Troy breathed hard as he collapsed over Rastus' back, leaving his condom-covered dick buried in the man's butt.
"You make me feel so good," the fat preacher panted and turned his head to the side, looking back at him.
Troy quickly pushed off the man and, pulling out of him, sat back on his haunches. Rastus had never wanted a kiss before, but Troy knew it was better to nip things in the bud than to be sorry later.
It wasn't that he had anything against kissing a man. He just wasn't about to kiss a client. They were always getting too possessive as it was; kissing would only increase their sense of ownership. Troy especially didn't want Rastus to feel any more possessive toward him than he already did.
There was something about Rastus Reed that made Troy's skin crawl. If it wasn't for the fact that the preacher was paying twice Troy's going rate to get his ass plowed twice and paying most of Troy's bills, Troy would already have dropped him.
Rastus knew how to make his money talk, though. And Troy listened. He had to.
He was pretty sure Jacksonville vice was trying to sting him again. If they caught him, it'd mean a couple of years at Stark. Troy was already twenty-eight. He had no illusions of what he'd look like after another two year stint for prostitution. That was why he was still seeing Rastus. The man was one of only three long-term regulars he was still seeing.
He just wished he could think of something else he could do that would make him the kind of money he made, even now that he was down to just three clients. Something that involved no more work than he was doing now. He was going to have to come up with something soon – his boyish looks and hard body weren't going to hold out forever. And it was getting harder to get it up for his clients – especially Rastus.
Yeah, he definitely wasn't a teen-ager any more.
Holding his ten inch cock at the base with one hand, he slid the Ultra Max rubber off and tossed it in the general direction of the waste can. He knew Rastus had turned over and was staring at his pole in adoration.
A thought struck Troy and it was like it was a revelation. Rastus made a lot of money, he drove a big Lincoln. And he didn't have to work hard. Troy wondered if the fat man had contacts Troy could use to get a good paying job.
Shit! He'd even try preaching. Rastus was good at it, maybe he could get on with him. He knew what that'd probably mean, but he'd be willing to service the fat man if it kept the cops off his ass and him out of prison – until he'd gotten his bearings.
Troy warmed to the idea quickly. The glint from the twenty caret diamond pinkie on Rastus' finger speeding its acceptance. After all, preaching was a scam – Rastus' kind was, at any rate. A scam just like hustling, like turning a trick for a bigger tip. It was legal, too. And Troy liked scams. They always turned more money that what dumb fucks called "legitimate jobs".
"I'm going to have to find a job," he mumbled, consciously not looking at Rastus. He figured he was going to have to slip up on the man's blind side with this one. He'd always found the best way to do that was to pretend he was almost helpless and bring out the daddy in the dumb john. It'd never taken him long for the john to open up and let him in. He just wasn't sure the best approach to opening up a dick-loving holyroller so that he'd offer him a job preaching and a chance at all that money he made.
"A job?" Rastus asked, his voice suspicious.
"Yeah." Troy still didn't look up to meet the man's gaze he knew was on him. "Escorting isn't the safest job in the world. And the police can make it even worse."
"The police?" Rastus asked, fear creeping into his voice to join the suspicion.
"I've heard through the grape vine that the vice squad has got interested in me." Troy meant to uncover some fear in the fat man lying beneath him. Now, though, he knew he had to pull Rastus back from the abyss of discovery he staring into. "I just heard about it yesterday and it'll take the Jacksonville PD a couple of weeks to set anything up."
He heard Rastus' sigh of relief.
"I don't know why they've got to be so pig-headed. It's not like anybody's getting hurt..."
"It's a sin, Troy," Rastus said in a small voice.
"Sin is between man and God, not man and man..." Troy shrugged. "Yeah, it's a sin. I've probably dug myself into a hole so deep that I can't change..."
"Any man can change, Troy ... He just needs faith in Jesus!"
Troy nodded. Demurely. It was hard to keep a straight face and pretend to be humble. After all, Rastus was lying on the bed under him and Troy's ten inches had just been rearranging Rastus' bowels. But he succeeded.
"I have the faith," Troy said, trying to sound bashful. "But I also need an income. I make good money escorting. I need every red cent of it."
"If you have the faith," Rastus said, sitting up and taking hold of the younger man's arm, "Jesus will provide. Give up being a whore, Troy! Trust Jesus!"
"But how?" Troy hung his head. "I only have high school and a year of votech behind me..." He whimpered pitifully. "Driving a backhoe just wouldn't do it for me."
"What do you like to do? What're you good at?"
Troy looked down at his still tumescent cock and shook his head. "I like to talk, I like to explain things to people. I like to help people..." He looked up then, meeting Rastus' gaze. "If I could somehow start all over, I'd like..." He closed his eyes and looked down again. "That's so foolish!" he groaned.
"Jesus is helping you right now, Troy!" Rastus cried and grabbed his other arm. "He's helping you to find your true calling. Listen to Him. What would you like to do?"
Troy sniffed. "I'd like to preach God's word," he mumbled. "I'd like to lead people – kids like I was – to Jesus."
Silence covered them like a blanket. Troy dared to glance up to see how Rastus had taken his suggestion. Rastus was staring at him. He could make out surprise. A little suspicion. And a whole lot of what it took him a moment to realize was elation. Rastus looked happy, more than he looked to be anything else.
"But I can't do that now," Troy mumbled. "I'm just a whore. Nobody would believe me when I talked about Jesus. They'd just think about what's in my pants and what I did with it."
"Mary Magdalene was a whore, Troy," Rastus growled, shaking the man before him. "But Jesus saved her from stoning. He forgave her and she became a leader of his church. It's not any different with you..." He smiled as his mind worked feverishly. "God has a plan for you, Troy."
Rastus had a revelation. Right there in the bed of his debauchery. He could see it all as he held Troy's arms as they knelt naked before each other in the man's bed. God had surely delivered Troy to him. To save. To direct onto the path of righteousness. To bring into his own flock.
He could teach Troy to preach God's truth to the masses. He could make the man before him as good a fisher of men as he himself was. He'd start Troy off slow – make him the youth minister at his church in Brunswick. He could even expand it out into a full-fledged youth ministry.
Kids would believe anything they were told and would go through hell to show their belief. All he had to do was look at all those Mormon kids that went out over the world to share that belief. They'd make a great army under Troy, and Rastus would be their general, directing them in a great revival.
His dick hardened, his skin peeling back off the head, as he understood this would also make Troy his – just as David had become Prince Jonathan's. All he had to do was guide the boy out of his life as a prostitute and give him meaning in the new world that Rastus would open up for him. He could take him on as the youth minister of his church and his greater ministry. The Lord surely did work in mysterious ways, just as he'd done for King David so long ago. It was as if God was sanctioning his abomination.
* * *
Henry had gone home, promising to return the next morning to see how I was doing. In just my boxers, I'd seen him out. I spent the rest of the afternoon puttering around the house and trying to get a fix on what he'd told me. My problem was that, on the face of it, nothing made sense.
I fixed a couple of sandwiches around five and ate without much relish. The idea of a hundred-year-old man going around and balling every man and boy on the mountain for at least the past two generations stayed fixed in my brain. And every single one of the guys he'd fucked were his grandkids or great-grandkids.
Gays were supposed to make up ten percent of the American population, so one out of ten of the people here on the mountain for the past fifty years or so would get into that kind of thing. Like Henry did. Not every one of them, though. It just did not compute.
I filled an ice bucket, grabbed a glass and my bottle of Famous Grouse, and went out on the verandah. If I was going to be confused, I'd at least surround myself with nature so that the confusion was pleasant. I was still wearing just my boxers as I sat in the rocker and put my feet up on the railing.
Okay, I told myself, let's say that old Mr. Sam was one nasty-assed, incestuous motherfucker in his prime – sixty plus years ago. Let's even make him queer.
I could see some middle-aged hillbilly slipping it to his skinny, curious grandsons – for about one day. There would have been some very irate daddies out with pitchforks in hand looking for their daddy the moment the first kid spilled the beans on him.
But Henry was suggesting that the old man had been roaming the mountain for fifty or sixty years, popping each pubescent boy's cherry – and not one fucking thing had happened. Not ever. Daddies bent over when the old man came acalling. They gave their sons up when the time came.
That just didn't wash. Even if some feudal king had tried to pull that stunt, he'd have had a knife in his back soon enough – just like that Roman emperor Caligula. I mean, subservience only went so far before a guy's backbone started showing. Just about the time his hand was reaching for the closest weapon.
I poured a drink and gazed out at the woods beginning to darken down near the car.
Then, there was this shit that a hundred-and-three-year-old man was still bending the kids over and having his way with them. I wasn't a doctor and I admitted that I knew very little about geriatrics; but I was willing to bet that a man that age would have a hell of a time getting it up and keeping it there long enough to poke it into anything, much less a tight, virgin butt.
Sure, there were sickos out there that took advantage of kids, both boys and girls. But Henry had been specific – old Mr. Sam only did the boys who were into puberty. He left their little brothers alone – and it was the little ones the pedophiles were supposed to go for.
Henry had said that this old fart had decided that I was his personal fucktoy. And that nobody dared do me for real, no matter how much I wanted it, because he had laid claim to me.
The only time my butt had ever been plugged was by the good-looking young blond of my wet dreams. Shit! I was interested in trying out the real thing. But not with some wrinkled up old prune who could barely get it up. I figured Henry would do quite well. If the big-assed piece of meat on the blond in my dreams felt good, Henry was about the same size and he was real flesh and blood.
Only, he wasn't willing to go there. It was as if my body ceased to be my own the moment I stepped foot on Taylor Mountain that first time.
Shadows stretched across the clearing as the sun dipped further behind the house. I finished my drink and poured another one, reminding myself to go slow so that I didn't pitch another drunk like I'd done Wednesday.
None of this shit made any sense whatsoever. I wished that my dream blond was real. I had some questions I'd like to ask him.
I chuckled as the thought that he might be real and my great-grandfather wove my mind. Henry had me almost believing all that voodoo stuff he'd been spouting in bed this afternoon.
A slight breeze picked up, warm still and full of the scent of woods and grass and nature. It stroked the hairs on my legs and my inner thighs. I started getting hard. There was no fantasy playing in my head, just the soft touch of air caressing me. I raised my butt and pulled my boxers off and sat there at peace with the world – drink in hand, naked, and a hard-on that called for me to stroke it.
The sun had sunk behind the mountain behind me. It was almost dark. My legs were spread wide as I slowly stroked my dick. I noticed him leaning against the closest tree then, a white figure against the near black of the woods behind him.
I studied him as he studied me. Blond and naked, a buck free and lord of his own territory and everything in it. His build was muscular, not at all like mine, and solid. Even in the near darkness I could see that he was watching me. And that he was hard and stroking his pole. It looked as if he had synchronized with me on that. I beckoned him to me, glad to have my dream hillbilly again.
He didn't move; he just appeared at the foot of the steps below me. One second, he was fifty yards away at the edge of the clearing; the next, he was standing two feet in front of me.
"I think I should have stopped after the first drink," I mumbled, unwilling to believe what I'd just seen.
|I'm not a dream, Sammy boy.| He chuckled and it was inside my head. |I'm as real as you are.| His gaze fell to my erection and he grinned. |Thinking of me?| he asked and I realized that the words too were inside my head.
"If you're real and not some figment of my imagination," I told him, resisting the drowsiness descending on me, "we need to have a talk."
He studied me for another moment, his mien serious, then nodded. I felt the tiredness lift from me immediately.
|I haven't just talked to a man, except for Euston and your daddy, for more than fifty years,| he said. |But we were going to have to soon...| He grinned raunchily and thrust his groin out toward me. |Before or after we have some fun?|
"Fuck that!" I growled, sitting up straight in the rocking chair. "Who are you?"
He shook his head slowly and his hand moved to my knee. Cool, smooth skin pulled at the hairs on my thighs. |You already know the answer to that one,| he told me.
"No fucking way!" I yelped, pushing my way to my feet. "You can't be more than twenty – maybe twenty-one. You aren't some hundred-year-old-man."
|Everything that little blabbermouth Henry told you this afternoon is true.|
"No way! Not even close," I said, my voice softer as I searched for the tug of a smile or anything else that would admit that he knew he was lying to me.
"That isn't possible," I tried again. "You can't be the original Sam Adams Taylor."
|Why not?| he asked, reaching out so quickly that I didn't see his hand until I felt it already closed on mine. |You already know that I want you. Come here.| He pulled at my hand and I was falling toward him.
I landed against his chest, and his hands went to my butt to hold me. |Kiss me,| he commanded.
My arms went around his neck, my head ducked to meet his, our lips met, and his tongue took possession of my mouth. My legs wrapped around his waist and my ankles crossed over his fanny. My dick was pressed against his upper belly and my balls were squeezed between us at his bellybutton as he pulled my ass tight against him.
The now familiar itch flared deep in my butt. My dick oozed precum between us. My tongue danced with his as both of them crossed into his mouth. My hand blindly groped under my butt for his pecker. I wanted him filling me up. I needed him. Everything else was forgotten. Almost.
I broke from the kiss and looked into his face. "Whatever you are and however you do it, don't you dare put me to sleep after we've fucked. I want some answers. Real answers."
He nodded and found my lips. I sighed and opened my mouth as my hand found the cool, dry head of his hard dick under me. I guided it to my asspucker and loosened my hold on his waist just enough that it was wedged up against my hole.
I gave myself up to our kiss then as his hands spread my cheeks wide and gravity began to pull me onto his pole.
|You sure do stay tight, Sammy boy. I do ever more like that.|
I didn't allow myself to wonder how he'd managed to speak with our tongues locked in a free-for-all in my mouth. My assmuscles were hugging inch after inch of his pole in greeting as he entered me and I was riding his arrival in me to the stars. Nothing else mattered.
His hands stayed on my fanny as I managed to get a bounce going that had him sawing in and out me. My balls rode my dickshaft as it rode his abs from his pubes to his bellybutton. My hands held his shoulders, my knees rode his flanks. The peaks of pleasure rose higher and higher in me, carrying me with them.
The eruption shot up my spine and crashed through my head. My pecker spewed and every muscle in me clamped down as orgasm flooded through me.
The blond held me on him and to him, his pubes pressing and scratching my perineum. My fuckchute clinched and unclinched on his pole. And, finally, I relaxed, sated for the moment. I could no longer maintain the kiss; I could barely hold his shoulders. I drooped, our lips separated, and I laid my head against his neck.
His hips began to push him into and out of me again and, spent as I was, my body again rose to ride the waves of pleasure crashing out of my butt to course through every cell of my body. My dick stayed hard and rode his belly as he continued his slow, steady possession of my ass.
"Oh, God," I moaned, feeling the sexual fires rise within me and unsure that I could again dance in them so soon.
|Your butt is mine, Sammy.| The words whispered through my head. |Nobody but me can have it – ever. You understand that?|
Unable to speak, I nodded my head, my hair rubbing against his jaw.
Crickets chirped in the grass beyond us, birds twittered in the trees as they sought sleep, an owl hooted, and I rode the blond's big-assed dick until I was as weak as a baby. I had another orgasm and, afterwards, when he'd started moving in me again, my pole could only muster a pale memory of tumescence.
I rode in silence, unable even to moan to the sensations that flowed through me like electrical currents. I had lost most feeling – in my hands, my legs, my dick, and even my butt. I was beyond pleasure and on autopilot. Weakly, my body rose toward another orgasm as my mind winked in and out of awareness.
I jerked into my third orgasm. My barely tumescent pole dribbled its release. My assmuscles didn't even think of clinching on his rod buried all the way in me.
I laid on the verandah, my legs raised and spread. Sluggishly, I wondered how I'd gotten there. I felt secure. I was sated. I was relaxed. Nothing bad could happen to me. It was hard to get past those feelings to even guess where the blond was now and what he might be doing.
I slowly began to feel the tongue licking where my leg and perineum joined. A cheekbone pressed against my balls. The tongue moved gently, almost lovingly, between my balls and my thigh, getting almost to my asshole before moving back up nearly to my dickroot.
I tried to raise up to see what he was doing but couldn't muster the energy even to open my eyes. I laid back and surrendered to the tiredness that had somehow worked its way into every fiber of my body.
I woke to find myself lying on my bed. The blond sat in the chair beside me. Through the windows I could see that it was still dark. I was still wiped out.
|You wanted to talk,| he said.
It took all the strength I had to push myself up on the pillows so I could see him better. My eyes went to his dick. He was tumescent, his foreskin pulled back past his piss slit.
"Who are you?" I mumbled. "I've got to call you something."
|You know who I am. Henry told you this afternoon.|
"That's not possible, and you know it. There's no way that you're a hundred-and-three-years-old."
He chuckled, and it felt like it echoed through my head. |Old age is not an infirmity I'm likely to develop, Sammy.|
My eyes had moved up from his equipment to his face as he spoke. His lips hadn't moved.
"This is fucking impossible!" I yelped as I assimilated that tidbit of information. "Your lips aren't moving when you speak to me!"
|Ever heard of telepathy, Sammy boy?| he asked, and this time I saw his lips hadn't moved.
I clamped down hard on the fear that was starting to spread through me. "You're saying that you're the old Mr. Sam everybody around here bows down to?"
"And that you – communicate – with telepathy?"
Again, he nodded.
"That shit isn't possible," I told him and meant it. If something didn't make sense, it simply was not possible.
|Why not? You're seeing it. Doesn't that make it possible?|
"How? I mean, that kind of stuff happens in bad science fiction movies, not in real life."
|Ah, Thomas, why do you doubt your own eyes, your own senses?| His chuckle reverberated through my brain again.
"Who the hell is Thomas?" I demanded.
|Jesus' disciple,| he said and the chuckle got louder in my head. |We know him as Doubting Thomas, Sammy.|
I took a deep breath and took a moment to try to clear my head. I had a boy with a dick that knew my ass intimately sitting next to me; and he claimed he was my great-grandfather. He also claimed to be communicating with telepathy. While the first was blatantly impossible on the face of it, it was looking more like the second claim had some truth to it. Maybe ... Naw! No fucking way!
"Let's say – just for the hell of it – that you are Sam Adams Taylor I..."
He nodded and arched an eyebrow in anticipation.
"How would that be possible?"
|I don't think you're ready for the answer to that just yet, Sammy. Next question.|
I stared at the young man sitting there watching me. Who the shit was he that he felt he had the right to dismiss my questions without any sort of answer at all?
|This is my mountain, Sammy. These are my people. That's why I do anything that I do.|
"Including fucking every kid who's just got to where he can shoot a load? If you're who you say you are, all of these boys on this mountain are your grandchildren or great-grandchildren."
Anger flashed in his eyes. |You dare to question me?|
I felt the growl behind the words echo through my body. "You act like they belong to you." Realization struck me then and my own anger burnt through me. "Like you own me too."
I pushed off the pillows, ignoring how weak I felt. "You'd better understand something, boy." I'd used the word intentionally. In the South, calling a man a boy was insulting in most cases and I'd meant it as an insult. "I don't belong to you or any man. Or any woman, either. The faster you understand that, the quicker we'll get along." I looked at him hard. "You got that, boy?"
His face was a battleground of emotions for a second, then it blanked. He sat back, cocked his head, and studied me. |So, you're going to be a feisty one, after all,| he said. I felt the amusement behind his words spread across my brain. |I like that in a boy.|
My gaze slipped from his face and took in his wide, smooth chest. I wanted to lick each of his nipples and make them hard. My eyes traveled down over his abs and stopped at his dick. It was standing up, skin pulled all the way back, in invitation. My own pecker was as hard as a rock.
I wanted him inside me again. I needed it. It was nearly impossible to think of anything else.
I'd never once been mad at someone one second and ready to hop into the middle of a fuck the next. I forced my gaze to return to his face. "If you're doing this to me, stop it."
|Stop what?| he asked blandly but I felt the amusement caress the insides of me from my head to my toes.
"I'm not your fucktoy, buddy. I have sex when I want to – not when somebody else wants it."
The desire left me instantly.
I was still hard as I laid on the bed meeting his gaze, but I no longer needed his pecker buried in my butt. I felt my mind become my own again. I had a sudden leap of intuition then.
"You made me want gay sex, didn't you?"
|Nobody can make something out of whole cloth, Sammy.| There was a defensiveness behind the words that I sensed. |I can't – nobody can – just make a boy bend over.| I felt rather than heard him sigh.
|Every man born to woman has the capacity to enjoy sex – up a pussy or up his own butt. That's how the body works. Parents and societies around the world work together to install mental barriers in little boys to keep them from experimenting with their buddies.| He looked over at me and I felt he was looking for understanding and even acceptance from me.
|All I can do – all I've ever done with anybody – is lower those barriers so that you or they can enjoy doing what your body is made to enjoy.|
I didn't know about any mental barriers in me. I just knew that, if they had ever been there, they sure as hell were long gone now. I also knew that I'd never had a conscious thought about experimenting with another boy before I arrived on the mountain last week. I sure as shit couldn't remember a time I'd dreamed about having another boy or man buttfuck me – until last weekend.
"I don't want to be controled," I told him, studying him intently as I sat up. "I don't want you controling me. Can you promise me that?"
|If I don't, what'll you do?|
"This'll be the last fucking time I come up to this mountain."
I thought a moment and then added: "That, and you can take your foundation's money and find another investment counselor. The foundation's and anybody else's that you control."
|You can't do that! You've got a duty to the family.|
"I've got a duty to myself, too, buddy. I'm my own man first. I share my body with somebody only when I want to."
|If I make this promise you want, you'll continue to handle the family's investments the best way you know how?|
"Just like dad did – granddad too, I guess."
|Then your decisions are your own from now on. Just choose wisely, Sammy.|
"That also means that I can fuck around with anybody I want to – any way I want to-"
"And you won't try to control them?"
I sighed. I felt like I'd made real progress. And I realized that I didn't even know the parameters of what we were agreeing to. Hell! I still didn't believe he was who he said he was or that he could control my mind.
I did and I didn't.
I didn't know what I knew or what I believed. And I was so fucking tired.
"Why don't we get together tomorrow evening?" I suggested sheepishly. "I'm wiped out and could use a good night's sleep."
|You'll want me tomorrow then?| Uncertainty spread over me, along with desire and need.
"Yeah." My gaze fell to his pecker. The fucking thing was still hard. "We've got to talk some more, at least." I felt disappointment wash over me. "And I think I might want some more of that by then, too," I added smiling as I nodded toward his pole.
He stood and was instantly standing before me. I hadn't seen him take even the first step. He knelt before me and his lips brushed mine. The kiss that followed was chaste, no tongues at all.
Then he was gone. Just disappeared. There one second and gone the next.
I fell back on the bed and was asleep before I could succumb to shock.