Cameron Foster

Copyright © 2003

By Lee Mariner

This is a gay fantasy that depicts homosexual acts between males.  It is intended for ADULTS ONLY.  If you are not of legal age in your locality to be reading it or should you not approve of such material, please leave. 

The author's copyright © and all provisions of the original disclaimer remain in force.  All Rights are Reserved.

Life is what you make of it, not what others make of it for you.

Please do not use intravenous drugs or engage in unsafe sex.

This and all of my stories are edited by my friend Dean.  His assistance is invaluable and much appreciated.

All of my stories can be found in the Nifty Archives listing of Prolific Author's: prolific.html#leemariner

If any reader would like to be notified of future episodes to this and other stories, please contact me at:

Chapter # 8

We heard Fred and Charlie moving through the willows while we were finishing our bath, and it gave us a start until we realized what it was.   Both of them stood at the pond's edge looking at us for a moment with their ears pointed forward and moving their huge heads slowly from side to side with their nostrils flared.  It was as if they were trying to be sure that what they were seeing was two laughing, naked boys splashing each other with water.  Charlie, seemingly unconcerned as always, lowered his muzzle into the water to drink while Fred, always the more suspicious, looked at us a few seconds longer before snorting and joining Charlie.

Cam, grinning and looking at me, started splashing water in their direction; but it didn't phase either one of them, and I laughed aloud at his futile efforts to get a rise out of one of them. 

"Come on, Cam, they aren't paying any attention to you.  Let's dry off and get back up to the house before Gramps and your Dad get back," I said, still laughing.

"I know that. Brad; I was just letting them know it was us,"  he said as we waded out of the water up onto the embankment.

"They never would have drunk if they hadn't know who we were, dummy,"  I said, bending over to pick up our towels and throwing one to him.

We stood, looking at each other for a second, and the warm feeling I had felt earlier engulfed me except it was stronger than before.   I knew what had changed between us; I didn't want to lose him.  I wanted to be with him always, not just for the summer or until his parents decided they had to move on.  I shivered at the thought; and Cam, with his towel around his shoulders, moved closer, asking softly,  "Are you all right, Brad?  You look kinda funny." 

"Yeah, I felt chilly for a minute there, that's all," I answered as I started briskly drying off.

"Maybe we shouldn't have gone swimming?"   He asked, a note of worry in his voice.

"Nah...," I'm okay," I answered, trying to lessen his concern, but feeling good that he was worried about me.  "We had better hurry," I said  "or we both are gonna catch it."


Gramps and Lucas were turning into the yard off of the road as we came from behind the house.  Cam's mother must have heard them and was walking to the fence gate.  When we let out a holler at seeing them, she clapped her hands to her ears and, giving us a look of mock horror, exclaimed,  "  My stars, hush!!  There ain't no need for all of that racket."

"Yes, Ma'am," we both said together, skidding to a halt and staying our distance even though there was a twinkle in her eyes when she scolded us.

"Sorry, Mom,"  Cam said, sheepishly as we edged closer to where she was waiting at the gate.

"Well, I should think you would be," She said,  "Hollering like that, you might near burst a body's ear drums."

We could see she was not really angry, but Cam knew his mother better than I did, so we didn't risk teasing her anymore and stood back watching and waiting until Gramps and Lucas got out of the truck.

She looked at us before turning her attention back to her husband and Gramps and saying, "I was wondering if'n yo'all would be back before my supper went to ruin.  There's fried chicken in the warmer, and I fixed biscuits and gravy like Walter asked for.  I'd a had some sliced tomatoes if'n a couple of boys I know hadn't spent the afternoon swimming instead of being here to pick them for me," she said, good-naturedly, looking at us with a smile.

"We can still get some for you, Mrs. Foster.  It won't take a minute," I offered, glancing at Cam as I said it.

"Yeah, Mom, how many do you want?"  Cam said quickly.

"Well, I never," she replied, placing her hands on her hips and glancing at Lucas and Gramps who were standing behind her and grinning.  "Just how many tomatoes do you reckon the five of us can eat?  Go on with you and pick what you reckon is enough,"  she scolded, obviously enjoying the pickle we had put ourselves in by asking a dumb question.

She wasn't done with us.  No sooner had we turned to scamper away, than we heard her calling out, "Mind you don't pick any overly ripe ones, and don't get any more dirt on those towels, or I'll have to boil'em to get 'em clean."

The vegetable garden wasn't as big as it had been when Grandmother was alive, but in early spring Gramps and I had planted what most farmers raised for their own use.  There were several beefsteak tomato plants, a few squash, cucumber plants, scallions and several rows of potatoes and silver queen table corn.  I had tried planting radishes and lettuce, but they didn't do well, so we hoed them under with the weeds.

"Mom, acts like she's mad lots of times, Brad; but most of the time she is only funning.  I can tell  when she is funning, but I don't tease her too much, or she will get mad," Cam said while we were gathering what we thought were the best tomatoes and putting them into the still damp towel that had been around his neck.

"I'm glad you know that," I answered.  "I reckon she could get downright mad if she was a mind to.  She reminds me of my Grandma."

"She can; and, if your grandma was like her, I reckon she didn't mind using a belt," he said with a grin and a twinkle in his eyes as he stood up looking at me and rubbing his butt.

"Grandma would get mad at me and smack my butt,  but she left the whippings up to Gramps," I said, reminiscing about the times Gramps had used his belt on my butt.

Laughing out loud, Cam asked, "how many times has your Grampa whupped you, Brad?"

"Enough," I answered, irritated at first but then laughing with him.  I said, as we started back to the house, "He only acted like he was laying it on, so Grandma would think he was doing it.  He'd take me out by the corn-crib and tell me to holler so she would hear when he swatted me, but he never really  hurt me.  I haven't given him any cause to be angry since she died."

"My Dad is the same way, but..." he said stopping.  "There was one time when he caught me jerking off in the outhouse that I thought I was gonna get it.  I used to look out through the cracks in the door, so I wouldn't get caught doing it.  One time, though, it was really getting good; and I wasn't looking through the door crack and didn't hear or see him coming.  Just as I was ready to blow my load, he opened the door.  Jesus, Brad,  he scared the shit out of me; and, I didn't know what to do," he said. He had a dreamy look in his eyes and was rubbing the bulge growing under his overalls.

"What'd he do, Cam?" I asked,  feeling my cock starting to get hard and watching him as he rubbed his.

"What?  Oh yeah," he answered, still squeezing his cock. "He only said, 'finish what your doing, and we'll talk;' that's all."

"That's all? He didn't whip you or nothing?" I asked incredulously.

"Nope," he answered.  "All he did was tell me about what he called 'the birds and the bees.  He did tell me that all boys jerk off, and I reckon he knew I had been doing it already; but, if he did, he didn't say anything.  He did tell me that he had wanted to talk with me about sex when he realized how fast I was growing excepting he hadn't had time what with all the moving we had been doing.  It didn't make any difference as I already knew most of it from hearing other boys in school, but I didn't let on like I did." 

"Jeez...," I said softly still a little amazed at what he had said. "I ain't sure, but I reckon Gramps might have done the same  if'n he had ever caught me.  Did you finish jerking off after he left?"

"Like as not, your Grandpa would've if'n he had caught you; and, no, I didn't finish.  I didn't have a hardon after he opened that door.  Damn, if we had the time, I surely would like to jerk off right now; but we better be getting these tomatoes to the house before Mom comes looking for us.   Maybe, we can take care of the problem after supper in the two-holer,"  he said as he grabbed my cock and squeezed before I could jump back.

I gasped at the sensation of his hand squeezing my aching cock; but, when I reached for his, he moved out of my reach laughing; and, holding the tomatoes with one hand, he acted like he was jerking off with the other. 


 When we reached the house my cock was still half hard, but I couldn't see whether Cam's was the same way because of the way he was hiding his crotch with the towel filled with the tomatoes which we had picked.   When we entered the kitchen, his mother looked at us quizzically and said, " The garden patch ain't far; what'd you do, pick'em or grow'em?"

"No, Ma'am.  You told us not to pick soft ones, so we didn't.  It took us a little longer to get the kind you wanted," he said to her, just a little sassier than I thought he should have since I wasn't exactly sure how to take his mother.  For a moment, I thought he was in trouble until his father spoke up from where he and Gramps were sitting at the table.

"Elizabeth, don't be picking on the boys.  It looks like they were doing what you told them," he said softly, nodding at the tomatoes she had laid out on the sink drain board.

Leaning against the sink, she inhaled deeply; and, looking sideways at both of us standing a few feet away, she said wearily as she wiped her brow with her forearm, "I'm sorry, Boys, I didn't mean to be doing no harm.  It's been a long day; and, what with cleaning the house all morning and then fixin supper, I'm a little out of sorts. Forgive me if it seems like I am picking on you."

Cam went to his mother; and, putting his arms around her, he gave her a hug and kissed her cheek, saying softly, " That's okay, Mom."

His mother looked into his eyes for a moment; and, running her fingers through his hair, she stroked his cheek gently.  From the way she looked at Cam, I understood what he meant when he had said she wasn't always angry even though she acted like she was.  I could see that he knew how to make her feel better. 

A twinge of regret went through me that I hadn't known the feelings that Cam's mother had for him, and I moved to join them asking, "Can I give you a hug, Aunt Elizabeth?"

"Of course you can, Honey, you're my boy now," she said softly, gathering us both to her, a motherly tone in her voice that I had only heard from my grandmother.

We stood holding each other for a few moments when we heard a loud, "Hrumph," followed by, "We are going to eat before the cows need milking, ain't we?

I could tell from the way that Gramps was laughing, and the way his eyes were glistening that there were tears in his eyes that he was happy.   That made me feel good since he hadn't been very happy after Grandma had died.

"Yes, Walter, as soon as the boys wash their hands and I get these tomatoes sliced and on the table, we'll eat.  I don't reckon you and Lucas will starve in the next five minutes or so," Cam's mother said, gently pushing us away and turning to the sink.

Cam's mother was placing the freshly sliced tomatoes on the table when we came back into the kitchen from washing up.  She pulled her chair back from the table; and, waving us to our chairs, she sat down next to Lucas, taking his hand in hers and reaching for Gramps's hand.  Cam and I sat down and, joining our hands with theirs, we bowed our heads while Gramps said grace.  When he had finished, he looked around the table; and his weathered face broke into a smile followed by, "Brad and I ain't sat down to or seen this table set like this for supper in a long time, Elizabeth.  I didn't reckon we ever would after my missus passed on.   I reckon she's smiling down on us now that you're with us and we can start eating proper again.  She surely enjoyed cooking, but I can't fix like she could, and Brad and me have sorta made do in the kitchen.  Ain't we, Bradford?"  He said, beaming, as he took two pieces of chicken from the large platter Lucas had passed to him.


We sat eating and listening to Gramps and Lucas talking about the farm, crops, cattle and other livestock.  Cam's mother sat quietly listening, but her eyes were watching our plates, and she would pass us the bowls of mashed potatoes,  green beans or more of the milk gravy that was almost as good as Grandma's.  Every now and then, she would get up to refill coffee cups and our milk glasses. 

Cam, I was learning, had a streak of devilment in him, and he liked to tease.   When he thought no one was paying any attention to us, he would rub his leg against mine and quickly reach under the table and squeeze my thigh, causing me to tense up; and then he would grin impishly.  I gave him several warning glances, but it didn't deter him, and he would keep it up.   For all of my fear of being caught, my cock ached from being hard and trapped inside my briefs.   I enjoyed the feel of him touching me and the exciting sensations that rushed through me each time he did. 

When we were almost finished with supper, his mother got up from the table and, going to the stove, produced a freshly baked cinnamon apple pie.  When she placed it on the table, the four of us, Gramps, Lucas, Cam and I, groaned.  Lucas looked at Gramps and us; and then he looked up at his wife saying, "Oh, Lord, Mother.   I don't believe any of us can eat another bite," he said, patting his stomach.  "I know it is delicious, but you might have warned us before hand so we wouldn't have eaten so much."

"Humph, I don't believe a word of that Lucas Foster.  I know how you like my pies; and, now that I have a decent oven to bake in, you're gonna tell me you and Walter don't want a slice with your coffee?"  She said, looking at us.  "I know you boys do, don'tcha?"

"Yes, Ma'am," we both said together.

"I reckon that settles it, Elizabeth," Gramps said, leaning back in his chair and rubbing his stomach.

Cam's mother cut five huge slabs of the pie, emptying the pan except for a few crumbs.  After filling the coffee cups and our milk glasses, she sat down with a smile and a triumphant gleam in her eyes.

While we were eating, the clang of a cow bell could be heard; and Gramps, looking out the door and cocking his head, said, "That's Marcey leading the herd in for milking; she's never late.  "If you boys are finished eating, you might as well go on out to the barn and start filling the hay troughs.  Don't open the doors before we get out there, or they will eat too much before we get 'em milked.  Lucas and me will be there by the time you've finished."

"Yes, Sir," we answered, pushing our chairs back and rushing out of the kitchen.

As soon as we were outside and out of ear shot, I playfully punched Cam in the ribs, saying, "You're crazy, you know that?"

"Why, what did I do?" he replied innocently and playfully grabbed at my arms.

"You know what you were doing," I answered as we walked and arm wrestled. "You were playing legsy with me and squeezing the top of my leg under the table; that's what you were doing.  I had a hardon all the time we were eating."

"You still hard?" He asked, chuckling, grabbing at my crotch and squeezing my still half hard cock.

"It's not as hard as it was," I answered, trying to grab his crotch. 

He avoided my hand by twisting away and back-pedaling in front of me just out of reach.  "Wait until later," he said, breathing a little heavily from back-pedaling, and looked at me with a devilish grin, his eyes sparkling.


Gramps and Lucas came into the barn just as we were finishing forking hay into the troughs.   Gramps checked on what we had done; and, nodding his approval, said, "Open the doors and let'em in.  Watch out for that new guernsey, Brad, she's still a little skittish." 

"Okay, Gramps," I hollered as I followed Cam between the yokes to the doors.

When we reached the doors, we could hear the clanging of Marcey's bell mixed with the impatient lowing of the other cows  and the bawling of hungry calves in the holding pens.   When we started to lift the bars that locked the doors, I looked at Cam, saying, "You know what a guernsey looks like, don't you, Cam?"

"Sure do, why?"

"She might knock you on your butt, that's why. You're on the right side, and that's the side she'll be on when the doors open.   She knows her calf is over on that side in the holding pens, and that's where she'll head."

"I can handle her," he called back cockily as the doors swung open from the force of the cows pushing against them.  The  cows streamed through the doors lowing and pushing against each other trying to reach their milking stalls and the fresh hay.

I jumped back keeping the door between me and them, and I lost sight of Cam.  When I looked to see how he was doing, I couldn't see him; but I could see the guernsey shoving her head through the yoke in the end stall, bawling for her calf.   I panicked, hollering, "Cam, Cam!  Where are you; you okay?"

When he didn't answer, I spun around looking for Gramps or Lucas.  I saw them still in the milk room getting the pails and wash buckets.   For a second, I didn't know what to do; and then a picture of him on the ground behind the door flashed in my head.  Panicky, I started pushing and slapping at the cows, trying to get to the other side. 

Fear bubbled up in my throat, and I was hollering for him when I finally reached the the door.  Fearing the worst, I swung the door back and saw him sitting in the mud, laughing his head off.   When he looked up at me and saw me standing wide-eyed over him, he laughed harder.  For a second I felt anger because I had been so scared and he was just sitting in the mud and laughing as if nothing had happened.  I started to curse at him; but, when I saw he was all muddy but okay, a feeling of relief swept over me; and I dropped down on my knees, laughing with him. 

"I..., I, told you to be careful,"  I stammered, trying to breathe and laugh at the same time.    

"Yeah, you did.  That's the first time a cow has knocked me on my ass.  Damn, Brad, she really came through the door,"  he replied, breathing hard and chuckling as he wiped his muddy hands on his overalls.

We didn't hear Gramps and Lucas come up behind us until Gramps spoke, "You're lucky that guernsey didn't stomp you, Son.  It don't pay to get lazy around cows that want milking, especially those with calves bawling to be fed."

"He knows better, Walter," Lucas said with an irritated tone in his voice.

"I reckon he's learned some about Guernseys, Lucas," Gramps said, looking at Cam's Dad with a twinkle in his eyes and chuckling under his breath. 

"I reckon maybe he has.  But now he better wash that mud off'n his hands and start washing udders, so we can get to milking, or he might learn something else."

"You too, Brad, gotta work off that apple pie," Gramps said, glancing at Lucas and chuckling.

"Yes, Sir," I replied; jumping up and helping Cam up.

While we were washing our hands in the milk room, Gramps and Lucas locked the yokes in place around each cow's neck.   I showed Cam where the antiseptic was stored, and he watched while I mixed the solution that we used for cleaning the cows's udders.   When we had two pails mixed, he asked, "Why do you use that stuff, it smells worsen cow shit?  Me and Dad always used plain water."

"Cause, dummy, that's what the dairy tells us we have to do.   We sell the milk to the dairy that does the pasteurizing and processing before they bottle it for delivery and sale in stores," I replied.  "They have big trucks that come around the first of the week and pick up the milk."

"How do they get it in the truck?" He asked as we went back into the barn.

"The driver has a pump, but I don't have to tell you; you'll see how it's done when the truck comes on Monday.  Come on, we better start washing; or we're going to get in more trouble."

"Oh...oh, yeah," he replied anxiously; picking up a pail and following me.

Gramps had eleven cows for milking, ten Holsteins and one Guernsey.  Having Cam helping me with washing their udders and Lucas helping Gramps reduced milking time from over an hour or so to a lot less.  They both talked to the cows as they were milking, and I could hear Gramps calling them by name, smacking one or two on the haunches so they would move and give him room to get between them.  We could hear Cam's Dad talking low much like Gramps did, and every now and then he would call one, "Bossy" or "Old Girl", slapping her gently.

When we had finished our part, we stood aside watching; and, when they filled a pail, we would take it into the milk room and pour it into the large dairy milk cans.  While we were waiting, I could see that Lucas was almost as good a milker as Gramps; and I looked at Cam, who was standing next to me with his hands tucked under the bib of his overalls.  "Your Dad is almost as good as Gramps at milking," I said, a little boastfully.

Lowering his head a little closer to mine, he said, "he could do better; but he's told me that when you're working for someone, never outshine him."

"How come?  Wouldn't you want to show how good you are so they'd want to keep you on?"  I asked, a little puzzled.

"Some folks don't like being bettered, Brad,  especially if they get to thinking you might be trying to show them up," he said as he looked to where his Dad and Gramps were milking with their heads pushing against the cows's flanks.  "Grownups are funny about those things, Brad, and Dad ain't gonna try and show he's a better milker,  at least not until Uncle Walter and him know each other better."

"But your Dad is younger than Gramps, and I reckon he knows your Dad should be faster," I said.

"Yeah, I reckon so; but most grown men take pride in what they do.  It don't make no difference how old they are; they don't like being beat.  Ain't you ever been to a county fair and watched the milking contests?"

"We haven't been to one since Grandma died," I said.  "She used to enter some of her canned pickle relish and sauerkraut in a contest, but Gramps never did anything like that.  He liked to walk around, meet his friends and talk about how the crops were doing, stuff like that."

"That's what most of them do at the fairs, Brad; but, sauerkraut, yuk, how can you eat that stuff?  I don't like it," he said grimacing.

"Grandma used to fix it with sausage that she had made or with pork.  I bet you would have liked it the way she fixed it with sugar to take the sour taste off of it."  I said, punching him playfully in his ribs.

"Not likely," he answered, smiling and grappling with me until we heard Gramps's gruff, "You boys helping with the milking, or would you rather go on to the house and help with the dishes and cleaning the kitchen?"

"Yes, Sir, no Sir," we both answered, spinning around and seeing them watching us.

"Then you better empty these two pails and bring us two more so we can finish," Cam's Dad said seriously.

Scurrying off, we did as we were told and concentrated more on getting the milking done than on who would or would not be the better at milking.   There were several cats milling around underfoot and making a racket with their incessant mewing waiting for what Gramps called their pay.  We never fed them real cat food since it was more or less their job to keep the mice under control.  He believed that, if you fed them, they would lose their hunting instincts but cats being cats would always want milk; and he would fill a large pan for them when we were done.

After the cows were milked, Gramps and Lucas brought the nursing calves from their pen.  I had always thought that the way they would push their muzzles into their mothers' udders would hurt the mothers; but, from what Gramps explained to me, it was their way of getting the remnants of milk that hadn't been stripped down.

Cam and I released the other cows from their yokes, and they slowly ambled outside not paying any attention to the calves.  Every now and then, one of them would swing her huge head sideways for a look or a sniff; but a sharp slap would send them on.   Gramps had always told me to never stand behind one when I did slap, or I might get a swift kick where I didn't want it.  I knew he meant my balls, so I was always careful to stand off to the side.  When the calves finished nursing, they were put, bawling, back in the holding pen; and we released their mothers.

"You boys clean the runway while Lucas and I finish storing the milk and doing the recording," Gramps said.  Just as they started to enter the milk room, he turned around saying, "and don't be playing with the water hose, Bradford."

"Yes, Sir," I answered, knowing that, when he used Bradford rather than Brad, he was serious.

Cleaning the runway was the nasty job of making sure that all of the cow dung was scooped into wheelbarrows and carried to a  large pile outside of the barn for disposal.   After that was done, we hosed the runway clean before spreading lime.   When we finished, I could feel the sweat running down my ribs and in the crack of my ass.  I could tell that Cam was feeling the same way I was, and he gave me a distasteful look.

"Damn, Brad, that's a hell of a lot of work just to milk cows," he said, putting his hand on the small of his back and arching backwards.  "We never did anything like that."

Mimicking him, I stretched my aching muscles, grinning at him.  "If you had wanted to sell the milk, you would have had to do it.  When the milk is picked up, one of the men will check the barn to be sure it's being kept clean," I said, taking my kerchief out of my pocket to wipe the sweat from my forehead and neck.  "I thought it was too much work also at first, and I used to complain until Gramps explained to me how many families drink the milk from our farm and lots of other farms like ours.  The men on the truck check, but the County Health Department inspectors really do an inspection," I said, emphasizing their thoroughness.

He puzzled for a minute before answering, still a little skeptical, "I reckon; you might be right, but the way we cleaned up it seems like an awful lot of extra work just to milk a few cows."

"Brad's right, Son," Cam's father said from behind us.  "If the barn and the animals ain't kept clean, Mr. Brockman could lose his permit to sell his milk; and, times being what they are, a body can't afford to lose his health permits.

"Besides that, Cam," Gramps said stepping alongside Lucas, "those few cows produce a lot of milk.  If it's not sold, what would we do with it, pour it out?"

"I don't reckon you could do that, Uncle Walter, I just ain't never thought about it like that," Cam answered sheepishly.

"Time was, Cam, I didn't have so many milk cows," Gramps said, ruffling Cams hair and looking at Lucas with a smile.  "We only had Marcey.  She produced enough for drinking and for Brad's grandmother to make butter.  But when the depression set in and the crops weren't selling, I added a few more.  We've always been able to eat; but sometimes we need cash for store bought things such as salt, sugar, matches, things we can't grow.  I don't want you thinking you're being bawled out, but I reckon you understand that don't you?"

"Yes, Sir."

"I reckon he does, Walter,"  Lucas said, with an amused look on his face.  "We're about finished here, Walter, so why don't we let'em run on up to the house and clean up while we close the barn.

"I want to check the guernsey's record before we leave, but I don't see why not,"  he replied to Lucas and then said, "Do you think, Elizabeth might have one of her pies hidden away for later?  My missus most always baked at least two, and another slice along with a cup of coffee on the front porch would surely go down nicely."

"She just might, Walter, she just might,"  he answered grinning and looking at us inquisitively.

We took the hint and scampered from the barn with Cam a couple of steps ahead of me, headed in the direction of the outhouse.