The Heart of a Dancer

Copyrightę - 2012 -- Nicholas Hall


Heart of a Dancer - Chapter 7- "Land of Lincoln"

The late summer sun, poking just above the horizon, struggling to shed morning light on the otherwise dismal night for me, did little to brighten my spirits or encourage hope for a positive outcome for our dilemma. Thomas was gone and I feared the worse, only if he became resistive toward his abductors, otherwise I was certain their motive was to destroy his mind, his personality, and his submission to that change through a very thorough and unrelenting indoctrination.

I drained another cup of coffee, stretched my legs out in front of me, while yawning deeply, and was rewarded by my efforts from the soft voice of Malachi, "I saw a cat do that once just after devouring a mouse. Nasty shit it is - mousey eating."

My lover seemed to possess that unflagging capacity to relax me, helping me see the futility of idle gestures of worry and angst, finding something positive in every conceivable situation. Slowly shaking my head in amusement, I turned, smiled at him, and replied, "As I recall, the last mouse you sucked up into your beautiful lips was a little over six inches long, stiff, and attached to me. At the time, you didn't seem to think it was `nasty shit,' in fact you licked your lips afterwards."

He grinned shyly at me, then widely, exposing those sparkling white teeth of his, sat down on one of the chairs, and patted his lap for me to join him. Settling comfortably on his lap, well, sort of since there was this long, hot, hard object poking me in the butt, seeking a place to rest. I wrapped my arms around him and rested my head on his chest, seeking the comfort of his closeness and love. Malachi slowly maneuvered my shorts down below my knees and, using his toes, pulled them off completely, leaving me naked and hard on his lap. Lifting me, turning me so my back rested on his chest, gently nibbling on my neck, whispering his love for me, he slipped his dripping rod head to my ready rosebud, and with a gentle push, threaded the long, wide length of his cock deep into my bowel, moving, straightening that tunnel to accommodate him, as I whimpered in enjoyment.

"Malachi," I gasped as his jizzy stick sank even deeper, "what if someone sees us fucking? It's broad daylight for God's sake."

"Hush, my love," he crooned, "the yard is big and well fenced and, if you wiggle just a bit more, I'll be well hidden inside of you."

That certainly was a fact; Malachi could plumb me deep and wide with that lovely piece of healthy man-meat. Beginning with short, stimulating thrusts, raising me each time, he continued, "Every time I join with you, I'm amazed how you can take me, clear to the pubes. How do you do it without me hurting you?"

"I ... really...don't ...know," I grunted between thrusts as he increased his speed, "and... I ...really ...don't ... care. I...just ..know...I," as I rode his cock horse to Mayberry Fair. Our orgasms were simultaneous, mine spurting up and over my stomach and his creaming me from the inside, slowly trickling out around his deflating cock. Relaxing, resting on my heart's desire, unwilling to be uncoupled, I queried, "What are we going to do, Malachi, if we hear nothing today? I'm so worried about him, whether they've hurt him and what they want to do to him, and I'm angry, damned angry! My brother, Mark, is behind this, but how do we prove it?"

"I don't know how we go about proving it, but I do know we can't give up hope," Malachi rejoined. "Have a little more faith in Thomas Matt, after all he made the break and left home, seeking you out. You have to admit, that took balls as big as an elephant's. If it's at all possible, he'll find a way to beat these people at their own game and seek you out again. You've become closer to him than his own father."

Malachi was right, I needed to believe things would work out, but it still didn't cease the nagging worries creeping through my head. The house seemed empty without him. I know Micah missed him fiercely. I peeked over Malachi's shoulder and could see Micah staring absently at the television tuned to Saturday morning cartoons. In such a short time he had come to care for my nephew a great deal and they had become more than just fuck-buddies, they were lovers and incomplete without the other, much like Malachi and I.

Lunch time arrived and I fixed us sandwiches and some homemade tomato soup -- comfort food for me and, I hoped, for Malachi and Micah. Malachi was accustomed to the stresses of police work and the interminable waiting accompanying it, but Micah and I were not. After lunch, Malachi called the office and was informed two agents questioned Mark earlier and, with great reluctance on the part of my brother, secured a picture to send out over the wires. They reported they weren't satisfied with Pastor Westmoreland's responses to their questions, but had nothing they could really put their finger on. According to them, he prefaced or interjected his answers with Bible quotations. It was their conclusion he definitely needed to be asked more questions and kept under surveillance.

There was still no news by dinner time. We weren't overly hungry, but I knew we needed something. If Thomas were here he'd have fixed a snack tray to complement our "happy hour" cocktails, but he wasn't, so I fixed a pizza for us to munch on while we sipped our beverages. Micah remained quiet, withdrawn into his own world of worry, as Malachi and I were also. The ten o'clock news over, the three of us headed to bed, so badly in need of sleep, we'd probably collapse of exhaustion. Malachi and I kissed Micah goodnight and walked to our bedroom. I lingered a moment in the hall and watched Micah walk past his own bedroom door and go into Thomas' room where he'd sleep, giving himself some comfort with the lingering scent of Thomas on the pillows and bedding.

The incessant, loud ringing of the bedside telephone brought me out of the deep slumber I'd slipped into. Malachi quickly awakened and headed for an extension phone to listen in and monitor the conversation. I waited a moment and answered, "Hello?"

"Uncle Matt, it's me, David."

I quickly looked at my watch, noticing it was almost midnight. "Yes, David, I'm listening."

"He escaped from them," Oh, my God! Thomas got away and immediately a dozen questions entered my mind that I wished to ask David, but I waited for him to continue. "some place down in Southern Illinois about three hours ago. I overheard Dad talking on the phone to someone. Man, is he pissed. They're searching for him, but they can't do too much or they'll call attention to themselves. There were two cops here earlier today asking all kinds of questions. They didn't ask me any. I just listened from the top of the stairs. Dad is really nervous -- those guys were from the State B.C.I. -- the big dogs!"

"David," I interrupted, "where are you now? It's very late."

"Don't worry, Uncle Matt, I'm in the closet in my bedroom."

"David, if your father discovers your calls to me on the phone bill, there's going to be hell to pay for you."

"He won't, I'm using one of those cheap cell phones with prepaid minutes you buy at one of those dollar stores."

I breathed a sigh of relief. This boy had some smarts and moxie to go with it. "You're a good lad, David, and I love you for it. David, only use your cell phone to contact me if you have something you think I need to know or if you are in danger. Do you understand what I'm saying?"

He was very quiet for a moment, almost deathly quiet, until he asked, "Uncle Matt, in case I have to leave like Matt did, can I come and live with you?"

"In a minute, sweetheart, so don't worry about that. You just stay safe, O.K?"

"O.K. Bye, Uncle Matt," and the phone became silent.

Malachi returned to the bedroom, bringing Micah with him. Micah was awakened by the phone also and was standing in the hall listening to my side of the conversation with David. Anxious to know what happened, he sat patiently on our bed as I relayed what David said.

Malachi, addressing Micah and me, nodded in thought, "There's hope now; he's loose and he's smart. We don't know if he's hurt, but we have to believe he'll be fine. I'm going to call this in as an anonymous tip so our boys and the Illinois guys have a head's up. Before I do, I must ask, Matt, do you think David is in any physical danger? Because if he is, I need to take some action to protect him."

Shaking my head slowly, thoughtfully, "I think not; he appears to be pretty level headed for a fourteen year old. I think he's astute enough to head for a "hidey hole" before something happens. However, it doesn't mean we won't have to act on his behalf sometime in the future. You know what I mean?"

Malachi knew too well what I meant. Mark Westmoreland and his family needed to be kept under a very close eye. Malachi scratched his head, announcing, "I'm going to call the office with this tip so they can pass it on to Illinois authorities and give them a heads up. Thomas' photo has been sent electronically to law enforcement in neighboring states, so Illinois will have it on file and out to troopers and local police departments."

Our home phone land line began ringing while Malachi was on his cell phone. Answering it, I was rewarded with the familiar and welcome sound of Thomas' voice. "Uncle Matt, it's me Thomas." The relief, joy, and burdensome weight lifting from my shoulders almost overwhelmed me as I heard him speak. "Thank, God, Thomas," I sputtered, "where are you? Are you safe?"

"Just as safe as if I was in the arms of Jesus, Uncle Matt. I'm sitting in an Illinois State Trooper's squad, using his cell phone."

"Where are you in Illinois?" I queried. Thomas said something to the Trooper and answered, "South of Mt. Vernon and we're heading toward his district headquarters. They want to ask me some questions. I'll tell you all about what happened when I get home. Can I talk to Micah, please?"

Handing the phone to Micah, I looked toward the door as Malachi entered the room, announcing, "They found him!" and I pointed to a grinning Micah, tears running down his brown cheeks in joy and relief as he and Thomas talked.

"When you're done, Micah," Malachi said, "I need to speak to the Trooper."

Micah handed the phone to his brother and we stood quietly while Malachi visited with the Trooper. When he finished, he turned to us, "Illinois will debrief Thomas and that'll take some time. He'll want something to eat and perhaps be checked over by a medical doctor. Our office will cut out-of-state travel orders for three agents to bring Thomas back to Des Moines. They'll quiz him and record what he says on the way back while everything is fresh in his mind. Once back in the State of Iowa, we'll be able to have him home. The questioning won't stop for a while since the office will continue to pursue any leads Thomas can give them."

Thomas would be tired, but he would be home sometime Sunday evening. Micah paced the floor waiting for Malachi and Thomas to come home. When the state car finally pulled in the drive, Micah raced to the door and out before I could get out of my chair. Thomas bounded from the car and the two young lovers embraced, kissed, and welcomed each other's presence.

I finally pulled them apart long enough to give Thomas a hug and a kiss, welcoming him home. It was late and I suggested Thomas take a shower, get a good night's sleep, and we could hear all about his adventure in the morning. Malachi and were preparing for bed and, hearing a slight moan from Micah's bedroom, I stepped across the hall and peeked in the partially open bedroom door. Micah's brown, lithe, and naked body, contrasted with Thomas' paler, lighter, naked back, as Thomas, face down on the bed, whimpered in pleasure each time the firm, brown globes of Micah's ass clenched as he pushed his long cock, deeper and deeper in Thomas' anal canal. I quietly pulled the door shut, knowing it wouldn't be the only time that night the two of them would enjoy each other.

Thomas insisted on fixing breakfast the next morning, rested he claimed, but from the way he stood, first on one foot and then the other, part of him had been used for pleasure by something larger than what I was used to with Malachi, and the way he looked at Micah, it was pleasure given and pleasure received. While we drank our coffee, Thomas began the narration of his abduction.

"The minute I opened the front door, I knew what those two characters were up to and what was going to happen. They grabbed me and I fought and shouted for you, Uncle Matt, but they were dragging my ass toward the van before you could say, `fuck me little Jesus'. I could hear you screaming something as you came down the sidewalk and when you hit the one bastard on the arm, I heard it break. Your second shot to his head dropped him, but the first guy, the bald-headed fucker, kept a firm grip on me. I didn't see the third guy until he zapped you with the stun gun. I think he intended to zap me in the back, but I twisted at the last moment and he got me in the lower groin, paralyzing me, and causing me to piss my pants. That didn't please them one bit. Once I was in the van and the injured fucker stuffed in with me, the bald-headed dude straddled me on the seat, clipped my wrists together with a plastic tie, blindfolded me with a black cloth, and forced me to the floor."

"Once I was immobilized, he turned his attention to his injured comrade. He must have had some medical training because he splinted the arm, bandaged the head, and told him to swallow something. I'm certain it wasn't his dick so I assumed it was pain killer of some sorts. You didn't hurt his head as bad as you might have thought, Uncle Matt; you're really not very strong yet. We'll have to work on that."

I had to agree with him there. The only parts of me that had received real extensive workouts since physical therapy after my shooting were my cock and butt from constant adoration and attention by Malachi. Thomas stopped long enough to take another sip of his coffee and surreptitiously under the table, secured Micah's fat dick in his hand, for comfort and security, I should think. Micah looked pleasantly secured, at any rate and not about to go anywhere soon, unless he would erupt from the warm hand wrapped around his loaded cannon.

"There was more blood on him than damage I gathered from the conversation. He was really pissed and gave me a couple of jabs with his foot, then complained because I smelled of piss. I didn't think that was very Christian of him. I figured my best bet for survival and possible escape would be to remain passive and compliant."

"He began complaining about his arm and was told it wouldn't be long until they would be close to some medical attention for him. He continued to complain, until the guy gave him another pain pill, then he fell asleep, I think -- at least he quit his bitching. After traveling for several hours, it's difficult to judge the time, the guy in the front seat started talking on his cell phone, explained the situation with the injured dude, and said, "We'll meet you there" and hung up. Perhaps an hour or so later, we pulled off on a gravel road and stopped. The van door opened and someone else muttered something about his injury and they moved him out of the van. That same different voice asked, "That him?" and got no verbal response. The guy in the front seat, hustled me out outside, asked if I had to take a leak and when I told him yes, he unzipped my pants, reached in the fly, pulled out my cock, and told me to go. I did and when I finished, he stuffed it back in my pants, zipped me up, and loaded me. When they laid me back down on the floor of the van, I discovered I could maneuver my hands more freely than before."

"They stopped several times for gas and a couple of times for food. One always got out, purchased the food, and they ate on the way. I wasn't included in the food department. I guess they figured if I was kept hungry I'd be less able to cause any problems. We finally came to a four lane highway, according to the sounds I heard of the traffic and the van traveling on the concrete. By then, I'd slipped the blindfold up enough to notice it was dark outside, so I slowly wriggled around until I could slide my pocket knife out of my left pocket. Those dumb shits didn't bother to search me and take it away or even relieve me of my billfold. Once my hands were free and I could see a little, I noticed a fire extinguished tucked under the front driver's seat."

"We stopped at a rest stop, parking in the truck lot in a place where it'd be hard to look in the van, the bald-headed guy got out, went inside and did his business. Once he returned the driver left. I counted to thirty and began moaning as if I was in pain. The bald-headed guy leaned over the seat and asked what was wrong. When he did, I said, "Not one fucking thing, asshole," and squeezed the trigger on the fire extinguisher, sending a strong blast of powdered chemical into his eyes and on his face. I was out of that van quicker than two bunnies fucking. There was a corn field behind the rest stop and headed for it. Nothing like a corn field to hide an Iowa boy, I thought and I was correct. I could hear the bald-headed dude howling for water, evidently the chemicals bothered his eyes, such a shame. I expected them to start searching right away, but they didn't. I think they were waiting for someone to come help them. I stayed hidden for a while and noticed an Illinois State Trooper's squad pull in. When it did, they casually drove the van back on the Interstate as if nothing had happened. Once they were out of sight, I high-tailed it for the trooper and here I am."

"Did they say anything which could give you a clue who they are, where you were going, or who was responsible for your abduction?" Malachi asked.

"Nothing; Uncle Malachi, no mention of names, places, or anything. If I was willing to bet, I'd bet my Dad was behind the whole thing, but there's no proof."

Linking my brother Mark to the incident would be difficult, if not impossible, unless we involved David. It was a risk I wasn't willing to take at this time and neither was Malachi. He and Micah remained silent, offering no suggestion of involving David, or the phone call we received. All of that would come out in due time, but this wasn't the time or place. We were just happy to have Thomas back home. What happened to him, however, made us all more aware of our surroundings and increased our vigilance, wary of another attempted capture.

The few days before classes started for Thomas and Micah were busy ones. There were clothes to purchase, books to buy, and other necessary items for the beginning of the fall term. When classes actually began, both boys were more than ready to attend. Micah often drove Thomas to class and picked him up when his schedule allowed it. It gave them time together and also ensured Thomas wouldn't be alone. Those two were quite a pair and loved each other as much as Malachi and I loved each other. Although there were no indications of any activity toward Thomas, it seemed wise not to leave him alone, since we were positive Mark hadn't given up his quest.

Our household settled into a pleasant and comfortable routine of college classes, police work, house work, and substitute teaching. The occasional call for an elementary substitute teacher would come my way a couple of times per week and since everyone else was gone during the day, I often would take the calls and work. The dollars came in handy since there were now four of us and not just the three. The money allowed us to do some of the "little extras" that we wanted to do for the boys.

In mid-October, on a Wednesday when Thomas had no afternoon classes and Micah did, Thomas and I decided to fix a nice dinner of baked Iowa chops, a side of stuffing or dressing, a salad, and a peach cobbler for dessert. Micah arrived home around four or so and when he did, Thomas put the chops in a slow oven and went to their bedroom to "help him change clothes." Alone in the kitchen, I was going to wash and toss the lettuce for a salad when the doorbell rang. When I answered it, I was greeted by a greying black man with two young boys, each carrying a duffle, beside him.

"May I help you?" I asked, looking over the two boys who both looked like they needed a bath, clean clothes, and something to eat.

"Who are you?" he demanded.

Before I could respond he pushed me aside, motioned the two boys inside, and further demanded, "Where's Lila?"

Lila was Malachi and Micah's deceased mother, but I wasn't about to tell some stranger who just barged into our house that. In fact, I was going to call the police.

"I think you need to leave," I said matter-of-factly, "before I call the police."

"Don't even think about it asshole," he snapped, "Now, tell Lila to get her ass out here."

"Just who the hell do you think you are," I growled.

"I'm her fucking husband, that's who."

To be continued.


Thank you for reading Chapter 7 -- "Land of Lincoln" from "The Heart of a Dancer."  I hope you enjoyed it and I invite you to follow "The Heart of a Dancer" to its eventual conclusion.  Other stories of mine can be found at:

Nifty- Beginnings - "Table Number Five" -- January 18, 2012

Nifty- Beginnings -"The Carpenter and the Piano Man" -- January 24, 2012

Nifty-Beginnings -- "Gillie" -- January 31, 2012

Nifty-High School - Sheldon's Nutshuckers

                                    "The Stinky Pinky" -- February 14, 2012.

                                    "The Head of Medusa" -- March 8, 2012

Nifty- Beginnings --"Last House on the Left" -- February 21, 2012

Nifty-College -- "First of May" -- February 29, 2012

The Literary works of Nicholas Hall are protected by the copyright laws of the United States of America and are the property of the author.

Positive comments are welcome and appreciated at: