can be no discrimination based on gender. Once you say it applies to girls but not to boys, the whole structure tumbles. That's why any judge bright enough to keep his docket clean would avoid taking on such as question."

"Well, Bill," I said as he turned to rejoin his family, "thanks for the update on Mississippi law."

"Always a pleasure, Marty."

Tim's sense of timing couldn't have been better. Perhaps he had been watching the progress of my conversation with Bill, but as soon as I was left alone, Tim came over to me and began speaking abruptly and without the benefit of even a brief greeting. Clearly, the boy was in a hurry.

"Your mother asked me to work again tomorrow."

"Good, do you want my help?"

He was silent for a moment, then responded, "sure, working with you was great. But I told your mother I could only work in the morning, which was kind of a lie. I was hoping I could spend some time alone with you tomorrow afternoon."

I raised an eyebrow and looked at him without responding.

"I hope that was okay. I mean, I hope I wasn't taking liberties."

"No, it's fine. By the way, that man I was just talking with was the lawyer friend I mentioned."

"You mean the one you thought would know about Mississippi law and that 'Age of Consent' thing?"

"Yeah, that one."

"So what did he say?"

"He said the Age of Consent for girls in Mississippi is fifteen and it would also apply to boys."

"Wow, that's great."

"Well, that's not the whole thing. Let me think about it and we can talk while we're working together in the morning."

"Dave and Monty will probably be working, too."

"We'll find a time. Now, get out of here," I said with a smile as I turned to look for my mother and take her off to the Millers for lunch. Bess was going back with David and his family, so it was just mother and me who went on to lunch.


While still at the Millers, mother told me that she had learned that morning that one of her church committees was holding an impromptu meeting that afternoon. She suggested that I drive back alone as she had arranged for a ride with another committee member after their meeting.

"I thought your meeting was yesterday morning," I said.

"Well, dear, if you'd been up at a descent hour yesterday, you'd have known I didn't come over to Greenwood."

"That's right, you were working with the boys in the rose gardens all morning."

"Exactly. The meeting had to be postponed. Now, you go on back and I'll see you this evening."


Later that afternoon I walked to the lake and took a long, leisurely swim followed by a little nude sunbathing on the old float. I couldn't help thinking how pleasant it had been sharing it with Tim the previous afternoon and wished he were with me again. I was roused from my nap by Ben calling across the water. He had changed from the slacks and white shirt he had been wearing earlier and now stood barefoot on the dock, his massive body, the color of old mahogany, covered only by a pair of old khaki shorts and a worn T-shirt.

"You gona burn that cute ass, boy, if you don't get outa the sun."

I laughed at his concern but realized he was probably right. "You watching my ass again, B en?" I called back and then dove into the cool water and swam the short distance to the dock.

As I pulled myself up out of the water Ben handed me the towel I'd left there. As I dried myself I was again aware of his scrutiny.

"You mama called from Greenwood. She's running late and tells me to feed her boy."

"Well, Ben, boy's night out. When did she expect to be home?"

"She said late, eleven, maybe/"

"Why don't we defrost a couple of those prime steaks you've got put back?"

"Sounds might good to me," he replied. "I gots lots of salad and stuff from the other night.

I pulled on my shorts and stepped into my sandals and we walked together toward the house just as the sun was slipping behind the tallest trees beyond the lake. As we walked I said, "Mother told me I should ask you to tell me about my father and her brother David. I got the feeling she was suggesting there were some secrets there."

Ben's brow wrinkled and he looked away. After a moment he turned to me and said, "some things best left alone, Martin."

"Maybe, but it is my family, Ben, and I feel as if I missed a chapter or two."

"Well, all I can say is that's they both fine gentlemen. Fine as any I ever know."

"I would certainly agree, so far as my father was concerned. I wish I had known my Uncle David."

"Oh, yes sir, you'd a liked him something special. Bright as a new penny and pretty as those boys of your brother's. And your own brother got your uncle's name, you know." He stopped and stood looking across the rose gardens for a moment, then added, "why, I see your uncle David in those boys more every day. It's like him all over again, only double." He was silent as we walked by the swimming pool and up toward the house. "And you, Martin, you know you favor him too."

"Yes, I've been told that enough. I've seen picture of him and guess there is a strong family resemblance."

"Mighty strong, I'd say."

"What do you think mother was referring to when she said I should ask you about Uncle David and my father?"

"Well, sir, I don't rightly know, 'cept them being such good friends an all."

"Special friends, Ben?"

"Oh, yeah, special as they come. Why, you know it was your Uncle David bring your daddy home for visits and such when they was both in college together that led to your mother and your daddy meeting and getting married and all."

"But they weren't married until after Uncle David was killed in Viet Nam."

"That's right, both your mama and your daddy mourning him so bad I'm thinking they sort of came together cause of them sort of sharing their loss."

"Do you think it was Uncle David and my father being such special friends that mother was suggesting I ask you about?"

"Well, I guess maybe it was. They's being together those years they was at college, then after, too, before your uncle went off and got his self killed fighting in the army."

"How special was their friendship, Ben? Are you telling me they were lovers?"

"Guess as how they was as close as you and that boy Jimmy is, that's all I'm saying."

"And my mother knew that, Ben, when she married my father?"

"Oh, sure she a known. They was like two puppies playing all the time when your uncle would bring your daddy home."

We entered the house through the kitchen door and Ben sat about getting food ready for our supper. "You say you wanting steaks. You goin' change into proper clothes or you just want to grill them down by the pool and eat there so you can go on swimming if you wants?"

"Yes, grilling them by the pool would be fine. Do you want me to fix anything?"

"No need, like I says, we got left over salad and I got cooked potatoes left from Friday and can heat them quick as blinking."

"Sounds great, Ben. That will be plenty for me if you're satisfied."

"Oh, yeah, more than enough."

Ben pulled off his T-shirt and tossed it into the corner with a small pile of soiled kitchen towels. As he put the provisions on a tray, I took down plates and cutlery and in moments we were on our way back to the pool. As we walked across the lawn I said, "is there more, Ben? More about them or other's in the family I should know about?"

"Well, not as I knows personal, 'cept them being so good to me when I had my own troubles."

"What troubles were those, Ben?"

"I ain't never talked about it, Martin, but as your mama told you to ask me, I guess I just as well tell you the whole story."


"Well, ain't all that long a tale. Just that I gets drafted too, about six months before your uncle

goes and enlists. I get sent to do the basic training with a bunch of us boys what grew up together 'round here. One boy in particular, Roundel Washington. Him and me was friends since we was pups."

I had a sense of foreboding as Ben spoke, almost as if I knew what was coming. "So you and Washington were sent to basic training in the same group?"

"Yes sir, him and a bunch of us boys, bout six of us in the same group."

"Go on, Ben."

"Well, one night about six weeks after we started training, one of the sergeants came in and found Roundel and me having a little special time together. You understand what I'm saying, Martin?"

"Yes, Ben, I understand."

"Well, we both got throwed in the brig and then given discharges for being 'morally unfit for service.' It was your Uncle David and your daddy who drove all the way to Texas to bring me home. I ain't never forgot how good they was to me."

"And what became of Roundel, Ben?"

"Oh, he left the base before your uncle and your daddy got there, headed down to the Gulf Coast and spent years working on the oil platforms off Galveston. He's back here now, been around these parts for fifteen years or more."

"Do you still see him, Ben? Are you still friends?"

"Well, no, can't say that we is. He married one woman and had a bunch of kids, lived over by Lewisville last I hear. But he left that first woman and took up with another one. I understand he's had big problems drinking his self near to death." He was silent for a moment and I felt he was remembering more than he wanted to say. "No, don't see him now a-days. Ain't seen him for years."

I reached out and touched him. When he didn't move, I give his powerful arm a gentle squeeze and said, "Thank you, Ben. Thank you for telling me."

"Ain't nothing, Martin," he almost whispered, and I knew it had been very hard for him.

As the steaks grilled and the potatoes heated, I walked into the pool house and retrieved a couple of beers. Ben stood by the grill as I came back and handed him one. "How much longer, Ben?"

"Ten minutes maybe, seeing you likes your meat a little pink as I remember."

We sat in silence looking out across the pool toward the rose gardens as the evening deepened and the heat of the day began to subside. When Ben took the steaks and potatoes off the grill I put salad on our plates and we sat in silence, easy with each other's company while we ate.

"Want another beer, Ben?" I asked as I got up.

"No, thanks though. One's my limit."

When we had finished dinner Ben began cleaning up but wouldn't let me help.

"Okay than," I said, "mind if I swim a few laps while you finish up?"

"You do that," he said, not looking back from the grill. I stepped out of my sandals, pulled off my shorts and dove into the still warm water of the pool.

I swam about three laps and just as I was again approaching the end of the pool nearest Ben, felt a sudden gripping cramp in my left leg. All the warnings I had ever heard as a child about not swimming for an hour after eating came back to me. But those tales grew concerned debilitating stomach cramps which could cause a person to drown. This was nothing like that, despite being quite painful. I pulled myself up onto the side of the pool and began rubbing my leg. It seemed to loosen up but when I tried to stand, it again cramped painfully.

"You okay there, Martin," Ben said as he walked over toward me.

"Just a leg cramp, Ben. I think it'll go away in a minute."

"Here, let me help."

Still naked, I stood up, leaning on him as he walked me over to one of the chaise lounges by the pool house. More with hops, rather than actual steps, I managed to get myself on to the lounge but when I tried to straighten my leg it again shot painful cramps up from my ankle to my hip.

Without speaking, Ben sat on the side of the lounge facing me and began to feel my leg, working the muscles deeply with his strong hands. I leaned back and let him do his magic. Ben didn't really massage my leg. Instead, he gave it a series of deep, strong squeezes and he moved up from my ankle to my knee. With each squeeze, I experienced a sharp, almost unbearable pain. But as he released his grip on one area and moved on to the next, the blood came flooding back and with it a sense of relief. I lay my head back against the lounge and closed my eyes. Ben continued his slow process of griping and releasing, moving up beyond my knee to my thigh. I opened my eyes as his hands approached my crotch and found his eyes fixed on mine. There seemed to be an unspoken request for permission. I nodded. His hands released my thigh and flattened out against my lower belly, just above my sparse patch of blond pubic hair. His hands pressed against me and then released, move up a little further and pressed again. He leaned into me with such force that I felt as if my belly was being entered by the force of his hands. As the pressure was removed a deep sigh escaped my chest.

"Slide down a little. I want you flat."

Ben stood as I moved my body down a little on the lounge. He moved behind me and released the tilted upper portion of the lounge, causing it to lower to the horizontal. Then he stepped over me, his legs on either side of the lounge, spanning my naked body. He bent over me, looking down into my eyes and pressed his splayed hands against my chest, leaning into me. I moaned involuntarily as the air was squeezed from my lungs.

"Relax, boy," he said, his deep, rich voice nearly a whisper. "Just let Ben take charge."

I realized that despite the pain in my chest, my cock was throbbingly hard. I looked down from Ben's face to his crotch and saw that his own cock was hard and pulsing behind the fabric of his tightly stretched shorts. I moaned again as he leaned forward with even more of his considerable weight, pressing the very last atoms of air out of my chest.

When I felt as if I would die if I couldn't refill my lungs, Ben lowered his body onto mine, setting astride my stomach. He leaned forward with painful slowness until his lips touched mine. His mouth sealed over mine and his tongue probed my lips, seeking admission. As my mouth opened to him, he released the pressure on my chest and brought one hand up, clamping it over my nose. My gasp for breath was involuntary. But as I could not breath through my nose, I sucked in air from deep within Ben's own chest. When my lungs were full, he again pressed down on my chest with his one free hand, forcing his used breath back out of me, into him. My head spun. This was exactly what I'd done to Jimmy just a few nights before. But now I was on the receiving end. I had been made compliant and Ben was in control.

I may have blacked out. At the very least, I slipped into a kind of stupor. Ben slowly withdrew his mouth from mine and I felt a sudden influx of cooler, fresher air.

"You all right, boy," Ben whispered, his hot, moist mouth against my ear.

I could not yet speak but I nodded.

"Good, boy, good," Ben's soft voice spilled into my conscience mind like an incantation, like some lost fragment of a dream. "You knows Ben loves you, always has. Loved you like my own. You know that, boy. Always you, always my favorite. Sure I loved your brother David, too, but it was you so like your Uncle Dave, you should a got his name."

I nodded again, my face pressed against his chest, the warm, earthy scent of his body sending charged impulses through my brain.

With his left arm Ben supported himself over me, letting me feel a little of his weight, but by no means all. His free right hand roamed over my side, over my arm. It paused to grasp the biceps, holding, kneading, then up along my neck, into my hair where it stroked and twisted it.

He lowered himself a little more, letting me adjust to the burden of his weight, all the while his warm, wet lips pressed against my ear as the chant went on. "I loved you, boy all those years, wanting you to know, thinking maybe you did know a little, wanting to tell, wanting to show. Just wanting to hold you. Your beautiful body like pure gold, so fine, so perfect, wanted to press you against me, feel you against me, know you was feeling Ben pressed to you."

"Oh, Ben," I moaned.

His left arm moved up to join his right as both hands now moved through my hair then down over my face, outlining my brow and then my nose. His full weight was on me now and I could hardly breath. My cock was pressed against my belly and against his, throbbing in the dark space between us, oozing the first wetness of arousal.

I reached down and felt along the waistband of his khaki shorts, finding the button, then the zipper. He rose up a little, giving me access to loosen them, but in doing so, shifting more of weight onto my torso, crushing me down into the thin padding of the lounge. I looked over his left shoulder and saw the soft light of a crescent moon rising over the distant trees. I shoved his shorts down, not far enough, but as far as I could reach. His cock sprang up, slapping into my own, jerking with the pleasure of our bodies together. He had very little body hair, but what he had was short and course and rubbed against me like steel wool.

I freed my legs and brought them up around his hips, opening myself to him, holding him to me. "Do it, Ben, fuck me," I whispered.

I couldn't see his cock but it felt huge. It moved along my crack, leaving an incredibly wet trail, pulsing with his power, with his manhood.

"I love you, boy, but I ain't go'na be your lover." The weight of his body was again pushing the breath out of me. "I love you like my own. You is a part of me. Like this house, this land. My roots is here same as your. But you don't need me fucking you cause once you have my cock you spoilt for any other man. You don't want me that way, one with me, always mine, always ready for me to use, so we best let it be." As the drone of his voice went on his huge, throbbing cock continued to move up and down across the pucker of my ass, leaving it so wet I could not understand how it was possible for his cock to not slip into me.

"Oh, god, fuck me, Ben, put your cock in me, take my ass. Please, Ben, please."

His movement stopped and his face came away from the side of my head, rising up over me but still just inches away. His lips were only an inch or so from mine and his black eyes burned into my blue ones.

"Go easy, boy, just let me love you best I can. But you don't need my ass. Once with me is

never enough and you be hooked like a cat fish on my pole."

"Please, Ben," I whimpered.

"You making it with that boy Jimmy ain't you?"

"Yes, but I want you now."

"I seed you making eyes with that young'n, Tim. Now he needs you and I suspect you'll be doing him a heap of good."

"What?" I moaned.

"You fuck that boy Tim and you fuck him good. He needs a man like you. But as much as old Ben love you, boy, you don't need me, not that way."

"Oh, god." I lay back and felt the wetness of his cock against my ass and the throbs of my own cock caught in the hot space between us.

"Hold on, boy, and old Ben'll take care of you. I won't leave you hanging. I'll make it good for you but I won't fuck you, not in this lifetime."

He began to move again, his cock moving slowly up and then back down the dripping wet crack of my ass. His eyes drilled into mine and the weight of his massive body pressed into me. I felt my body going limp under him, as if the very force of my life was being driven from me. I couldn't take my eyes off his. I couldn't visualize myself anyplace but here, approaching a state of complete physical and emotional overload under the physical power of this astonishing man.

Then, when I felt I could no longer stand his weight, I felt my balls begin to tighten into my body and I knew my climax was at hand. My cock exploded, sending wet, white rockets up my body, filling the valley between my chest muscles in wave after wave of joyous release.

I felt Ben's cock also erupt and his body thrust harder and harder against my own.

When it was over, Ben rolled off me and sat again on the side of the lounge. I realized I was crying.

When Ben saw the tears he gasped, "oh, god, baby, did I hurt you?"

"No, Ben." It was all I could manage. My chest rose and fall as my body tried to absorb all the air I had been denied. Ben lifted me up a little and then, with his strong right arm around my torso, he walked me toward the shallow end of the pool. It was really more of s shuffle than a proper walk. When we got to the corner where steps descend into the water, he sort of parked me against the chrome banister. Holding on with one hand, he pushed down and off the shorts which had settled around his legs, just above his ankles. Once he was as naked as I was, he put his arm around me again and we stepped together into the pool. We stood for a few moments in chest deep water. Then Ben reached out and placed his hand flat on the top of my head. With a slow but increasing pressure, he showed me he wanted me to dip into the water until it covered my head. I complied and the water of the pool washed over me, cleansing and refreshing me.

Ben ran his huge hands over my chest and stomach, washing away the drying semen, both his and my own. Then, when he had washed his own body, he took my hand and led me back out of the pool. He grabbed towels from a nearby lounge chair and spreads them out next to one another on the edge of the pool, making space for both of us.

As I laid down he joined me and then extended his huge hand to grasp my shoulder and move me closer to him. I realized that my entire body was still limp, almost to the point of exhausted. As he pulled me to him I found myself crying. At first it was a few random tears but soon it was followed by deep, racking, sobs. "I wanted you to fuck me, Ben. I wanted you in me," I sobbed.

"I know, boy, but Ben knows what's best for you." He held me against him for a moment and then added, "you know I love you, Martin. I've loved you since you was a baby brought home from the hospital, since I took care of you day in, day out when your mama was down after your brother and then your sister was born."

"I know, Ben. I know you love me, but why wouldn't you fuck me?"

"I'm way too big for you, baby. You don't need your ass split and sore for a week when you got more important things to do than lay around 'till you recover from one mean night with old Ben."

He released me and I settled onto my back as the sobbing subsided. I couldn't believe I was reacting like this, like a silly boy, not like a mature man. Within a few minutes I had regained control and looked over at him with an embarrassed grin. Ben was lying on his side, his head propped up on one arm so he could look at me. My eyes traveled down his powerful torso to his crotch, where his now soft, but still huge cock draped over his thigh onto the towel. He was right, it was huge, certainly the largest phallus I have ever seen on a human being.

"I could have taken it, Ben," I smiled at him.

"I know you could, boy, especially after old Ben used his magic to open you up. But you need to be tight and ready for Tim and I'm thinking that's coming real soon."

"What did you mean when you said he needed me to fuck him?"

"Just what I said."

I rolled over onto my side and looked him in the eyes. "You said he needed it."

Ben rolled onto his back and was silent for a moment. "He know he wanting men, right, Martin?"

"Yes, he knows he's gay."

"Ain't got used to that word yet. 'Gay.' He know he gay?"


"And he know you is, too."


"And unless I got my signals wrong, he been wanting you."

"Yes. He wants me to show him how men make love."

"Well, there you is then. He never did it before with some boy or some other man?"

"He says not."

"No, I think he telling the truth. He not the kind of kid who takes the big steps without a lot of thinking." He paused and then turned to look at me again, fixing his eyes on mine. "You being honored, Martin. That boy giving you something mighty special, you know that?"

"Yes, Ben, I told him that myself."

"So he made up his mind and it could go a bunch of ways. But one thing sure, if you don't be a teacher to him, someone else will. And that other someone could be a boy like his self who don't know from shit. Not that that's so bad, but a boy like that deserves the best teacher he can find. Worse, he go after some other man who don't care for nothing but getting his own rocks off. He just use Tim and then leave him hurt and confused and still not knowing where his or what he."

I couldn't find words to answer him.

"And what he is, Martin, is an angel. He deserves the bestest, kindest, wisest teacher man he can find, and by my books that's you."

I pulled myself up and looked back at the house just as lights came on in the living room. "God, Ben, do you know what kind of a load you're putting on me?"

"Yes. But I know you and I know you can be for him what he needs you to be. You kind enough and good enough to understand there's times when we put the needs of the other ahead of our own."

He was silent but had seen the direction of my glance and began pulling on his shorts. "I know you, Martin. I raised you to be the best boy and the best man you could be. I ain't ever been prouder of anything or anyone as I is of you. Now, get you ass covered 'cause you mama is home."

As we walked back across the lawn I put my arm on his shoulder and turned him to face me.

"Okay, Ben," I said, "I'll be everything Tim needs me to be, but I want one promise from you."

"What's that, Martin?"

"When I've done it, and before I go back to New York the end of the week, you come to the White Room and spend the night with me."

"You one stubborn boy, Martin, you know that?"

"Yes, I know it. But I want your promise. I want you to fuck me."

He looked at me and then up at the star-filled sky, a sky the likes of which you'd never see in New York. The heavy scent of magnolias filled the humid evening air. "I will if you want. But there's two things you better take into account first."

"Yes, Ben?"

"Well, the first is, if I'm goin' fuck you, boy, you goin' fuck me, too."

"That could be arranged, Ben. What's the second thing I need to know?"

"We do that, Martin, and we be committin' incest." I was speechless. "Now, boy, you just think 'bout that."

New stories in the Montgomery Hall series will follow.

John Yager: