Date: Wed, 18 Nov 2020 00:51:15 +0000 From: bhuvanesh21 Subject: Cowboy and femboy in the Wild West Part II Chapter Two: The Big Wait By the time the snow let up, the cabin was more socked-in and buried than ever. Hart had done his best throughout the storm to wake up periodically and kick the snow away from the door, knock some off the roof, and trudge a path clear from the door to the creek, but after one too many of these freezing excursions, he slammed the door behind him and shivered so hard that he could hardly get the fire going again without dropping his flint and steel. He coughed from the smoke, his eyes watering, as the kindling finally set to light. He used some Fagan clothing to wipe the melted snow off his legs and back of his neck, and wrapped himself in the bearskin as close to the fire as he could get, rocking and shuddering until he started to feel warm again. It was then that he glanced over and noticed the boy watching him. Just that little angelic face, those pouty lips and violet eyes peering from amid the blankets and furs. Pretty as any girl I've seen, and then some. Hart couldn't help but let his gaze linger. Alexei stared back. Neither of them broke the gaze for long moments, and in those deep wells of blue, Hart thought he saw something vulnerable and hungry. "You okay?" Hart asked. Alexei nodded. He burrowed back down into the blankets, and went back to sleep. Hart woke shivering in the darkness; there was a form moving around by the fire. He jolted upright, revolver in hand, before Alexei yelped in surprise. At once, the man remembered where he was , and put his weapon back in its holster. "Sorry, sorry!" Hart said, shaking his head. "Old habits." Alexei was glaring at him. "You scared me." Hart wrapped the bearskin around himself again and scooted closer to the fire, where the boy was heating up a pan with some shavings of white pork fat sizzling away. "You better go easy on that pork," Hart said. "We might have weeks or months up here, yet." "Weeks or months?" asked the boy. "We have the snowshoes, why not leave?" "It ain't that simple," Hart muttered. He rolled a cigarette, poured some cold coffee from the percolator by the fire. The boy was a solid cook; with nothing but three or four ingredients he managed to make the best breakfast Hart had had in weeks, with crispy bacon, baked beans, a little bit of stewed tomato for each of them. A slug of hot coffee to wash everything down, and Hart felt better than he had in weeks. "That was delicious, Mr. Petrikov, thank you." "Please call me Alexei," said the boy. "We are friends." "Even after what I said to you last night?" "Even after what you say last night," the boy said, his tone terse. "But no more jokes about Fagans." "Understood." It was only then that Hart realized the boy was back in his mother's dress and petticoats. The cloth had dried out by the fire, and was likely warmer than anything else Hart would be able to find for the boy. He looked, for all the world, like a short-haired maiden yet to come into her bust yet, lean and fair. Hart's gaze lingered on the smooth backs of the boy's hands as he tended the fire. "Got a big job ahead of us today," Hart said. "What?" "Clearing' some snow off this cabin. Lest we get buried alive, or worse yet suffocate before we even get a fightin' chance. I'm surprised the chimney ain't covered over top, the way these storms have been comin." "You talk a lot," said the boy. Hart stared at the fire. He grunted once, smiled. "First time anybody ever told me that," he said. Alexei took it as a joke, but Hart was serious. Was he really talking that much? He shook his head. Chalk it up to the isolation. He felt sheepish all of a sudden; had he been chatting the boy up? No. Hart took a deep breath, reached into his pocket for a tin of snuff. "Get ready, son. Or madameoiselle." "Pas drole," said the boy, in perfect French. They worked hard. The boy was wiry, strong, and quick with his hands; they used a broom to clear off the roof first, avoiding Hart's prior mistake that nearly got him killed. They dug a path down to the creek; by now their pants and the boy's gown were saturated up to the chest. Hart cleared away ample space from the porch and front door hair dripping with sweat and his whole body steaming into the cold air. In all, the work took them til midday, when they were drenched in snow and sweat. "We need to wash up," said the boy. "I hate to agree," said Hart. He looked them up and down. "Probably oughtta wash these clothes, they're so foul they won't keep us warm even if we dry them out again." "I can do it. I saw laundry soap in the cabin." In a burst of speed, Alexei sprinted into the house, tearing off the soaked dress before he reached the door. When he came back out, he was wearing one of the O'driscoll's coats and carrying another for Hart. In his elbow was a paper box of detergent. "I put logs on," said the boy. "Ain't you somethin," Hart said, his tone sincere. Into the icy water they went; stripped naked, and began washing their clothes in the icy stream. Hart hooted and hollered at the cold, but the boy was as stoic as if taking a dip in a summer waterhole. Alexei powdered up their shirts, petticoats, and the thick cotton union suit each of them wore under everything. They shivered and laughed maniacally as they scrubbed and shrieked. The frigid water splashed into the air, soap suds ran off downstream, and as Hart was wringing his mess of laundry out one last time, he witnessed the Russian boy beat his dress against a rock a few more times, wring it clean, and toss it to the shore. "Холод - это ...орошо!" the boy yelped, and then dropped down into the low place in the creek, sinking up to his neck in the frigid water. A second later, he sprung upward, red as a beet, shivering wildly, and shrieked. "YEEEEP!" he cried, and bolted, feet scraping through the gravel of the shore. He snatched up his dress, and ran inside. Hart inhaled, scrubbed a little detergent on his underarms, and clapped cold water on his bits. He exhaled a big steaming cloud of confusion. "Well if he ain't a live wire." If it weren't for the cold, Hart knew his cock would be hard as a railway spike. * ***** There was a boy, once. Or several, really. Back one summer when he was thirteen or so, Hart was a shepherd. He and his cousin found work under a rancher named Simpson, who had four or five Basque families tending several hundred cattle, sheep, and goats. Hart spent three months herding sheep with some Basque boys named Oliver and Joseph, who taught them how to herd and card and butcher. Oliver was a little chubby, but taller than all the rest and by far the strongest shepherd. His cousin Joseph was as hard-bodied and strong as a hungry panther. At night, around the fire, the Basque boys would pull their cocks and stroke them to erection while chatting and drinking wine. They never ejaculated in front of each other, but the purpose was always advertising. Later, in their woolen blankets, the American boys would hear them sucking each other, and as Hart thought at the time, "even worse." At some point, though--one evening around the fire--Hart pulled his cock out, too. There had been many girls since then. And women. Mary Linton, whom he nearly married. Tilly, who never returned his affections. As a boy he had enjoyed flirting even with Mrs. Grimshaw--but in spite of all the awkward one night stands, brief flames and taberna girls, Hart had never felt a thrill like that first night when Joseph put his mouth around his cock. That was a long, long time ago. * * * * In the cabin, Hart found the fire roaring. Alexei was waiting with a warm blanket, and a hot cup of coffee. The boy had hung up their things from hooks on the rafters above the fire. Hart smiled, and squatted as close as he could, hands steaming. As they huddled by the flames, the clothing dripped down around them, an occasional icy droplet catching them on the scalp. The boy bundled himself in a bearskin and rocked back and forth. Both of them were red in the face, shivering, laughing for no reason but the relief of the fire. "You warm enough, kiddo?" asked Hart, teeth still chattering. "Yes," Alexei said, nodding vigorously. "You sure?" "Want to warm me up?" the boy asked. His eyes were big, eager. "Why not." Alexei leapt from the bearskin into Hart's lap, facing the fire. The boy pressed his shoulders against Hart's chest. The man hurled the bearskin over their shoulders. The youth's skinny haunches poked into Hart's thighs. The man wrapped one arm around Alexei's trim abdomen, and took a sip of coffee. "You're hot as an iron!" Hart said. Alexei giggled. "You ougghta be warmin' me up," said Hart, "not the other way around." "Want to sit in my lap, Mr. Morrigan?" Hart blushed. He sipped his coffee. "Not what I meant." As their blood heated, their muscles stopped trembling. Hart continued to hold the boy a long while, and pressed his chin into the top of Alexei's head. He sipped his coffee. "How's that cut of yours?" Hart asked. "It hurts." "Lemme see." The boy exposed his thigh. The scar tissue was already hard and well-formed, the skin puckered around the suture. There was no sign of infection. It looked clean, although painful. "I'm fine," said Alexei. "I can see that. Brave boy. You tell me if it starts gettin' red okay?" Alexei turned to look Hart in the eye; his gaze searched Hart, looked him up and down. The boy smirked. "Hey," Hart said. "What?" "What was that look all about?" "I like you, Mr. Morrigan." Hart felt the boy's soft skin against his chest, smelled the scent of the boy's scalp. His cock was getting hard. He broke the embrace. He got to his feet. "I'm gonna make us some supper," he said. He boiled canned anchovies and potatoes, and served them a big cup of brandy to share. They ate, and passed it back and forth. At the end of it, Alexei gave Hart with a silent, pleading look. "Look, I ain't having no more of these puppy dog eyes," Hart grumbled, "what do you want?" Alexei looked hurt. "It's all right, I'm sorry, I'm sorry," Hart said. "We have no clothes to stay warm," said the boy. "Yeah, yeah, we can sleep together," Hart said. "You happy." The boy smirked, but said nothing. The only way it could work was for Hart to crawl in first, on his back; he lay the first bearskin down fur up, and then lay atop it. He tucked a wad of clothing under the back of his neck. "Alright, son," he said. Alexei crawled in on top, bare skin of his buttocks pressing against Hart's thigh. The boy tucked other blankets around them, and then hurled the second bearskin on top. The boy's weight was nothing, he lay like a soft, smooth little cloud atop Hart. His hair was wet and fragrant against Hart's chest. Outside, the sun was only just setting; the light came in blue through the window. Hart's hand drifted to the boy's belly. It was so trim, so soft. He teased the navel, tight and tiny, with his thumb. So tight. So tiny. Stop it, man, you're gonna lose control of yourself. Hart rolled to the side, so they were back to back. "Gnight kiddo," he said. "Goodnight Mr. Morrigan." By morning, Hart found himself totally entangled, sweaty, and hard ; the boy's face was pressed against his hairy chest, drooling. Both their cocks were hard as railroad spikes. He peeled the boy off, got up and stoked the fire, and wrapped himself in the buffalo robe facing the warmth and light. If I don't rub one out I'm gonna do something crazy, he thought. He spat into his hand and rubbed himself to a painfully hard erection. Precum flowed like never before; thoughts of Alexei's pouty lips filled his mind. In a matter of less than a minute, his balls tightened and he spurted once, twice, almost ten times into his hand. Hot come pooled all over the smooth skin of the buffalo hide. He wiped it away with a rag, cleaned off his hand, and went back to bed. Alexei tangled him up in bony, smooth limbs as soon as he was in reach. * * * * Days passed. Snow fell. They slept, and slept, til they were sore of sleeping. They played rummy and dice and Alexei told the stories he remembered about the old country, Siberia, where he lived until he was six. He sang the one song he knew in English: O, Canada! One evening, when they were bored, Alexei asked if they could get drunk. "Ain't the time to waste alcohol," said Hart. "What if we're up here for another two months?" "Just a little? Please?" asked the boy. "How bout we play some dominoes? Winner takes a shot." Alexei's eyes lit up. They played for hours, drank shots of bourbon--just a few, Hart didn't want to burn through the little alcohol they now had. After a lot of giggling and what, in hindsight, was clearly flirtation, the boy convinced Hart to dance. "Come on," he said, batting his eyelashes. "Don't you know any dances?" "Once upon a time," Hart said, "I knew a lady of high society who taught me how to waltz. You ever waltzed before?" The boy shook his head. He was grinning. "Teach me?" he asked. Arthur took the slight little boy in his arms. The small of Alexei's back was slim and warm. He favored his good leg, and Hart moved slowly and gently over the dusty floorboards with the boy's strong little hand gripping his own. They stumbled and laughed, and spun around and figured out the steps through trial and error, until at last they had a few uninterrupted circuits of successful waltzing. The boy looked up from his feet, at last, and smiled up at Hart. "This feels nice," said Alexei. "We're passin' the time," said Hart. His smirk betrayed his efforts to play it cool--he was enamored. The boy's eyes, his voice, his soft skin, his smell--even his bratty attitude. Everything about him was lovely. Not just lovely-- thrilling. Suddenly, unexpectedly, Alexei threw both arms around the man and pressed his face to Hart's chest. "Thank you," the boy said, his voice muffled. "No problem," said Hart, "I'm sure waltzing will serve all kinds of purposes in your life." "Not that," Alexei said, looking upward again. Those purple eyes. "What?" Hart asked. "Thank you-- for saving me. Caring for me. You are a very good man, I think." "Well I ain't ever been accused of that before." "You are, though. You make me feel very safe," said Alexei. He lay his head on Hart's chest, and continued to sway and step the waltz a while. Arthur buried his chin in the boy's soft hair, and held him, and felt confused. The boy hiccuped once, and smelled the bad whiskey on his own breath. "Let's drink some more," said Alexei. They sipped bourbon and leaned up on a crate in front of the fire, and Hart told stories about river boat robberies and running from the Pinkerton detectives, watching railway bridges explode, cracking the vault of the biggest bank in St. Louis. At some point, the boy lay his head on Hart's shoulder. At some point, the man felt loose enough to put a hand on the boy's skirted knee. At some point, Alexei planted a kiss on the side of Hart's neck. The man ignored it. The boy murmured something in Hart's ear; it took him a moment to realize it wasn't English, but Russian. "What'd you call me?" Hart asked, feigning offense. The boy giggled, and Hart shivered at the sound of Alexei's breath in his ear. "How come you act like this?" the man asked. "What you mean?" Alexei asked. "I dunno. A boy ain't supposed to act like--I mean, I'm not complaining, it's nice--" "What's nice? What am I acting like?" the boy asked, his tone more hostile. Hart looked over. "I didn't mean nothing. Just. You get me so confused, Christ, I don't know what the hell you're doing." The boy looked sad. Eyes downcast, he sighed. "I think," Alexei said, speech slurred, "those men changed me." "How do you mean?" More Russian, then he shook his head. He took a sip of bourbon. Slumped down against the crate. Broke away from Hart's embrace. Arms folded, he sighed again. "What's wrong, kiddo?" Hart asked. "I'm a girl, now," said Alexei. "Wha-- No you ain't!" said Hart, laughing. "I felt the evidence to the contrary against my thigh all morning." "What that means?" the boy asked. "Nothin, nothing," Hart said, scratching his head. "Spose. You mean, those men did something to you that ain't supposed to happen to men. That don't mean you're a woman though!" "You don't understand," said the boy. "I most certainly don't," Hart agreed. "Something...bad happened. When they had me." Hart looked at the boy, who was now turning his face away in shame. "Whatever it is, it ain't your fault," said Hart. "I don't judge you." "I...when they took my body. Something happened." "Like what?" "Semya came out." "Say what now?" Hart asked, his eyebrows raised. The boy made a gesture like he was masturbating, and then flicking something away. "Oh," said Hart. "I liked it," said the boy. Tears were rolling down his cheeks. "I hated them. But I liked that feeling--feeling like a woman. I liked how..." Hart put his arm over the boy's shoulders, pulled him closer. Gave him a kiss on the head. Smelled his hair. "Kiddo nothing they did to you was your fault. And nothing that happened there can change you. I known men who got--you know, used like that. In the Navy or goddamn prison or what have you. Them men were just as much men before as after--just their pride got wounded. And sure as shit they didn't like to talk about it. But no matter what happens to you, it don't change you unless you let it." "Maybe," Alexei said, sighing. They sat a while. The boy knocked his head against Hart's chin. "Hey," he said. "Cowboy. Maybe I want to change." "How?" "I want to be a woman, I think." "Ain't ever heard of such a thing," said Hart. "Nevermind," said Alexei. The little femme fatale looked at her outlaw companion. Looked back at the fire. "If I was a girl," Alexei asked, "would you marry me?" Hart's face got red. He swallowed a lump of anxiety; this wasn't a conversation he thought he'd ever have with a teenage boy. "Look," said Hart-- but he was speechless. "Don't say!" Alexei said, his face screwing up in anger. "Don't say anything, Mr. Morrigan." The boy got to his feet, wrapped himself in a blanket, and went to sit on the cot. "It was a joke," said the boy, shaking his head, staring at the floor. Big, hot tears started dripping off his chin. "A joke, huh?" "Shut up!" shouted Alexei. "Hey, now," Hart said, getting to his feet. "I said shut up." Hart gave the boy a little silence. Alexei cried silently, blew his nose into a rag. The man sat next to him. Put an arm around the boy. "Hey kiddo," Hart said, voice soothing. "If you was a girl, you bet your sweet ass I'd marry you." Alexei looked up in shock. "But you ain't a girl. So I reckon we're just gonna have to settle for bein' in love." Alexei's blushed so hard his cheeks went purple. He trembled. "What you mean?" the boy asked, eyebrows raised in total confusion. Hart felt his heart beating like a marching drum. His pulse throbbed in his neck, his ears rang. "I mean," Hart said--his vision darkened, was he gonna pass out? "I mean to say, Alexei, that I've been fighting everything inside me for the past two weeks. Fighting back feelings I ain't had in decades. But I can't fight it anymore." Alexei continued to look bewildered; his brow furrowed. "Say what you mean," Alexei said. Hart couldn't find the words. Instead, he grasped the boy's jaw and kissed Alexei's pouty lips. Hart felt both of the boy's hands grasp his head; he melted into the kiss, sucking the boy's sweet mouth with abandon. He trembled. He murmured involuntary sounds, and gripped Alexei's buttock and pulled him onto his lap. Alexei felt Hart's beard brush his cheek as the cowboy planted kisses on his jaw, his throat, his clavicles, all the while embracing the man's whole head with both arms. "Mr. Morrigan," Alexei said, his voice hardly above a whisper. "I want you so bad," the man said. "I want you," said the boy. "You wanna be my little baby girl?" asked Hart. Tears spilled down Alexei's cheeks. "More than anything." They rolled into the cot between two bearskins, the little girl lying on the man, her cock pressed against his. Sweat dripping off their bodies as they embraced, kissed, and caressed one another. At long last, Hart put his hands behind his head, elbows akimbo, as he felt Alexei's mouth pressed against his hip bone. "You smell so good," the boy moaned. "You must be an angel," said Hart. "No human being would ever say that." He began to laugh, but then broke into a moan--the boy was sucking on the tendon of his inner thigh. "Ohhh, kiddo," the man said in a hiss. The boy's mouth traveled to his balls, sweaty and rank with days of sleeping in furs and skins. Then--bliss. A hot, warm, teenage mouth covered his swollen head. He grunted as Alexei's lips melted downward toward the base of the shaft, and felt the back of the boy's throat stop his cock from sinking any deeper. "Ohhhhhhhhh," he sighed. The boy slurped up and down, tugged on the man's balls. After weeks of pent up erotic energy, Hart gripped both sides of the boy's sweaty head and pumped his cock down Alexei's throat. Gagging and drooling, slurping and sucking Alexei gave Hart his throat completely, allowing the cowboy to fuck his mouth with an aggression and desperation that filled the boy's eyes with tears and made saliva run in strings from his lips to the man's big, sweaty balls. "That's my good little girl," Hart grunted. Alexei felt a spasm. The cock head swelled up in his mouth, again and again in time with the man's grunts; and then, all at once, a salty cream bathed his tongue. He slurped it down, swallowed it eagerly, the strong smell and taste making him precum and moan in desperation for his own release. When at last he had milked the last semen from Hart's cock, he rose up to his knees. "Can you please?" the boy asked. "My little girl deserves it," Hart said. "Come here." Alexei straddled the man's face and pumped his thick, uncircumcised cock into Hart's mouth. Slick, salty, covered in precum, the man relished the taste of it, was stunned at how delicious and righteous it seemed to suck each of the boy's smooth balls into his mouth. With one hand wrapped around the boy's shaft and the head fucking his mouth, Hart managed to get the boy to a climax; sweet and salty liquid spurted down Hart's throat, and he swallowed in kind. A swig of whiskey, a cough, and Hart got to a seated position. The boy looked into his eyes with a tearful, broad grin. "I love you, Mr. Morrigan," said Alexei. "Will you be my little lady, Alexei?" asked the man. The boy tackled him back down into the bed, and covered his neck with kisses. Further installments are coming! Please respond with fanmail to bhuvanesh21@protonmail.com