Date: Sun, 14 May 2017 17:07:15 -0400
From: Orson Cadell <orson.cadell@gmail.com>
Subject: Off the Magic Carpet 11

Please see original story
(www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/military/off-the-magic-carpet/) for warnings and
copyright. Highlights: All fiction. All rights reserved. Includes sex
between young-adult and adult men. Go away if any of that is against your
local rules. Practice safer sex than my characters. Write if you like, but
flamers end up in the nasty bits of future stories. Donate to Nifty
**TODAY** at donate.nifty.org/donate.html to keep the cum coming.

*****

I thought he'd burst with pride when Gunny laughed, "Come on, Bull, have a
smoke. On me, stud." A dozen cowboys were rolling around in laughter a
minute later as a very green Bull tried desperately not to puke his guts
out after a long, ill-advised pull on one of Gunny's vile cheroots. Yeah,
this was a crew we could work with.

*****

Off the Magic Carpet 11: Different Answers to One Question

By Bear Pup

"Um, D-D-Daddy? Can I, uh, have a minute?"

I was coiling rope in the tack space of the New Barn. The Lohmans were
riding the 501 doing a headcount with Kent, Buff and Archie & Ollie --
which should be written as a single word, Archie-n-ollie. There is a reason
that nine guys could sleep comfortably in a ranch-house that fit eight; the
brothers slept in a single bed and always had. Since no one knew what
'normal' was for identical twins, no one raised an eyebrow. Anyway, nearly
all of the guys had slept with a brother (or three) until they left home.

Smitty, Doug, Slim and the newly-named (and very strutty) Bull were riding
our own ranch doing the same. I knew that Stu was cooking super; dinner
(lunch today) had been cold cuts since it was just him, me and my
son. Gunny was in Moline to find a haybaler, preferably one of the
International Harvesters. The twine on those bales could be cut with a
knife. It was more likely to spill than the new wire-baler from John Deere,
but wire cost real money and cut you far too easily.

That left no one near the Big House but me and J--Sammy. DAMN! I almost
banished the whole JoJo thing, but when he asked in such a timid little
voice it popped back.

"Any time of the day or night, son. What's up?"

He insinuated himself into the barn, obviously worried by something.

"Uh, sir, you said I, well, I could ask you, er, anything?"

I pulled him into a hug then sat him beside me on that bale. "Sammy, you
never even have to ask." I smiled, trying to lighten the mood. "If you gone
and killed somebody, I might need some lead time for the cleanup, son, but
anything else? Just ask!"

"DadDEE! God!" He squirmed in my arms. "It's nothing like that. I, well,
I..." He sighed. "And you swear, SWEAR you won't tell anybody, right?"

I frowned, "Sammy, you're starting to worry me. Are you in trouble?"

He muttered in a voice that he could not know I was able to hear, "Not
yet."  He sighed deeply. "Daddy, I'm worried about Kent."

I frowned more deeply. "Why, son? What's wrong? Is he okay?"

"Yeah," he wouldn't look at me, only at his boot-toe drawing figure-eights
in the dust. "He'll *say* he's okay but he's not. I hear him crying and
it's so sad. And I can tell he's all hepped up about the hands, especially
Smitty, but whenever he looks he gets all dreamy then looks so terrified,
like he's scared to even breathe, and then he cries when no one is
looking. I want... oh, Daddy, I don't know. I just don't want him sad like
that."

I hugged him tightly to me. My son was not only becoming a man, but a good
one. It hurt him that his friend was in pain and hurt more that he couldn't
figure a way to help.

"Sammy, there are some things you can't fix, son. I know that hurts, but
it's true. This one, though, this one... If you're right and Kent is scared
by what he's feeling for other ranch hands, for guys, maybe you can help
him more than you know." Sammy's big, beautiful eyes met mine.

"Sammy, have you ever had to woo someone? To get them to admit that they
wanted, you know, something more?"

He blushed hard and dropped his head. I chuckled.

"Well, that's one way to answer. I'm betting that every guy so far that you
set your cap to fell into your arm -- and crotch --" he punched me for
that, "as soon as you smiled. Kent's not going to do that son. He's scared
and worried and ashamed and confused. You'll have to *work* for this,
Sammy, and probably work hard."

My son sagged into me and I hugged him tighter still. "But I don't know
HOW!" he quietly wailed.

I spoke softly, surely, "And that's what I'm here for, son." He looked up
at me, hope and doubt both clear in the look he gave me. "Sammy, be honest
with me, son. How much of this is you wanting that hunky cowboy to be
interested -- you seeing what you want to see -- as opposed to what you
really saw and what that boy is really wanting?"

"Oh, Go--GOSH, Daddy."

"Okay, stop right there. You want to be Sammy and be treated like a man?
Stop trying to be a prissy schoolboy. Fuck, shit and goddamned, son, say
what you mean." He laughed out loud.

"Well, hell, then!" he tested his new limitless limits, "Kent is really
hurting, Daddy. His mouth falls open when the guys so much as scratch and
he runs and hides when they shower. He's scared to death that they'll see
his full, um, well..."

I smiled slyly, "You watched him go hard, didn't you my little horn-dog?"

"Yeah! I said it; Yeah! He's so beautiful and big and shy and quiet
and... Oh, hel-- heck-- HELL! I really like him, Daddy, but he's so upset
and worried and crying and hurting! What do I DO?"

I thought for a moment, a couple of ideas falling into place. "First of
all, let's talk in generalities, son. How do you woo and treat a virgin, a
person, male or female, who's scared and shy and worried and afraid? My Dad
gave me a lot of pointers on this, and I'll give them to you." I walked him
toward the Old Barn, and he immediately noticed the direction.

"Oh, GOD, not another BARN talk!?!"

I laughed hard at that. "Actually, yes, but you're not being punished this
time. By the way, how did the long-delayed reunion with Ray work out?"

"Oh. My. God. Ray went nuts! I thought I'd really hurt him with the whole,
you know, me riding Blaze him riding me thing, but afterward he turns to me
with murder in his eyes and hollers, 'Now, shut up and giddy up!' Oh fuck."
The last two words were as small as Sammy's eyes were wide. I just laughed
hard and long.

"Good. I own this ranch. I *AM* this ranch. Hiding and lying are Really Bad
Plans, son. You and Ray both needed that lesson. I'm guessing it will be a
cold day in hell before you pull that crap on me again, right?" He nodded
frantically.

I was still chuckling "Okay. Kent is a great kid, son, a really great kid."
I walked him into the cool dimness of the barn and we sat. "The first
lesson is gonna hurt the worst. You can't always help people, even the best
of them. And for a lot of them, even if you can help, sex or even love
isn't the way. You okay with that?"

"NO! No, I'm not okay! I've GOT to be able to help him, Pa!" Pa, not
Daddy. I sighed a little tiny part of me died and another, the part proud
of the man my son was becoming, crowed. "He needs love, Pa! He needs it!
And I want to *give* it, Pa, I really do!"

I pulled him close to me. He was close to tears. "Sammy, what you want and
need are not always what others do. You need to help Kent, son. That's
strong and noble and it makes me so proud. But that doesn't mean it's the
same as what *he* needs. Also -- and I know you don't understand this --
some people don't care for or even accept the kind of love you want to
give."

"But WHY?" Oh, God, the eternal and unanswerable question. Poor kid.

"Let me ask it this way. Let's say you're kicking a fencepost and furious
over the fact that Kent is hurting and you can't help cuz he won't let
you. Got that image? Okay, now a couple Mormons come up and see how upset
you are. You with me? They say that they can make it all better if you
follow their religion. What do you do?"

"Before or after I kick their asses off the ranch?"

I laugh. "But don't you see? They *know* what you need (according to the
way the see things) and the very idea makes you mad. The way they see the
world doesn't *work* for you. Can't you imagine that the way you or I see
it might not work for someone you care about?"

"No!" He grumped.

"Okay then. Fine. I got chores to do." I wasn't about to try and pound
something into Sammy's head if he was just going to refuse to hear it.

"Wait! Okay. Yeah. I can see that what might work for me might not for
Kent. But I've got to do SOMETHING, Pa!"

I sighed, deep and long. "I know, son. I know. It almost hurts worse seeing
someone we care about in pain than being in pain ourselves, doesn't it? The
first thing is to be there for him, and let him tell you (with words or
not) what he needs you to give. For some folks, especially some men, having
a true friend there for them is what it takes, what they need most."

"I'm always there for him, and I'll beat the cr--" He blushed hard.

"The word is 'crap' son."

"And I'll beat the CRAP out of him if he doesn't know that." He scowled at
me.

"He looks up to you, Sammy. Did you know that?"

"Huh? That's stupid! He's big and strong and everything. What do you mean?"

There was a sad smile in my voice. "I hate to break it to you, and hate to
admit myself, but Sammy, you're a man now, too. You're not as much of a
Hoss as Kent, but there are a lot of reasons another guy would look up to
you. It makes me so proud, son, to say that you are the most fiercely-loyal
guy I've met since the war. You'd take someone apart that messed with Ray,
wouldn't you."

"Hell, Yeah!"

"And Kent?"

"Even more, cuz Ray can take care of himself!"

"Sammy, a lot of guys couldn't or wouldn't, especially for a guy they
hardly knew like Kent. You didn't even go to the same school, did you?"

"We did last year when I started High School, and we went together all of
Primary." Primary schools, in the rural Kansas of the 30s and 40s, were
your basic one room schoolhouse complete with spinster schoolmarm. Every
kid went, period, until they turned 12. Then (at least for families who
could) the sons and most daughters would go to Secondary but it was up to
the parents. They were called 'consolidated' schools and there were a few
per county. At 14, the kid could choose to leave (generally around the 8th
year) whether the parents wanted it or not. The last three years, kid
roughly 15 to 18, they went to the High School. In the rural areas, there
was generally one per country. All of that was changing quickly already,
especially in areas closer to real cities.

"But were you real close?" I asked. He scowled again and kicked a pebble.

"No," he grudgingly admitted. "cuz Kent had all the sport guys and I tended
to the 4H. But I wanted to!"

"So, tell me. If you saw one of the Townies, say a kid your age but small,
getting pushed around, what would you do."

"Well I'd stop it!"

"If the guys were bigger than you?"

"Even faster, cuz they could really hurt somebody!"

"That's what I mean by being proud, son. Sammy, most guys would take a
minute and see what the odds were. And if there was a reasonable chance
they'd get whooped, they'd walk away. Some would even cheer it on, God
knows why but it happens. You want to help Kent because it's RIGHT,
son. And I think he senses that. It's part of why he looks up to you."

"But he DOESN'T! Why WOULD he?"

"Sammy, you're a smart kid. Don't play dumb, son. You two have shared
chores and ride-outs, right? When you two were working, did Kent say,
'Let's do this. Let's do that.' or did he wait and see what you did."

It was like I was asking him to explain why the sky was up. He just looked
at me and thought. His voice was contemplative, "He waits. He always asks
me the best way and I really have to convince him to show me something when
I see he does it better."

"He respects you, son. Sadly, that makes this even harder."

"Harder? HOW?"

I sighed again and stared off in the middle distance. "You said that you're
pretty sure that Kent is watching and wanting the guys, right? You 100%
certain, or is it *possible* Kent's just embarrassed to get hard -- like
all boys will if there's a stiff breeze -- and doesn't want them to see?"

"Wellllllll, I guess not certain-certain..."

"Then here's why it's so much harder to do what's right, son. He may
really, really want you to be, you know, really close and explore
sexually. Or he *might* just really need you as a buddy to help him through
a rough patch. He looks up to you, I've seen it. Tell me what you think
happens if someone who really looks up to another man but just needs some
support and the person they look up to turns it to fooling around? A man
who never thought about or wanted to touch another guy? What happens?"

Sammy's eyes got big and he looked horrified, "Oh, God, Daddy! You mean I
could make it worse!?" Hmm, back to Daddy when something scary pops
up. Interesting but not surprising.

"There's nothing more fragile than a boy becoming a man. Yeah, you can make
him hate himself, Sammy. Now stop that! Stop it right now! I know you
won't, but you have to KNOW it's possible, son. You can't just blithely
waltz in and assume it's all perfect. I'm pretty certain, though, that what
you want to give is what Kent really needs."

"What? Why? How?"

Sigh, "Son, Sammy, I told you. I *AM* this ranch. I watch everything, son.
I can still be wrong -- anyone can -- but that boy is scared to death NOT
to get closer to you, and about to wet himself over the idea you might say
no!"

The look of utter confusion was almost comical.

"So here's where you are: You want to get Kent to open up and explore with
you. Kent is terrified, petrified that you'll think he's sick or twisted
because that's what he wants more than anything. If you come out and
suggest anything, he'll be certain you're just toying with him and crawl
deeper into his shell. If you ignore it, he'll be ninety before he touches
you."

"So what do I DO?" It was an actual wail this time.

"Was the first time you thought about Ray -- you know, like *that* -- when
you saw him at the South Pond?"

He looked at me. "No. Course not. I'd always been close to Ray and his
stories. And then I, well, you know, started," Sammy looked down and
blushed but pushed through, "cumming and all, I started to really watch
him, like, all the time."

I watched as he started to reminisce. "He'd still tell me stories, but I'd
make sure to snuggle in tighter and see if I could get him with his shirt
off. He smelled soooo good. And I watched him p--" He glanced at me,
blushed harder, and continued, "pissing and how long he shook them drops
off. And he took long, long showers after the other hands were done. Oh,
man, I wanted him so bad. And working next to him? Every time he touched
me, brushing shoulders or whatnot, I'd rail so quick sometimes I'd yelp! I
told you I stalked him for a week before I finally caught him out at the
South Pond, right?" He looked up and saw my wide, knowing smile. "What?"

"Tell me, son, before you came into your seed and your balls dropped, how
often did Ray tell you stores with you leaning against his bare chest?" He
thought then shook his head. "And I'm betting that he used to shower with
the guys, quick as any, right, before then? Never really smelled gamey when
you sat around? And he stood right up to the tree when taking a leak
before?" Sammy was slowly nodding. "Ray played a long game, son. He needed
you to move on him, especially since you're the boss' son. All that was
bait, Sammy, to get you looking once you were old enough to really care!"

"Well that bastard! Oops."

"No, on two counts. One, no oops necessary. Second, what would you have
done if'n he'd come up to you one day and said, 'Come on, Sammy, let's go
get nekkid and fool around.' What would you have done?"

He smiled and nodded. "I'd'a run screaming the other way knowin it was a
trap or shame me, or worse and I was gonna get my as kicked."

"So, use that big ole High School brain of yours. What does that tell you
about what you can do to help Kent out?"

He stared at me a long, long time. He then did something that shocked the
hell out of me. He leaned up and gave me a kiss on the cheek and said,
"Thank you, Pa. Thank you. You are the bed dad a kid could have. I love
you, Pa. I got work to do on this, but thank you for teaching me." He
wandered off.

I sat stunned, rubbing my cheek. Yeah, JoJo was gone. Those were the words
of a man and no mistake. I heard the hands rumble back in and sauntered
over to the New Barn as they brushed down and curried their mounts, filling
the water and oats in the stalls. I stood and watched. I knew the crew over
at the 501 would be another day or even two, so I watched Slim, Doug,
Smitty and Gordon... now Bull. I smiled as I watched them. There was
unfinished business here.

I joined the banter and got the news, the count was off but not be enough
to worry. We'd run the gullies the next day for the four strays they didn't
see. Odds were one was dead, snakebite or broken leg. The others were just
quietly chewing up the scenery. The guys decided on a shower first and rest
after, but I put a hand out. "Bull, you got a few? Nothing bad, just want
to get to know the new hands some more." I nodded to the others who headed
off toward the washhouse without another thought. Bull walked with me.

When he saw the destination was the Old Barn again, he get hesitant. "Um,
Boss? This ain't about, you know, yest-i-dee? 'm'I in trouble?"

"God, no, son. Would I be calling you Bull if any of that upset me? No,
just wanted to chat and I love the cool of the Old Barn. Less dust and
horse farts."

I took him to what I was beginning to this of as 'my bench' and we
straddled it and I lit up a smoke. I started to offer Bull one and saw him
swallow a few times. Obviously the memory of the disgusting cheroot from
the day before was still fresh. I tucked the smokes into my shirt and ask
Bull about himself.

He babbled a bit at first, clearly still terrified. I made all the right
noises and we chatted about Boot Camp. We'd both been Mobbed in Fort Riley,
though at different camps. Didn't matter. Same stories, same sergeants,
same food, same endless procession of assholes and elbows.

"So you were, what, 17 when you joined?"

"Yessir. Used an eraser on my birth certificate and made '28 look like '26
and they never so much as blinked." No kidding. They would take anything
with a swinging dick by 1945. No one knew about the Bomb, and everyone
assumed we'd have to fight our way up the Home Islands man by man. The body
count would have been inconceivable.

"I was, oh, 27 when I got called up in 42. Damn," I scratched my balls
luxuriantly, "it was hell with no, well, recreation or privacy. Must have
damn near killed a 17-year-old! How'd you cope?"

Bull blushed brightly and smiled slyly, "Well, I guess you already know
after yest-i-dee." I laughed.

"Yeah, but I don't recall any Old Barn at Riley."

"Well, truth told, I did it in my rack mostly."

"Damn, son! How? I recall a few guys tried it but a big ole pole got
rack-mates' attention!"

Bull frowned and I saw I'd hurt him in some way. He turned to the side and
looked straight down and near whispered, "You heard what that evil bastard
told everybody same as me." He looked at me to see if I was teasing him,
and all he saw was confusion.

"No, son, I don't. What did that fucker say that I missed? And why did it
hurt'cha, Bull?"

He let out a long, shuddering breath. "You won't call me Bull after you
hear it." He was literally snuffling back tears. "He said, he told
ever-body, he said I got a t-t-tiny little pecker and that I was a, a
p-p-pervert."

"Well, Bull, I don't know pervert from persimmons, but what the fuck does
the size of your pecker have to do with anything?"

"I ain't GROWED! Do I have to spell it out?" he sobbed. I pulled him into a
cowboy shoulder-hug.

"Quiet down, son. Shh. No one on my ranch is ever, ever gonna make fun of a
man for anything about their body, son, and you're no exception. I know
you've 'growed' cuz I can hear in your voice your balls done dropped a long
time ago, and there's no way even the damned Army Surgeons woulda missed a
detail like that."

He mumbled and still leaked tears.

"What was that, Bull?"

"And I ain't never bedded a woman and I don't think I can!" He was bawling
now, like many a soldier I'd known when the world was just too unfair to
fight any more. I soothed him until the worst had passed.

"You're not even 20, son, there's lots of time. And you don't need a big
dick to marry and have kids. Hell, lots-a women wouldn't mind at all, and
lovemaking isn't about size, or even about that part! Calm down son. You
can still bed a woman and make her happy!"

"NO! No! I don't mean cuz a that. I mean I c-c-c-c-c..." Ohhhhhhh. All I
could really think was 'Well, right ranch for it.'

"Bull, look at me, okay? Please?" He did and I could see flat panic in
them. This was a colt ready to bolt. "You don't have to want a woman to be
a man, son, certainly not in my books." The shock in his face was almost
scary.

"What Slim said yesterday is right with me, son. You do your work (and you
carry a lot that your weight, son, and I know it), respect the other men,
never force anyone, never involve children or livestock and don't ruin the
tack -- other than that, what two people... two men or even one alone, does
in private is not only none a my business, I'll kick anyone who says
different off my ranch. We clear?"

"No. Uh, no. What are you saying?"

"I'm saying you keep up the good work and you can fool around with yourself
or any man on this ranch and I. Do. Not Care. You want to yank out a load,
do it in private unless someone else want to join. That someone wants to
join, I don't care either, and don't care what you do with each other as
long as everybody agrees aforehand."

He just gaped at me, still trying to wrap his brain around my words. I
sighed long and deep. "Bull, you use neatsfoot on your tack?"

He shook his head as if to shoo a fly. The change of subject jarred his
brain loose a little. "No! It plumb ruins the tack. I was wondering..." His
eyes grew a little.

"You was wondering why we've got so much of around the ranch? When nobody
uses it for tack? Yeah, Bull, you just give that some thought, son. I'll
tell you this, though. A week or two ago, I did all but shove a can in to a
young ranch-hand's mitt and told him to go have fun with, well, let's just
say someone similarly inclined."

He wasn't breathing. I knew eventually he would though. I turned and walked
toward the outside. I got to the door and had a thought and turned. "By the
way? A tiny cock is a hell of a lot easier to suck, Bull. Give that a
thought as well." I knew that penetrated; not only did he start breathing,
it was in the eh-eh-eh-eh cadence that said to all the world, 'Get outta my
way or get ya'self sprayed!' I chuckled my way back to the Big House as Stu
rang once, telling everyone supper would be in about ten minutes. I
wondered if Bull would be late. Nah, I thought, ten minutes is more than
enough for a guy in his state. Bull was at the table with a crooked,
confused and very happy smile... in a tad under eight.

<eof>

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Active storelines, all at www.nifty.org/nifty/gay...
Canvas Hell: 24 chapters .../camping/canvas-hell/
Beaux Thibodaux: 16 chapters .../adult-youth/beaux-thibodaux/
The Heathens: 17 chapters .../historical/the-heathens/
Off the Magic Carpet: 11 chapters .../military/off-the-magic-carpet/
Lake Desolation: 9 chapters .../rural/lake-desolation/
Dear John Letter: 3 chapter .../military/dear-john-letter/
Brother Bear: 2 chapter .../incest/brother-bear/
Shark Reef: 3 chapters .../adult-youth/shark-reef/

Special collaboration with Brad Borris: In God's Love .../incest/in-gods-love/