This story is purely fictional and is based solely on the author's imagination. Any connection between real people or situations is purely coincidental. It depicts a love relationship between two men, both being of legal age, and their involvement with a teen boy.
This story is a sequel to the story CABIN IN PARADISE, which can be found in the "Beginnings" section of Nifty's Archives. The author recommends you read that story first. Otherwise, there may be parts in this one that just don't make sense!
The author reserves all copyright privileges. This work may not be reproduced, except for personal use, without permission of the author, and may not be linked to any pay sites.
Chapter 5
"Tim, I've got to start work, or I'll be fired, okay?" Jacob answered, rather coldly, continuing down the steps.
"Hey! What about the theater? I mean, fuck, Jake, you just walked by me like I wasn't even there. What's your problem, Dude?" Timothy swallowed hard, fighting the urge to scream.
Jacob turned to Timothy. "Look, it was a mistake. I mean, sometimes you just get caught in the moment, you know?"
Timothy's anger softened, surprised to hear Jacob apologizing. "Well, at least you admit it was a mistake. I mean, geez, we have something pretty special. Maybe we can just forget about this guy, and get back to us."
Jacob laughed. "Us? What us? The mistake was YOU, Tim."
"Me?"
"Yeah, you stupid fag. It was just fooling around. I've got a boyfriend already, as you saw. It was just fucking, Tim. You know, fun!" Jacob turned away, his conceded and cocky smile blazoned across his face as though Timothy were some "chip" on his leather belt; another conquered young virgin.
Timothy swallowed hard again. His stomach wrenched as though he'd been punched. "We did have something special, Jake, I know we did!"
"Hey look, kid, you wanted to suck my dick, just as much as I wanted you to suck it. End of story. Geez, don't be such a girl."
The anger escalated; the punches flew; and as I walked outside to investigate the commotion, I was shocked for a moment to find the two boys scrambling on the cement.
Another punch was thrown, which stirred me from my shock. "Hey! Knock it off," I screamed, pulling the boys apart.
I pushed Jacob aside. "Get out of here," I yelled.
Jacob looked at me, his fists still drawn up. His eyes scanned me, assessing my next move.
"I said GO!" I pointed to the tool shed.
"This isn't over, you little punk-ass-faggot." Jacob spit in front of Timothy's feet; a crimson combination of saliva and blood. Then, he walked away from us, toward the tool shed.
"What the hell was that all about? The theater?" I asked, pulling Timothy's chin upward.
"Ouch! Fuck, Russell!" Timothy yelped through swelling lips and a bruised chin.
"Let me look at you," I demanded, examining his face. A cut cheek, which sparsely dribbled blood; his swelling lips; and a left eye that would be black before dinner. "Come on, let's get you cleaned up."
Once inside, I guided Timothy to the downstairs bath, ran some cool water onto a wash cloth, and began cleaning his wounds.
"Easy, Uncle Russell, Geez!" The sting of the water on his cheek didn't bode well.
"Serves you right; violence never solves anything."
"Yeah, well, the bastard deserved it!" Timothy grumbled. "No wonder Mom used to say Men are assholes!" Timothy stood up, sticking his head out the door, screaming, "Jacob sure is an asshole!"
"Nice, but I don't think he heard you. However, I'll probably need a hearing aide now!" I said, rubbing my ear.
"Sorry. I just can't believe it." Timothy slumped onto the toilet seat, as I continued to wipe the fresh blood from his tender face.
"Let me just guess," I said, patting his lips with the cloth. "He's not ready for a serious relationship?"
"Oh no, not even close," Timothy quipped, pushing the cloth from his face. "He's IN a relationship! That guy we saw him making out with..."
"Boyfriend?"
"Right! BASTARD!" Timothy yelled again.
"Geez, what's all the yelling?" Kenny stepped into the bathroom. "What the hell happened?"
I looked at Kenny. He knew immediately the answer.
"Oh, this changes everything!" Kenny uttered in anger as he rushed from the room.
Timothy looked up at me, his anger and hurt, changed instantly to fear. "What's he going to do?"
"Kill him, probably," I quipped, dabbing Timothy's face with fresh water.
Timothy stopped my hand.
"Oh relax, Angelboy, I was kidding. But, you're our son now, and Kenny loves you. I'm certain that Jacob will pay for this." I began dabbing again.
"I feel like such an idiot! I hate being a fag!" Timothy lowered his head, ashamed of the whole experience.
"Now, you listen to me, Timothy! I won't have any boy of mine talking like that. You ARE who you are, and if you can't love yourself, no one else will either! This is Jacob's fault, not yours. Understand? This wasn't your greatest first experience, I'll grant you."
"But that's just it, Uncle Russell, don't you see? It WAS great. I thought...well, I don't know, I just figured. Oh it doesn't matter!" Timothy ran from the bathroom, and up the stairs.
I began to follow him, when Kenny caught my arm. "Whoa, Cowboy! Let him go. He needs to work through this. He knows you're here for him, but for now, give him the time!"
I tried to pull from Kenny's grip.
"I'm serious, Russell. Don't!" Kenny's look WAS serious, and I knew deep down, he was right. I hated that he was right, but I couldn't deny it.
"Fuck you!" I finally uttered, pulling sharply from his grip. "I told you to fire that bastard, and now look what's happened! You never listen to me. He's MY responsibility; do you understand what that means?" My anger really wasn't at Kenny, and he knew it.
"Russell," he answered softly, "It's taken care of. You have to trust me, okay?" Kenny pulled me tightly to his strong chest.
There's one place in this world I adore the most, and that's being in Kenny's arms when I most frustrated with this world. It was exactly where I needed to be, but not where I WANTED to be. Not then.
I wanted nothing more than to run to Timothy's room, pull the boy into my arms, and whisk away his pain. I wanted to, but I knew that wasn't possible.
The flood of tears rushed from my eyes, as I buried my head into Kenny's shoulder. "Why? Why does it have to be SO hard for him?"
My heart ached. Not for myself, but for Timothy. So much love to give, and crushed so hurtfully in his first gay relationship.
Kenny softly stroked my hair and let me weep for my nephew. "It's taken care of, my Sweetness, it's taken care of."
The evening was quiet when Timothy finally came down from his room.
It wasn't until I heard him sit on the soft leather sofa, that he had even entered the room.
I looked over the paper I was reading.
His face still swollen, his eye blackening, his lip puffy and red.
"How you holding up?" I smiled bravely.
By now, Kenny had joined me, sitting on the arm of the leather chair I was in.
"Okay...I guess." Timothy answered, shrugging his shoulders.
"I don't guess you'd like to go OUT for dinner?" Kenny smirked and then paused, realizing the joke wasn't appropriate. "Don't you worry about a thing. You're going to move from this episode in your life, and put it behind you." Kenny stood up from my chair. Looking directly at me, he said, "I had to pass up a good many guys to get your Uncle to marry me." With that, he kissed my forehead, and walked toward the kitchen. "I'll have Rebecca whip us up something, okay?" He left the room, not waiting for an answer from either of us.
I moved from my chair, and sat next to Timothy, pulling him gently to me; my arm around his shoulders. "Is there anything I can get for you?"
"I'm fine, really, Uncle Russell. It looks worse than it is, really."
"You know I'm always here for you. Through this time and all the others to come."
"They'll be more? Geez, I better stock up on face cream." Timothy tried to smile, but the instant pain of his lip blocked his attempt.
"So, who really started the fight?"
"Who knows? I said something, he said something. What difference does it make? He didn't walk away from this clean either, you know." Timothy answered, somewhat defensively.
"I know, I know, I'm sorry. I'm so sorry, Angel Boy." I sat there, just gently rocking him.
He didn't say anymore, and I didn't ask.
It was an ugly day in Timothy's life, and a long night to follow. But, as wounds do, they healed. For a while, Timothy sank back into his quiet shell.
I didn't push the issue, and on late nights, long after Kenny and the staff had fallen asleep, Timothy and I would sneak down to the living room; cuddle up on the big leather couch and snuggle.
Some nights, we wouldn't say a word. We didn't have to. Call it a security blanket if you want, but for Timothy, it was therapy none the less.
Finally, during one of these late night cuddle sessions, as I was softly stroking his hair, Timothy broke our silence. "I love you, Uncle Russell. I really do."
"I know, Angel Boy. I love you, too."
"I was just thinking...about the day you came to get me."
"What of it?"
"You didn't really want me, did you?" He asked.
My hand froze from its stroking, my mind froze in surprise of the question.
"It's okay. I mean, nobody wanted me." Timothy added.
"That's not true, Timothy. I was scared, sure. I mean, geez, who wants to be raised by a gay man?" It wasn't the best answer, but at least it was honest.
"I guess." Timothy answered.
After a few minutes, he broke our silence again. "Uncle Russell?"
"Yes, my Angel Boy?"
"Mom made a good choice, didn't she?"
The tears formed in my eyes faster than a flash flood. I pulled that sweet, innocent boy to my chest. "Yes, she did, Timothy, yes...she did."
I looked up at the ceiling, mouthed a soft thank-you to Maggie. It was then that I realized that my sister's decision for Timothy to come to me, was for both of us, not just the boy. Maggie had always accepted the fact that I was gay, and even helped me hide it from my parents. But this was more than acceptance, this was loving trust.
The tears flowed freely down my cheeks. I missed her more than mere words could embrace.
Jacob never returned to the property. Whether Kenny terminated him, transferred him somewhere else, or worse yet...no, I wouldn't even think it.
Kenny didn't offer, and as Kenny preferred, I never asked. I trusted and that was enough.
The summer passed, and the days grew shorter and cooler.
School began, and for Timothy, it was yet another chance to build new friendships.
Although our `silent nights' didn't end, they became more and more infrequent. It was okay really. I was there when he needed me, just as any good parent is.
But whether I was ready or not, my `son' was growing up. He needed me less, and relied on himself more. It is the way of it, and there was nothing I could do to hold him back. Nor, did I want to.
Still, as any parent will tell you, letting go is the hardest. Letting them fall, only to get up and fall again, is also hard. But, you support, encourage, embrace, and whip away the tears, and let them grow.
It was the same with Timothy.
Soon enough, Timothy was learning how to drive from Kenny. After all, at the prime age of sixteen, a boy seeks to obtain a license. And Kenny was just the sort to teach him.
"Geez, Kid, slow down on the turns. It's a Porsche, not a playtoy." Kenny yelled as the turned the curve. "Well, not your playtoy, anyway." Kenny chuckled as the road straightened out.
"This is awesome! How fast does it go?" Timothy asked, his adrenaline rushing.
"Fast enough. Okay, now, another turn. Let's take this one a little more cautious, please."
And so it went. Almost every day after school, another driving lesson. Each one in a different car. Kenny's logic was that no boy should learn how to drive just ONE type of car. Automatic, manual-shift, fast, slow, big, little. All were taught, and Timothy learned, quickly and eagerly.
Timothy loved to drive, and took to it like a duck to water. Anything was acceptable, but the Porsche was his favorite.
I told Kenny as much, because that's all Timothy talked about. But, Kenny already knew.
What Kenny didn't tell me, was his intention to buy Timothy one at the end of the school year.
"Come on, Russell, it's every kid's dream. Hell, it was my dream!" Kenny argued.
"Oh sure, get him a $75,000 car for his first car. Great idea!" I sarcastically said.
"Well, I'm glad I have your approval," Kenny quipped.
"Look, I just think it's a foolish thing to do. There's no reason to give the kid a rocket for his first car. Besides," I argued, "What happens when he wraps it around a tree?"
"Oh, Geez, Motherhen, are you EVER going to let that boy have any fun?"
"Nice answer, Kenneth!" I growled at him.
"Fine, we won't do the Porsche. Can I still buy him a car?"
"Only if I get to choose it. Agreed?"
Kenny paused for a moment, contemplating what kind of deal I was striking. Seeing no flaws in the plan, he agreed.
However, actually picking out the car turned into a less than pleasant experience.
Just two days later, Kenny and I found ourselves mottling over car books and magazines about the latest onslaught of vehicles.
"How about a Jeep?" Kenny garbled through a mouthful of lunch.
"I don't think it's quite his style, Kenny. This looks nice though, what do you think?"
Kenny gulped down his drink. "Oh sure...if you want him to be an old lady!"
My glare at him emphasized my distaste at his attempt toward humor.
"Okay, how about this one?" Kenny asked, pushing another booklet in front of me.
"A Corvette? Come on, Kenny, get serious. That'll put us right back to the Porsche discussion."
We tossed a few more booklets back and forth, each meeting equal resistance from the other. It seemed almost hopeless.
After a while, Kenny sat back in the booth, let out a big sigh, and then looked me square in the eyes. "This is hopeless. I wanted this to be a fun thing, and it's not turning out to be fun at all!"
"Well, what do you suggest? I'm not willing to buy him a rocket, and you think the ones I've picked out are too `old-fogies.' I suppose..." I paused for a moment, unsure how my next suggestion would be received. "We could just let him pick out of the garage...except the Porsche," I interjected, "and see what he chooses."
Kenny looked at me for a moment. Then, realizing I wasn't kidding, said, "Okay, I guess. I mean, it's not exactly what I had in mind."
"Look, let's give it a try. If he hates the idea, then I'll surrender and let you two get whatever HE wants. Deal?" I held out my hand.
"Deal!" Kenny smiled widely, almost convinced that Timothy would never pick ANY of the cars in Kenny's garage.
"Any of them?" Timothy's shock was more than I expected.
"Except the Porsche," I said.
Kenny looked at Timothy. "Mom doesn't want you wrapping it around a tree."
Timothy and Kenny both giggled to themselves.
"Well, excuse me for loving my boy so much!" I placed my hands on my hips as though the joke upset me. Everyone knew better. I couldn't help but smile.
"So, Timothy? What will it be?" Kenny nudged the boy forward.
Timothy's eyes glazed for a moment, then, slowly, he walked forward toward the garage.
All the doors were open, giving Timothy a full view of Kenny's inherited collection. As though inspecting his troops, Timothy walked past each one, eyeing it over, and then stepping to the next one.
As he passed each car, Kenny would hold his breath, just waiting to give Timothy the full history of the car. Each time, Timothy would move to the next one, forcing Kenny to exhale, and prepare for the next history.
The last two cars in the row were the limousine and a Jaguar.
Timothy passed the limousine almost instantaneously. Neither of us was surprised.
"This one," Timothy said, resting his hand on the hood of the Jag.
"You've got good taste, I'll give you that," Kenny said, patting the boy on the shoulder.
"Okay, that was fun," Timothy responded. "But seriously, what do I get to drive?"
Kenny pulled the keys to the Jaguar from a locked key rack, tossing them to Timothy.
Timothy's eyes widened. "You're really serious?"
Both Kenny and I nodded.
"Oh man!" Timothy said, racing to each of us, hugging us tightly, and planting a sweet kiss on each of our cheeks.
"Well, you're welcome," Kenny blushed. "Just remember, Kid, having a car is a huge responsibility. You wreck it, and you're out of luck. Got it?"
Timothy nodded, and tried to make his face appear serious, but he couldn't help himself. Like a young kid at Christmas, he was just too excited to hide it.
"Well? Get in!" Kenny said, pointing to Timothy's car.
You didn't have to ask twice, and before you could utter the words, "Russell's my Uncle," Timothy and Kenny were in the Jag, and rushing down the driveway; Timothy at the wheel.
"Watch over my boys, Maggie," I uttered to the sky; and then went inside to wait for their return.
Timothy stuck to his promise and took grand care of the Jaguar. He washed it almost every weekend, and driving it to school earned his some fast popularity.
I shared my concern about "fake friends" with Kenny, but he quickly assured me that Timothy had to learn his own lessons about people.
"You can't mother him forever, Russell," Kenny would say, and then quickly change the subject before I could rebuttal. Always the good lawyer.
One day after school, Timothy brought a new friend home to visit.
As Timothy drove up the driveway, that familiar growl from the Jaguar, I peeked out the window, confirming my boy was home.
I watched as Timothy and another boy got out of the car.
My heart stopped and my eyes widened. The boy was absolutely gorgeous. Kenny was right, Timothy had great taste, and not just in cars.
I hurried downstairs to the den, hoping to look as innocent as the driven snow, when the boys entered the foyer.
"Uncle Russell?" Timothy yelled out.
"I'm in the den."
The boys entered, as I set down the book I pretended to be reading.
"How was school?" I asked, my eyes locking on the attractive boy standing next to Timothy.
"Okay, I guess. Nothing new. Uncle Russell, this is Peter." Timothy put his arm around the boy.
"Hello, Peter. Nice to meet you." I said, my eyes scanning him.
Peter's fire red hair attracted your eyes almost immediately. And, as I moved down his body, his milk white skin, and bright orange freckles, made my mouth water for sherbet.
His bright smile revealed a set of well taken care of teeth, and not a single pimple appeared anywhere.
His steel-blue eyes seemed to pierce right through your heart.
All of 5 foot 5 inches, he wasn't tremendously tall, but thin as a rail. I also guessed by the obvious bulge in his tight jeans that he packed an attractive cock as well.
"So, Peter, do you and Timothy have any classes together?"
"Yeah," He answered, his voice deep and strong. "Chemistry."
Timothy smiled, and I had the distinct impression there was chemistry all right.
"We're gonna study in my room. Is it okay if Peter stays for dinner?"
"Of course," I answered. "I'll call you when it's ready."
With that, the boys disappeared up the stairs, book bags in hand.
"I told you it was cool to come here." Timothy said, shutting the door behind them.
"Yeah, your Uncle seems nice." Peter answered, flopping down onto the bed. Peter looked around for a moment, almost immediately noticing the Carousel horses. "Nice room," he finally said.
"Thanks. So, which chapter shall we start with?" Timothy opened the book.
"Four. I'm having the most trouble with the mixed equations...hate this shit."
"Yeah, me too."
Timothy spread out on the floor, and Peter laid down opposite of him.
After some time of studying, Peter noticed that Timothy was looking at him. No, it was more than that...staring actually.
"What?" Peter asked.
"Huh? Oh, nothing. Okay, so then you take this result and list it in your Observations section," Timothy quickly answered, trying to cover his obvious interest.
A short time later, Peter, growing suspicious asked, "Why'd you invite me here, Tim?"
"What do you mean? To study. I figured we could both use the extra time." It was a lie. Timothy was an excellent student.
"That's all?" Peter pressed.
Timothy suddenly went dry in his throat. He liked Peter...liked him a lot, but after his last experience with Jacob, he didn't want to "misinterpret" another guy.
"Yeah, that's all," Timothy lied. He felt crushed at coercing Peter to his room.
They continued to study for a while longer, but Timothy couldn't help but continue to stare.
Peter felt it too. He decided to push the issue again. "It's kinda hot in here, don't you think?" Peter asked, removing his shirt and tossing it aside.
"I guess so, yeah," Timothy answered, copying Peter's motion.
Peter slammed the book shut. "I'm tired of studying."
"Okay," Timothy closed his book. "What do you want to do?"
"Ever wrestle, Tim?"
Tim shook his head.
"Wanna learn?" Peter asked, excitedly.
"Sure."
"Okay, get on all fours," Peter said, moving Timothy into first position. "Then, I move above you like this."
Timothy could feel Peter's hand on his belly, and an instant shock coursed through his young body, straight to his groin. He tried his best to concentrate on the wrestling lesson, but his youthful erection grew, none the less.
"You okay?" Peter asked. "You seem tense."
"Yeah, I'm cool. So, what next?" Timothy responded, trying to hide his sexual tension.
"Oh, that's easy." With that, Peter flipped Timothy over, almost effortlessly, and climbed onto his chest, pinning his hands to the floor. "How's that?"
"Geez, that was cool. Teach me how." Timothy said, almost forgetting about the rising dick in his jeans.
"Okay, get on all fours again, I'll show you what I did."
Timothy followed the instructions, and Peter went through the move, step by step. This time, Timothy didn't get flipped over, but learned the move anyway.
"You try." Peter instructed, as he got down on the floor.
"Like this, right?" Timothy asked, placing his hands on Peter's belly and arm.
"Yeah, that's it. Ready?"
"Ready," Timothy answered confidently.
Peter then pulled a counter-move, once again slamming Timothy to the floor.
It was then that Timothy realized his dick was in perfect line with Peter's ass cheeks, and he could swear that Peter was almost rubbing his butt across it.
He looked up and Peter was smiling down on him. Just as he was about to move closer, their faces only mere inches apart...
"Dinner's ready," I said, as I knocked on the door.
The boys scrambled apart, as though they had been caught in some horrible deed.
"You guys okay?" I asked from behind the door.
"Yeah, we're cool. Just wrestling. We'll be right down," Timothy answered back.
"Don't be long. You don't Rebecca's Italian cooking to get cold." I smiled to myself as I walked away from the door.
"Ummm, come on, Peter. I'll show you where you can wash up for dinner." Timothy straightened his clothes and tried inconspicuously to readjust himself. Then, he opened the door and guided Peter to the hall bathroom.
"Peter seems nice," I said, as Timothy came to the table.
"Yeah, he is," Timothy answered, becoming a little blushed in the face. "Where's Uncle Kenny?"
"He'll be home later. He's working late tonight, but promised to make it up to you this weekend. Something about selecting a new horse for the stables?"
Timothy's eyes lit up. The stables were a special treat for Kenny and Timothy. Just about once a month, the two of them would drive down to the stables, and make sure that the horses were being well cared for.
There was never any question, really. The stable-hand that Kenny put in charge was an older gentleman of respectable good nature, and prided himself on taking excellent care of Kenny's stock.
"Did I miss dessert?" Peter joked as he entered the dining room.
"Haven't even served the soup yet," I answered back, pointing to a chair next to Timothy.
The dinner conversation was social, but light. Occasionally, as I began to prod into Peter's life, Timothy would quickly change the subject, trying desperately to protect Peter from embarrassment of any kind.
Subtly as it was, I noticed Peter's hand disappear from the table. Just as Timothy was in mid-sentence, Peter placed his hand on Timothy's thigh, causing the poor boy to squeak.
"Goodness, Timothy, what was that?" I asked, smiling to myself.
"Dry throat," Timothy quickly lied, gulping down some water as he looked at Peter, who merely smiled in response.
It was the one and only time that Peter caused such a response that night, but it wouldn't be the first time he caused a reaction from Timothy.
"Well, good night, Peter. It was nice meeting you, and I hope we see you again." I said cordially, as I opened the door for the boys.
"Good night, Sir. Thanks for dinner." Peter answered.
As I shut the door, I could hear Peter giggling in response to Timothy. I assumed that Timothy was questioning the table-fun.
Saturday morning arrived quickly, and as I knocked on Timothy's door, assuming he'd still be asleep, he surprised me by hurriedly pulling open his door. "Good morning!" He announced.
"Well, good morning to you too. Seems like someone is just a little excited about the horses today."
"Nahhh, just the usual stuff."
I looked at Timothy for a moment, before he began giggling like a school-girl.
"Uh, huh," I said, mussing his hair. "Kenny's ready as well, so you better get downstairs. Wouldn't want you to be left behind." I was kidding, of course. Kenny would have waited for days for that boy.
"Where's your hat?" Kenny asked, from the driver's seat of his shiny new pickup.
"What hat?" Timothy said.
"This one!" I answered from behind him, holding a snow white Stetson in my hand.
"No way!" Timothy said, almost falling from the truck as he reached for the hat.
"Well? Put it on, let's see how you look." Kenny smiled. "Ahh, yes, a perfect fit. Somehow I knew it would be!"
Timothy looked absolutely striking in his new white hat. He settled into the seat in the pickup, and off the two ripped down the driveway toward the stables.
"I've got a new colt I want your opinion on," Kenny said, as they pulled onto the interstate.
"My opinion? I don't know anything about picking a horse." Timothy admitted.
"You've got the eye for it, Kid. I've seen you work with Mac. I know it's just in you."
Timothy blushed a moment. It was great to feel like his opinion really DID matter.
They arrived at the stables, just as Mac was hosing off a large Black stallion.
Kenny screeched to a halt in a cloud of dust. "Mac? You ready?"
"Be right there, Boss!" Mac replied.
"You'll have to scoot over, Kid. Mac's coming with us. He wants to see how well you pick out our Colt." Kenny patted the seat next to him.
Mac climbed into the cab of the pickup. "Morning, Boss, Timothy."
"Morning, Mac." Timothy answered with a grand smile.
"Boss here seems to think you got the `eye' for picking a good horse. Well, we'll see. Just remember, Timothy, if you screw up, it's your ass on the line!" Mac half grumbled-half chuckled.
"Oh, leave the kid alone, Mac. He'll do all right! Won't you, Timothy?"
Timothy fell silent, unsure what to say.
"He's just razzing you, Kid. Relax!" Kenny said, nudging Timothy gently in the ribs.
But Timothy didn't think it was funny. This was serious, and didn't want to let Kenny down.
They arrived at the stockyard, and as they pulled up, Timothy could hear the sound of a man on a loudspeaker. He looked up at Kenny with a questioned look.
"Auction house," Kenny simply stated, opening the truck door.
Timothy climbed out behind Kenny, shutting the door behind him.
"Stay close, Kid. This place is a madhouse." Kenny said, pulling the boy closer to him.
They walked through a large red barn, and as they entered, the loudspeaker became almost blaring. "Hey, give me twenty...do I hear twenty? Twenty! Thank you, Sir...do I hear twenty five? Twenty-five, come on now, Gents...twenty-five? Yes, Sir...back row...thirty? Do I hear thirty now, come on...let's give her thirty..."
The Auctioneer seemed to be rambling so quickly, it was almost too difficult to understand what he was saying. Timothy hadn't realized that he had stopped until Kenny yelled at him, "Let's go...this way!"
Timothy ran to catch up, as they exited the barn and moved to a larger open pasture.
The deafening noise of the auction quieted as they walked further into the pasture to a fenced off area. "Ahhh," Kenny exhaled. "There they are."
Timothy looked toward the direction of Kenny's finger, and saw eight small horses, galloping and playing carelessly.
"How old?" Mac asked.
"Barely a year," Kenny smiled.
Mac and Kenny looked the colts over as they played, but one in particular stuck out for Timothy.
"That one!" Timothy pointed out a solid black steed, with a single pure white strip on its nose.
"Well, impressive, Kid," Mac admitted. It was the one he had picked out as well. "You do have an eye for this. Let's take a closer look."
Timothy began to climb up on the fence.
"No, no, Cowboy," Mac said, pulling Timothy off. "They'll bring him to us."
Kenny couldn't help but chuckle, for he had made the very same mistake his first time at the auction house.
"What is it with you boys? Always in a hurry!" Mac grumbled.
Kenny put his arm around Timothy. "Don't feel bad," he whispered. "I actually made it over the top before Mac yelled at me."
Kenny and Timothy giggled together.
The black horse was brought to a staging area, which was made up of a circular path surrounded by a single level seating arrangement.
Mac was the first to approach the horse, and the horse backed up a bit, almost afraid.
"Please, let me try," Timothy said, moving toward the horse without waiting for permission. "Easy, Boy. That's it...good boy."
The horse immediately settled down, allowing Timothy to stroke his nose.
"Such a beautiful boy...yes, Sir...you and I are going to get along just fine." Timothy whispered to the horse.
"I'll be!" Mac rubbed his chin. "I've heard of that kind of connection before, but never seen it with my own eyes!"
"Looks like we've found our newest member, Mac," Kenny said.
Kenny finalized the purchase as Mac and Timothy loaded the horse into a trailer near the staging area.
"Well? What are you going to name him?" Mac asked, as Timothy moved the horse into the trailer.
"Spirit!"
"Good name. It fits him." Mac chuckled, locking the tailgate in place.
Just then, Kenny walked up. "You guys ready?"
"Yep!" Timothy answered quickly. All Mac could do was smile and nod.
All day Sunday, Timothy led Spirit around the stables, parading his new steed for all to see.
"Nice horse! Excellent breed. Beautiful stallion." The comments seemed endless, and Timothy beamed with pride. As dusk set, Timothy returned Spirit to his new stall, and brushed him down until darkness set in.
"Such a beautiful boy," Timothy whispered, almost cooing to his horse.
"Time to go, Timothy," Kenny said, waving at Timothy.
"Okay, I'm coming." He looked at Spirit. "Good night, Spirit. Sleep well." He kissed Spirit's nose, and the horse nuzzled against Timothy.
After much bragging by Timothy, Peter requested to see the horse.
"Geez, he's huge!" Peter said, taking a step back from Spirit.
"I told you. Come on, he's really gentle," Timothy said, taking Peter's hand and leading him closer to the horse.
Spirit looked over at the boys as they approached.
"Easy, Boy. This is Peter...he's my..." Timothy hesitated. "He's my friend."
Peter all but ignored the hesitation. Peter moved his hand across the strong muscular build of Spirit. "He's really beautiful, Timothy."
"Thanks." Timothy could feel himself blush, and quickly changed the subject. "You want to ride him?"
Peter began shaking his head.
"Oh, come on, Peter. There's nothing to be afraid of. Look, I'll ride with you if you want."
Peter hesitated again, and then, slowly, nodded agreement.
After working with Kenny at the stables for some time now, Timothy was almost expert at strapping the saddle to any horse. He took extra care with Spirit, and Spirit seemed to know exactly what his master required of him.
In almost no time, the boys were atop of Spirit, and prancing out of the stable yard to the large field behind; Timothy held the rains of Spirit's Bridal, as Peter sat closely behind, his arms around Timothy's waist.
As they got to the field, Timothy kicked slightly, and Spirit began a gentle trot, bouncing the boys in the saddle.
Peter was forced closer to Timothy, which caused his dick to spring, almost in step with Spirit.
The boys said nothing, but occasionally Timothy would point out some bird or other nature sight.
As he moved his arm back down, it brushed against Peter's arm, causing electricity to flow through him.
"I know a nice shade tree we can sit under." Timothy suggested.
"Cool." Peter answered, still holding tight to Timothy's waist.
Timothy guided Spirit through a thicket of trees to a soft green patch of grass beneath a large weeping willow tree. "Whoa, Spirit," Timothy commanded, stopping the horse. "Can you get down by yourself?" Timothy asked.
"I think so," Peter answered, letting go of Timothy's waist, and sliding out of the saddle to the ground. He tried his best to hide the bulging tent in his pants, but it was too late; Timothy had already seen it.
Timothy smiled down at Peter. "Happens to me every time I ride." He jumped down facing Peter, and looked down to see his own tent.
Peter noticed it too.
Timothy lay on his back on the grass, and Peter, following his lead, lay next to him.
"It's so pretty out here. No one to bug you or anything." Peter observed, trying to divert his eyes from Timothy.
"Yeah. Can I tell you a secret, Peter?"
"Sure you can," Peter answered, their eyes now locked together.
"Sometimes...when I'm by myself...I..." Timothy paused, readjusting his erection.
"Dude, seriously? Out here?"
Timothy nodded.
"That's awesome. You want to...now?"
Timothy felt his dick tingle, and he reached down, giving it a gentle squeeze. "I'm willing if you are."
Peter nervously stood up. First, he pulled the t-shirt he was wearing from his firm but hairless chest.
Timothy's eyes were glued to Peter's subtle nipples, and his mouth began to water.
Peter noticed Timothy's stare and smiled. "I'm not getting naked by myself!"
Timothy instantly blushed, realizing he was indeed staring. He couldn't help himself. Peter's milky skin in the sunlight was moving his dick in ways he hadn't felt before.
Peter unbuttoned his pants and placed his fingers on the zipper and paused. "Well?"
Timothy blushed again, but stood up, pulling his shirt off as he stood.
Peter, in one swoop, had removed his pants and boxer shorts, and freely tossed them aside; his stiff boy dick now pointing forward proudly.
Timothy watched as Peter's prick bounced into view, and found himself frozen in place.
"Come on, let's see!" Peter pointed at Timothy's bulging crotch.
Timothy could feel his hands shaking a little bit. It's not like this was the first time he was naked in front of another boy, but this somehow felt different; somehow new and exciting, and he wanted it to last forever.
Finally, he unzipped his pants, sliding them down his slender legs.
"Nice bikinis," Peter commented.
Timothy looked down forgetting that he had put on his favorite pale blue bikini briefs that morning.
Peter didn't wait for Timothy, and settled back down on the grass, gripping his dick firmly.
Timothy slowly slipped the thin fabric of his briefs down his legs, and kicked them off burlesque style.
Peter giggled and then patted the ground next to him. "Pull up some grass."
Timothy lay down next to Peter, close enough to almost feel his body heat, but not touching.
"Man, I haven't beat off since last night. Mmmm, I love to jack, don't you?" Peter said as he admired Timothy's hard cock.
Timothy simply nodded, grabbing his dick and pulling slowly.
Peter settled into a rhythm, cupping his left hand under his red-haired balls, as he beat off with his right hand.
Timothy admired Peter's technique, copying almost every motion.
Then, Peter moved his left hand up his belly, and began flicking his right nipple, causing it to stiffen quickly.
Timothy's eyes followed Peter's hand, all the while picking up his pace on his own dick.
Peter closed his eyes, getting lost in the feeling of masturbating, careless of Timothy's presence.
Timothy continued to watch, admiring Peter's comfort with their jack-off session.
Peter began to moan softly, and Timothy couldn't help but smile. He fought back the urge to wrap his hungry lips around Peter's shaft, unsure of how Peter would react.
Their pace quickened, their breath heightened, the waves of oncoming passion not far away. Timothy's stare remained on Peter, fighting the reflex to close his eyes.
"Oh, fuck...yeah..." Peter whispered as jet after creamy-white jet of his fresh boy cream coated his hairless chest and dribbled toward its source. "Mmmmm," Peter moaned, slowly coming to his senses.
Timothy continued to jack his dick, harder than ever...faster and faster, his fist barely visible.
Peter watched his friend for a moment, lost in the afterglow of his orgasm. Then, unexpectedly, Peter placed his hand over Timothy's, stopping him in place.
"Maybe this will help," Peter said, as he scooped up a trail of his cooling boy cum, smearing it across the head of Timothy's dick.
Timothy inhaled deeply as Peter's fingers gingerly rubbed across the top of his dick.
"Try it now," Peter smiled.
Timothy didn't hesitate, and began rubbing his friend nut cream up and down his shaft, lubricating his motions.
It was only a mere second or two before Timothy's nuts contracted and spewed forth its precious contents. Stream after watery stream of his cum flowed over his fingers, coming to rest on his naked belly.
Timothy lay back on the grass, his wet fingers still wrapped around his shrinking dick. "That was awesome."
Peter smiled and lay back next to him. "Yeah, it was."
As the sun shined over them, the boys lay naked in the grass, their passionate evidence drying to their skin.
After what seemed like an hour, but was certainly only a few minutes, Timothy suggested that they make their way back to the stables.
As they dressed, Peter said, "This is really a nice place, Timothy. Thanks for sharing it with me."
Timothy began to feel his face redden. "You're welcome." He pulled his shirt on, and hopped onto Spirit.
Peter then pulled himself onto the horse, wrapped his arms around Timothy's chest, and then Timothy guided Spirit through the thicket, and back toward the stables.
Timothy and Peter grew very close over the next several weeks, and I began to suspect the time they were spending at the stables wasn't purely an interest in Spirit.
"Going to the stables again today?" I asked, as Timothy came downstairs, clad only in his white terry cloth robe.
"Yeah. Peter wants to learn to ride on his own." Timothy smiled.
As Timothy sat down on the couch, his robe opened, exposing himself to me. My nephew was growing up, that was certain, and the thick patch of pubes around his flaccid dick only proved it.
Timothy caught my stare. "Ooops, sorry."
"You have nothing to be sorry for!" I quipped, the words escaping me without thinking.
"Oh, Uncle Russell, you're such a fag," Timothy said, as he tied the rope of his robe and kissed me on the head. "I have to shower. Can I bring Peter back here for lunch?"
"Of course!" I answered, pulling the boy to my chest, hugging him.
"What was that for?"
"For being the wonderful person you are. Never change, Timothy!"
He smiled at me again. Then he patted me on the head. "I have to shower." With that, he bounded up the stairs, happy with life.
"Don't worry, Peter. He won't buck you, I promise," Timothy said, pushing up on Peter's butt into the saddle.
"I swear, Dude, your horse knocks me and I'm gonna knock you!"
"Ooooo, you're such a tough guy. Geez! Tell you what, we'll ride together, okay?"
Peter nervously nodded, as Timothy hopped upon another of Kenny's horses.
Timothy led the way, as Peter followed, listening to Timothy's instructions as they went.
Soon enough, Peter began to recognize the pathway, the thicket, and their mutual masturbation spot.
"What gives?" Peter asked.
"Just a rest stop. You don't mind, do you?" Timothy smiled devilishly at Peter.
Peter laughed, "Yeah, like you have to ask!"
They stopped the horses, tying them to a tree branch, before settling down on the grass.
"Last one naked has to do whatever the winner wants...deal?" Timothy proposed.
"Deal!" Peter answered, gleefully stripping off his clothes.
I hope you're enjoying my story of Russell, Russell, and Timothy. I welcome comments and questions, so email me at mycandlelight_dreams@yahoo.com
I also have other stories posted on Nifty. If you'd like the titles, just ask me.