Date: Sun, 18 Jan 2009 12:27:28 -0800
From: Oregon Bear <oregonbear9@gmail.com>
Subject: Mountain Men, part 1

This historically-based story contains graphic descriptions of gay adult
male to male sexual activity.  If you find this topic offensive, or if it
is illegal for you to read this, please leave this site.

			 The Mountain Men, Part 1

	They'd been camped at the fork of the two creeks for a couple of
weeks now, long enough that they'd fashioned a rough lean to out of some of
the alders along the river bank.  Trapping for beaver had been good here,
better than they'd expected, and they were thinking about staying the
winter, and running a long trap line.
	The place was good for a winter camp, plenty of beaver, a herd of
elk, a nice flat camp site, above the high water mark, and plenty of fish
in the creeks.  With all the beaver, it seemed that no other trappers had
been through the area, and there were no signs of any Indians in the area.
	I'd left the East after the Panic of 1837, and I'd lost my job when
the banks failed.  Like other men, I ventured West, hoping to find my
riches, and make a new life.  Fur trapping was a good way to make a living,
and we didn't have to be wage slaves to the big tycoons and work in some
mill for pennies a day.  Here, we could be our own bosses, and live the way
we wanted, with no one to boss us around.
	Amos had shot an elk a couple of days ago, and we had spent
yesterday skinning it and packing the meat to the camp, where we sliced up
most of the meat into long, thin strips.  I'd stripped off a bunch of
saplings and made a large drying rack, and now the meat was drying over the
slow fire.  We'd have plenty of jerky for a couple of months now, and my
mouth watered at the thought of good elk jerky to chew on every day.
	I was cutting up the last of the elk rump for a couple of steaks
for dinner tonight, when Amos came back into camp, a couple of beaver skins
over his shoulder.  It was a warm fall day, and he always liked to go out
to check his traps wearing nothing but a breechclout.  His strong muscular
shoulders, tanned from the summer sun, flexed as he set down the skins near
the fire, his hairy chest wet with sweat from his afternoon in the woods,
checking the traps and skinning the beaver caught in the wrought iron traps
we'd bought at the last Rendezvous.
	"That creek up on the north slope is a good one for beaver, Caleb,"
he grinned.  "We could trap there all winter and make our quota for next
summer's Rendezvous.
	Caleb was the stronger one of us, his French Canadian dad and his
Sioux mother giving him the best of their breeds' strength and muscular
body.  His hairy chest and long, thick beard came from his father's side,
his curly whiskers grown now long enough to reach to his curly chest hairs,
which matted across his broad, hard chest muscles.
	The elk hide breechclout he wore showed off a bit of the hard
curves of his butt cheeks, his belt holding the hide close to the base of
his strong, tapered back.  When he turned, I admired the thick pelt of
black hair curl across his hard, lean belly and down under the soft skin of
the hide, his knife sheath pointing at an angle to the bulge of his thick
cock hidden by the soft light leather.
	I met Amos in St. Louis.  I was working my way West, not sure where
I was going to land up, and Amos had canoed down the Missouri, to get
supplies for his fur trapping.  He needed a partner, and I needed a guide
and someone who could teach me the trade.  After a week of gathering our
supplies, we headed back up the river, and eventually headed into the
mountains.  It had been two years since I'd been in a city, and the last
white men we'd seen was at last year's Rendezvous.
	"I'm fixin' to fry up a couple of steaks for supper, Amos," I said.
"We've been eatin' high off the hog with that elk you found."
	"Sounds good to me, partner," Amos said.  "This is about the best
place we've found this year.  I'm thinking we should stay here for the
winter.  There's plenty of firewood, and some good trees to fall to make a
good shelter."
	"Yeah, I agree, Amos," I replied. "There's no other place that
we've seen that seems as fine."
	"We got a couple of hours before supper.  How about we take a dip
in the river and clean up a bit," I said.
	"Sounds good to me.  I'm pretty ripe, and I'm still sweaty from
packing out that elk yesterday," Amos said.  He raised one beefy arm and
smelled his thick furry pit, the curly wet hair glistening in the warm
afternoon sun. "Whew.  I sure could use a bath."
	I shucked off my deerskin shirt and leggings, leaving me in my
leather breechclout.  I'd given up wool and cotton last year, after my wool
shirt just rotted away in the constant damp of the spring.  My cotton pants
had worn out after only a month on the river coming up from St. Louis, and
I'd grown to love the warmth and softness of a leather shirt and leggings.
The tanned hide felt good over my cock and balls, and bare butt, too,
letting my skin breathe.  I wore out a lot of moccasins every year, but
they always felt soft on my feet, now toughened by years of walking miles a
day.
	And, if I wore out my clothes, I simply shot a deer or an elk and
made my own replacements.  Amos had taught me how to skin an animal and tan
leather, soaking the skin in my own piss for a day.  One's own piss always
made the leather softer, Amos had said, and he was right.  He was right
about a lot of things, and had taught me how to live well in the mountains,
depending on my knife and my rifle for everything we needed.
	I'd grabbed a bar of lye soap from my mess kit, and we wandered off
to the river, to a nice pool formed by several large boulders.  The
afternoon sun beat down, and there was a small sandy beach at the edge of
the deep pool.  I'd caught several large trout there this morning, and now
they were being smoked and dried over the fire, next to the large racks of
elk jerky.
	We stripped off our breechclouts, and dived bare assed into the
warm, clear water, rinsing off the smoke, grime, and sweat of the last few
days.  We came to the surface, tossing our heads and flinging water off of
our long hair and thick beards, showering each other with our spray.  Amos
grabbed the bar of soap and began soaping my hair and beard, working the
clean white soap of elk fat and wood ashes from the fire pit into a thick
suds.
	Soon, he worked the bar of soap through the thick pelt of curly
hair covering my chest, and into my own hairy armpits, giving the soap a
run for its money, as he cleaned out the sweat and grime.  I signed with
pleasure, at the feel of his hard, muscular fingers tenderly working their
way through my thick hairy chest and beard, feeling his calloused palms rub
across my tender nipples, his hands pausing to circle and fondle my tender
nipples, stiffening in response to the mountain man's attentions.
	He turned me around, both of us still knee deep in the water, as he
soaped my back, and took a fistful of the rough river sand, to scour the
tanned skin of my back, and down into the crack of my butt, thick soap suds
and river sand rubbing across my butt cheeks and against the bud of the
opening of my hole.  Amos reached under me, lathering and fondling my hairy
ball sack, feeling my balls, cupping and weighing them in his hand,
stroking the tender soft skin between my balls and my hole.
	Amos scooped up several handfuls of water, pouring them over me,
rinsing the suds and sand off of my back, my beard and chest, and, then,
with another handful of water, my butt, his finger gently stroking my bud.
	"Gotta make sure you're clean, Caleb," Amos laughed.
	He turned me around again, my now hard cock striking against his
thick, hairy thigh.
	"Looks like something's sprung up, here.  We better take care of
that right now," Amos chuckled, rubbing the bar of soap the length of my
cock, coating it with thick, white suds.
	I began to lather up Amos, getting enough soap on him so that suds
began to run down through his beard and into the fur on his chest.  Thick
gobs of soap splattered across his wet fur, and I rubbed my hands through
his fur, finding his own hardening nipples, and rubbing their taut points
with my thumb and fingers, until they were hard points, sticking out of his
thick black fur.
	Amos knelt in the shallow water, and cupped my balls again with his
meaty hand, feeling their weight, caressing the wrinkled skin and the hair.
One finger moved back, circling my hole, and slowly entered me, stretching
the skin of my chute, my lover now inside of me, just a bit, tempting me.
My cock now hardened, aching, twitching in time with the rapid beat of my
heart.
	I remembered when Amos first took me as his lover, that night on
the Missouri.  We had been paddling upstream for several days, and were
finally upriver from the farms that had begun to spring up along the river.
The other trappers and soldiers returning upriver after their resupply trip
had thinned out, and we finally camped by ourselves.
	It was a tiring day, and we celebrated our first night of finally
getting some peace and quiet by sipping a little Kentucky moonshine that I
had brought.  We sat by the fire, watching the full moon come over the
river, and talked about life.  I was drunk and relaxed enough to tell the
tale of my failed courtship with the neighbor's daughter, and that I was
only interested in men.  And, part of the reason I was headed West was to
escape my own empty, lonely life and the intolerant opinions of my
so-called Christian neighbors.
	Amos then told me that in his mother's culture, the Sioux, as well
as with other native Americans, one's sexual preferences and sexual
identity was seen as a valuable aspect of one's spirituality.  A person's
sexual preferences and even their identity was viewed as a gift from the
Great Spirit.  An especially honored group, called "berdaches", were people
of mixed sexual identity, and were revered as ones who were spiritually
closer to the universe and the Great Spirit.
	Amos' acceptance of me went further, as he took me in his arms that
night, holding me as I cried.  He had told me that he had known that I
loved men when he first met me, and that he knew that we were destined to
become lovers.
	After than night, our relationship deepened, as we explored each
other's bodies, and grew to become brothers.  A month later, when we
entered Sioux country, Amos took me to a sacred butte near the river.  He
told me that I was his brother, and he wanted to be my brother.  He cut our
arms with a flint arrowhead, and tied our arms together, with a leather
thong, until our blood mixed.
	The next day, he took me to his mother's village, and proudly
announced to the village that we were brothers.  The chief gave me a
warrior's shield and bow, and the village danced all night long in
celebration of their new warrior.
	Amos' cupping of my balls and his lips wet against my hard cock
brought me back to the river, back to where my lover knelt, holding my
naked, wet, horny body next to his bearded face.
	Slowly, he took me deep into his thickly moustached mouth, rolling
down my foreskin across my now enflamed cockhead, stroking the tender
underside of my cockhead with the tip of his tongue, tasting the thin,
salty juices of my pre-cum, as he played my love flute slowly.  His meaty
hand cupped my full, aching balls, as my cum rose in me, hot, pressing
against the trigger at the base of my balls.
	His thick finger moved further up my chute, pressing and rubbing
against my prostate, both of his hands either inside of me or fondling and
stroking me, until my groin was on fire with lust.  The warm river water
ran against my thighs, the current adding its caresses to Amos' sucking and
fondling.
	The hot afternoon sun beat down on my furry chest, now heaving and
gasping for air, Amos' tongue and furry lips slowly stroking me.  My furry
pits filled with sweat from the heat of the afternoon and from my own lust,
soaking my fur, and dripping down my ribs into my groin, dripping onto the
bearded face of my lover, as he moved my hard cock in and out of his mouth.
	As the pressure built in my balls, I leaned my head back, glancing
upward to see an eagle soaring high above our river valley, its white head
glinting in the sun, its black wings outlined against the turquoise blue of
the sky.  The eagle cried out, its voice echoing across the hill, the sound
of its joy, its oneness with the world triggering my balls.  I joined the
eagle's cry, moaning and shouting, mimicking its voice of strength and
freedom.
        My cum rushed out, pumped by my thrusting hips and butt cheeks,
until my cock spewed great wads of thick, white cum into my mountain man
lover's eager, hungry mouth, filling him with my seed.
	A large strand of my white thick seed oozed out of Amos' wet mouth,
and dripped down through his thick, curly beard, mixing with the last of
the soap suds, and finally, dripped into the slow current of the river.  My
sweaty chest slowed its gaspings and pants, as I came back from my dance
with the eagle high above me.
	Amos slowly loosened his mouth's hold on my now spent, cum soaked
cock, and I felt myself slipping wetly from him, my cockhead brushed by the
thick curls of his beard.  He rose, standing next to me, rubbing his furry,
soapy chest, against first my spent, dripping cock, and then my furry belly
and chest, until he held me fast in his muscular arms, and kissed me
tenderly on my lips.
	"Caleb, you truly have the spirit of the eagle," Amos whispered, as
he held me there, the sounds of the river in our ears, as the river slowly
flowed past.

Copyright 2008.  Oregon Bear