I probably should point out that I'm not anti-religious -- every modern religion teaches peace and love, and the repudiation of hate. Unfortunately, there are preachers, rabbis, and imams who claim hate and fear to be the message of their god; and, even more unfortunately, there are people who believe them. So, I'm nowhere close to repudiating the God of Christianity in this story; but hate-mongers who claim to speak for Him are fair game.

This story is gay fiction. It is copyrighted and cannot be reproduced in any medium without my express permission. If you are a minor in your country of origin, don't read.

I have two other series running on Nifty: GLOBAL ENTERTAINMENT appearing in the Incest folder and ILLUSIONS in the Beginnings folder. If these two stories don't give you enough hot vampires and mortals, Starbooks has just released my LOVERS WHO STAY WITH YOU, and that has 28 tales that'll have you offering your neck to the next guy who offers to lick it. <G> LOVERS is a perfect Xmas gift for that special guy. You can help Nifty by using its link to A Different Light Bookstore when ordering this book.

I'd love to hear from you -- tell me what you think of this story, Illusions, or Global Entertainment. Just please put the title of the story in the subject box so that I won't delete your message along with the rest of the spam I get. I'm at vichowel@aol.com

Dave MacMillan




Saturday morning, Philin Phredd was almost walking on air. More than three hundred people had filled out membership cards for the Sanctuary while they were waiting to be baptized. That was an eighty percent increase in membership for the church. Another fifty had signed up for the Methodist church, and he was trying his best to convince himself that he hadn't lost them. They were saved now, even if they had chosen to give their money to the Methodists. The three hundred he had would be enough to fill the church coffers again. He grinned. The revival had six more nights to run; the Sanctuary would be running in the black before the week was out.

Rastus had heard it all before. He knew the power of his ministry and it no longer held surprises for him -- he was the pastor the largest church in south Georgia, after all. What did surprise him was how little they'd taken in -- a little less than eight thousand dollars. He was used to revival collections running nearly double that.

He consoled himself with the fact that he'd made almost four thousand for himself last night. He reminded himself that it belonged to his church, of course; it wasn't his. It was an old game he played with himself every time he went out on a revival. His board let him spend the money made on revival any way he wanted and he knew it. A part of any revival take went into his very own discretionary fund.

That fund had paid Troy when he was still a whore. It paid Paul Estes. The fund paid for all the little necessities in life that he didn't want his wife knowing about.

Something that surprised him as he sat down to the table with Philin and Brother Zack was his daughter. He'd spoiled her rotten but, in her teen years, he'd begun to worry about her not knowing her place. His concern had only grown while she was in college.

It was one thing for a girl to be her Daddy's special little girl; it was entirely another for her not to know her place when she finally settled down with a husband. A woman, no matter how educated she was, had a duty to serve her husband and the men he surrounded himself with. And Brenda had actively avoided her place for years.

Only, she was proving to know her place very well indeed here at Reverend Phredd's house. At the moment, she was tending to the men around the table while Mrs. Phredd finished putting food in serving dishes at the stove. It made Rastus proud to watch his daughter doing what God intended women to do.

He had taught her well.


He looked up to see Reverend Phredd and Deacon Butts watching him and smiled.

"Brother Zack had a great idea last night," Phredd told him. "I knew how wiped out you'd be after a successful night of saving souls, so I asked him to bring it up today during dinner."

Reed turned expectantly to the deacon.

"Well, sir," the big man began, "it's one thing to preach against sin in general -- or even the abomination that being a faggot is. A man gets that every Sunday in Church."

"Can the build-up, Zack," Phredd told him. "Tell him about your idea."

Zack shot the local preacher a look of disapproval that would have any of his kids scurrying for cover. Phredd sat back and rubbed his hands, smiling at both men.

"Folks get riled up at revivals, Reverend Reed. They're supposed to, after all; and how else are they supposed to get rid of the evil that's worked its way into them than riling them up." He sat back as Mrs. Phredd placed a large bowl of mashed potatoes in front of him. "But, most times," he went on when she returned to the stove, "they don't stay riled long enough to build up a defense against that evil trying to worm its way back into them."

"And you have an idea about how to keep them riled up for a while?" Reed asked as Brenda placed a platter of fried chicken in front of him. He didn't know what the man had in mind; but Brother Zack was right about how people slipped right back into evil.

"Yes, sir, I do," Zack Butts said as he spooned a large helping of potatoes on his plate.

Rastus Reed waited while the man ladled gravy onto his potatoes.

"I'm suggesting that you hit abomination hard. Everybody in this part of the county knows what goes on up there on Taylor Mountain -- those Taylor men teach their boys to be queers."

"Do they really?"

"Yes, sir, they do. There's been a time here and there over the years where one of the Taylor boys would..." Zack Butts looked toward the stove and nodded when he realized both women were there. "When they would suck off one of the boys from the hollow."

"Sweet Jesus!" Rastus groaned right on cue.

"What he's leading up to," Reverend Phredd said quickly, "is that you hit on the reality of abomination right there on the mountain. Instead of calling folks up to the dais here in town like you did last night, Brother Zack wants us to lead the folks up onto the mountain itself."

"They've got a log longhouse maybe halfway up the mountain," Butts said, taking back his story from the preacher. "That's where they have their family meetings. Right there at the longhouse, there's a small waterfalls and pool."

He speared a chicken breast with his fork and placed it on his plate. "You and Reverend Phredd can baptize those who want to be saved up there. But every man, woman, and child will know that you took Jesus up to that mountain and its evil. They'll know that they've got to take back that mountain for Jesus' sake. They'll have to reclaim it. That'll keep their blood boiling for a while."

Bending over his plate, Brother Zack tore a strip of chicken from the breast and shoved it in his mouth. He chewed for a moment before bringing a loaded forkful of potatoes to join it. He watched Reverend Reed as the man mulled over his suggestion.

Rastus liked it. It took the impetus to salvation out of the tent and into the big, wide world beyond. It would make every man and woman who got called to come to Jesus realize that salvation had to become a part of every breathing moment of their lives. It would make everybody know that the flip side of salvation was the evil that existed just outside the tent they were preaching in; these people would see that they had a choice -- Jesus or the devil, God's heaven or Satan's burning fires of hell.

"Do you know where this waterfalls and pool are?" he asked.

"The longhouse is about halfway up the mountain," Deacon Butts told him. "The waterfalls is just off from that."

Rastus looked over at Phredd. "Do we have to find somebody from the state or county to give us permission to use this place?"

"It's private property, Reverend Reed," Brother Zack told him. "The whole mountain is."

"Owned by these abominations?" Rastus asked.

Both men nodded.

He didn't like that. Private property was the very core of what being an American was all about.

"That longhouse is right smack in the center of their abomination, Reverend," Brother Zack said around another mouthful of food.

"It's where they plan their evil," said Reverend Phredd.

Rastus still liked the idea of private property. But he wasn't about to condone using it for evil. There had to be limits on everything, after all. And destroying evil was more important even than being an American.

"You'll have to get the sheriff to be there to protect the people we lead out there," he said to Phredd.

Reverend Phredd nodded.

"How're we going to get the people out to this mountain?" Rastus asked Butts.

"We'll run a caravan up there, Reverend," the big man said. "All of the folks will be at the revival in their own cars and trucks. You and Reverend Phredd will be in the lead car and they'll follow you." He chuckled. "We'll even get a piano up on the bed of a pick up so we can have music when we get there."

* * *

Troy was up at the crack of dawn Saturday morning. He hadn't slept much since Johnny left. He kept feeling the boy's pain when he was leaving, and it was enough to make sleep fitful when it would settle over him and pull him out of it once he was there.

He should have been honest and told the kid that he did want more than just their sex. He'd known it from the first time the boy sucked him off. He'd already accepted himself as Johnny's bottom; then, the kid was giving him more of himself.

That Johnny wanted more than just the sex had appeared like an epiphany. Like a rapture. Only, Troy hadn't known how to respond to it. He hadn't known how to react so that Johnny knew he felt the same way.

Shit! He hadn't known how he felt -- that he felt the same way until the boy had already left him.

* * *

The bald, hairy man with a gut that extended further out than his dick was wearing only a pair of chaps Saturday night as he bent over and touched the living room floor with his fingers. He looked from Paul to his other five companions. He didn't look over his shoulder at Sam.

Standing in the doorway of the kitchen and watching, I wondered how Sam could get it up for someone as heavy-set as the man was. I knew the man wasn't fat, he lived off health food and was solid. He just had a barrel chest and gut. Sam's very hard monster spread the man's cheeks to reach his butthole.

My meat was nervously hugging my balls inside my jeans.

"Be careful of my hemorrhoids," the bald, hairy man whined, still unwilling to look behind himself. His eyes went glassy as Sam's hips flexed, and his back arched to shove his head up, like he was listening to something far off. Sam's hips continued to push forward.

The bald man shoved his butt back against Sam, impaling himself hard. "Sweet Jesus, that feels so damned good!" he cried. "Fuck me good, daddy!"

Fingers encircled my wrist and I turned to find Henry smiling at me. "Let's go up to our room, Sammy," he whispered.

"I've got five guests..."

"Old Mr. Sam has five guests plus Paul." Henry looked out into the living room. "And it looks like he's entertaining them, too. He'll be leading a fuckfest down here until almost dawn." His fingers tightened on my wrist and he was tugging me out into the living room. I grinned at him and began to follow him to the foyer.

The bald, hairy man had begun to moan loudly by the time we reached the foyer, Paul slipped in front of the man to run the knob of his pecker over the man's lips.

"Suck it!" Paul growled down at him.

"Are you hard?" I whispered to Henry.

"Yeah. Thinking about you and what we're going to be doing in a minute."

"Could you get hard for him?" I jerked my head toward the living room to indicate Sam's latest fucktoy.

"No way!" he groaned but his face instantly brightened. "But it's not the same lust you and I get -- not for Paul's buddies. Just because a man's good-looking doesn't do it for them."

"What is it then?"

"It's all about power for them, that's what they get off on. I reckon it's the same as with vampires."

"Oh," I mumbled as he began to lead me onto the stairs.

"I want to feel you inside me, Sammy," he whispered against my ear as I reached the step he was on. "I want you to make love to me."

What was I going to say? I was hard. All thought of the men in the living room was forgotten. Henry's naked body filled every nook and cranny of my mind.

We reached the landing and Henry started pulling me toward the bedroom. "Come on, lover," he growled. "I want you."

|Sammy, you better take care of that boy right or you'll answer to me.| The thought just sprang up full-grown in the middle of my head. Still, I looked around me on the landing and down the stairs for the blond. It was instinct.

I heard chuckling then, again in my head.

I wondered if Sam knew how Henry and I felt toward each other and, if he did, how he felt about that.

"You going to stand out here all night?" Henry asked from the doorway. I focused on him and saw that he was already naked. I walked up to him, pulled him to me, and kissed him. Hard.

I didn't think of Sam.

Henry had my T-shirt up to my armpits when he broke our kiss and pulled it on over my head. He threw it into the room behind him and began to work at the buttons of my jeans as he leaned back into me.

This time, we didn't kiss. He nibbled at my lips as he opened my jeans. Swaying to music only he could hear, his fingers slipped into my underwear.

His lips found my chin, then my chest as his fingers pushed underpants and jeans over my butt. He stood back up and pulled me against him, our hard dicks dueling before they were caught and pressed between us.

We made it to the bed and fell on it facing each other. My lips found his; his tongue demanded entry and took immediate possession of my mouth. I moved on top of him, feeling his body pressed against mine. His pole throbbed against my belly and I knew that I had to have him in me. My knees found the mattress and began to walk up his sides.

I leaned over Henry, our tongues still dancing their duet, as I straddled his waist and reached behind me to find his dick.

He broke our kiss and looked up at me in the near darkness of the room. "You're supposed to fuck me, Sammy," he complained as my fingers wrapped around his pole.

"You've got to learn how to share," I answered. "I've done you all week, and I really want you now."

He was silent for a moment. "Promise me the next time tonight is mine," he said in resignation.

I held his hard pecker against my crack as I rose up on my knees. I grinned down at him when I could move it into place. "This won't hurt a bit," I promised him as I moved his helmet around my hole, lubricating it with his dick drool.

He chuckled, and that quickly became a sigh when I sat straight down on him.

I instantly knew that hadn't been the best idea I'd ever had. I was no virgin and I was even pretty used to Henry's tool. But just sitting straight down on something that was nine inches long with a girth to match was still one of the most uncomfortable things I'd ever done in my life. It didn't feel like he was splitting me open -- not exactly. But there was more than a little pain, all centered in my asshole.

I gasped and held very still, willing the pain away. Henry's hand traveled up the inside of my leg to find my dick and began to pull at it to try to re-instill some interest in it.

|Goddamn it!|

The thought washed through my brain like a wave.

I looked down at Henry but saw his attention was still on my pecker and its continued lack of interest.

|They're singing Onward Christian Soldiers over at the longhouse, Sammy.|

I knew who was talking to me inside my head. I also felt Henry's nine inches throb inside me. The pain was gone.

|Sam, this isn't exactly the time,| I projected and hoped that the blond would hear it.

|We've been invaded, Sammy,| he continued like he hadn't heard me. |Call the sheriff now.|

I heard the singing then -- very distant. "Fuck!" I growled and began to slide off Henry's pole.

"What's the matter, Sammy?" he demanded, looking up at me.

"There's a bunch of assholes up at the longhouse," I grumbled as I crawled to the edge of the bed. "Sam wants me to call the sheriff."

"The longhouse? Oh, shit!" He sat up, his erection quickly disappearing. "It's that fucking revival -- it was all over school that they'd try something against the mountain."

I could almost smell his fear as I reached for the phone.


Henry and I drove up to the longhouse, Paul and his men right behind us. We were stopped a couple of hundred feet from the drive by a sheriff's deputy. Behind him, the access road had become a parking lot. I got out of my car and approached him. From near the longhouse, a crowd was singing A Closer Walk With Thee.

"What's going on here, officer?" I asked, careful to make sure I had respect in my voice. When I'd called, I was told there was a deputy keeping things under control. This was obviously him. He looked as if he'd stepped out of one of the horror tales about rural Southern sheriff's departments. I'd seen the Bert Reynolds' Smokie movies. I didn't want to find out if there was any truth to any of it.

"Folks having a revival, mister," the cop answered. He eyed my car and Paul's Jeep standing behind it. "You men all together?"

It was night and there wasn't a whole lot of light. Maybe my eyes were deceiving me. But I'd swear his right hand inched closer to the holster hanging from his belt.

"I'm Sam Adams Taylor," I told him. "I'm a member of the family that owns this mountain, that longhouse, and this access road." I faced him, keeping myself relaxed and my hands definitely in open view. "This is private property and no one gave those people permission to be here."

"You saying you don't want people to find God here on your property, mister?"

"I'm saying that this is still America and trespassing on private property is against the law in this country, officer."

"They're saying how you boys up here on this mountain are all faggots." The cop looked from me to Henry to the Jeep and back to me. "Not that being a faggot is against the law. But folks get a little hot around the collar when you go flouting sin in their faces."

"No one's flouting anything," I told him and was unable to keep all of the anger in me from showing in my voice. "Nobody -- except those religious zealots out there trespassing on private property." I smiled at him. "And libeling ever man, woman, and child on this mountain. Libel is against the law too -- just like trespass is."

"Why don't you boys flounce on home and let these folks have their say out here tonight?" the deputy said, it wasn't a question. "They get it out of their system and nobody gets hurt."

I heard the door to Paul's Jeep open, and the cop squinted to see what was going on. His hand definitely went around the pistol's grip.

"And, if you want to cause a real big stink around these parts, you can call in the state boys tomorrow if these good folks decide they want to come back out here."

I sighed. We might outnumber the deputy but we didn't outnumber all the people whose cars I could see. And I had to admit that the cop was doing what he was supposed to -- he was trying to keep the peace. Even if he was threatening me and the men with me.

"Give me your name and badge number," I told him.

"Why, boy?"

"Because tomorrow I'm going to be talking to the sheriff, an elected official, whose salary our property taxes here on the mountain pay. I'm also going to be talking to the GBI and the State Patrol to make damn sure that these property owners have their rights protected. Those rabblerousers aren't going to come up here on the mountain again."


I had the deputy's name and badge number. I also was shaking with rage by the time we'd driven back to the log house. I'd been labeled, threatened, insulted, and stripped of my rights -- all by the same cop. I was definitely not in the mood to take up where Henry and I had left off.

Sam was waiting for us on the verandah when we drove up. He had Ralph with him. And he had clothes on. It was the first time that I'd seen the blond without his pecker hard and ready for action.

Paul and his troop of leather dominants fell in behind Henry and me as we started across the clearing. I could feel the black anger of each of our minds join together to become more than what each of us alone could generate. By the time I'd reached the steps to the verandah that anger had taken on a life of its own.

"We've got a family council meeting in the morning at eight o'clock," Sam said aloud so that all of us could hear him. "Ralph has already called all the other men in the family." He studied Paul for a moment before his gaze flicked to each of the men he'd brought with him from Atlanta. "You men are honorary Taylors for the purposes of that meeting and anything we decide."

"It's cold out here, Mr. Sam," Henry told him. "Let's go inside."

"I'll probably be a little late for the meeting," I told them once we were sitting in the living room.

Sam studied me from hooded eyes.

"I'm calling the State Patrol first off and demanding some sort of protection for the mountain -- after them, I'm calling the GBI." I looked from Sam to Ralph and back. "I got the impression that the sheriff won't do much for us."

"That asshole deputy sure wasn't going to do anything," Paul growled. "He practically insinuated that every man up here is gay."

"If we can get it on tape somewhere that one of these preachers says that," I said, "we can sue the shit out of them."

"And in the meantime the people of the hollow have taken over the heart of our mountain," Henry mumbled.

"Not for long," Sam grunted. "I'll give them their baptizing shit for another hour or two," he continued. "Then, I'm going out there and clean out any last heathen left there -- Ralph?" The man turned to look at his grandfather and Sam went back to telepathy.

I didn't know what Sam told Ralph but I watched the poor man turn snow white.

"You can't, Sam," Ralph said aloud. "You haven't done something like that since that rapist from the chain gang." He turned paler, his hand shot up to cover his mouth, and he looked around at each of us.