Date: Wed, 18 Aug 1999 22:36:58 PDT From: Wishus Teglin Subject: 'Three Weeks To Heaven' Three Weeks to Heaven, A Boylove Romance (M/b) Book Two by Teglin teglin@excite.com FOREWORD: As with Book One of this story, I am indebted to Ganymede for my inspiration to write. His stories remain the best in the boylove genre, mixing eroticism with romance. And again, this is dedicated to the boy, wherever he may be, who needs love and care. In short, dedicated to all boys, anywhere and everywhere. Copyright 1999 by Teglin. You may freely copy this boylove romance and distribute it. Please have the courtesy not to alter it in any way. WARNING: This boylove romance contains descriptions of sexual acts between men and minor boys. Their sexual relationships are very important to the story, as part of their love-making, but it is their spiritual relationship that I wanted to explore even more, as the very essence of boylove. If you are under age 18, or the concept of a man/boy relationship offends you, don't read further. Chapter 1 Two days had passed since Wishus and I parted. Two days of hard riding up out of his valley, across Black Mountain, and back down into the foothills leading to the Rio Grande Valley. Every step my horse took seemed to pull more taut at my heart, as if I were physically tied to my dearest Wishus, and that tie was near to breaking. Yet I would not let myself or my mount rest. Even the few hours each night that we had to stop to eat and get some sleep, were fitfull for me. Images of Wishus swirled through my dreams. He standing god-like, in golden splendor in his luscious green meadow, fishing at the bank of the creek, bare-chested, the sun bleaching his blonde hair into the infinite hues of light. His tresses playing about his thin shoulders. Or me nuzzing in that hair that first night of our meeting, when I had all-too-briefly gotten him to lay down in my arms - that night when I began to care for him, to show him that he was loved and cherished.... The sweet kisses that he gave me so freely the next day as we toured his beautiful lost city up in the canyon, the fleshy taste of his little dick and balls in my mouth when we finally made love that night. And our last moments together, when even through tears at our parting, he had dropped to his knees there in the forest, at the trailhead, and taken my own swaying dick into his little mouth and made me hard, and drank my seed, to make us `One'. I could swear that through those two long days of riding I still felt the moistness of Wishus' lips on my shaft. And the glorious warmth and tightness of his sucking. Just as when I had been with him in his valley, now that I was alone again I was suffering from a constant cycle of arousal and flaccid weakness. Memories of our love-making made me hard with desire. The simple joy at finally having found the love of my life, made me hard. But I would grow soft and weak every time I remembered the mile after mile of distance I had to put between us, before we could once again be together. Not just the distance, but the worry about him, about the lack of attention and care that his Aunt and Uncle gave him. But I had a task to complete. I had to finish what I had started, answer the call of my long-time friend to help rescue his own son from renegade Indians - no, there would be no rest for me or my horse. I had to fulfill my promise to Wishus to return to his side within three weeks. And I had to be true to my friend and his son Joey. "Oh Wishus, what are you doing right now!!" That desperate, helpless thought stalked me practically every moment, fighting with my need to pay attention to the trail, plan the days ahead, and get the job done. ------------------------- Two days and nights had passed, and now on the morning of the third day, Wishus stumbled almost dazed, for the third time, up to his aerie in the ancient ruins. Tears dropped to darken the rocks beneath his feet. He still could think of little else. Would Teg return? Why did they have to be separated? Would he lose the only person who had loved him unconditionally? He was having a hard time sleeping at night. Teg alone had brought him moments of security and comfort, dispelling the loneliness he had felt since coming to live here. Now without Teg, it seemed like his every fear loomed larger than before, weighed heavier on his mind. As if without Teg, there was no hope. When he reached his hidden city, tucked inside the gigantic canyon wall cavern, his heart quickened. They had agreed, upon parting, that he would come here to feel renewed. To feel his lover's presence. To reaffirm that they would be together again ... and to listen ... to listen in the wind, for whispered words from his man. He wiped the tears from his eyes once more, and climbed the terraces to his Shaman's Tower, and sat down on the doorstep, facing the wide-expanse of the forested canyon floor, and far in the distance the yawning canyon mouth, where it opened out into the valley. He could hear the wind in the tree-tops below. Faint, far away, and he strained to hear something more .... Minutes passed, then an hour, but the boy did not stir. He wanted to delay his return to the valley floor below. His uncle and aunt wouldn't miss him, probably wouldn't notice he was gone until suppertime. The sun beat down through clear skies, but here in his secluded and sheltered city, the afternoon shade was cool, the breeze soft against his skin. He leaned his small frame back against the cool adobe wall of the tower, and closed his eyes briefly ... just briefly .... ------------------------- Now on my third day without my boy, I grimly rode into Miranda, a little ranching and farming town, concentrating as much on my thoughts of Wishus as on refreshing my supplies. I needed at least one more blanket, to replace the two that Wishus and I had put up in his secret haven, his little fort up in the ancient Indian city he had found. It had been colder each night than I had thought it would be, and I really needed another blanket. Some oats for my horse too, since I was riding him so hard. It was a dead town. Perhaps most everyone was taking an afternoon siesta. Not much activity going on. What dust my horse threw up as he plodded down the dirt streets went unnoticed. A couple of men were leaning against posts in front of the saloon. A wagon was pulled up to the open doors of a stable, where a big man was loading feed. Looked like a little boy sitting there on the seat. I couldn't see his face, just some black hair hanging down raggedly around his head, lustrous dark, dark black hair. A light brown complexion on his neck, and on his arms, where he had rolled up his sleeves. A Mexican, I guessed. His slight figure suggested he might be around six or seven years old. But he was a boy, and even though I was in love, even though I had been pining away for two straight days now over Wishus - perhaps because of that - the predictable happened. I can't help it, it's always been a part of me. I see a boy, something happens to me. My blood quickens, I search unobtrusively to see if the boy is pretty, and how old he is. It's strange. Practically every boy is a sexual object for me. It's my first reaction upon seeing one. But there is also something more - a real love for boys, just the desire to be around them, to partake of their beauty, yes, but also to give of myself in return - to love and be loved. They're kind of like works of art, each one, and my eyes are drawn to them. Of course I got hard. But I had been aroused so often in the last few days over Wishus, that I was already a mass of tingling, aching tissue, so this one boy didn't change the way I was feeling all that much. I didn't have time to angle for a better look, however. So I forced myself back to the task at hand, and stopped before a general store across from the wagon. When I came back out of the store I saw the wagon was still there. Looked like the man had finished loading the grain, because he was taking the reigns from the boy. "So long, little boy," I thought to myself. "Go with God. Have a good life. Thanks for gracing my presence for these few minutes." That's the way I was, always whispering silently to the boys I encountered in life. Until Wishus, that's about all I could ever do - wish them well, and watch them go their way out of my life. Now I smiled, knowing that there was my special boy waiting for me. I hurried to my horse at the hitching rail and started packing. Suddenly the big man across the street yelled out, as if angry. Something in Spanish. Now, I don't know any Spanish really, so I had no idea what the guy was angry about, and didn't much care. I had other things to worry about. But in the mid-afternoon silence that had settled about this town, the man's rantings were hard to ignore, and I suddenly remembered the boy. No one else had been about, so he must be yelling at the boy. I looked up in worry at the very instant that the kid screamed, and I saw him cowering back in the wagon seat, trying to get as far away from the man as he could. The man just reached farther over and I saw him brutally slap the kid, as he barked at him. The man's back was to me, and I could just barely see the little boy's terror- stricken face as he had turned half-towards me, sideways against the far edge of the wagon seat. The kid went silent, and drew back tensed, as if knowing that there were more blows to come. Well, I'm ashamed to admit that I stood there stunned for a moment. I looked around bewildered, and saw the two men who had been standing in front of the saloon, a couple of doors down from the wagon. Now they were standing at attention, sure enough, watching what was going on. Dumbfounded, I saw that one of the men had a badge on his vest. Must be the town Marshall. Damnit, I thought, what's he just standing there for! And then, damnit, why am I just standing here?! Yes, I'm ashamed to admit it took me that long, but at least when I did come to my senses, I didn't hesitate any longer. I simply dropped the supplies I had bought and took off running across the dirt street. The man certainly did not see me coming, and if he heard me, he didn't seem to care, because he just continued to stand there slapping the kid about his head. As I got closer, I thought to myself, now this is one big man! I'm 6'3", tall and rather slim. This man had to be three inches taller, and big! I mean he was a brute. Looked like one of his arms was as big as my leg. I'm no coward, but I'm not stupid either. One, I had to stop this brute from hurting the boy anymore. Two, I didn't care to get hurt myself, and I figured if it came to blows, this guy was going to make short work of me. So when I finally got close enough, without saying a word, I just clasped my fists together, rose up on the balls of my feet, then threw my whole body towards the man, using the combined weight of my arms like a sledge-hammer on the back of the guy's neck. He never knew what hit him. Just crumpled to the ground, knocked out. I kind of ricotched off him and smacked my side and shoulder into the wagon. The little boy was sharp. Before the horses could react to me jolting the wagon, he grabbed the reins and held firm, all the while looking at me in awe, in disbelief. I looked down at the man, to make sure he was out, then up at the boy. I felt sick all of a sudden. What a sight he was! The cheek below his right eye was swelling, and there was blood trickling from his nose and a split lip. The blood mixed with his tears, both forming dirty trails down his dark skin. I choked up then, but struggled to give him a little questioning smile, and held out my arms to him. He sat there for a minute, fiddling with the reins nervously, and using his sleeves to brush the remaining tears, from his cheeks, and sniffling all the while, gasping for short breaths, his little chest heaving. I could see the struggle going on in his eyes. Coal-black eyes, wide-open in wonder. He leaned forward tentatively, warily, and glanced down at his tormentor, as if to make sure that he was definitely unconscious, then back to me again. Well, once he made up his mind that I was no threat, I guess, he didn't hesitate any longer. He literally launched himself at my open arms, and let out a pitiful little wail, and started crying again. I just gathered him up and wrapped my arms about him, and hugged him tight. I closed my eyes briefly, feeling faint, when I felt the little boy's head rest in the crook of my neck. You see, he had wrapped himself around me just like Wishus had done so often, locking his legs around my waist, his arms around my neck, and practically marrying his body to mine. For an instant I felt Wishus against me and wanted to cry myself. All boy! My Wishus, embracing me, letting me breathe in the scent of his hair, feeling his hardening little cocklet starting to rub wantonly against my belly . I took a deep breath, and opened my eyes. I had to force myself back to the present. I could feel the lines of this little boy's body beneath his dirty shirt, I cupped the soft flesh of his little butt with one hand, I caressed his dark hair, and held his head closer onto my shoulder. A boy in need. But not Wishus. I breathed in, smelling this boy's own unique unwashed scent. An odor, others would have called it. Not me. He was a boy, and his scent was heavenly, the feel of his silken black hair rubbing my cheek was heavenly, the feel of his ribs under the caress of my hand was heavenly. I suddenly realized I was hard as a rock, and my cock was standing straight up inside my pants, my dick-head squashed beneath the boy's crotch. I flushed then. No, not because I was afraid of being noticed. I flushed in shame. Because of Wishus. I had been a boylover as long as I could remember, and this was the way I was. Any boy, any reasonably attractive boy, would do this to me. To be truthful, I revelled in my arousal, and held this little boy closer. This feeling was what I lived for. But I loved Wishus! Wasn't my body betraying my love? And was it really right for me to become aroused holding this boy when he was in terror? That taut band about my heart grew even tighter. I almost cried out in agony. A boy in my arms, that wonderful joy I felt having a boy in my arms, the wonderful rightness of being aroused by this boy, of wanting him near me - yet, wasn't that like forgetting that my heart belonged with Wishus? "Wishus, dear Wishus, forgive me," I pleaded silently. "I love you so much, Wishus Allouitious Knight!" Time to think all that through later. I affirmed my love for my boy, back in his valley, and felt better about it. Because I knew I meant it. If only he could hear me! Right now, I had to deal with this situation. The kid was still snivelling, and wiping his tears and running nose with the backs of his hands, still not unclasping them from around my neck. I felt the wetness on my neck and shoulder, but didn't mind. Stains from a boy in need. Like badges of honor, in this case. I looked about, and noticed that several other people had stepped out onto the sidewalks to see what was going on. The stable hostler stood closest. He was standing there worriedly, rubbing his hands nervously on a cloth hanging from his belt. When I looked his way, he drawled, "If I was you, mister, I'd drop that little greaser and high-tail it out of here. Big John there ain't going to be out for long, and you'll be mince-meat when he gets up." My hackles rose at that. I could hear the disgust in the man's voice, and his total lack of concern for the little boy in my arms. So I just ignored him, and turned towards the Marshall, whom I saw approaching now. "Marshall, I'm going to need some help here. This man needs to be in jail, and we can't just leave this little boy alone here. You have someone here, maybe a Lady's Society, who can take care of him?" "It's Constable, mister. Not Marshall. And no, we don't have no Lady's Society here to take care of no little greaser boys. You made a big mistake there, interfering with Big John ." "He was hitting the kid, god-damnit! What did you expect me to do?" I expect you better get on out of town now, is what I expect," he drawled. "Bill, here, is right. Big John's liable to kill you when he wakes u.." "Not if he's in jail, where he belongs for hitting this kid, he won't," I responded in disbelief at the apparent attitude of the man. "Ain't no jail around here that's going to keep Big John Smalley locked up, mister," the Constable laughed, and looked at those gathering around us, for agreement. I looked around too, and saw nods of amused agreement, or looks of fear in the eyes of some, like they expected something even worse to happen soon. "If I was you," the Constable continued, "I'd just put the little greaser back in the wagon, turn around, and ." "He's no greaser!" I cut him off with a gutteral snarl. "He's a little boy who needed my help. Now he needs yours. Now who can I turn him over to, who'll take care of him?" I looked around, but noticed that a few of those gathered around started to shy away now, to shuffle off, not wanting to be involved anymore. "Nobody around here's going to take care of a Mexy kid, mister. And especially one of Big John's kids. Now I'm telling you for the last time, to git. I won't be responsible for what happens when he wakes up, if you don't." "I'll be responsible then," I said with finality. "Where's this boy's home? His mama?" "Far as I know, Big John's never been married. This kid and his big sister work for John out at his place. Ain't never seen the sister, but I guess she's takin care of the house out there." "Work for Big John," I said mockingly, in disgust. "This boy couldn't be more than six or seven years old. Alright, so where is this place, where is the sister? I'll take him to her." "You're on your own, mister," the constable said, as he started to turn away back up the sidewalk. "I warned you, and I ain't interfering in Big John's business, no way." I looked around, and said, "Anyone else got the guts to tell me where this boy lives?" No response, just blank-eyed dumb stares, or lowered eyes from those who looked embarrassed but still afraid to answer. Well, I'm not one to stand around waiting for someone else to help, so I decided then and there to shuck myself of this town, and take care of the situation myself. I couldn't speak Spanish, but maybe this little tyke could speak English. I nudged Big John with my boot, looking down around the still clinging form of the little boy. No motion. He was still out cold. But I imagined he'd wake up pretty soon. Now I had business to attend to, and more important than that, I had to return to Wishus in less than three weeks. So I had to get this boy back to his sister NOW, and hopefully figure some way to convince her to leave her employment with this brute. Damn, what was I going to do if she said no? Was I going to leave this little boy there, knowing this monster would return home and probably beat him again? First things first. I tried to lower the boy to the ground, but soon discovered he had a vice grip around my neck. "Uh ... kid ... uh, I need to let you down now," I tried to lower him again, but he let out a plaintive cry, and tightened his hold on me. "Look, I'm not leaving you here, I just need to ...." His grip got even tighter. He either didn't understand, or was just too afraid, so I gave up. He was holding onto me so securely that I hardly had to hold onto him anyway! So I could have at least one hand free. I went to the front of the wagon and kicked out the trace pin, then quickly walked around both horses, loosening the trace straps. A couple of the onlookers started to offer advice to me. Like, "You're begging for trouble, mister." Or, "Better listen to the marshall." I even overheard others talking about the girl Big John had out at his place. How they had seen her once. She was young, but a looker. Big John wasn't going to take it kindly if I went out there to find her. I just ignored them all. If they weren't going to help with the boy, then they could all go take a leap, for all I cared. I slipped the harness over the horses' heads, and then yelled and slapped each on the rump, until they took off up the street. No doubt they'd head home, and I could simply follow them there. Now to my own horse, across the street. And a closer look at the little boy I had clinging to me for life. You could hardly call him pretty, just then, although I could see that he would be without his injuries. I leaned my head back and gently lifted his head away from my shoulder as I crossed the street. Big John had struck him really hard at least twice. The kid's swelling right eye was almost closed now. And the whole left side of his mouth was worse than my first impression. His lip looked like pulp - a raw wound, with blood trickling from it. No wonder he hadn't answered my questions. All this time my dick had been ramrod stiff in my pants - I guess the combination of a boy in my arms, and the rush of emotion defending him, had excited me to fever pitch. But now, seeing and sensing how hurt this boy was, I started to soften. I blanched, and felt a little cold, and clammy, all of a sudden. If I hadn't stepped in to help him, Big John might have killed this little boy out of nothing more, apparently, than pure meanness. Again I tried to loosen his grip on me, but now I noticed him flinching as I put my hands on his sides. More gingerly, I felt his rib cage. He winced. The bastard had hit him there too. Poor kid must be one big bruise. Well, I wasn't going to force the kid to let go, for more than one reason now. Both because it hurt him when I tried to force him away, and because he no doubt sensed that he was secure in my arms. I wondered how long he had been hammered by Big John. I managed to get my purchases loaded on my horse, and then mount up, all with this little boy in my arms. He held onto me - in a pinch, I could even free both my hands, so it wasn't all that difficult. Then I trailed off down the street with nary a glance back at Big John or any care at all for this cursed town called Miranda. Any group of people who would ignore the suffering of a boy, even a `greaser' boy, as they called him, could just disappear from the Earth for all I cared. "Son, you going to tell me where your sister is?" I said to him softly. No answer, just a brief stiffening of his body against mine, as if he were frightened again. "It's alright, I'll track these horses. Now if you feel like it, you tell me if we're headed the right way, ok?" ---------------------- Hours passed, while Wishus slept during that still, quiet, hot afternoon, when it seemed the whole canyon and all it's inhabitants were taking a siesta. Dreams came. Of Teg. Of their time together. And just like Teg had promised, the memories did renew his spirit. Again he rested his small hand in the strong palm of his love. Again they stole kisses, some passionate, some light-hearted. Again they lay together in the night, with his man showing him how to become one with him ... ... the boy awoke late, lazily brushed his wind-blown hair from his eyes, and lifted himself up on one elbow. He was surprised to see that the shadow of the canyon wall had stretched almost all the way across canyon floor, and knew he had to return to the cabin now. He sighed softly, both happy that he had dreamed so clearly of Teg, and a little sad that he had to leave now, and go back down to the cabin. Another lonely night, pretty much ignored by his aunt and uncle during the evening, and then totally alone up in his bed in the loft through the long dark hours. Still, he felt good. The memories lingered from his dreams . he wondered, coming out of the dreamy haze. Had he heard it? Hadn't he really heard it in the wind? "I love you so much, Wishus Allouitious Knight!" He smiled wistfully, certain that he had heard it. That Teg had really said it . wherever he was. Wishus felt comforted, ready to return to the valley for another night alone. To wait. To wait for the return of his man. ------------------------- Tracking the horses was easy enough. I did it half unconsciously all the way to the gate of Big John's ranch. Exhaustion was catching up with me, I guess, and during the ride, with this little boy's silky hair brushing my left cheek, I almost went into a trance. I imagined Wishus riding with me, his sweet locks against my cheek, murmuring his love for me, accepting the caress of my lips on the top of his head. Wishus parts his hair right down the middle. Now I closed my eyes and and imagined tracing that line, lightly kissing his scalp. He giggled, but actually pushed his head up against my lips, signalling that he wanted me to nuzzle him. Well, if he wanted more, I was not about to disappoint hi .... My little friend brought me out of my trance, by lifting his head off my shoulder for the first time, and half-twisting in the saddle. He pointed to a shed over under some trees, and kept repeating something like "Rolanda, Rolanda", which I took to be his sister's name. The road through the gate led straight up to the ranch house, but I figured this little boy knew what he was doing. He strained in the saddle, his legs still clamped about my middle, with his torso undulating as if he were going to propel my horse over towards the shed. Whatever was there, he was excited. I heard the anxiety in his voice, the breathlessness. He wanted me to hurry. So I did. I spurred the horse a bit, and he trotted on over at an angle from the road towards the shed. Gigantic cottonwoods shaded the whole ranch house area, and out beyond I could see cattle grazing in the fields. With a practiced eye, I noted that Big John had himself a nice spread. Idyllic here under the whispering wind in the cottonwoods, in the cool shade. Too bad this place was owned by a child-beater. Dampened my enthusiasm some, I can tell you. He had no right to anything good, if he could lift a finger to this little boy in my arms. No one was about. The place seemed deserted. Not even a chicken plucking at the ground. The only sounds were this little boy's repeated entreaties to me, as if he were hurrying me on, the creak of saddle leather, and that swooshing sound that seemed always present up in a tall cottonwood. I had always loved that sound, but now it seemed kind of mournful, for some reason. Damn this Big John, he knew how to ruin a day. I spat down into the dirt of his ranch house compound. My companion almost flung himself out of my embrace, when we drew up to the shed. He would have fallen the six feet to the ground if I hadn't grabbed him bodily around his waist, then lowered him on down gently. He ran to the door and tried to open it. As I got down I saw that it was latched and locked with a bar. Well, now I was starting to wonder. If Rolanda were in this shed, she was obviously locked in there by Big John. "Take it easy, kid," I held out one hand, palm forward, as I lowered myself from the saddle, trying to calm the little boy. He was rattling the door, trying to jerk the bar out. It wouldn't budge for him. He called out to whoever was within. "Rolan, Rolan," he yelled, almost whining. I heard a weak voice answer back, a feathery-light, weak voice, a sweet, sweet voice. Oh god, for a minute my heart skipped a beat. That was Wishus I heard. Calling to me from the doorstep of his aerie up in his lost city. It was his soft, sing-song voice, whispering plaintively to me to return to him ... but no, it couldn't be .... "Metrio," I thought I heard the voice say, then something more in Spanish. So that was the little boy's name. Metrio. Metrio? Rolanda sounded far away, as if she were calling with her last breath. Or perhaps she was ill. Knowing Big John as little as I did, I already imagined the worst, and roughly shifted the latch bar up, and jerked open the door. Sensations hit me then with stunning force, one right after another, or all mixed in together. First the smell, as my eyes tried to adjust to the gloom within the shed. On warm draughts of air, flowing from the opened door into the cooler air of the shaded ground outside, a scent, not an unpleasant scent at all, swept over me. But it was unusual and strong, a mixture of body odors, I could tell immediately, a wisp of ... well, to be crude about it, if you've ever run your hand down inside your pants, between your cheeks, then smelt it, you'll know what I mean. Not a fecal odor, at all, not even necessarily dirty, but in a way sensual. Very basic and so very very intimate to one's self. Another, equally intimate image struck me as the scent registered on me - how it smelled when, just three nights ago, I had sucked my dear Wishus, and run my finger tips over and over his little anus, mixing my saliva with his own bodily mucus and fluids. That memory alone was almost hynotic - enough to draw me into that shed. Added to that, was that unmistakable, oh so familiar chlorinated scent that I always smelt when I jacked off, and my semen came spurting out. My dick sprang to attention then and there, at the doorway to the shed, knowing almost unconsciously, just from the smells, that someone had been involved there very recently in sex acts. Big John was obviously screwing his little maid here, then. And had locked her in here afterwards. It was rather dark inside, and there was a partition wall extending part way out from one side, blocking my view to the back. It was from there, from beyond the partition, that I heard the voice again. "No banga in aqui, Metrio!" the soft voice seemed to plead. "Metrio, detras. Detras." I understood `aqui', meaning `here'. And `no', and saw that Metrio was shifting uncertainly back to the doorway, obeying the orders of his sister. She didn't want him to see something here, I supposed, and it wasn't hard to imagine what. Big John must have left her naked, swimming in his cum. Now that thought might have sickened me, had not that remembered scent of Wishus, that physical reminder of him, kept me rock hard. Beyond the partition, the shed was brighter than on this side. As I stepped to the end of the partition, I saw that there was a window there on the opposite wall. I looked to the left hesitantly, half-embarrassed for the girl, that a stranger should see her here, in a condition that she didn't even want her little brother to see her in. How long did I stand there, breathless, my left hand on the partition edge, my head bent forward to peer into the room? It was a moment lost in time, that much I do know, for I was truly stunned, mind-numbed, by what I saw just paces away. No, mind-numbed is not the word, because my mind was racing, stimulated beyond clear thought. I smelt that aphrodisiac scent of sex, I heard that beautiful, sensuous voice, and now I saw what should not be possible - a boy! Half-reclining over a barrel, his naked rear pointing directly up at me! Oh yes, an incredibly beautiful, completely naked boy, with Metrio's own dark, coppery burnished skin tone, looking oiled. How did I know he was beautiful? I didn't need to see his face to know that. I just knew! His perfectly smooth buttocks shone honey-gold, reflecting the light from the window. His thighs and legs were statuesque columns of polished flesh, split apart, giving me a clear view of this boy's treasures hanging down limply. His hooded, darker brown colored little cock, a little less more two inches long, I reckoned, was half hidden by his dangling little balls, loosely hanging in the sun-warmed air within the shed. Above, arched over the barrel, his torso ... where Wishus' body was alabaster, porcelain, ivory, the fairest and purest of complexions, this boy's flesh was in tones of brown, mahogany, copper, bronze ... his genitals were darkest, perhaps mahogony gold, I could see the soles of his feet were much lighter, bleached bronze, his legs fine sun-darkened copper below his knees, and a lighter hue above. His thighs, buttocks and his torso, which he evidently did not bare to the sun, where golden tan, slick and so smooth looking. He was apparently a bit older than Wishus, judging from the size of his dick and balls, and while there was not an ounce of excess flesh on this boy, he was more `filled-out' than Wishus, his ribs less plain, the cleft along his backbone muscled perfectly. Wishus was all boy, but oh so delicate looking, like fine china. This boy before me was certainly all boy too, and exuding a sensuality that Wishus might have someday, when he truly realized how beautiful he was . when he was less innocent, I supposed. I could not see this boy's face, for he lay over the barrel somwehat awkwardly, with his head and arms down on the other side. I could see that his hair was coal-black, like little Metrios, but much longer. I saw shining tendrils of it hanging all the way to the floor, splayed across the boy's left shoulder. I judged his hair to be at least waist-length. I took all this in almost breathlessly, my heart racing. Here was a sight so strange, so unexpected, and yet so incredibly lovely and alluring that I was in awe. Yes, I noted all his features in an instant, my fevered glaze roamed over his outstretched form, but my eyes kept returning to the very center of this magical picture ... my hand trembled in it's grip on the partition, as I struggled to accept what I saw ... sticking straight out from between his butt cheeks, curving and arching out from this boy, was a magnificently carved and polished phallus! A perfect replica of a long cock shaft and balls. The cock head was buried inches deep inside the boy, filling him, forcing his anus to stretch wide around it. The ring of his anus, so tightly locked around the dildo shaft, was puffy looking, dark colored, stretched smooth all around, not crinkly like I imagined it must have been normally. Now I knew full-well the source of that sex-charged aroma. This boy had been fucked by Big John, and then left here, apparently tied across the barrel, and plugged with this fake organ. Why, I had no idea. Was the man punishing this boy, this Rolanda? Rolando. Was he trying to loosen the boy's hole? I tore my eyes away long enough to look back, to see if Metrio were still by the door. Sure of that, I gathered my senses again, and stepped to Rolando's side. Yes, his hands were tied to posts, I could now see. And so were his feet. "My name's Teglin, son," I almost whispered to him. I don't know why I whispered. I guess it was a mixture of awe at how incredibly beautiful his form was, astonishment at seeing a fucked boy, not to mention one with a man-sized phallus still penetrating him. And of course I did not want to frighten him. "I'll ... I'll let you up now," I said nervously. No answer. An hour later, even minutes later, I wondered why I did what I did next, before untying his limbs. Here he was bent and tied over this barrel, but still perhaps in a kind of trance, instead of immediately cutting his bindings, I instead gingerly grasped the carved wooden dick with my right hand, and shaking as if from extreme exertion, started to pull it from his lovely rear. With my left hand I lightly touched the ring of his anus, needing to touch it, to prove to me that it was possible for such a massive dick to enter a boy's hole! He gasped! Not in pain, but letting out the kind of involuntary, surprised sigh with which one might greet an unexpected pleasure. My heart skipped another beat. I traced the ring of his anus with my index finger with a feather touch, and he gasped again. It was so tight! The flesh stretched so tight it was almost glassy smooth, yet moist! It stretched out, as if not wanting to release the cock embedded within! Trembling, I moved my left hand, letting my palm cup his left cheek, resting on his hot flesh, as if I needed to push there, while pulling the dick from him. I thrilled at the touch, so smooth and soft, so pliant. His cheek was hardly the size of my outstretched palm, so small and delicate looking was he. So lithe and elegant looking. Did this boy feel pleasure in having his rear plugged with this cock! No telling how long he had lain here, in a tortuosly uncomfortable position, yet he gasped sensuously as I slowly withdrew the shaft. His fluids came out with it, and that sex-filled aroma strengthened. The sides of the slightly curved organ were streaked with the fluids. Not dirty with it! I did not have that sense. I was enthralled by what I saw. As the realistically carved glans of the fake penis plopped free of Rolando's anus, the boy groaned again, louder, and a mixture of whitish-colored semen and a yellowish, lightly brownish fluid streamed down his thighs. Was that the reason Big John had plugged this boy? To keep his cum inside the boy? Still holding the 10 inch long organ in my right hand, I regained my senses at least partially, and looked around for something to clean the boy's rear. A dress lay on the floor next to the barrel, a girl's dress, small, just the size for Rolando. I wondered at this Big John, why he had kept Rolando in a dress. I stooped to retrieve it, which brought my eyes nearly on a level with the boy's bottom. His hole was still stretched, but resuming a much reduced girth - still open, still with fuck-fluids slowly dribbling from it. I saw the pinkish red insides of his anus, and the dark brown outer skin, now retracting, but still swollen. How I wanted to run my hands up and down his legs, to stroke his anus, to feel the flesh where he had been fucked, to cup his dangling little dick and balls .. If ever a boy were a work of art, Rolando was it. His legs were flexed taught, and the skin behind his knees were stretched tight, uncreasing each wrinkle in his flesh. It looked so tender and vulnerable that I wanted to kiss him there. His feet rested soles-flat on the floor, no spring or bounce left in them, apparently. He was probably exhausted from being tied there, and had lost the ability to support himself. Instead of caressing him, I stole a deep breath of his nether scent, then forced myself to rise halfway and gently dab and wipe the valley between his cheeks, being ever so careful when Rolando gasped again, and jerked his torso up involuntarily, when I touched his raw anus. "I'm sorry, Ro ... Rolando," I stuttered, embarrassed now, both by my insensitivity and my dulled reasoning. Astonished at myself, I dropped the cock to the floor. It was a beautifully carved instrument, and I had to admit that I was stimulated by just holding it, but had it been the instrument of some insane cruelty rather than one of the pleasure that this boy deserved? I dropped the dress too, and quickly stooped to untie Rolando's hands and ankles. At one point, my own cheek unintentionally brushed against his bottom. I felt an electryfying mixture of his hot, pliant flesh against my rough, bristly cheek, and the cold of the smeared leavings of his recent fucking. I was still in a state of bewilderment, one of awe, I think. This boy was so beautiful to behold, and that alone would make me tremble to be able to touch him. But I was also rescuing him from this strange . torture . that Big John had inflicted on him, and I felt a surge of sympathy and concern for him. An overwhelming desire to be so tender and gentle with Rolando, to show him by my every touch that he need not be afraid. He didn't move, after I untied him. So I gently, cautiously placed my hands on either side of his torso, cupping his ribcage, and helped him to stand upright. At first he was like a dead weight, but then he exerted himself to regain balance. I felt him test his legs, bending his knees, bouncing on them slightly. I half turned him towards me, and got my arms up higher, under his arm-pits, and let him take his time in standing fully upright. The top of his head came up to about the level of my breast, and briefly he propped his forehead against the firm mass of my pectoral. I looked down, and saw his hair was parted just like Wishus', right down the middle. The difference was like that between dark and light, however. Here were all tan and black tones, and Rolando's hair texture was thicker, but just as silky. And obviously much, much longer than that of Wishus. My lover's hair was finer, and stray wisps sometimes curled and hung in silvery-gold waves about his beautiful head. With Rolando, his ebony tresses hung perfectly straight, each follicle of hair perfectly aligned with the rest, falling in one torrent. He finally gathered enough strength to raise his head and look at me. No wonder he had passed as a girl. His every feature was so utterly fine and soft. Oriental-looking, almond-shaped eyes, under long black lashes. His eyebrows were fine and thick, almost joined above his nose by a thinner, wispy line of hair. His nose was thin, as was his face generally, and his cheeks were prominent, as in most Indians. But this boy was not just a native Mexican of Indian extraction, he must be what is referred to as `mestizo', or mixed, with Spanish blood. His lips were full and reddish-brown, highlighting the golden brown of his complexion. He held them tightly closed, as if judging me, unsure of me. His chin was relatively wide, just enough to give him a determined, rather than weak look, although still so lovely and effeminate in line and curve. A chin shaped for the cup of a man's hand, as he gently tilted Rolando's face up for a kiss .... By now I was one large tingling mass of tumescent flesh. A hardon embodied, from head to toe, my every sense enraptured with the loveliness of this boy. I looked down his body, seeing the soft lines of his chest and tummy, his nipples hidden by the stream of his hair. Down, down to his prominent, flaccid little dick, it's reddish glans just peeking from his foreskin. Those columns of his dark honey-colored thighs .... Again I felt myself enraptured by this boy. And again I had to shake myself out of the trance. "Rolando?" I said softly. "Rolando? Is that your name?" I saw a light burning in his black eyes, as he regained his composure and full awareness, but he didn't answer. He didn't push me away forcefully, but more gently I felt him turn away from me, and lower his eyes. He didn't answer. "Well, your ... brother called you that ... so ...." I waited an awkward moment, but still he said nothing. Rather he just stood there, half turned away. In shame? I wondered. Fear? Discomfort? I had to do something. We had to get going. "Ok, son, whatever your name, here's the deal. I took your brother, Metrio, away from Big John. And I can't leave him here. And now, I ... I don't want to leave you here either. If you understand me, here's what I'd like to do ... get you some clothes, get a horse, and then head out of here. I guess ... I'll take you to Santa Fe with me, and ... find someone there to take you in." I trailed off, wondering if he were understanding any of that. I had noticed a slight jerk of his head, when I said I had taken his brother away from that brute. "Come on ... Rolando," I gently placed my arm around his shoulder. "We have to get out of here," I said, nudging him forward. He complied, then hesitated, and started to reach down for the dress. "No!" I surprised myself by the vehemence of my reaction. It just overwhelmed me, a revulsion for seeing this incredible boy wrapped in a girl's rags, ones that Big John had forced him to wear. He looked up frightened, questioning, pausing in half-stoop. "Sorry, son, it ... it's alright," I hastened to retract it. Wanted to make him forget my vehemence.... "You can wear that if you wish, but perhaps you have some other clothes up in the house?" He seemed to understand, because he rose stiffly again, and shuffled out of the room, slowly testing his legs, but seeming to gain strength with each step. He saw his little brother, and let out a mournful kind of wail, upon seeing the little tyke all bruised and swelling, then stooped to hug and caress him. They hugged briefly, and then Rolando looked back at me. I saw something like bewilderment, mixed with awe, mixed with a questioning again, as if he were unsure of my motives or intentions. I'm afraid he saw that I could not keep my eyes off his bare rear - as he stooped, his long hair fell forward, and his outthrust bottom wiggled at me tantalizingly. His little anus was still loosened, still a bit swollen around the rim, but already closed completely and puckering inward. I flushed, but whatever he felt upon seeing my stare, he must have decided to ignore it, and accept me, because in the next five minutes, after I forced myself to drag my eyes from his incredible naked form, he cooperated fully with my plans. I went to the barn to get a horse and saddle, while Rolando led Metrio slowly across to the house, still testing his legs. He returned more steadily, now in another little girl dress. This one was not frilly and girlish, like the one back in the shed, but more of a simple shift, or sack-like garment, hanging from his shoulders. At least it was clean. I could have sworn I saw embarrassment in his gaze, as he met my look of wonder. I guessed he had no other clothes, that Big John had only let him wear girl's clothing. He was also carrying a carpetbag full of other items. I had no idea what, but guessed that he understood me well enough. We were leaving this place, and never coming back. I signalled to them to come on and get up on the horse, and he brought Metrio over to me, then again looked up at me with a slightly embarrassed look. But there was something more in those dark pits of his eyes than embarrassment. There was that questioning again, and a glint, a fire of something there. He suddenly let go of Metrio and turned and limped across to the shed, and disappeared inside. I went ahead and hoisted Metrio to the saddle, keeping half an eye on the shed door, wondering what it could be that Rolando wanted there. Perhaps he knew of Big John's money box or something. Well I didn't want anything of Big John's. I wanted to be clear of that man, completely, and quickly. I had just about convinced myself that I would have to tell Rolando to leave whatever he had gone back to get, when he came out of the shed walking towards us head up, staring boldly at me, almost defiantly, as if he sensed I might object, and was determined to do as he wished. In his hands he held two things. One of which stunned me - the phallus, that 10 inch long, perfectly carved and polished cock, still encrusted with his own bodily juices. The sight of Rolando clutching it along the shaft, the cock head held up tight to his chest, the balls hidden underneath his elbow, hit me deep in my stomach. The feeling passed down to my groin, and I felt a tingling there as my dick began to harden once again. For once, my mind had returned to the requirements of our escape, and the journey on from here to Santa Fe, on how I would deal with Big John if he showed up on our trail. Now it was centered once again on the memory of this huge cock buried in the anus of the little boy walking proudly, daringly, towards me. He must have seen my astonishment, must have understood what I was feeling, because his look of determination suddenly softened, his brow furrowed in a question, as if he somehow knew that he had no reason to defy me, but was not quite sure yet why. The other object he carried looked like a container, a stoppered green-glass jar, filled with some opaque, whitish colored paste or ointment. Perhaps medicine, for all I knew. Whatever it was, it was apparently important to him. He approached and held out the jar to me, as I lifted the saddle bag cover. I placed the jar inside, and looked down at him, and felt myself turning beet red in the face, as I hesitantly reached for the phallus. He again noted my consternation, and stretched up himself, to slip the tool into the bag. He smiled ever so slightly, a kind of a sly, knowing smile. As if he were in command of something that I knew nothing about. Well, I had to admit, he did. He was a fucked boy. I was a man who had dreamed of making love to a boy like him for years. He just stood there waiting now, looking up at me. I paled, then flushed red, I supppose, feeling the heat rush to my face. He was all boy. Wearing a dress, with hair hanging below his waist, but with the power of BOY over me. I gathered my senses, and held out my cupped hands, to boost him into his saddle. His soft garment brush across my cheek. I looked up to see his lustruous inner thigh almost all the way up to the darkness of his crotch, as his dress opened briefly. He sat astraddle just behind Metrio, so his dress perforce scrunched all the way up his perfectly smooth, bronzed thighs. As we rode out of the ranch yard, I finally had time to catch my breath and think, but it was impossible to take my eyes from the boys in front of me on their horse. I guessed Rolando's age at about 12. Next to Wishus, I had to admit he was just about the sexiest creature I had ever encountered. But unlike Wishus, who was all innocent loveliness, this Rolando was like a Siren, a walking, breathing, sex object, whether he consciously knew that or not. He was a fucked boy, one who had been kept by Big John as a girl. To be fucked. A boy who apparently liked being fucked, and who had safely packed away an instrument which had only one purpose. I wondered whether he was a loved boy, as was Wishus. And then I wondered, could any boy be both?