For the most part I see my stories as fantasy, though especially with this story, I hope there are elements that ring true. For those of you expecting extended scenes of torrid sex, you may be disappointed, though you will find--I hope--sensuality and eroticism. This perhaps reflects my own journey and what I feel is important about this story. (And for those of you who do want more graphic encounters, you might visit some of my earlier tales.)

--Will

Coming to Terms

by
Will S
2006

Chapter 3

That night I climbed into my truck and rode over to the local Indian trading post. It was filled with tourist trinkets, but Sammy Soaring Eagle was a friend, and I knew he had some better quality merchandise in the back. Sammy understood exactly what I was after. He had a perfect breach-clout for a young brave. It would fit Eric better (read skimpier). I also got a pair of moccasins which I was sure was just the right size. It was as if I had memorized Eric's every dimension. (Well, every dimension.) Getting the moccasins and breach-clout somehow seemed like the perfect thing to do, to encourage a next step if there was going to be one. Sammy was one with me; brothers in lifestyle, and in homage to that, quickly burned a small image of a loon into the front of the breach-clout, marking the spot where the tip of a boy's anatomy might be located. I smiled, thinking of the Song of the Loon, the first gay literature I'd ever read, and couldn't help but think, Richard Amory would approve.

The next morning, the sky was filled with a haze, and thick fog seemed to stream down from the low mountains across the lake. More than likely, it'd burn off before too long. I was in the middle of some prep work for an upcoming trip. I gathered some supplies and assembled them in the shed. While I was out there, Eric appeared. He had a knapsack slung over one shoulder.

"Hey," I said, smiling.

"Hey."

"Couldn't stay away, huh?"

He grinned. His eyes flashed from me to the materials I was assembling. "You going away?" He looked almost worried.

"In a day or so," I answered.

The boy looked crest-fallen. "How long? We're only stayin' here a week." Whether he realized it or not, Eric had betrayed his acute interest in being around me. It felt good, because I sure wanted to be around him.

"It'll probably take me three or four days."

"Oh." His disappointment was palpable.

"Tell you what, though. I've got to hike up to Ragged Peak, to set up some equipment this morning. If your mom says it's okay, you're welcome to come along. Now the boy brightened and a smile replaced his frown. In a flash, he was off, calling over his shoulder, "I'll be back."

I continued my work. I'd decided to wear my breach-clout for the trip, but I delayed in putting it on. Good thing, I guess, because before much time had passed, Eric was back with his mother in tow.

"This is Jason," he said, "And this is my mom."

She was a pleasant enough woman, and had I been straight, I might have found her attractive. As it was, I found her offspring more attractive.

"Eric says you've invited him to go along on a hike?"

"That's right. There's a small mountain not too far from here, and I've got to set up a temporary transmitter there. Shouldn't take long."

"Well, he certainly seems to want to go. Does he need anything special? Food?"

"Nope...we're all set."

"Well, you be helpful, then. Oh...I almost forgot. You better take some sunblock."

"Mom..."

"Eric..."

"Go on," I said, "I'll wait."

"Thanks, Jason," Eric's mother said, as Eric tugged her toward their cabin.

In no time Eric was back. I used the opportunity to change into my breach-clout. That's how I was attired when Eric burst back onto the scene.

When he saw what I was wearing, for an instant, his eyes widened as they riveted involuntarily on the front of my breach-clout and the hefty bulge showing. But then he frowned. That confused me, wondering if I'd done something wrong. Then I realized in a way, I had. He must have been thinking he'd get to wear that again. Well, for the moment, I'd let him stew.

I walked to the corral, and got ol' Stag ready. I was certain a young pair of eyes, studied my every movement, and I imagined he was focusing on my muscular ass--one globe of which was just about as big as his two.

"We're riding a horse?"

"For most of the trip," I said. He can't make it to the top, but he'll be good most of the way."

Eric's eyes widened, again.

I put on Stag's blanket, then loaded up the gear on Daisy, my pack mule.

"Well, I guess we're ready," I said. "Right?"

"Well, yeah!" Eric answered.

"Oh, I almost forgot. I stepped to my cabin, and returned with a small package. "Here," I said, tossing it into the shed. "That's for you."

Eric's eyes sparkled with delight and curiosity. "What is it?"

"Well, go find out, I said, tousling his hair.

He dropped his knapsack, and sprang into the shed. In a moment, he reappeared in the doorway. "It's a breach-clout!"

"No shit, Sherlock," I wise-mouthed.

"Can I wear it?"

"What else would you do with it?" I said rolling my eyes, and he suddenly looked uncertain. "Eric...of course you can. It's up to you. Whatever you want."

Eric's eyes sparkled and his smile made deep dimples form in his beautiful cheeks.

He disappeared, only to reappear seconds later clad only in breach-clout and moccasins. I was sure I'd find a scene reminiscent of a boy's bedroom in my shed--shirt, pants, socks, Nikes, underwear strewn everywhere in his haste to change.

What a vision. Sammy Soaring Eagle had made me promise to take a picture of his latest fashion plate. I needed no additional urging to do that. The front of his breach-clout tapered from his hips downward, so the two sides of the bottom just touched his inner thighs. It must have just barely covered his boyhood, because the whole thing was only about nine or ten inches long. I could only imagine what lay behind the tiny loon which was seemed to be centered in just the right spot. The boy stood expectantly, his body tight and taut. This day, his hands rested at his sides, and he stood tall and proud. Except for the white skin and corn-silk hair, he could have been a fine Lakota brave, lean and proud. His sensitive, blue eyes, reflecting the blue of the lake on a perfect summer day, looked for approval.

I raised my eyebrows, grinned and gave him the thumbs up sign."

"You like?"

"Yeah," Eric said, as if he were wearing the latest in boy fashion.

"Well," I said, eyeing every inch of him. "It's a pretty good fit, I'd say."

"You want your knapsack?"

For a moment he looked uncertain. "If it's okay," he said finally.

"Sure it is. Can I put it in the saddlebags?" I gestured to the mule.

Eric nodded.

"Okay, time to go."

The boy stepped to Stag. "Here, grab onto his mane, then kind of pull yourself up and straddle his back. I'll give you a hand." I grasped onto his leg, one hand at his knee, the other I slipped up under the back flap of his breach-clout. My hand rested just under his cheek. In fact, the length of my index finger pressed against his smooth, firm flesh of his right cheek. Just that touch was sending all kinds of nerve cells into overdrive.

"One, two, three..." I boosted him as he lifted himself up and over Stag's back. I stood there for a moment, drinking in the scene. A magnificent young brave. Somehow he seemed to sense that in himself, and he sat tall with all his muscles stretched and tight. His smooth chest slowly heaved with strong, steady breaths.

"What," he asked, worried that something might be wrong, since I wasn't moving.

"Just takin' in the scenery," I said, smiling. With that, I grasped the reins of the pack mule, and mounted Stag with Eric in front of me. "Here," I said, "You hold onto these." I gave him the reins to Stag.

"But I don't know...how..."

"You're gonn'a learn," I said, heading off the question.

"Tell 'im, 'git,'" I explained. "Gently tap your heels into his flanks, and use the reins to guide him. "Like this," I said, leaning close to him, and taking his hands in mine, and moving them slightly left and right. I could feel the heat of his body on mine. My chest rubbed lightly along his shoulder. If I stayed this way for long, my soft spear would strengthen and if that happened, Eric would feel it even if I wanted to avoid that. His beautiful butt was only an inch or two from me, and my thighs actually flirted with the underside of his legs every once and a while. "Try it."

In no time, we were heading along the trail, and we--I--could focus off my body's reaction to being close to this Ganymede.

We'd gone a half mile or so, before Eric spoke.

"It's like we're Indians," he said simply.

"Mm-hmmm," I agreed. "Smell the sweet pine of the forest...listen to the birds and insects...feel the power of this animal beneath us." I let my hand run down his side and down his leg for as far as I could reach.

"I know," he said quietly, almost reverently. "We're the only people in a hundred miles."

It wasn't true of course; his mother, for one, was only a mile away, but with any luck, we'd never see or hear any one else for the whole day. And I knew what he was feeling. It was a very special moment.

"His hair is prickly," the boy added after a while.

"Yeah, but you get used to it. Just be glad I put the blanket on him." I leaned slightly around and over his shoulder to check out his reaction. His cheeks colored slightly, and a coy, little smile formed on his lips as he built the imaginary picture of his private places bouncing on stiff horse hair. It'd be like a thousand little needles.

I could read his mind. "Yeah, exactly," I breathed softly into his ear.

His body shook with silent giggles.

"The Indian brave giggles," I said, and poked my fingers into his sides. He stiffened and one audible laugh slipped out.

I glanced down between us, and was pleased to see that his back flap had slipped, at least on his right side. A smooth bulge of white skin teased at what remained covered. I resisted the urge to cup it in my hand, and savor its smooth perfection.

Leaning a bit more, I again was able to gaze over his shoulder, downward. As in the back, his front flap had slipped, more or less bunching together in the middle. The soft, supple deer skin fell off his upper thighs, and covered little more than his pubes. But it was, nevertheless, doing its job, and the boy's privacy was in tact.

Eric twisted around, and saw the direction of my gaze. He followed my gaze. Whether he understood my interest or not, I couldn't know, but his question suggested perhaps he didn't really know.

"That's a duck, right?"

"A loon, actually."

"Why?"

I had an excuse now, and leaned forward even more, my torso pressing against his back and shoulders. My gaze bore down on the loon, hoping to detect some hint of what lay below. "Well, the Indian who made this has a great love for the Song of the Loon." That seemed to satisfy, and I wondered if someday when Eric was surfing the web, if he'd smile when he finally understood the true meaning of my explanation."

"An Indian made this? Really!"

"Really. A friend, Sammy Soaring Eagle. I think he'd like you." It was a bit of a lie. The truth was, Sammy would love this boy. I smiled to myself. I'd have to be careful never to let him alone with Eric long enough to... Well...let's just say Sammy was an entrepreneur. He took the initiative when he saw an opportunity.

"Did you get this...just for me--the breech-clout?"

"Uh-huh."

"How come?"

"I don't know...I guess maybe I figured you'd like it...after yesterday." I smiled.

"Well...thank you." The sensitive boy seemed genuinely touched. His soft, shy "thank you" was heart-felt and heart-warming.

"You're very welcome, Eric. I was pleased to do it."

After about an hour on the trail, we stopped, I slid off Stag. Eric watched, then slid down, mimicking my action.

I dug out a canteen, and we took a long drink. We said very little, preferring instead to take in the view. We had been steadily climbing, though gradually enough so it wasn't really obvious. Now, on a ridge between thinning trees, we could glimpse some spectacular vistas.

"Eric, look," I whispered, coming up close behind him. I placed my hand on his shoulder and with my other pointed down into the forest below. "Shh... there," I whispered into his ear.

Not sixty feet from us was a handsome 12-point buck. He foraged for berries, but stopped suddenly and raised his head, perhaps sensing our nearby presence. He raised his head and tensed and turned to look straight at us.

"He's looking..." Eric started to whisper, but I gently squeezed his shoulder.

"Shh...don't move." The deer continued to stare directly at us. I could feel Eric tremble under my hand. Now I heard a movement to our right, and so did the buck. He shifted his gaze from us toward the sound. Suddenly I knew what was about to happen, though I was sure Eric had no idea. "Watch to his right," I breathed. I'd barely finished when there was an explosion of noise and movement. The big buck bolted and in a flash had disappeared. In the next instant a massive, black hulk appeared just feet from where the buck had been. Eric pressed back into me, and for a moment I focused off the scene in front of us. The smooth skin of his back pressed against my abdomen and chest. I felt his soft, straight, fine hair against my neck. His legs pressed between mine, and somehow his wonderful, strong ass nestled up against my manhood in perfect alignment. He actually shook now with fear; perhaps that was understandable, for I suspected this was the first bear he'd ever seen in the wild. "It's okay," I whispered. "Don't move." I folded my arms slowly around his torso to hold him still. "Just watch." He pressed against me even more.

The bear stood swaying back and forth for a moment, as if disbelieving his misfortune. He should have been mine, he was thinking. Then, perhaps, like the deer, sensing the presence of something that didn't belong, turned to us, and rose up on his hind feet. He must have been a full seven feet from toe to head. He twisted his head and roared a long, assertive roar, intending to leave no doubt whose territory this was. It gave us a great chance to see his massive teeth and great pointed tongue. He shook his huge head twice, then, as the echo of his roar died in the distance, he lowered himself, stared at us once again, then slowly ambled off in the direction he had come.

For a long moment, Eric didn't move. Slowly I felt him start to relax. I realized I was growing hard. What we had just been a part of has become a very sensual experience. I was certain Eric must be feeling the building hardness that pressed against his back flap. I glanced down over his shoulder, and saw evidence that he was similarly aroused. I also realized I could feel his heart pounding under my forearm, and as much as I hated to, I eased my grip of him.

"That was a bear!" Eric breathed, still staring down where the beast had just been.

"A big one."

"It was scary," he said, eyes sparkling.

"First time?"

"Yeah!"

"It usually is scary, the first time. But you learn, and understand the signs."

"What if he'd come toward us!"

"I don't think he would have. Bears don't like humans much. But here...that's why I carry this," I said, gesturing to a rifle holstered on the pack mule."

"You ever used it?"

"For hunting. For meat. But only once for protection...just to scare an ol' brown off. Black bears aren't as aggressive as brown bears. Browns are more unpredictable, more territorial, more dangerous."

"You hunt?"

"I do. Not for sport, only for food. I only shoot what I'm going to eat. That's the way it's been since the beginning of human life. And I always offer a prayer, I suppose you'd call it, of thanks, when I take another animal's life. It's not something I do lightly. Reverently, I guess you'd say."

Eric lifted away from me, and twisted around as I loosened my grasp and let my hands drift to his arms. He looked up into my eyes. "I don't think I could do that," he said. His eyes grew moist. "See, I am a wimp."

"No, Eric, you aren't. You are a human being. I've seen many an Indian react just as you have when they kill a beautiful animal. You simply understand that life is sacred. I hate those damn macho hunters who shoot anything that moves from their pimped out pickups." My anger surprised me almost as much as it surprised Eric.

"You're pretty macho," Eric said.

"You mean my build."

Eric nodded. "You're a real man."

I smiled, excited that this boy was looking at me in those terms.

"Well, I'm glad you think so, Eric, but there's more to being a man--a real man--than just a big body. And when I say 'macho' I kind of mean an attitude where a guy kind of puts himself at the center. 'I' do this, 'I' want that. Macho jerks push their way through life, taking, taking, and taking. That's not what a real man is." I looked at Eric and he looked back at me. "Well," I said, after a pause, "Sorry for the rant and rave." We grinned at each other.

"But," I said, "you know what I mean?"

"Oh yeah," he said softly, looking a thousand miles away. "Assholes." Suddenly he realized what he said and looked as if he'd been shot. "I mean..."

"No..." I said, interrupting. "Assholes. That's exactly what they are." I reached out, and poked him in the side, eliciting a wonderful boyish giggle. Again those dimples framed his great smile. We stood facing each other for just another moment, suddenly feeling--both of us, I think--that we needed more. Without planning it, I stepped to him and wrapped my arms around him. He pressed against me, and turned his head so his ear pressed against my chest. I'm sure he could hear my heart pounding. I let my chin come to rest on the top of his head. His whole body pressed against mine. This was the perfect end to a magical few moments. His arms, tentatively at first, then more confidently, wrapped around my waist. It was exquisite; skin-against-skin. He had to have felt my hardness growing, pressing against his stomach, just as I could feel his rigid arrow against my thigh. I lowered my hand to his butt, and pressed gently against his back flap. "Don't ever confuse being macho with being a real man," I said. "And don't ever think the opposite of being 'macho' is being a wimp. Promise me, that Eric."

"I promise," the boy said in barely a whisper, his words catching in his throat. He snuffed once, and I felt the slightest brush of feather soft eyelashes against my right nipple, then a hot tear spilled onto my chest. We held each other tightly, and didn't move.