Date: Fri, 19 May 2017 11:20:27 -0400
From: Orson Cadell <orson.cadell@gmail.com>
Subject: Beaux Thibodaux 17

Please see original story
(www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/adult-youth/beaux-thibodaux/) for warnings and
copyright. Highlights: All fiction. All rights reserved. Includes sex
between adult and young-adult men, some of them related to one another. Go
away if any of that is against your local rules. Practice safer sex than my
characters. Write if you like, but flamers end up in the nasty bits of
future stories. Donate to Nifty **TODAY** at donate.nifty.org/donate.html
to keep the cum coming.

*****

"Well, I'll see you both next week, again at 3:30 on Monday. I will expect
Beaux to have at least," he smiled, "a *theoretical* knowledge of oral and
anal sex." He had one more bombshell to drop, one that took both Beaux and
I by complete surprise. "I'm also going to refer you for an appointment
with Dr Baskin, Doctor JULIA Baskin. She is a well-respected sexual
therapist and can fill Beaux in on matters that you, Kevin, are unlikely to
have a lot of experience with. Have a great week gentlemen. Beaux, you can
look at me like that all you want. It just makes me even more certain I'm
right. Oh, and Kevin, don't bother trying to slam the doors. It won't
work. And, no, I am not giving that secret to a builder. Good evening,
gents."

*****

Beaux Thibodaux 17: Well That SUCKS

Monday Evening

By Bear Pup

*****

That little prick of a psychologist had an absolute talent for pissing us
both off. Why does it ALWAYS suck to see psych people? Why do they know
JUST how to get under your... Oh... Psychology. Duh. Never mind. At least I
had come prepared this time and was not suffering the blind rage-panic I'd
left in the previous week! Beaux was breathing deeply beside me in the car,
obviously calming himself as well. I hit an idea and pulled into a shop I
loved, a little hippie place run by two couples.

Each summer, one of the two couples would join Shakedown Street, the
vendors who followed the Grateful Dead from city to city selling their
wares and catching the shows. Annie and Feather (real name Wilfred; I'd go
by 'Feather', too) were the ones stuck at the store this summer.

Sage & Spirit (named for a song off Blues for Allah) was the strangest mix
of any store I've ever seen. The couples partnered with some 'fellow
travelers' in the surrounding area who sold them truck-garden produce,
crafts, art objects and, frankly, anything else that one of them thought
looked saleable. An entire section of wall was given over to cubbies with
jars containing every herb, spice, or medicinal known to man that was not
explicitly illegal (if you wanted those, you had to ask nicely). If there
was filé in Kansas City, it would be there!

Beaux's eyes were huge. I stopped and talked to Annie for a spell. They
were good (if strange) people, and a source of all sorts of news. My ward
stood shyly and she noticed. "And who is the striking young man, Kevie?"
Annie required that everyone had a nickname by at least the third time they
talked. "He looks a little like you. Nephew, perhaps?" I shouldn't have
been astonished. One of the things that Annie did on Shakedown Street was
give uncannily-accurate 'aura readings'. They could be spooky enough to
send customers running (after paying, of course).

"Annie, this is my nephew and new ward, Beaux Thibodaux. He lost--" She cut
across me. Annie was... large. Her flowing blouses and skirts only made her
look bigger and more exotic. Her voice was penetrating and quick.

"You poor, poor child. You were raised by wolves." Beaux's look to me was a
potent mix of panic, awe and 'this chick is crazy'. "Human ones, of course,
but she-wolves nonetheless. You have a very old soul in that very young
body, child, and you're lucky to have been brought to the world by
Kevin. He's one of the good ones. You teach him innocence and he'll teach
you the rest. So what so you want, friend Beaux Thibodaux?"

"F-F-Filé?"

"Oh, heavens, what a wonderful boy from the bayou." Her speed and grace
belied her bulk and she floated to the 'spice wall' and snagged two glass
jars to the wide counter below. "I have file powder and I have dried
Sassafras leaves if you'd rather grind it to a different consistency. I
also normally have Southern, Northern and French bouquet garni, but I've
had trouble getting anything worth selling other than the Quebecois style
for a year."

With that, I could tell that Annie had made another of her famous instant
friends. They chatted happily about everything cooking-related and filled
dozen tiny paper sacks with herbs and spices. At one point, Beaux tried to
explain something he didn't have the name for and Annie bellowed,
"FEATHERS! FRONT!"

A tall, thin man emerged from the curtained back of the shop wreathed in
fragrant and potent smoke. Apparently, he didn't speak French per se, but
was fluent in Cooking. He traded a few words back and forth with Beaux then
turned to Annie. "Roman Nettle." I'd seen Beaux's nose flare at the
redolent odor of exceptional pot.

Beaux looked at him and asked if they cooked with 'lin-foo-MAY'. Feather
looks nonplussed until Beaux sniffed significantly and Feather's
slightly-slitted eyes popped and sparkled "Smoking Flax! Cool. Yeah, that
makes sense. Lin Fumé. I'll have to remember that."

Annie sighed, "Husband, what are you talking about?"

"He's asking about cooking with herb instead of herbs!" Annie smiled.

"This is Beaux. Beaux, this is my life-partner, Feather."

"So, Beaux, how do you use Lin Fumé?"

"Eel and whitefish. Steep in oil with cerfeuil and sauge, then coat the
fish and steam."

"Annie? Got a pen? That sounds like a welcome home for Posy and Pauly!"

I stepped in. "Beaux, Annie and Feather wouldn't worry much about this, but
what you're smelling is illegal--"

"Whoa, whoa, whoa!" interjected Feather "Only if you're CAUGHT!" He looked
triumphant as if having scored the decisive point. I laughed.

"Caught or not, and a for a lot of very stupid, very mean reasons, that
ingredient is NOT going to be one we go home with, today or ever. Okay,
Beaux?"

"Oh, it's right, Oncle. I never used it much and there are better things to
use. I just wondered, me."

"Tell you what. Why don't you plan the meal for tomorrow. Grab any of the
veggies that you see that we don't have and I'll take you for the, um,
other ingredients in the morning."

"Oh, you mean the meat, Onc--"

Feather and Annie erupted. "You are not putting those wonderful veggies in
some murder sauce! Oh my, Kevin! You know better than to talk about such
things, especially with children!" I frantically shushed Beaux, paid and we
escaped with our booty.

"What she mean, murder sauce?" Beaux was confused and indignant.

"Annie and Feather are strict vegetarians, Beaux, they don't eat meat or
anything else from animals."

"What you mean? No meat? No butter? No PORK??"

"Yeah, and some won't even eat fish. It really sucks!"

I heard him grumble and mutter in bayou-French. I caught 'fou' and
'cinglé', both terms for crazy or nuts or whacko. I had that admit I
agreed with the assessment. Regardless, Feather and Annie were Good People.

We got home and, as usually, stripped bare quickly. A wondrous scent caught
us immediately. Barry had done the wood floors this morning, obviously, his
quarterly 'deep polish' using some magic stuff he makes, redolent of pine
and lemon-peel and homesickness. For impossible reasons, it makes me think
of a warm home in a cold winter with cookies in the oven and a dimpled,
gingham-clad grandmother at the stove. It seemed to have a similar effect
on Beaux, who relaxed and smiled softly. Since neither of us had
grandmothers to fit the description, I had to wonder why.

I rounded up a dozen spice bottles for Beaux's new treasures and handed him
a magic marker to label them. His hand was quickly, light and fluid --
beautiful, even, with deep-flourished f's and long, hook-tailed g's and
y's.

Dinner tonight would not be an adventure. I thawed four massively-thick
pork chops in cold water. Potatoes were set to boil gently as the meat
thawed and I sliced three huge onions. The pork took a while and I puttered
around making what my mama had called corn salad, corn sauteed in butter,
red bell peppers, celery, onion, salt and pepper, bubbling away as long as
everything cooked. It was one of the many magic dishes I inherited that
could simply not be overcooked as long as you kept the heat low and stirred
occasionally.

For the pork, I was stingy with the salt and generous with the pepper, and
seared the chops in bacon grease, trusting the fan to suck the gouts of
sizzling smoke outside. Beaux watched, perplexed. I let the pan cool to
less than medium as I set the pork aside. In went the onions, a couple
dashes of soy sauce (for salt) and more pepper. As soon as the onions began
to wilt, I nestled the chops in amongst them. This is when the magic
started. I pulled out a black, somewhat dusty bottle of balsamic vinegar,
drizzling it in over the onions and slamming the lid down before the steam
could escape. I cooked it slowly. Any time the steam was gone, I stirred
the onions and drizzled in more balsamic.

I drained the potatoes and added cream, butter and a dollop of sour
cream. Beaux moved in and took over that task, turning a heavy whisk into
the blender from hell, adding a pinch of this and that as he smelled the
pork and onions finish. We plated, onions on the pork and some on the
mashed potatoes, corn salad to the side. Beaux took his first bite and
moaned deep in his chest. The pork was fork-tender all the way to the bone
and still incredibly moist. The onions looked like shriveled figs in color
and texture, but the flavor exploded on the tongue. I got one and a half
chops, Beaux two and a half. They were huge, and he was actually satisfied
with the meal.

We retired by mutual consent to the library and started to read as the
light failed. Beaux lit the candles as dusk faded, which seemed to be our
queue for Sex Talk Night to begin.

"Where do you want to start, Beaux?"

"Dr Silvers being attracted to men. You made it sound rare, Oncle. But it
seems all I meet are gay people." I laughed hard at that and had to wipe my
eyes.

"Purely my fault, Beaux. I tend to know and like other gays. It
feels... safer. I didn't know about Dr Silvers; it never even occurred to
me. He was cute, but so professional. But yes, being gay is uncommon, and
being open about it is very, very rare."

"Why?"

"Beaux, people get beat up and even killed because they're gay." His eyes
got wide. "Something about people living outside the sexual 'rules' makes
some people incredibly uncomfortable, even to the point of active hatred."

"But that makes no SENSE, Oncle. Why do they CARE?"

I talked about Anita Bryant and the deaths of Robert Hillsborough and
Herbie Ramos; the assassination of Harvey Milk; of 'homosexual panic
defense' to get away with murder. But I also talked about the horror and
revulsion in the overwhelming majority of Americans to those very killings;
The Stonewall Uprising and The Village Voice; The Castro and Gay Pride.

"There are evil people out there, Beaux, and some long for an excuse to let
their evil loose on others. Fifty years ago, it was Jews, murdered by the
millions by the Nazis and turned away from our own country when they tried
to flee. Fifty years before that, it was the Irish, universally branded
terrorists and anarchists because of a few. Fifty years from now, it will
be some other kind of 'wrong people' that are too dangerous and evil to let
into our country. Right now, sadly, Gays are pretty high up on the list. It
sucks, but it's true.

"We can accept evil, resist evil, fight evil or hide from evil. You can
pick any of them. The first and last usually make things far worse. I
choose resist because, Beaux, I don't know I have the backbone to fight, to
risk you and my work and other things I love. I respect and honor those who
fight, but I can't tell you which way is right."

He stared at me for a long time, immeasurably sad. "Can I think on that for
a while before we talk more, Oncle?" I patted his shoulder as I passed and
went to get us some drinks, deliberately dawdling. I served out another
magic sorbet that Barry had found. A rich, near-purple foam of Loganberry,
the tartness the perfect foil for the earlier balsamic intensity. There was
some strange, supposedly-fruit-juicy-thing obviously designed to entice
kids with bright colors and swooping lines. Barry had chosen it so it
mustn't suck too bad. I poured a glassful for Beaux and added a splash
(okay, a minor torrent) of vodka to my own.

I thought for a moment and sighed, deeply. I could not avoid the
conversations that Dr Silvers (and every other fucking busybody... never
mind) wanted me to have, so I grabbed one of the moist-trusty sexual
teaching aids in your average home and returned to the library. It was a
challenge balancing the drinks, bowls, spoons and root vegetables, but it
worked.

I hand Beaux his bowl and set his glass down (careful to be sure it was NOT
the one with the vodka) and Beaux dimpled as he tasted the icy-cold
sorbet. The tang hit as the foam melted and his smile got wider. But
throughout, his eyes didn't leave the carrots.

"Okay, Oncle, I give. What with the CAY-rowtz?"

"Well, they're a teaching aid for the next lesson, Beaux, but let's finish
your own questions. What were you, um, thinking about."

"What if I don't want to be attracted to men?"

FUCK! "Well, I don't know that it's something you can pick, Beaux. Some
people say it's a choice, but I've never known anyone who told me they
'chose' to be one way or the other. The gay lifestyle is hard, Beaux, and
can be terribly hard. After you work with Dr Baskin," Damn! If looks could
maim, I'd be missing a right arm! "maybe you'll find that gay is only part
of who you are and you can also love women. That may well be enough for
you." He frowned.

"Beaux, I'll be perfectly honest with you. I hope and pray you're more
straight than gay." He eyes got wide and brow furrowed, his frown
deepening. "I don't hate that I'm gay or anything, but I want you to be
happy, Beaux. I want life to be easier for you than it was for me. And it's
a hell of a lot easier for straight people! I wouldn't change for all the
world, but -- in this time and this place? -- It would be selfish and cruel
for me to hope that you face the same challenges that I do, Beaux. Can you
understand that?"

His stare was the one he'd aimed at me on many occasions, giving the
impression that he was checking my personal index for references or a
bibliography that would explain what I'd said. He dropped his eyes. "I
understand Oncle. I don't like it at all, me, but I understand. I... I
don't know what I want. But I wanted to ask if there was some, some, some
choice I could make of I have to just take what's given."

"Like I said, there are some that say you can choose. But they're the same
ones, Beaux, who say people like me should be rounded up and put away, or
even put down so we don't spread our sickness. If they're right, Beaux,
everything I've told you is wrong. SHUSH! They *might* be right, Beaux. The
things that I think and believe *might* be evil and wrong and dangerous. I
know it sucks, Beaux, not to ever really know who's right. People lie,
Beaux, and people also delude themselves into believing things they want to
be true. That could be me, Beaux. It could be anyone. No one, Beaux, no one
has to the right to tell you what to believe."

His jaw worked back and forth, exactly like mine and my own father's when
we reached the end of our patience. My logical, smart, innocent ward came
back with what I always thought was the right answer, "And that leaves me
no-place, Oncle, and you know it." He shook his head, again like his
hearing was off. "If... if people say you're not a good person, they're not
people I would listen to, me." I almost cried then and there. "Annie was
right, you're a good person, Oncle, so lets' just give up on that there
line of questions.

"So, next, let's talk about Hans."

"And?"

"And what about HANS?" His voice was exasperated.

"So, you have an idea?"

"NO! You're the one teaching me, you!"

"Not according to Annie," I quipped. "You're supposed to be teaching me, Mr
Old Soul Beaux!" And there went my left arm to the Look of Death. I
laughed. "I'm serious, Beaux, I have no fucking clue. Let's ask Barry for
advice on Wednesday. Deal?" He snorted which I took for reluctant
acceptance.

"So! Next question?"

"What are the carrots for?" The pout was profound, and amusing, too.

"Wellllllll, Dr Silvers was very specific that I needed to accelerate my
lessons. I hate this and I'm going to blush purple, but, well, hell. God,
the odds of me surviving this...? Crap. Let's just start."

"Um, the carrots are a sex thing, Oncle? I, uh, I don't get it, me."

"Beaux, they'll act as a stand in from something else.," His confusion
deepened. "Beaux, what do they LOOK like for God's sake?"

Finally, the penny dropped. From the look on his face, I'd say it was at
least a dime.

"Beaux, I need to warn you up front. This is gonna kill me. I gonna
splutter and stammer and blush and freak out. But promise me you'll keep
asking question, please?" I added in a whisper, 'cuz it's probably the only
way I'll keep breathing.'

He chuckled. "Deal, Kevin. So what we covering here?" He eyes the carrots
warily.

"Oral sex." His head popped up like it was on a string. "If you took the
label literally, it would mean any sexual act performed with the mouth. It
has two very specific meaning, though. First is fellatio, normally called a
blow job or a dozen other things, which is providing sexual pleasure by
using your mouth on someone's cock. The other is cunnilingus, using a mouth
and tongue for the same purpose on a woman's pussy. I, uh, I'm not sure
what the slang term for that is. Doesn't matter. I don't have a clue on
that one. We'll be talking about blow jobs."

"So how's this different than licking like we talked about, other than it's
on the cock?"

"Oh, hell. Easier to show you." I grabbed the larger of the carrots [so I'm
a size queen, fuck off!] and, after slavering the 'head', took it further
and further until I got all the way to my gag reflex. I pulled it out and
looked at Beaux, His mouth was so far open that, if he leaned forward, I
could probably see his stomach.

"Ohhhhhhhhhhh..."

Some guys love doing it, but almost every man loves having it done to
them. The feeling is spectacular and, NO, there is no way in hell I'm
repeating the kissing demo with this one. I'm going to talk about giving
and let you imagine what getting feel like." He was clearly already
imagining. His cock was spurting dogwater like a cut artery.

The first thing is to remember that different parts feel very
different. The head is incredibly sensitive to any sensation, but the shaft
is more attuned to up/down or back/forth motions." I demonstrated with the
carrot, titillating the 'head' and then running the shaft in and out.

"How {gulp} um, how do you start?" Thank GOD, and easy one to kick off
with.

"We're going to assume that you've already, as a couple, decided that this
is going to happen. How you get there, well, maybe we'll cover that in an
advanced class. You start with the licking lesson." I started to lick and
up and down the 'shaft' and lick round the 'head' of my carrot. Beaux
watched in rapt, slack-jawed attention.

"Don't forget the other nearby areas that are so sensitive." Fuck, fuck
FUCK! I was gonna die of embarrassment. I took a moment and mentally
unhooked my voice from any part of my brain not completely dedicated to
sensation. "The balls, and the area alongside, deserve a lot of
attention. Keep going, generally, until you get a real reaction. I normally
wait until I get at least one, good, deep, moan or growl."

Instead, I got a whimper from Beaux as he watched.

"Then you start on the head." I began to twirl and tease the carrot. I made
sure that my probing, licking tongue was frequently visible either just
outside my lips or as a shape that distorted them. "When your lover seems
ready, start taking him a little deeper each time, always coming back to
the head." I went down, taking a bit more each thrust. When I got as far as
was comfortable I reversed and licked the head before releasing it.

"Your turn!" Beaux literally jumped.

"Wh-wh-what?"

"Oh, no. You have to show me, Beaux." He gulped over and over then brought
the carrot up and started licking it, well, like a
carrot. "Beaux. Stop. That's not a vegetable any more. It is the thick,
throbbing, hot dick of the lover you want to drive insane with
pleasure. Think about your own cock, son, and think what you'd like to
feel." I got a whimper back, but he suddenly went after it like a starved
puppy with a popsicle. A for effort, B- for style. Good enough for now.

"Good, now start on the head. Always think about what would drive you
nuts. Go round and round. If there's a foreskin, dive under and lick
everything you can reach. Probe the slit in the dick, Beaux. Make him feel
how much you want it. Very good!" And I wasn't kidding. He was going to
town, so hot and heavy that my own cock was about to bust and my breath was
getting short. My mouth was pouring saliva.

"Now start taking it deeper." He plunged all the way down and choked,
coughing and sputter and trying not to puke. He started at me, furious.

"Beaux, take a little at a time. Most guys have trouble when you get to the
back of the throat, and that may be as little as four or five
inches. Beyond that, getting the head or even some shaft of a dick into
your throat, is called deep-throating. Some guys can, many cannot. All take
practice to get there. So start slowly, a little at a time, and find out
where that point is."

He did, slowly taking more and more. I was frankly astonished at how far he
got without gagging, at least five or more inches. Watching him do so,
rampant and leaking below and clearly intent in his expression, was almost
too much to bear as I throbbed painfully. Then his eyes waters and he
choked. My voice was certainly strangled somewhat when I brought the lesson
to a close. "Beaux, you're doing fine. That's more than average anyway, and
deep-throating is usually not the most erotic part of a blow-job. Tonight,
take that with you as you beat off.

"Here's the assignment: Use your fingers to try and replicate on your dick
what your tongue does on the carrot. Find ways to make it feel better. BUT,
put the carrot away when you get close. I don't want you choking to death
just as you hit your orgasm." That got me a scowl and a smile at the same
time. Tonight, I was the one who flat out ran for the bedroom. The image of
that beautiful face going down on that fucking carrot over and over and
then teasing the head had me bellowing and blasting like a maniac mere
minutes after I slammed the door. I hadn't even gotten my breathing under
control before the image of Beaux completing his assignment a dozen yards
away had me up and at-em again, for another massive, screaming climax. Yep;
I needed to talk to Barry about new cum rags for me as well.

<eof>

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Active storelines, all at www.nifty.org/nifty/gay...
Canvas Hell: 25 chapters .../camping/canvas-hell/
Beaux Thibodaux: 17 chapters .../adult-youth/beaux-thibodaux/
The Heathens: 18 chapters .../historical/the-heathens/
Off the Magic Carpet: 11 chapters .../military/off-the-magic-carpet/
Lake Desolation: 10 chapters .../rural/lake-desolation/
Dear John Letter: 3 chapter .../military/dear-john-letter/
Shark Reef: 3 chapters .../adult-youth/shark-reef/
Culberhouse Rules: 1 chapter .../incest/culberhouse-rules/

Special collaboration with Brad Borris: In God's Love .../incest/in-gods-love/