Date: Fri, 1 Jan 2021 06:14:10 +0000 (UTC)
From: Milford Slabaugh <tommyhawk1@aol.com>
Subject: You Can Call Me Brutus story

STORY SYNOPSIS: A young man in the "Wild West" era awakens in bed with no
memory of who he is.  He discovers he is on a farm inhabited only by a
young boy who has rescued him and cared for him.  He embarks upon a new
life with this boy unfettered by his past until the day the past returns to
haunt him.  Man/boy sex, with a romantic approach.


            YOU CAN CALL ME BRUTUS
            By Tommyhawk1@AOL.COM
          WWW.TOMMYHAWKSROGUEMOON.COM

     I awoke in bed with a start, sat up, and reached for my head, for I
had a booming headache!  My hand touched a bandage wrapping me from
forehead to nape of my neck, and my head ached when I touched it on the
right upper part.  I had hurt awful bad when the gunshot....
     What gunshot?  I considered the lack of definition rather perturbing,
on account if someone had taken a potshot at me, he might be disappointed
to learn I was still above the ground instead of six foot under.  I stirred
to get out of the bed and realized as I did that I was stone stark naked!
     I stopped to consider this odd event, for I never slept without my
longjohns...hmph, or did I?  So many simple facts were slipping away from
me like drops of rainwater on a slanted board.  I had seen one of those
just before...when?
     Instead of getting out of bed, I sat up and looked around.  A simple
room, not fancy enough for a hotel, more likely some rancher had found me
and taken me home with him...why would I have been found by someone, if I'd
been shot, wouldn't this be a doctor's office in a town?  Or the smaller
confines of a coffin?
     I didn't know this bed, this room, didn't remember coming here. I
heard outside the whinny of a horse, the mournful sound of a cow and
several clucks and squeals of chickens and pigs.  A farm, not a ranch,
more'n likely.  Okay, what next?  Well...who was I?
     My brain opened that page and found it blank of any hint of print.
Other blank pages were at the identities of such things as my mother or
father, other kinfolk, friends of mine, enemies, my childhood, my teenage
years, my adult actions up until the present...all of those pages, the
entire freaking book, was blank as a summer Western sky is blank of clouds.
     I made myself get out of bed and go to the window.  Just a square hole
in the wall with a shutter one could pull down to shut out the colder
winds.  I looked out at a nice piece of green land and fertile garden.  The
chickens were to the right, and to the left was a barn which held the horse
and the pigs I had heard.  Cows were further off, six or seven of them.
     I heard a deferential knock on the door.  "Ho in there!" came a young
voice.  "May I come in, I have you a bit of breakfast."
     "One minute!" I called back and flinched at the sound I had made.  I
had a powerful headache.  I got back into bed, just sitting on the side of
it with the sheet pulled over my midsection and said, "Okay, I'm decent
now."
     The door opened and a young boy came in with a bowl and spoon and a
bottle of dark brown that did not hold beer.  A tin cup held water, I saw,
the bowl held a cooked corn mush.  It smelled powerful good and I realized
I hadn't eaten a bite in...well, since then, whatever then was.
     "Howdy, stranger." the boy said as he put the tray on a small table
and tugged it to where I could eat where I was.  "How are you feeling
today?"
     "Pear't." I replied.  "Could do better if'n I didn't have this
powerful headache."  I touched the bandage gingerly.  "I can't recollect
how I got this.  You have any idea?"
     He shook his head as he used the spoon to pour me a spoonful of the
medicine from the bottle.  "Drink this for your headache." he said.  "It's
the squeezings from a willow bark, it will help your head, but you have to
be careful not to take too much of it."  He hesitated.  "My paw taught me
the recipe afore he passed on last winter."
     "Sorry to hear that." I said as I drank water to wash the bitter taste
from my tongue.  "I am powerful grateful for your help here."  I stuffed
the spoon into the corn mush and ate it, nodded.  "This is good, too."
     "Pa taught me that, too, the day afore he died."
     "Oh." I said.  "Look, kid, I apologize most sincerely but I not only
don't know who you are, I don't even know who I am."  I touched my
forehead.  "Whatever happened up here, it has addled my brains.  So I can't
do my manners here."
     He nodded.  Just nodded.  "I don't mind.  My name is Matthew.  Matthew
Johnson, Jr.  Well, I guess not Junior, not any more."
     I thought of something to take the kid out of that deep funk he was
wallowing in.  "I need something to call myself.  Why don't you pick a name
for me while I figure out what the right name is."
     He smiled at that.  "My last dog was named Brutus." he said.  "I miss
him.  Can I call you Brutus?"
     "That'll do right fine.  You can call me Brutus until we figure out
what it ought to be." I said.  "Pardon me while I get myself outside of
this fine breakfast and then if you could direct me to where my clothes
are, I'd be powerful grateful."
     "The clothes are in the other room." He said.  "I'll draw you a bath,
I got a pot of water heating up for you and a nice tub in the other room,
too."
     "I'd appreciate that." I agreed.  I could smell myself, a smell of
horses and gunpowder and blood.  Funny how I could identify things that
easily, but not know my own name!
     I ate the rest of the corn mush while I listened to him pumping water
from an indoor pump and filling the tub.  A hot bath!  Really neighborly
family this kid had.  Only...where were they?  I hadn't seen a soul yet
beside him.
     I made a sort of shroud out of the bedsheet and with that wrapped
around my nakedness, I walked out to see the next room now empty.  I heard
the boy's voice calling the chickens.  He was leaving me to my peace to
bathe.
     The water was warm only, but a Western man learns to handle the cold
water, any warmth is a plus.  I got in and commenced to scrub with a bar of
handmade soap and scrubbed my body.  I didn't find much to wash once I got
busy, my body was sweaty but mostly clean.  I suspected that someone had
washed more than my clothes for me while I lay aslumber.
     I saw a mirror in the room and when I had rinsed with the bucket of
water sitting to one side, I dried myself with the bedsheet and walked over
bare naked to look at myself.  I had to know who I was, and seeing myself
bare-assed seemed to be the way to do it.
     I looked at a rather handsome young man no more than twenty-five or
so, with a few days' beard.  My eyes were blue, my chin was cleft, and I
had a small scar along my left cheek, an old one.  Plus the bandage, but my
chest hair was a dark black and I assumed my head hair would be the same
when I got the bandage off.  I lifted the mirror and scanned it over my
body, checking it all out.  My chest was muscled, my arms were powerful,
and my dong was a right thick shaft of decent size, and I reckoned it would
stiffen up to a length that would please all the fillies I would want.
     I heard a gentle throat-clear and turned to see the boy standing at
the door.  I flushed and moved to pick up the bedsheet.
     "It's okay." the boy said.  "I already seen you when I took your
clothes off to check for more wounds.  And I washed you, three days ago."
     "I `preciate that." I said and reminded bare.  His eyes were
brightened by seeing me erect and nude (not erect that other way) and I
figured anything to bring a smile to those sweet little dimpled cheeks of
his couldn't hurt.  "But if you have finished scoping out my naked
bohunkus, could you fetch me my clothes and then tell me what you know
about me?  It's more than I know, I don't even know where I am or what year
it is!"
     He smiled.  "You're in Dakota Territory and it is April 10, 1869."
     He sat and as I dressed, he talked.  His father and he had been alone
on the ranch up until last winter when his Paw was carried off by a fever.
The boy had put his father's body in their ice cellar to keep until the
weather was good enough to let him dig a grave.  His father was now lying
up on the hill to the north of us, a short walk away.  "Paw always said
that hillside should be our family cemetery." he said.  "But he'd figured
to have more'n me and him on it then."
     "Okay." I said, sitting myself on the only other chair.  "I feel right
sorry for you, but if I could now ask how you and I got acquainted?"
     He said I had come knocking in the night five days before, with blood
running down my head and weary to the bones.  No horse or bags, just my
clothes he had given back to me.  The wound he had cleaned and bandaged was
a small furrow along four or five inches of my right skull above the ear.
He couldn't find any broken bones under it, but I had been out for loss of
blood.  He had bandaged my head, stripped me, washed me and put me in the
bed and kept watch to see when or if I'd wake up. I had for brief periods
when he had given me a bit of water and a bit of food, but I didn't stay up
very long.  Until today."
     "Do you know what did the damage to my noggin?" I asked.
     He shrugged.  "It was a bullet, I imagine." he said.  "Or something
similar."
     I said, "Kid, I mean you no harm and I am powerful grateful to you.
But if someone was shooting at me, maybe I deserved it.  If I remember who
I am, and that isn't good, I plan to hook out away no matter where I am.
Just in case that I can't remember to be grateful."
     He agreed.  "You should sleep some more now, Brutus." he told me.
"The time is near to sundown anyhow, and you will want to sleep a good deal
until you feel better."
     I did feel weary.  I took off the clothes I had just put on, hesitated
at my longjohns and took them off, too, got into bed.  I slept peaceful
without any bad dreams at all.  Whoever I was, I was safe.
     I got stronger and after a few days, I was up to helping the boy with
his chores.  He had had a handful for such a young lad, but he had kept the
farm going well enough.  After I got stronger, I mended a few fences and
commenced to studying a book his father had about animal husbandry and
proper farming techniques.  Spring, I learned, was upon us and the fields
and livestock needed tending.
     My head bandaged had become a headband around my upper head and then
in two weeks, we took it off and left it off.  My hair was too long and he
gleefully cut it for me with a pair of scissors and he did a right good job
on it.  I pretended to give him a good sized tip (I had had no money on my
body, it seemed) and he bowed as he pretend-accepted it and we laughed and
he pulled out a fiddle and I surprised myself by being able to play it
quite well.  The boy danced a happy jig and I stamped my foot along with
the tune and we had a small party to celebrate my return to full health.
     That night, I heard a small sound by the bed and wondered if it was
the sheriff (why would I wonder that?  Water running away on a board, rain
water, it had been raining as we had shot at each other...another raindrop
falling away) and sat up in bed.  "Matthew?  Are you all right?"
     He wore a long nightgown and said, "I had a bad dream.  Can I sleep
with you tonight?"
     "Sure." I told him and pulled the covers back.  Remembered I was bare
naked but I was comfortable with him by now.  I pulled the sheet back to
cover myself and said, "Your nightgown will have to cover both of us in
bed."
     "No need." he said and shucked it off to stand naked beside me.  I let
him crawl in and snuggle up into my arms and he got very, very close
indeed.  It felt the most natural thing in the world right then.
     "I've been so lonesome." he told me.  "I was so scared when I heard
the knock on the door that night.  I'm glad it was you, Brutus.  You've
been so good to me."
     "I'm right glad you found me." I told him as I stroked his soft,
smooth-as-butter back.  His own arms were fondling my back hairs, finding
the isolated stalks and tugging gently at them, it stirred my feelings
something powerful.  "I'm more than grateful to be here."
     "Please don't leave me." he said.  "Now you're better, I'm scared
you're going to leave me!"  He held me tight and shivered.
     "Then let me set your fears to rest." I said.  "On account of I can't
figure a better place for me to be than right here with you."
     He kissed me and I kissed him back. My kiss was tender and fatherly
but his was anything but.  He kissed me after I stopped and held me tight
and I found my lips opening with his and, well, what else would a man do in
that position than stick his tongue to let the boy suckle on it a mite.
His own tongue came out in turn and it tasted powerful nice to me as I
sucked it back.  His little hand found my rod poking him in his lower thigh
and he caught hold of it and fondled it and I just moaned and kissed him
more.
     You can say what you want and curse me all you want, but I tell you
true, I have never felt anything to be more sweet and more pure than the
lovemaking we did that night, Matthew and me.  I wasn't feeling anything
but gratitude and love and he needed both of them bad and I needed him bad,
too.  We knew each other to the core now, although mine was a shallow cup
indeed, and I didn't do nothing with him he didn't want to do.
     Matthew was rubbing at my muscles, like he was trying to memorize all
of them, and his kisses were also applied to identify them completely.  I
felt like he was taking tally of my entirety and I throbbed eagerly for him
to get down to the main business but refused to rush him one bit.  He
kissed and rubbed my right arm, my right breast, my left breast, my left
bicep, down my arm to the wrist and fingers, jumping over to the other arm
and feeling/tasting/rubbing it all the way down, then he returned to the
hollow just below my breasts and he kissed it and his tongue danced its way
downward.
     My cock pulsed and jerked as he drew closer, and I gasped when his
lips finally wrapped around my red, enraged prong and he sucked it
gingerly.  I whispered to him a few words of instruction on the right
process, and he followed me to the letter, and when his mouth filled with
his saliva sank down again, my delight was so intense I darned near yodeled
in my delight.  He was bobbing his little head up and down and every move
was like the beginning of a new pleasure for me, I groaned and grunted and
gasped and I felt down and caught hold of one small leg and hoisted him
around and caught his small, stiff pud as I swung the leg over my face and
I gave the little farmboy every bit of the pleasure he was giving me and
some more added for good measure.
     Then the little scamp stopped.  I sucked his little rod a bit more
then I asked him, somewhat plaintively.  "How come you stopped doing it?
You were great!"
     "Wanted you wet and hard for me." he explained as he pulled his body
upwards and stepped down the bed.  His back still to me, he squatted down
over my dong and I saw his intent and guided him to the eager glans waiting
for the tender pulsing sphincter of its destination.
     He caught the head of my rod at his first thrust and he gasped and
groaned.  "Oh, it's so big!" he moaned.  "So big!"
     "You don't have to do nothing...." was as far as I got before the boy
squatted down again, harder and this time he sent the rod into his
thrilling bowels.  "Tarnation, boy, what are you trying to do, split
yourself like a rail?" I asked.
     "Had to get it done." he explained.  "I figured it at one toss, win or
lose all."
     "You won it all, including my heart." I said.  "You tell me how slow
or fast you want me to move or if I am to lie like a dead post-log along
the barbed wire fence waiting to be put in the ground."
     "Let me start." he said.  "You can come in later once I have the dance
right."
     I held my peace with difficulty as the lad taught himself how to take
me smoothly and deeply.  Then he said with a shiver, "Okay, time for you to
take the lead."
     I pulled his young body down onto mine with my cock buried deep within
him and I rolled him over so he was pushed face down into the mattress damp
with the sweat of my long illness, and he breathed it as I began to thrust
my manhood back and forth in and out of his soft, pulsing bowels.
     He struggled only once, and that was to roll himself over on my rod so
that we were face to face and his arms went around my shoulders as I sank
down onto my elbows so I could kiss that tender face and I moved in and out
of him as softly as a kitten dances across the kitchen table, and he moved
and moaned and I sighed and groaned and he twitched and gasped and I
grunted and shoved and my moves became faster as my need intensified and
his bowels accepted me more easily and I ended my pleasure with hard deep
separate thrusts into his body, hard and fast in, slowly withdraw, then
plunge back in hard, all done in the space of a couple of seconds, and I
went, "huh, huh, huh, huh, huh" as I moved and he went "uh, uh, uh, uh, uh"
as I pierced him over and over and then his eyes widened, his mouth opened
and he let out a long, low wail and I felt his body pulsing and knew that
his little dick was trying valiantly to spurt jism but failing for lack of
ammunition, and I kissed him to give him my forgiveness and in the middle
of that kiss, my own climax struck me and I pulled off and upwards, my body
a long arc with my upper body on my hands and my legs out flat on the sheet
and I pushed deep within him and I spurted into him all my vitality, my
life, my spirit and my love.
     Holding my pose and my breath as I orgasmed, I felt my veil of
darkness lifting from me and when I was done and I laid myself upon him, I
knew who I was and where I had been and why I was here.  All if it, the
pages had filled up all at once. I sank down upon the bed next to him and
he snuggled up to me in the way of a lover instead of a boy, and I groaned
and I hoped he thought I groaned in my exhausted joy.
     The next day I insisted that we take a ride into town and get some
supplies.  He was unwilling, but I held firm and he hitched his horses up
to the wagon (he only had the two and they were draft horses for the plow
and wagon) and we rode into the small town of Hardwater Springs.
     There were murmurs as we rode and I didn't look to see who or where it
came from.  A bullet could have claimed me but the boy beside me made them
hesitate.
     I rode up to the general store where the sheriff sat and he stood and
loosened his belt holster, then released it when he saw I was unarmed.
"Howdy." he said to me.
     "Howdy, sheriff." I said to him.  "I might be expected to know you but
I took a blow on the head and it carried away everything I ever knew.  I've
been living on Matthew Johnson's place, his Pa passed away last winter, and
helping him on his farm.  I came to town to buy a few supplies, and nothing
else."
     "Right inside." he told me.
     I kept myself calm as the people gathered outside, the store held only
myself, Matthew, the storekeeper and the sheriff.  I ordered what we needed
for the farm and he took it down and then said, "And how will you want to
pay for it?"
     "If you are willing, I'd like to take it on credit and pay with the
sale of some livestock and crop in the late summer." I told him.  "My name
is Brutus.  I have no last name."
     "His last name is Johnson." Matthew said.  "He came to care for me on
the farm."
     The shopkeeper looked at the sheriff, then slowly wrote out the
receipt and I signed it only "Brutus" and gave him back the pen.  "I thank
you very kindly." I said to him.
     I turned and the sheriff said, "You ever hear tale of a William
Monroe?  Blew into town and caused a ruckus and tried to rob this very
store when he lost all his money in a poker game?"
     I kept my face calm.  "Can't say as I have.  But I reckon he was a bad
sort, and if he was, I don't want any truck with him.  You can call me
Brutus, and I'm a farmer now."
     The sheriff looked at me and said, "Welcome to Hardwater Springs,
Brutus." he said to me.  "I have a feeling you'll like it here."  He stuck
out his hand and I shook it.
     "I hope I will." I said.  "Now if you'll forgive me, Matthew and I
have to get back to the farm, the cows will want milking and we need to
feed the pigs as well."
     The sheriff tipped his hat and the crowd outside, murmuring like the
trees in a gentle wind, parted as we walked out with our supplies, loaded
the wagon and rode back.  A few of them waved goodbye, and I waved myself
in reply.
     Matthew had a long face as he looked at me.  "The sheriff called you
William Monroe?"
     "Don't recall he did." I answered.  "But if he did, it doesn't matter
any more. You can call me Brutus.  Brutus Johnson."
     "Yeah."  Matthew snuggled up to me and under my right armpit and I
drove the wagon left-handed the rest of the way back home.

[This story is a sample from my book "Boys' Toys and Men's Joys" available
for sale only at my website, the URL is below.  The book contains 20
stories with 15 illustrations as well (not this story, sorry!).  This story
has been modified slightly, in ways that do not affect the storyline
overall, in order to comply with Nifty's guidelines for publication.]

                   THE END
       Comments, complaints or suggestions?
     E-mail the Author at Tommyhawk1@AOL.COM
          WWW.TOMMYHAWKSROGUEMOON.COM