Date: Sat, 20 May 2017 17:45:28 -0400 From: Orson Cadell Subject: Off the Magic Carpet 12 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. ***** 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. ***** Off the Magic Carpet 12: God's Many Gifts By Bear Pup ***** The next morning had a serious wind blowing. Gunny got back just before noon with news that a baler would be ready in three days. All of us left on the main ranch laid into getting the nearest hay pulled in. Slim and Gunny ran cutters and Smitty, Doug and I rode ahead to clear and also helped unjam the damned machines as Sammy took care of the needful chores. Gunny, Slim and I had shared a look earlier. For some reason, we felt it was important to get the hay in quick. The guys riding the 501 got back for supper that night and hit the bunkhouse damn near before they finished chewing. It had been a long few days. The next morning, Archie-and-Ollie took the cutters working as a tandem. Slim and Gunny took the rakers. the Lohmans and Bull cleared for the cutters; Sammy, Kent, Buff and I cleared for the rakers. Smitty and Doug took all the other ranch chores with Stu taking care of the barns since no one would be there for dinner. The big danger that day was snakes. Cut hay is like snake heaven, a nice ground cover with an infinite variety of small varmint to eat. I wanted Sammy and Kent where I could see them, and I knew Buff could handle anything short of rattlesnake convention. We counted for nine on the day, all but one (I shot too quick) were rattlers; I killed a poor corn snake by mistake, a boon to the rat population for years to come. Damn. We were all a bit bushed at supper, but most of us smoked a bit. Bull was vanished before we lit up and I glimpsed him on the way to the bunkhouse. The baler arrived mid-morning the next day. Luckily, Archie-and-Ollie had kicked ass cutting so there was not nearly as much left as I had worried over. We shedded the cutters, put Archie-and-Ollie on the rakers with the Lohmans as their only clearers. Gunny drove the baler, Slim drove the trailers and the rest of us busted butts and backs stacking and shifting. It will be a cold day in hell the year I decide I like haybaling. The wind had died a bit which helped with the hay-dust but the heat was killing us all. I forced a stop early, around five, and called it a day. Gunny and Slim looked like they were going to protest then saw the way the guys were moving. We got back and all of us looked at the hot shower and then to the big, round horse trough. It just barely fit us all with the splashing and cussing. When we got out, the water was a sad tawny-grey. I kicked the spigot and the hose drained out to the veggie garden. Corn and beans and squash didn't mind dusty, mucky water as much as the stock. I pulled the long-cock across and started it filling the trough from the water tower, trusting wind and power-pumps to bring it back to full quickly. The two sets of brothers staggered in nearly at seven. The dumb bastards had finished the raking and proceeded to cut the last acreage. I thanked them politely, told them if they ever did something that boneheaded again, I'd kick their butts to sundown, then sent them to the horse trough. Dinner was subdued but gratified. This was the way to cut hay and no mistake. It was another early night for all. The third day was completely different. With only the baling and a bit of raking left, we were able to cover everything by four. I was surprised to see Bull beeline for the bunkhouse as soon as supper was done as the rest sat to shit and smoke for the first really relaxing time in days. The skies were utterly barren of haze or heat devils, clear as glass. It was a nice evening and no mistake. The next morning dawned chill. The crystal-clear night before had let the world cool a bit, and I knew from the feel that there would be a change in the weather that day. Baxter was talking low to Gunny and I knew weather was at least part of the conversation. He kept pointing to his knee. There was again an urgency as we baled what was left. Even though it had only sat 16 hours, we set Archie-and-Ollie with the Lohmans to rake the last part, hoping to get it early the next day. All of us know we'd be storing that hay separate. We got done early nonetheless. After dinner that night, I pulled Baxter aside and asked him to walk with me. It really wasn't that unusual, and unless you're new like Bull not ominous at all. It was one of those rare, bright dusks that hearkened the kind of crystal night where no one would ever need a lantern. Next to the Old Shed was enclosure of field-stone about hip-high that in one long-ago day had been used for a few pigs. I sat on the wall and Baxter leaned against the shed. We both lit up, me my Chesterfield and Baxter a pipe that quickly wreathed us both in rich, subtle smoke. A lot of guys smoked cherry or any of a variety of other flavors. Baxter smoked something unlike most I'd seen; he got it by the two-pound cake shipped to Milt's store. It came apart in bits that looked like thick bark, and a gentle rub turned them into tiny little blocks of tobacco. The soft scent was redolent of honey and a comfortable hearth. "Baxter, I know that you knew a long time ago about Sammy and Ray." He just looked at me, no different than I'd said I knew he rode a horse. "I'm glad you let them. Thank you, Baxter, truly." He continue to look at me. "I also never really thanked you properly or that amazing blow job." That, at last, got a smile. "But I have a question for you." "Yes, sir, Sergeant?" "How are you with, well, guys who need some confidence and experience?" "Virgins?" I smiled now, "That too. Mainly skittish but desperate to know." He cocked he head and stared at me for a while, then puffed and stared at the darkening horizon. "Doug or Bull?" I laughed again. "I think Doug, well, if he hasn't already I have a feeling that Smitty will take care of that. I'm actually worried, just between us, about Bull. What that evil prick did to him about killed the boy." Baxter spit hard at the mention of that man, clearly expressing his own, equally-bad opinion of him and what he'd done. "I need to know that somebody other than me is taking that boy under his wing and showing him that he's a good kid, and sexy as fuck. He's run off to the bunkhouse and hid every night since. You notice that?" He nodded slowly and toked again. "Why me?" Baxter, man of few words. "It doesn't have to be you, Baxter. One thing that brought you to mind was that earth-shaking example of the perfect blowjob you gave me as a welcome-back present. Bull is, well... oh hell! He looks and acts like a bull but it hung more like a rabbit. He really worries... what?" Baxter's eye had lit up like State Fair. "Really?" He was like a kid on Christmas. His voice went into that sub-whisper mode that no one thinks anyone could hear; the fact I could kept me alive in the war more oft than not. "Oh, God, I love the little ones. It's been sooooo long." He coughed, "Um, well, I don't have a problem with that. And I know as screwed up as that bastard {spit} left him, that on top of it could kill a kid. "But I can't raise a puppy, Sergeant. You going to give me cover on this, right? I help him get his confidence but he can turn to you and others and not just me, right?" I stuck out my hand and shook his, "Deal, partner. And I'll make sure you get something sweet out of the deal as well. You're doing that boy a hell of a service." "Shucks, Sergeant, don't think like that. Guys have got to be there for the young ones. Help 'em out. Keep their... spirits up. "I, um, think I need to walk a bit, Sergeant. Anything else you got for me tonight?" I smiled as he kicked out his pipe bowl then pulled the bung from the bottom of his Cavalier and blew out the tar. Always like that kind of pipe. Never got all that nasty up in your mouth. He sauntered off in the direction I'd last seen Bull heading, the bunkhouse. All the rest of the guys were still smoking and shitting around the porch. 'Yes indeed', I smiled to myself, 'yes indeed-dee-do.' Luck wasn't with us, though. A monumental clash of thunder woke me long after midnight. Lightning was everywhere. I sent a long, complicated prayer to the Almighty that it wouldn't be a dry storm. The stubble and the unbaled hay was a literal tinderbox, and with new hay in the sheds, even a good spark could put the entire ranch at risk. Hya, well, baled hay blows up. I'd no sooner to got to Amen when torrential rain, soon mixed with hail, attacked the roof and windows. As it happened it was Sunday. The storm had passed, leaving a cool, muggy mist clinging to the mud of the Kansas morning. At breakfast, I congratulated the men on a phenomenal job. I announced that God's mercy had spared us a dry storm all too common this time of year, and several of the men either bowed or crossed themselves. I announced I was taking the Jalopy to St Mary's and any of them could attend whatever church they wanted or join us. I noticed that my eyes, like Gunny's, had narrowed when Baxter more than played up his knee, demurring and saying he'd stay and handle the horses and asked if Bull would like to assist. Bull, of course, jumped at the chance. Smitty and Doug asked to be excused. No surprises there. Buff was gonna ride into a different church and Slim went with him. That left me, Sammy, Kent, Gunny and Archie-and-Ollie in the Jalopy. In all my time, I'd never known Stu to enter a church unless someone he cared for got wed or got dead. We packed up and hit the mud that passed as a road after a hard rain. It was slow going and we got to the church not long before the service. We were far from the only muddy-splattered group of haggard cowpokes in attendance. By habit, all of us stayed far to the back to avoid bring mess up where the families sat. Even Father Dawe made a joke that nothing caused back pews to sprout as much as a good, soaking rain. The sermon showed he understood his flock. He spoke of God's mercy in bringing the rain that sustains us so we, in turn, could feed the nation. He was a good man, Father Dawe, and pulled Kent aside and spoke for some minutes. Kent's eyes were red from tears but dry when they were done. He then spoke to Sammy and me about our own loss. Good man; a really good man. We pulled in to the ranch yard and unloaded, the guys hitting the showers but Gunny and I hung back to talk bales of hay and heads of cattle, soon joined by Slim who arrived saying Buff would be 'delayed by a personal matter named Betty.' We shared an odd look as a low sound moved across the yards. I knew for a damned fact that we didn't have any cows ready to calf, but it sounded for all the world like a difficult birthing. I shared a look of alarm with Slim before we turned to see Gunny trying his damnedest not to laugh. The low noise took on new urgency and became a serious, belly-busting bellow before the uhn-uhn-UHN! Of exultation rang out from the New Barn. A minute later, Baxter walked out and tipped his hat to us, then made a shooing motion. We trooped inside and started to laugh so hard I was afraid for the furniture. Damn. Baxter wasted no time at all, did he? Finally, Slim looked back and forth at us with a question. Gunny simply whispered, "Bull." And was off to laugh-laugh-land again. Slim chuckled and shook his head. "I'm ready for a smoke. You in, Slim?" We went out onto the porch, both lighting up. His was one of the "new" Kools (20 years of making them and they're still the "new smokes"). A lot of guys traded premiums for them out of the ration kitss, but I never understood the allure. They tasted like smoking Mentholatum ointment (ironically based in Wichita). "I never got a chance to thank you for the way you handled the Wayne thing. You did good, Slim. I'm not trying to patronize you -- I mean you're older than me -- but there aren't many men with the experience and the balls to pull that off and keep that kid sane." "You shouldn't have to thank a man for doing his job, Sergeant." "Don't Sergeant *me* First Sergeant. You know what I mean. Your 'job' is doing what's best of for the ranch. You coulda had that bastard off the ranch and still left Bull out to dry. You coulda even backed the bastard and crushed that boy. You did a hell of a lot more than what's best for the ranch, sir, and you know it. You did what was best for the men." He nodded at me, and I knew that was his sincerest form of gratitude for what I'd said. "I want you and Gunny to share foremanship of the two ranches, starting tomorrow." He jumped like he'd been bit. "Don't argue. You know the 501 will need a lot of real work, and Gunny can't be everywhere. Gunny runs the money for me; that stays. But you and he work out which ranch needs what when. It'll be a week at least before the 501 hay -- I think they're planted in alfalfa? -- will be dry enough to cut. I'm keeping the baler. We'll trundle it over to the 501 when the mud firms. "I'm not going to try and save the last cut. We'll plow it under and put it to clover for the year; it's about due anyway. Get with Kent tomorrow, then Gunny. Work out a plan and, no, I don't need to approve it. You're a leader, and you know what needs to be done. Oh, and you'll have a foreman's salary and the larger room to the left at the head of the stairs. I'm afraid it's some sickly girl's yellow, so if you behave for a month," I smiled, "I might just let you paint over the bunnies." We laughed and went in. I found Kent reading with Sammy -- comic books, I do despair -- and asked for a minute of his time. It turned out the kid didn't smoke and never liked it. I blinked. It was rare, but a wise choice. Kent was a big boy, not the mountain that his brother was, but big, wide and solid. He was also, truth be told, just this side of gorgeous. His hair was not blond, but some soft off-color that honestly looked more like a dun mare than anything, maybe a bit toward buckskin. And soft was not just the color; looking told you it would be heaven to stroke. He had a nice run of fuzz that would become a beard with a lot of work and a lot of years. He eyes were large, wide set, kind, gentle. Like his hair they were some indiscriminate color the Army would give up and call 'brown' or 'hazel' but wasn't close to either. "Kent, I want your opinion, son. I think Slim would be a good fit to help run your ranch. But it really is your decision, not mine. All I can do is recommend." So, I lie. "What do you think?" The boy looked at his hands and muttered, "Whatever you think is best, sir." I reached out and pulled his chin up. "You're saying that because you think I'm an adult, don't you?" His big brow furrowed, "Of course, sir." "Kent, do you know how old I was when I got married? How old I was when I was the only person running this ranch?" He looked down again. "No, sir." I was married at your age and had to run this ranch myself with a newborn son when I was 18." He looked up quickly to see if I was joking, then back to his big hands. "You, son, are a man by any measure. And you'll have to help me and, if you like, Slim run the 501 the way that make you and your brother happy, son. Can you help me with that?" "I'll do anything you say but I'm not good at stuff like decisions. That's more Sammy tha--" I could see him try and swallow that back. "Kent, look at me, okay. Now don't do that. Look at me. Everyone on this ranch cares about you. You are a good and strong man. Yes, I said 'man', son. And we care about you a lot. Sammy, too. If you ask him for help on decisions, he'll give it. So will I, so will Gunny, so will everyone. Every man can't be strong at everything. Yeah, my son is," I chuckled, "certainly decisive and Buff could rope you both in a blink. But you're a man who could carry both of them and probably the horse on your shoulders! Play to your strengths, Kent, and let others help with theirs." He nodded, halfway between misery and hope. "Let's do this, Kent. Why don't we let Slim try it out and you can decide how he's doing later? And ask Sammy, Kent. Or anyone. I know you're still ripped apart, son, but you still have family, and not just Glen. You have us." I saw his lip start to tremble and knew what was next. I pulled his huge body to mine and hugged him as he cried. And, yes, his hair was as wonderful to touch as it looked. He pulled away suddenly and wiped his eyes. "Sorry, sir." "First, I've held men twice your age and more as they cried, son, both on the battlefield and behind the lines. And they held me. Men cry, son, and don't you forget it. Second, you wouldn't have apologized to Glen, would you? You never have to apologize to me, or Sammy or the guys. Ever. Just rest here a bit. Then, if you want, find Sammy and just talk to him. If I'm wrong, let me know. But I'm not, Kent. You are a strong, good, kind man. All of us care about you, son, and will do whatever it takes to help you." I left him there and considered, looking out from the window at the darkening sky. Maybe God really has watched over me, of us. I was a Catholic because that's what we were. Now, though, I was seeing more. I thought I'd lost everything when I was barely a man and he sent me Beth and Sammy and Milt and Gunny. I was ripped away from my family and shipped to the horrors of war, but lived. Beth's death undid me, but He granted her wish as well, to see me and Sammy there for each other before He took her. And now He's sent me a set of men and boys who may be some of the best there are. I shook my head in wonderment, watching the light fade over the field, the rain-washed haze of drying mud making the last rays gleam and the early stars explode in sparkles. I looked back on my selfish prayer the night before and sent a silent, "Thank you for everything" heavenwards. For the first time in a long time, I think I meant it. PS: I always use that tag as a courtesy. That way you know the good bits are over and I'm just going to yammer on. Otherwise, you're halfway through some, I dunno, Jim Ford (Sojourn1950@yahoo.com) annoying Author's Note before you realize the sexy parts are history. I mean, right when you're into it and THAT close and all of a sudden, it's blah blah blah. What a way to kill a hardon! Try it some time. His stories are hot as fuck -- well, until the Author's Note jumps out and bites you on the nuts. Maybe if you promise to give a dollar to Nifty, I can convince him to reform his ways? ***** If you want to get mail notifying you of new postings or give me ANY feedback that could make me a better author, e-mail me at orson.cadell@gmail.com Active storelines, all at www.nifty.org/nifty/gay... Canvas Hell: 25 chapters .../camping/canvas-hell/ Beaux Thibodaux: 17 chapters .../adult-youth/beaux-thibodaux/ The Heathens: 18 chapters .../historical/the-heathens/ Off the Magic Carpet: 12 chapters .../military/off-the-magic-carpet/ Lake Desolation: 10 chapters .../rural/lake-desolation/ Dear John Letter: 3 chapter .../military/dear-john-letter/ Shark Reef: 4 chapters .../adult-youth/shark-reef/ Culberhouse Rules: 1 chapter .../incest/culberhouse-rules/ Special collaboration with Brad Borris: In God's Love (4 installments) .../incest/in-gods-love/