The story below is a work of fiction, set in the format of reality. Any resemblance to real people is entirely coincidental in nature. It is not meant to accurately reflect upon persons in towns, cities, or governmental areas, in which the story is staged. If a sexual scene involving male-to-male relationships offends you, then you should not read this story. Additionally, if you are under 18 years of age, in most state and countries, you are not allowed to read this story by law. Check with your local laws regarding such. Sexual safety matters. This is fiction. Use protection in real life. `Got condom?'
"Out In The Wild, Wild West" 34 wriTten by T. Chase McPhee
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"All I know is, Jim's going to be pissed when he sees this!" Sean tells the gathering of boys.
Except JJ, who has been in the jon, heaving his guts out, along with sixteen loads of cum.
"'Sees' this, Sean?" Brian asks.
Ansel adds, fortifying Brian's question, "This place wreaks!"
Out of the jon comes Stormy, complaining, "The doojicky that ya pull to make the water come out of the ceiling in the jon, broke."
Sure enough the gang looks at Stormy, holding the handle and three feet of chain, utilized to release the water to flush the toilet down.
"And we got another problem, guys."
"What's that Stormy?" Brian asks.
"The water coming from the box near the ceiling?"
"Yeah?"
"It ain't stop coming and the water is all over the floor."
"Oh shit!" Johnny calls out, running into the jon, saying at the same time, "Jim's dining room is going to get flooded!"
"What do I do?" Twenty-two year old Brian Nelson, the one left in charge, asks.
"Where's that red button doojicky?" Sean asks.
"Si, amigo. Jim say if you have trouble to use it!"
Taking Rico's suggestion into consideration for two seconds, Brian runs to the desk and pushes the button. The second doojicky, the one that summons a person at home when there's company at the door, buzzes.
"The door!" Brian calls out.
However, what none them stopped to realize is that they all had been running around in the buff!
As soon as the door flings open, a gentleman, topped with a derby hat and an umbrella under his arm announces, "Winston Packer-Underwood..." takes in the view of Brian, the sandy brown haired youth with a smooth chest, dark defined trail running down his stomach, "ahem the third," pausing, Winston took in Sean, eyeing from top of his blonde hair, the light coating crossing his pecs, the almost unidentifiable trail down the nineteen year olds abs, "at your..." rounding out his view, he takes in the view of nineteen year old Rico Montez, the black hair swirling around his dark nips, the dark, thin trail separating his stomach, the treasure trail extending out of his deep, recessed bellyhole, "um... service?"
At this point, as the three young men took in the view of Winston, they forgot about their troubles, smiling at each other, knowing the forty-six year old man had a hankering for each of them.
"Um, yes...ahem, you depressed the button, did you?"
"Oh yeah," Brian then replied, "we've got a big, big problem!"
Leading Winston upstairs, Sean questioned him on the red button doojicky and how he knew to respond. However, Winston's mind was on something else, as he came into James' bedroom.
"What the God's name is that stench?"
"Hey, are you from Engeland?" Jake asks, regarding the accent.
However, seeing the water beginning to seep out of the bathroom door, Winston had other thoughts on his mind.
"Quick! We've got to get out of here! You boys there, grab some clothes!"
Stormy, Jake, Ansel and Johnny began to gather their things, putting on their pants.
"No, bring them along. We have to leave, immediately!"
Brian, making sure Ansel was with him, headed towards the door to the stairs.
"No, not that way," Winston told them. "The closet!"
Johnny, having been that way before, swings open the closet door.
"C'mon guys, this is fun!"
Grabbing Sean's arm, he made sure his newly acquired buddy was with him. With eight youths, plus Winston, stuffed into the narrow chamber, it was too close for comfort.
"Stormy get yer hand away from my dick!"
"I didn't do it on purpose, Rico!"
"Yeah sure."
"Are we all here?"
"Wait! Where's JJ?"
"Dammit!" Rico says, "We can't leave the cumslut here!"
Running into the john, Rico, who's proved to be a good thinker under stress, comes running back, the hundred and eighty-two pound carcass over his shoulder.
"Whoa, Mr. Muscles," Sean mentions.
If he had set JJ down, there wouldn't be enough room, so stretched across four of the young men's chest, JJ's nude body sat.
"Hold on. I'm not sure if this contraption was meant for all this weight," Winston informs them.
"Oh shit," Johnny called out, "this doojicky didn't work like this before!"
"Elevator," Winston called out.
"Oh, I've heard of them," Sean, the scholar says.
"That's what you gentlemen are riding in."
However, unlike before when the elevator came to halt, with Jim and Johnny inside, instead of the doors opening, they stayed immobile.
"Aren't you going to open the door, um...?" Johnny asked.
Brian Nelson replied, "His name is Winston."
"I like it!" Johnny let out, fancying the name.
Rico added, "Senor Winston es bueno, si."
Thousands of question ran through Winston's brain, as the elevator then suddenly jolted. However instead of moving downwards, it shifted to the side.
"What tha?"
Winston smiled, hearing the young men complain of bodies getting smashed up against each other. Also, like falling dominoes, Jake let go of JJ's feet, Stormy released JJ's thighs, putting a strain on the rest of his body. Soon he stood up, causing the space to be overly cramped.
"Oh, gentlemen. Just inhale!" Winston shouted out, after hearing two earfuls of complaints.
Boys antics. That's all it were. Nothing nasty, but complaints of somebody's chest getting pressed to a back, their cock too close to an ass crevice. All the time, Winston's silently laughing his ass off!
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"How is it going Dr. Lee?" Cal asks, looking over his twenty-six year old lover.
"We wouldn't know for several hours, um... what was your name?"
"Cal. Cal McClintock."
"Nice Scottish name."
"Thanks. Is Jim going to be alright, too."
"James is the least of our worries."
"Braedon's not going to die, is he?"
Ying drew on the question of Jim bringing up the instance of the young Chinese doctor in his life. In Cal's loving demeanor, he sensed the same feeling as when he was once deeply in love.
Putting his arm around Cal's shoulder, he replied, "I'm doing the best for him that I can. He's seems to be a very strong young man."
"He is," Cal reported, then questioned Ying, "Braedon's a real good looking guy, don't you think Dr. Lee?"
Sensing the affection between the two, Ying didn't gripe when Cal rubbed his hand on Braedon's midchest.
"Oh yes. Mr. Murphy is a very good looking man. You are a lucky person to have him."
"I am, Dr. Lee. You see... I.. I'm really concerned about Braedon because I love him."
"Now, how could I not tell that, Cal?"
Looking up at Dr. Lee, Cal smiled, as he extended the same.
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"I can't believe we're free!"
"Don't count your chickens before they're hatched," one of the guards responds.
"What's that Wyatt?" the other guard asks.
"Something I developed in my spare time," the twenty-one year old replies. "Go ahead and get the carriage ready while I fix this."
Standing next to Wyatt, his sidekick watches his hands fashion a wad of something, attaching a wire to it.
"What in tarnation is that Wyatt?"
"Oh, you'll see in a moment, Donald. I guarantee it."
"I have the carriage all ready," Hans called out, "get on board."
"You go ahead, Donald. I'll be right with you."
The forty-seven year old watched Wyatt assemble his contraption, pasting the wad of what looked to be claylike substance up against the door they had entered from the fortress compound, into the stable.
"I wish I knew what you were doing, Wyatt?"
"Will you go get in the carriage, Donald?"
"Not without you, Wyatt."
"Donald, we've been over that already. We're good friends and that's all, so get the hell outta here."
Donald Watson hurried along, stealing glances back at the twenty-one year old. He recalls three years earlier, taking Wyatt under his wing. Now, it seemed the man he regarded as a son', was slowly fading from his life. At least the barriers of Voltaire's fortress kept them as a family'.
"Wyatt, come on! We have to go! And now!"
"You get moving. I'll catch up," Wyatt yelled back to them.
Hans yelled out, his whip against the horses back, charging the carriage out of the barn.
"It's going to be okay mister," Jason Schmidt told the older man.
"I hope so," Donald replied, looking back out of the window of the horse-driven coach.
However, Hans pulled up on the reins as the stable seemed to burst into one huge ball of flames.
"Wyatt? Noooooooooooooo!" Donald called out.
Jumping from the last movements of the carriage, he tried to run back to the burning barn. Jason stopped him, holding both of the forty-seven year old man's arms in restraint, the thirty-one year old's bare-chest and stomach held tightly against Donald's back-flesh.
"There's nothing you can do," Jason replied.
Jason Schmidt, the same instigator whom brought the decline of Pedro Gonzalez's empire, stood there, watching the flames lick at the stable openings. Watching that scene brought on the same memories of the night in which his farm had been ransacked by marauders, killing his family and the kidnapping of his kid brother. Eventually he found out the demise of his brother had been through Pedro's hands. That phase of his life had ended, along with the revenge wreaked on the man who had bound his brother into slavery, eventually causing his untimely death. For the moment, the only person that seemed worth anything to him, was the one he clenched in his arms. Loosening his grip, he relaxed enough so that he could scoot around Donald's body and embrace him chest to chest. Donald didn't refute the gesture, hugging Jason. Not a word was spoken, as Jason felt Donald's tears on his bare shoulders. From within the carriage, Grant Otterstad came, beckoning the two inside.
"C'mon. We have to go."
"Heeeeeeeeeeeey! Wait for me!"
Soot covering him from head to waist, the black leather pantsed twenty-one year old came running.
"Wyatt? Fuck, Wyatt, is it really you?"
Opening their embrace, Jason allowed Donald to run to Wyatt's arms. Suddenly he felt cheated.
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"We should almost be there," Winston reported to the cramped up young men.
"Ugggggh, who farted?" Sean called out.
"Was that you, JJ?" Johnny insinuates.
After the cum-upchucking scene, it seemed that JJ had become their man to pick on, with consistence.
Ansel, the mild-mannered individual calls out, "I always wondered what cum-fumes smelled like!"
"Eeeewwwwweeee!" Brian replies.
Jake yells, "You're gross, Ansel."
"What'syour eggkuse?" Rico shouts to Jake.
Winston just rolls his eyes, shaking his head, making the `tsk-tsk-tsk-tsk-tsk' sound with his tongue on against his teeth.
"My oh my. Such language, boys!"
"Oh, you ain't seen nuthin' yet, Winston. Wait'll you see when Rico really gets goin'!" Johnny, standing within earshot of Winston, tells him.
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"Dr. Lee, come quick! Dr. Lee, I think I saw something!"
Ying Lee smiled, seeing the excitement in the young lad. Waking out of a dozing siesta, he jumps to his feet, readjusting his spectacles.
"What did you see?" He questions Cal, taking Braedon's wrist in his hand to check his pulse.
"There, he did it again! And... and look!"
"Amazing! Absolutely amazing!"
The two watched, not believing their own eyes. The welts crisscrossing Braedon's chest seemed to be melting away, being replaced with new tissue.
"Look! He's waking up! Braedon, can you hear me?" Cal, full of excitement asked, staring over the twenty-six year old's face.
"Take it easy young man," Dr. Lee cautioned.
"We don't know what to expect."
However, as Braedon opened his eyes, speaking his first word, `Cal?', he couldn't keep the eighteen year old from placing his lips on his patient. More to add to the amazement of the transfusion of enhanced blood, from James West's body, Dr. Lee sensed the healing power, as Braedon ripped his wrist from his gripping hand and engulfed the young man in his arms. Such was the strength, uplifting the youth from the floor, placing him right on top of him, Cal's chest on top of his, he didn't bother worrying any longer.
"Well, I'll be. It really does work! This is a miracle!"
When he heard Braedon start to talk, Ying drew his attention to James West.
"JJ told me you wouldn't give up hope."
"I didn't Brae. I dreamed about you. I knew something was wrong, but I had hope that you would be coming back to me."
"I never want to leave you again, Cal."
The two embraced for more kissing.
"You miss that too?" Braedon asked, feeling Cal take hold of his cock.
Now joking, Cal replied, "Missed your ass more. Can't wait to pound it again!"
What none of them knew or even ventured to speculate, is that the XG Formula could be spread from human to human by more than intravenous. The more Braedon and Cal kissed, the more XG antibodies transmitted from the host. Cal wouldn't realize until days later that the scar he had on his knee from age seven, would be erased from his skin!
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"Damn it's cold in here!"
"We will only be a moment," Winston replied.
"He's right, amigos!" Rico replied, stepping into the underground railroad system for the second time.
Before they got underway, they hear a large explosion.
Winston replies, "I knew it! They goes the neighborhood!"
"What in the hell was that?" Stormy asks.
"Jim is gonna kill me if what happened is what I think happened?" Brian, the one left in charge, asks.
"Don't worry yourself, young man," Winston replies, "James West has been hounding the agency for a more updated residence for the last two years."
"Up what?" Johnny asks.
Winston rolls his eyes again, shaking his head, making that `tsk-tsk-tsk-tsk-tsk!' sound with his teeth again, as the young men mock Johnny out, laughing their asses off.
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"Whew! That sedative you gave me really gave me a buzz, Lee."
"Buzz, Jim?"
"Um, like bees buzzing inside my head, when I was waking up."
"Speaking of which, I wonder how Marc is making out with Robert?"
"I think we've both given them ample time to get acquainted, Lee?"
It is then that Jim and Ying realize their conversation is being spied upon. Turning, Jim gets the shock of a lifetime.
"Braedon? Noooo, but you were..."
"That was then, but here I am now... in the flesh!"
Smiling, Jim looked down, ready to corroborate Braedon's statement.
"Yes, I'd venture to guess you're looking spunky there, Braedon!"
Cal, placing a hand on Braedon's chest, says excitedly, turning him around as if a ballet dance partner, "And look at this, Jim. All the stripes are gone from the whipping Brae got!"
Not only was Jim enjoying the dancing show, but Ying Lee enjoyed the performance as well.
"It looks like we have a lot to be thankful for," Jim tells them.
Seriousness returns to the group, as Braedon stares Jim in the eyes.
"Yeah, lots to be thankful for, especially you, Jim."
Bare-chest to bare-chest Braedon instigates the hug. Lifting Braedon's left arms, Cal joins in on the three-way hug.
Whispering, but so that Cal as well can hear, Braedon tells Jim, "Anything you want or need is your's Jim. All you have to do is tell me."
"Hmm," Jim replies, on the sly.
"No, I'm not joking Jim. You saved my life. I owe you."
"And what do I get?" Dr. Lee asks the chummy trio.
He did get a nice, short, sweet hug, along with some praise and thanks. An orderly then arrives to break up the little group.
"Excuse me, Dr. Lee, but there seems to be a group of young men and an older gentleman here, asking for a James West?"
"Does that `older' gentleman have a small derby and carry an umbrella, by chance?"
"Why yes," the orderly replied.
Putting his hand over his face, Jim rubbed it several times, to himself he said, but others could hear, "I wonder what trouble those boys are into?"
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"I feel dirty."
"You look dirty, Wyatt."
The whole time that Donald Watson has been conversing with Wyatt, old enough to be his son, Jason Schmidt has been observing their conversation, plus Donald trying to wipe the soot off of young Wyatt's blackened chest and stomach.
"How are those other two?" Wyatt asks Grant, inquiring of Peter Manning's and Rosario Daninos' condition.
"They are weak. I think they need some medical attention, possibly a hot bath, some food and rest would be helpful."
With his attention still on Donald Watson, Jason couldn't bend his thoughts in the direction the conversation headed. In his own mind, he thought of how close he would like to be to the father figure. He also thought of how lucky Wyatt is to have the relationship with the forty-seven year old.
"Hey, we're stopping," Grant said, looking of the coach window.
Too soon though, Hans had jumped down and opened the door.
"We're here," he replied.
"What is this place?" Grant inquired, looking around at the marbled walls of the courtyard.
"A place of sanctuary. C'mon, help me get Peter and Rosario out."
Watching what transpired, Jason wondered why Wyatt segregated himself from Donald. In the coach, it seemed like they had very close bonds, however now Wyatt seemed to pair off with Grant and Hans. He also noticed the lonesome feeling that came over Donald.
"What's the matter?"
"Oh nothing," Donald lied.
"Doesn't look like it to me, Don."
"Don. Huh! Nobody's called me that in years."
"Do you prefer Donald?"
"Nah. Anything anyone wants to call me is fine."
Standing outside the wrought iron door, the one the others passed through, Jason couldn't hold back his feelings any longer. Facing Donald, the thirty-one year old closed in, gently taking the older man in his arms and kissing him.
After a minute or two, Jason asked, "I guess you didn't mind that very much or else you would be pushing me away."
With his hand rubbing the slender coating of chest fur, the forty-seven year old replied, "You're being real nice to me. Why all of a sudden?"
"Why? Because I've been looking for a man just like you half my life."
"Me? I've gotta be twenty years older than you, Jason."
"Doesn't bother me. I like older men."
Donald Watson couldn't believe what was happening to him. Maybe he tried too hard sometimes, to achieve his goal of scoring with a man younger than himself. It had been something he always looked for in a man; youth. Maybe Jason wasn't in his early twenties, as Wyatt, but he did find the thirty-one year old very appealing.
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Continued.....
Copyright 2006 T. Luke McPhee This story may not be sold or made part of any collection without prior written permission.