Tristan

Tristan by Henry H. Hilliard

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Chapter 27

Professor Troost was quite overcome and had to be helped to the floor. Tristan took off his windcheater and made it into a sort of cushion for him to sit on. Ivy was insisting that he drink from her water bottle while Colton was taking his pulse.

He looked up. "Oh do sit down, Herr Stein. Why are you so tall?" he asked, accusingly.

"Because of the distance between m'feet an' m'head?"

"Also, setz dich bitte, mein lieber Freund. You are spoiling the proportions of the room."

Tristan picked up the professor's cape and stick but could find nowhere to place them in the empty room, so he leaned the stick carefully against the plywood panelling and hung the heavy cape over his arm.

"Oh, to gaze upwards and see those perfect triangles..." he began in a faraway voice--"Right angle, equilateral, isosceles--not a scalene in sight--Scheißdreiecke. They are to be abhorred!"

They all followed his gaze and looked up, and indeed the roof trusses in the old hayloft did form a pattern of triangles of a very satisfactory kind.

This was the first visit of Ben and Ivy's course convenor--indeed the Dean of the Faculty-- to the building project that was to form part of their assessment for the second year of the Bachelor in Architecture. Tristan had heard that Professor Troost was rather eccentric and that seats in his lectures were hard to come by as students from well beyond his discipline regarded them as an entertainment as well as an education.

Ben and Ivy had taken him out to dinner in Sunset first and, at their suggestion, Tristan had provided champagne and paper cups for the site visit.

Professor Troost was an arresting figure in this part of Texas--or perhaps anywhere else. He was not particularly tall and a bald pate was covered by an old beret, but he carried himself with the air of a great emperor and had a way of gliding rather than walking that was punctuated at intervals by sudden halts, his arms held slightly out from his sides and with a tilt of the head as if he had just sniffed something on the air. These pauses would usually be to deliver (he never merely spoke) some profound mot or to point with his stick to something that either found favour or opprobrium.

However, he did love his students and they found him stimulating, in contrast so many of the mediocre professors at the institution--a fact that Professor Troost was not shy in pointing out.

The party had been met in front of the house by Tristan and Colton on the Saturday following Colton's visit home. They were immediately enveloped in his cape in voluble embraces.

"Ah! An Amerikanisches Haus." He said looking up at the bungalow. "See how it has arisen from local conditions--the beautiful wood, the eternal stone, the informality, but still with a need to assert conformity and individuality--the Scylla and the Charybdis of Democracy."

Tristan thought that this was probably good.

Like everyone else, Professor Troost had to climb through the gate and into the back yard. He spied the new stairs to the loft. Everyone looked at him. "How perfect--a straight line. The straight line is the line of beauty, not the curve!" Ben and Ivy dutifully nodded. "I have never seen a straight line that I did not like." He turned his attention back to the timber staircase. "Look how they go: step, step, step. Perfect! The stairway to paradise!" He hummed a few bars of a song to that affect. "These doors! Restrained, elegant, welcoming! Do they open?" Tristan was snapped back to reality and stepped forward and inserted the key into the lock. Professor Troost pushed both doors open with his stick and proceeded through first.

"Oh my! Oh my! Such a space!" It was just space. The old timber floor had been sanded and polished and it glowed like honey. Tiny lights now glinted from the darkness of the roof whose straw and wire-mesh lining seemed to speak to the floor below. The troublesome air-conditioners were hardly visible at all as their plastic carcases had been splotched with brown and black paint by Ivy and Ben themselves just the previous week and were now further concealed by screens made from square timber members.

But it was the proportions that made Professor Troost clutch his chest. He turned to Ben with great intensity. "How wide is this room, Herr Strauss?"

"Ah, near enough to twelve feet, Sir."

"Is it the case, Miss Chen, that this room is some forty feet long?"

"Forty feet and four inches, Sir," replied Ivy, without even having to look at the plan.

"Don't you see?" Tristan didn't see. "The room is exactly two golden rectangles laid end to end. Euclid knew it and so did the man who built this stable!"

"But maybe just he made it big enough to fit his milk floats and hay bales."

"No, he knew instinctively, Herr Isley, I'm sure. We've had to learn it, but the primitive fellow just felt that it looked right. Maybe the wagons themselves were of the same ratio. I'll have to find one to measure."

Tristan was bewildered and they moved on to the roofless bathroom, which was now complete. "This is beautiful work," said the professor, caressing the surfaces of the natural wood and glass. "You can't see a single join."

"We had it fabricated off-site and it was installed last week in just two days," said Ben. "Japanese Cyprus with traditional joinery--no nails."

They all took turns in operating the shower taps and watching the water disappear between the soft timber floor members. Then they took turns in rapping on the glass wall just to see that it really wasn't made of the rice paper of which it appeared to be made from the outside.

They inspected the sparkling new lavatory, which also stood on the Japanese Cyprus boards. "Your watchword should be Genaues Ziel-- accuracy, gentlemen! We must keep it nice."

"I am accurate, Professor," complained Colton. "It is Tristan who isn't."

"You just have the advantage of not having so far to piss," said Tristan in a whisper. Colton grinned and held up his pinkie.

It was Tristan who had the honour of sliding the fusuma or sliding paper screen that divided the loft into two bedrooms. The screen did not extend to the roof, but it ran smoothly out in two leaves, the fixed portion being made to conform to the slope of the low roof and it was still possible for both rooms to connect to the bathroom when it was extended.

"Beautiful proportions!" exclaimed the Professor. "See the work my students have done for you, Herr Isley. Herr Strauss, I detect the influence of Jiro Harada here."

"We scanned some of the old photos, Sir, and repeated the proportions, but not the whole structure, of course." He turned to Tristan. "Traditional Japanese Houses."

"To copy another architect's work is like spitting in his beer," Troost pronounced.

"My exercise bench will go here," said Colton who had been rather quiet until now.

Professor Troost looked alarmed and Ivy hastily found a picture of it on her phone and gave it to her mentor. "It looks quite sculptural, Sir, and one is mostly lying down when using it." Troost paused to consider his reaction, then relaxed. Everyone else breathed out.

"And my pool table right over there."

"A billiard table! In this perfect space! A game where you have to bend over in such inelegant postures!" He shuddered theatrically. "Es läuft mir eiskalt den Rücken herunter!" He shuddered and put the back of his hand to his eyes.

"But they wanted one, Professor," pleaded Ivy. "It was in the brief and it is only a small one. With the top on it can be used as a table."

"Oh, very well. Bloody clients! I suppose it could have been an upright piano."

Ben thought that he should be distracted and told him about the punkahs that were to replace the more usual fans. Fortunately he liked this idea and assumed it was one of Ben's, not knowing it was more properly Deshawn's. He was in a good mood again when they descended into the backyard once more.

"This will be the new summer porch, Professor Troost," said Ivy.

"Ah, yes, a square building." It was almost a square, with just a little bit cut out where it intersected with the old barn and where the narrow staircase came out. "The square is a fine shape, but not as adventurous as the rectangle."

"The roof will be a shallow pyramid with wide, trellised eves."

"I can see it!" cried Troost. "Very good!"

"Ben's idea"

"No, yours"

"Well, it was Ivy's idea to leave the timber balloon frame exposed and just to line the inside below the sill. This will give it a rhythm, Sir. Twenty-four inch intervals."

"And the windows?"

"Twenty-four by thirty-eight-and-a-bit, from memory."

"There! Another Golden Rectangle. You will be happy on that porch, Mr Isley."

Professor Troost was not so enthusiastic about the inside of the old house, so Tristan thought it prudent to crack the second bottle of champagne. In the front bedroom the academic pointed up with his stick to the plaster ceiling with its decorative relief of swages and ribbons and roared with laughter. "Meine Oma--my granny--had a ceiling exactly like this. I remember it growing up."

"What part of Germany was that, Professor?" asked Colton.

"Ohio."

Down in the basement there was some consternation. Ben and Ivy were huddled in urgent conversation. Professor Troost, who had been talking to Colton about the geometry of a football field as they descended the stairs, caught it and he asked them what was wrong.

"This doorway, Sir; when the doors are hung they won't fold back flat. There is not enough room before that wall starts."

Professor Troost looked at the situation and then he looked at Ben and Ivy. "Plans!" They handed them over. "The plan is correct. Your builder has made a mistake,"

"What should we do?" asked Ivy.

"This is what we do." He swept his cape from his shoulders and Colton caught it. Then he picked up a crowbar and started savagely laying into the dry walling, smashing the plaster and eventually loosening the very studs. The others looked on in horror.

At last he was satisfied and dropped the bar and began a search for his beret. Tristan found it and dusted the plaster off.

"Tell them tomorrow morning," he said, smiling and adjusting his hat, "that I have corrected their error and to do it again."

The building works went on, after a fulminating strike of tradespersons was nipped in the bud and Professor Troost was banned from the site, and Tristan found that he was kept so busy with his studies that he did not have time for further inspections himself.

It was the brawny footballers that took delivery of the pool table and carried it up the stairs to its new home. Deshawn put his own homework on hold so that he could devise the oriental punkahs which, he told Tristan, would be operated from a small electric motor (from an old washing machine) situated in the stable below where the noise would not be heard. Tristan, who was in the Library looking up obscure references to the failure of Germany to renew the Russian Reinsurance Treaty of 1887, thanked him, but was straight back to his books because he had thought he'd just discovered something interesting in the life of Count Caprivi--but he was mistaken and, when he looked up again, Deshawn had already left.

The next big event was one that came much sooner than anyone had predicted. An email from President Barlow announced that Senator Rusk would be making an official visit to the campus to present a cheque (or `check', as he spelt it) from the Lloyd and Carol Ann Rusk Foundation to the University Clinic and that there would be media in attendance. Mr Colton Stone's presence was requested.

Dr Baddeley filled in the details, handing the itinerary over: Senator Rusk's people would come in the morning and set things up. At 1:15 the Rusks would arrive and be greeted by the President and Clinic staff. Any student protesters would be kept well back by campus security, which would be under the control of the police. There would be a tour of the facility by the Rusks--with the media to follow. Students receiving their influenza inoculations would be staged, but all posters and other materials relating to birth control and sexual health were to be taken down for the duration. At 1:50 there would be short speeches. Senator Rusk intended to outline his views on the reform of Medicare and the urgent need to make it sustainable in view of ballooning cost burdens. At 2:10 Carol Ann Rusk was to hand over the cheque (a mock one) to President Barlow and Dr Baddeley. Mr Colton Stone should be on the platform in his football uniform and would be expected to shake hands. There would be a tour of the football stadium. Lastly, there would be refreshments to which the media were not invited. And they wanted to vet the list of people who would attend.

"Better buy a new frock," said Dr Baddeley. "Why does he want you there so badly, Colt?"

"Part of a deal, Dr B. I have to go and shake the son-of-a-bitch's hand."

"Didn't know his parents," said Dr Baddeley, then laughed uproariously at her own joke.

"What are you going to do with the money?"

"Ain't up to me, Cowboy, but we might be able to take on a new psych doctor--maybe one with a specialty in addiction? Depends on the size of the donation. Know anything?"

"`Sizable', was what I said."

She whistled. "You had somethin' to do with it?"

"Can't say, Doc, but get y'self all gussied up." He leant down and gave her a peck on the cheek. She blushed and looked flustered.

"Charm the skin off a snake, Cowboy." She reached behind herself. "Just makin' sure y'haven't undone m'bra strap."

"Eww!" groaned Colton in mock disgust. Dr Baddeley propelled him from her office.

Tristan went home with Colton for the weekend. To Tristan, the landscape looked quite different to the last time he had travelled over it and he found he was beginning to appreciate how Texas must have appeared to the early, land-hungry, pioneers. He also found himself becoming intrigued with the plethora of small towns they passed though on the minor roads and sometimes they drove out of their way just to visit one whose name, perhaps, had piqued Tristan's interest.

Llano was typical and here they halted for lunch at a diner that was `real' as Tristan said and not part of a chain. It was a town on a river that had proved destructive in the past, along with the usual history of fires that seemed to have regularly engulfed just about every old building. There had been a short-lived iron ore boom, but now there seemed little reason for its existence, except perhaps from inertia. There was a long, narrow steel bridge from the 1930s, a town centre with one or two ugly Victorian buildings and a row of squat stores. A cinema had survived. One or two blocks of the inevitable gridiron plan boasted the better houses--Tristan played the game of wondering whose they were--and these quickly gave way to rundown houses and even downright shacks on the outskirts before farmland took over once again.

"I'm beginning to like Texan voices," said Tristan as they left the diner. "I guess my ear has become attuned. Of course you have to wait a long time if you want to hear the end of a sentence."

"Well, y'all talk too fast--clip, clip, clipity-clip. Y'speakin' from y'brain, not y'heart. An' y'use too many words."

"Just as many as needed."

"Well, in Texas we don't need that many--they jus' confuse folks."

"Maybe you're right. I sure feel sick after all that fried food though." Tristan belched.

"Another reson t'keep y'trap shut."

There was a warm welcome at the farm. Clarice hugged Tristan like a long lost son and Drake wrung his hand. "I got somethin' t'show y'all, Tristan," he said. "Came in the mail yesterd'y."

Tristan left his backpack with Colton and followed his father into the living room. From a bureau he produced a letter. It was on Globoco paper. Tristan read it through. It began as a polite thank you for the boxes of wine that had been sent as a gift. Tristan's father said that he was pleased to have been able to help Colton when he was so unfairly place in a difficulty (Tristan thought this was a delicate way of phrasing it) and that Mr Sleigh had been paid. Then the letter said that he had suggested to certain persons at Globoco that it would be a fitting idea if only wine from Texas Hill Country were to be served exclusively at company functions and on the company's fleet of executive aircraft. He further went on to say that he suggested that the Stone's Shiraz be considered--`with all due deference to the other Stones varieties'--and would they consider being a supplier.

"Well! I don't know what to say, Drake. It's news to me. Would they be large orders? I mean I have only been on one of their planes once. How big is a fleet?"

"I don't know either, son, but it can only be a good development. Breaking into markets is harder than growing the stuff."

"I think we should have a fancier label made," said Clarice who had just come into the room with coffee on a tray. "I mean, a lot sells just because of the label and ours is pretty lame."

"Know any one at College who'd like to design us one--I mean for payment?"

"I don't know. Hey Colt, do you know any Graphic Design students?"

"Sure--there's Amy, Sandra, Lee-Anne, Chrissie with the blonde hair and Chrissie with the dark-hair and Xiang."

"Don't any guys do the course?" asked his father.

"Dunno."

There was some laughter and Colton didn't quite know what was so funny. His father showed him the letter. Colton read it and let out a whoop and grabbed his mother for a dance around the room to music of his own making.

There was the anticipated tour of the farm while it was light. Tristan and his father talked quietly together, discussing crops and cattle and the intricacies of running the concern. Occasionally Drake would draw Tristan in, by turning to him and pointing out some feature--six new cows that he hoped to breed from, the shiraz vines in leaf, a regraded farm track.

Clarice produced a hearty home-cooked meal. Colton wolfed his down; Tristan found it harder. There was wine and Clarice had made a ginger sponge cake. Colton's involvement in the rape case was not mentioned, instead there were questions about Tristan's new house.

"Colton told me you have a new little sister, Tristan."

"Yes, my Mum and her new husband, but I can't show you a picture of little Alice. My mother isn't really talking to me."

"Oh dear, I'm so sorry," said Clarice.

Tristan wasn't going to say any more, but changed his mind, sensing a mother's shoulder to cry on and suddenly feeling the urge to take advantage of it. "I have asked for photos, but she hasn't sent any. You see, Roger has two boys from his first marriage. The older one--he's sixteen--has been in trouble over drugs at his school."

"That must be a worry for them all, but I don't see..."

"My mother seems to have got it into her head that I have somehow introduced him to drugs--I smoked a bit of dope when I was younger and you know I was out of it on pills last year."

"But Tristan hardly knows him, Mom," pleaded Colton. "He's away at boarding school."

"Well, that does seem strange."

"I'm wondering if Mum is quite right in the head--you know, like having a mental breakdown. Her attitude to me is frankly bizarre. So, you see, we're `estranged' as they say." Tristan looked down to find Clarice's hand over his. It was a motherly touch and Tristan had to stop himself from tearing up.

Drake changed the subject. "Your mother and I are going to Gramma's in the morning. Taking her to her podiatrist and then to buy a new washer. We'll be home after lunch."

"I'll leave you some sandwiches."

"Perhaps you like to exercise he horses?"

"Why don't you take Tristan to see some of the lovely things around town?"

"Yeah, Mom, I thought I'd take him on the Wildflower Walk and then, for excitement, to the Quilt Museum." Tristan looked questioningly. "But then I thought, `Fuck that', we'll go out t'Fritz's Beer Garden and get drunk."

"Well, I was only trying to help, Colt. No need to be so sarcastic. What about Indian Rock?"

"Actually, that's pretty cool." He turned to Tristan. "It's a rock formation--a pink granite inselberg--out of town a piece. There's Indian sacred history and you can climb it n'stuff."

"Whatever you think. You don't have to entertain me--perhaps not the quilts though."

After a movie on Netflix, they retired to bed. Colton locked the door. "We'll bunk down in Dace's bed tonight," he said pulling off his tee-shirt.

"There's not much room," observed Tristan, looking at the middle of the three beds.

"Well, you'll just have to snuggle."

"It's not very macho to snuggle'," said Tristan pulling off his trainers. "I mean would Parker snuggle'?"

"Sure he would--or maybe that's the reason he doesn't have a girlfriend."

"Maybe he's snugging with Holly right now."

"Would you like to see that?"

"Yeah--it might be hot."

"So y'can imagine him snugglin'. Just answered y'own question."

"Fuck! Are you ever not hard?" Colton's boxers had come down and his big, blonde cock was perpendicular.

"Maybe half an hour on a bad day. Hey, remember when we was on Skype an' my dad saw you in the raw?"

"Yeah, thanks for that, Colty," said Tristan sarcastically.

"Well, he came in here t'say goodnight and have a chat..." Tristan looked automatically to the door. "Locked. Well, I had a fuckin' enormous hardon talkin' to you an' he came in an' the sheet slid right off giving him the whole thing Imax-style."

"What did he do?"

"Well, I can tell you he was impressed n'I just laid there like this." He jumped on the bed and clasped his hands behind his head. "And it was quietly pulsin' and drippin' just like it is now."

"I just cannot conceive of that ever happening with my father."

"He was playin' it pretty cool--he's really a great guy. I reckon he would have liked to sample m'honey, though. Course he didn't. He jus' said `goodnight'.

"Wow."

"I reckon he knows about you an' me. Don't panic. He doesn't seem to mind and he told me some stuff about when he was young--had a dude to service him even when he had girlfriends."

"Just like me--I service?"

"Maybe. Dunno know 'xactly."

"About him or us?'

"Both, I reckon."

Room was found and Colton put his left arm around Tristan to stop him tumbling to the floor. "And you were as hard as this?"

"Yeah."

And you're your foreskin had retracted?"

"Mostly"

"And you were dripping like this, with your back arched?"

"Yeah, but I don't think I was thrustin'--that wouldda have bin provocative."

"Your poor dad. Probably didn't know which way to look." Tristan was using just his index finger on Colton's cock, making small movements."

"Oh he knew where t'look, n'he was jealous. Said so. I'm bigger than the other men in the family--'cept maybe grandpa." Tristan took this to be the husband of Mrs Garvey. "Gramma said he was hung like a horse, but she coulda been bullshittin'."

Tristan continued to tease and Colton did everything to push his straining cock further upwards. "Make me cum like this, Tris." He clutched Tristan tighter. "Oh fuck! Make your cowboy shoot, baby!"

Colton did shoot but it was not before several more minutes of Tristan's special ministrations. They both watched the damn thing twitch and pulse as long shots jetted forth to be followed by a prolonged period where cum merely burbled forth.

"That was a good one, Colt," breathed Tristan into his ear. "You could make every woman in the county pregnant."

"One hundred million sperm in just an average dude's cum. I reckon I could nock up every women in the whole country--though difficult, mind."

Tristan selfishly denied the women of the Pacific Northwest and scooped some up to lubricate himself. He came quickly and was pleasantly surprised when Colton sucked him clean, grinning, and then said, "Thanks for bein' my friend, Tris."

Tris was not put out by this less-than-fulsome sentiment and, in fact, thought it was a nice. He moved his head down awkwardly into Colton's groin and laid his cheek against Colton's pubic hair with his deflated cock resting across his eyes and nose. "I want to sleep here."

"So you want to sleep down south in Colty Land?" Tristan couldn't help but laugh. "No," Colton continued, "I want you up here where I can protect you. Put your head on m'pec." Tristan reluctantly uncurled and did as was ordered. Colton's right arm enfolded him. "Now this is snugglin'." Tristan didn't disagree. "Tell Parker I can give him lessons in how t'do it right."

In the morning they heard the truck depart for Gramma's. Colton was sure that his father had arranged this absence deliberately. Colton needed to be serviced and this time he choked it down Tristan's willing but battered throat. Tristan got his breakfast early.

They lay in the bed for more than an hour just talking, but it was quite clear that they were both still frisky and Colton even initiated a passionate bout of very masculine kissing, pulling at Tristan's upper, then lower, lips with his teeth and doing things with his tongue with such an aggressive hunger that Tristan thought he would cum.

"Colt," he said when he could take a breath. "Do you have any overalls?"

"Yeah, like as in dungarees? I've got some, but they wouldn't fit y'all."

"No, I was thinking of you."

"But I usually do farm work in m'Wranglers."

"This would be for work of a different kind. In the barn."

Tristan had been reading Uncle Buck's Butt Barn--a literary work concerning the adventures of a surprisingly naïve college sophomore trying to make some money in his summer vacation.

"That's a load o'crap," said Colton after Tristan had read him some representative passages. "They wouldn't be plantin' corn in Kansas in June--would already be in the ground in the first half o'April."

"No, you are missing the point."

"No, you are. You can't milk a cock--not even mine--with a four horsepower dairy cow milker. Action's all wrong--you don't think us Coyotes didn't try it when we were young?"

Tristan was not to be put off and after breakfast he dressed Colton in the old denim overalls that were probably now a size too small. "No underwear. Now these studs must be left undone so you can get a glimpse...Just one strap and fold half the bib down so your pec with the ring is on display." Tristan mussed up Colton's hair and made him leave his work boots untied. Lastly a straw Stetson was placed on his head.

"Do I need a fork?"

"Do you have one--preferably an old one?" A pitchfork was found when they went out to the barn. "Very Grant Wood," concluded Tristan after he stood back and admired the finished work. "Now you have to fuck me on the hay bales."

"Did you clean out?"

"No, I was so excited I forgot."

"Well, go into the house and do it. I'm goin' in deep. I'll just stay out here and work on this broken hand drill. I just might shove the handle up y'butt if y'good."

"Get good and sweaty," said Tristan as he scampered away.

When he came back Colton put down the old drill that had been his grandfather's and turned to Tristan.

"You the new farm hand, college boy?"

"Yes, Reuben. Uncle Buck told me to come out to the barn and help you just as good as I've been helping him since Aunt..." Tristan hesitated.

"Maybelle?"

"...since Aunt Maybelle passed this last spring."

"Come over here boy an' bite Reuben's tittie, an' I'll think of somethin' you can do, but loose y'drawers."

"Oh Colt, you don't have any long underwear do you?" asked Tristan, breaking character. Colton was afraid he didn't.

The play went on in this vein for a few more minutes, every cheesy cliché being employed. What the author of Uncle Buck's Butt Barn hadn't allowed for was how prickly straw was on bare flesh. A blanket had to be fetched.

Colton eventually took Tristan hard. "Oh fuck! Fuck! Fuck! It hurts!" cried Tristan as each thrust of Colton's groin slammed into him.

"Pull out?"

"No Reuben, make me forget that quarterback back at Emporia. You're much more of a real man that that wuss."

Colton started to giggle and his erection threatened to deflate. Tristan tried to flex his internal muscles to keep Colton going. He must have been successful, for Colton came inside him.

"Well, that was great!" said Tristan who looked down to see that he had indeed cum without fully realising it.

"I need to go again," said Colton, urgently and unfastening his dungarees. "I just need it, Tris, I need to fuck you again. On y'knees."

Tristan was achingly sore and did really not want to go again' but the idea that he was to service' the quarterback's needs was strangely exciting and brought back remembrances of Military Service at the Citadel, although this wasn't Charleston, South Carolina and Tristan wasn't a sixteen year-old cadet.

Tristan spilled again, this time onto the straw that was pricking his knees unbearably. "Finish with me on my back," he huffed and Colton, in a swift football movement, spun hum over without losing a beat.

"Fuck, I'm in deep. Can y'feel it?"

"Yeah, your big cock is filling me up--the head is right at my ascending colon."

"Descending. And, Fuck, I can feel it."

"Are you close?"

"No, talk dirty."

Tristan tried his best, but found he was getting tongue-tied and splitting infinitives and other crimes against the language. Fuck me! Fuck me!' often substituted where more dignified words failed. He praised Colton's staying power, the size of his penis, his chest and just about anything else he thought he might like to here. He then resorted to reporting how Colton was making him feel, including comparison to largely imaginary and unsatisfactory lovers. "I want you to make me cum," he said then, in a fit of imagination, how he wanted to loose bladder control and continence--hoping that would not put Colton off. Then he said how he wanted to be hurt, to bleed and to be fucked to death'.

Whether it was this filthy talk or the fact that Tristan, in his excitement, was getting the hiccups, in any event Colton gave a grunt that reverberated throughout the barn and shot his third load of the morning into his Uncle Buck's obliging nephew, while the cows in the nearby paddock watched impassively from behind their fence.

"Feeling satisfied, Cowboy?" asked Tristan at long last. He was on his back, looking up at the rafters.

Colton was nearly asleep, sweat soaking his hair and making his skin glisten in the shaft of sunlight that penetrated the open barn doors. "Fuck, that was good. Really felt that I'd busted m'nut."

"I want to satisfy you."

"Well, y'did. Did I hurt you?"

"A bit, but I really liked it. It was like riding a bucking bronco."

"When did you ever ride a bronco, Limey?"

"Mechanical one in Fort Worth--and just now."

Colton rolled over on top of him and stared penetratingly into his eyes. "I want you to keep my two loads of cum inside you for as long as you can. Have you got your plug?"

"Bottom of my backpack. I hope your mum doesn't find it."

"My cum marks you, Tris. You're special. For you I do it bare--not for no chicks, just for you who only lives just to satisfy m'carnal needs."

"Well, I wouldn't say I only live for it."

He looked at Tristan in that way again and said, "I would," and kissed him.

They went for a ride around the farm and down several of the dirt roads. Colton wanted to ride hard, but Tristan was satisfied with a canter--always fearing his horse would bolt. They ate their sandwiches under an oak.

"Why don't we go out to Indian Rock? I could see if Beau wanted to come." Tristan replied that would be nice and contemplated meeting Colton's gay cousin for a second time.

Colton drove with Beau `riding shotgun'. Tristan was amazed at how the two cousins could just pick up threads of intimacy so easily and he listened to them laughing and joking from the backseat.

Beau had a boyfriend. He was not at school, but was away working in Galveston, he said. Tristan did no pursue it, nor did Beau ask him if he had a boyfriend. Which was just as well, thought Tristan.

The boys in the front were laughing and joking--often at the expense of the other Coyotes. Occasionally a comment would be directed to the back seat in an effort to include Tristan.

The radio was blaring and they began singing along to an old song

... I started walking her way

She belonged to bad man Jose

And I knew, yes I knew I should leave

When I heard her say, yeah

They shouted the chorus at the top of their voices

Come a little bit closer

You're my kind of man

So big and so strong

Come a little bit closer

I'm all alone and the night is so long

The boys `bust up' laughing and Tristan joined in, wishing that he had the history that Beau had with Colton.

They were still laughing when Colton swung confidently into the car park amid a shower of small gravel. Tristan looked up as he climbed down from the truck. Indian Rock was a granite dome that rose abruptly out of the level prairie. The forested surrounds did not extend up the naked granite slopes, so it looked to Tristan like a balding man who had let his fringe of hair grow unruly. The rocky slopes showed great fissures and there were flaws where the layers seemed to be peeling like an onion. The operation of great and ancient natural forces was evident and Tristan could understand its power over the First Nations, the Spanish explorers and, indeed, modern tourists.

They stocked up on water and snacks from the cafe. Beau said that they did not need a map because he knew the trail very well. They were about to set off when Tristan disappeared to the `bathroom' (a term he had to stop himself from lapsing into) and in the privacy of a cubicle he dropped his shorts and boxers and eased the butt plug from his arse. It gave with slurp that was followed by a wet fart. Tristan was caught between sighing and giggling. He looked at the black monster and wondered how it was ever inside him. There was no blood. He took it to the sink and washed it as best he could, keeping his eye of the door. While it would make it easier to hike without it constantly mashing his insides, he had to admit as he stowed it into his backpack, that introducing it into their man play was kind of exciting and it had made intercourse with Colton considerably less traumatic.

It was an interesting hike up to the summit. While the thick vegetation of the lowlands quickly gave way to rock, it was not quite barren and all the more interesting to see how even here life found footholds. There were scrubby trees, cacti and spiny shrubs sprouting from crevices. These were alive with little birds and Colton could name several of the species. A dispute erupted between Colton and Beau as to whether one little creature was a yellow-throated vireo or a lesser goldfinch. Tristan was disappointed that he did not see a roadrunner. Then there were mysterious seasonal puddles in depression in the rocks. These lakes supported miniature landscapes of sedums and other such succulents.

"Where did you meet Grayson, Beau?" asked Tristan as they walked side by side.

"I'm still a junior--be a senior next year 'cause I was held back from startin' elementary school 'cause I was sick. He was a new kid at school--senior-- but he dropped out when he got an apprenticeship as a diesel mechanic here in town. His boss has sent him down to his brother's shop in Galveston to give him some more experience."

"That's tough. You must miss him."

Beau shrugged. "We're not that strong. Just see what happens. What about you?"

"Me?" asked Tristan, not realizing for a moment that this would be a natural course in the conversation. "Oh, I just have a few casual hook ups, you know..."

"But Colt's fucking you?"

"Why do you say that? He's my straight roommate," said Tristan in alarm and he looked to where Colton was walking, about twenty yards ahead.

"Because I know Colt and I can see how you are when you're together. Obvious." He paused for emphasis. "He's a great guy--I mean a really great guy."

"Yeah, I've discovered that," said Tristan, hoping that he could avoid the first part.

"I've been crushing on him since I was twelve, but you know, he just treats me like a little brother. We've jacked off together--with the other Coyotes--when we've been watching porn. Straight porn, of course. I would just jack off to Colt jackin' off. But I'd surely love it to be somethin' else. I'd love him to just--you know--take me!" He gave a very gay and very theatrical swoon for just a moment, then reverted to a Texan good ole' boy. "And fuck me into next year with those big muscles and that big club he' got swingin' between his legs...woah!...gettin' m'self all excited." He laughed. "I figure you must feel the same livin' with him an' all."

"Well..."

"Y'don't have to say nothin', Tristan."

They walked on in silence for a few minutes more. Tristan thought he'd better bolster Colton's straight credentials. "He's had a heap of girls, you know--mostly one night stands. He tends to fall pretty hard too."

"Yeah, just like that at School. Went athrough damn near the whole cheer squad o'course and some other chicks--some smart ones too. He likes brains. There were some older ones that I don't rightly know 'bout and then there was Mia--the Latina at the Trailer Park. Was with her for about six months."

"High sex drive."

"Yeah, and because he's so good lookin' an' so confident an' downright friendly, he gets it handed to him on a plate. Don't have to work much to get it. I mean, he can fuck girls an' drop 'em an' they still like him afterwards."

"Well, he is the quarterback and that's important in Texas."

Beau laughed. "He's the cliché." They looked at Colton marching up ahead. "And look at that big fuckin' ass on him. Sure is beau-ti-ful!"

"Yeah, isn't it?" said Tristan and grinned at Beau.

"I sure miss him, Tris. He's a long way away now and I reckon I feel a bit lost. I don't even know if I'll get into college. Not sure what I want. I'm a bit of a fuck up."

"You should come up and visit us. I've bought a house."

"Yeah, he told me."

"A group of us from the dorm are moving in and there will be room for visitors."

Beau nodded and pulled his cap a bit lower. Tristan thought their talk had come to an end but Beau had just been thinking. "I reckon y'all been good for Colt, Tris. I can see that he's changed since he's been away and from what I hear..."

Tristan cut him off. "No, I'm the one who has changed--well changed the most. Since meeting Colt, well, my life is not fucked up any more. It's actually pretty good and...well, I'm still confused, but I'd rather be confused with Colt than see my life clearly without him."

"Wow."

"I haven't told anyone that. Certainly not him."

"He operates on intuition, Tristan. He'd know stuff even if--you know--he wasn't aware of it."

"You mean in his unconscious mind?"

"That's it. He'd know somethin' of how y'feel."

"But I don't know how he feels--even in my unconscious," said Tristan in exasperation.

"But he's lovin' y'good?"

"Yeah, the lovin' is fucking awesome."

"Well, there you are--that's atellin' you somethin' if y'listen."

"To what the wild waves are saying."

"What's that mean?"

"It was just a song--a really old song--that impressed him."

"Hey!" They looked ahead. "Hurry up ladies an' quite talkin' 'bout me."

"We weren't talking about you, were we Beau?"

"No, asshole, we was discussin' old songs. Ain't all 'bout you!"

Colton gave a snort as if he didn't believe it.

They had arrived at the summit. It was a barren dome of rock, but the view over the countryside was magnificent. Colton and Beau became quite excited pointing out various features down below. It was windy, so they retired to the lee of some shrubbery growing in a cleft. The view was still visible.

"You know what Coyotes do when we hike to the top of a hill like this?" asked Colton, taking a drink from his backpack.

"Jack off!" replied Beau and Tristan together.

"Damn right! Feels great in the outdoors an' this breeze will be sure nice on m'balls."

"Your big balls," said Beau.

"You're very big and low hanging balls," added Tristan.

"Yeah on these very big, low hangin' an' cum-filled bull balls." Colton had dropped his shorts and was lifting the leg of his plaid boxers. "Drop 'em, Coyotes."

"But if other hikers come?" asked Tristan.

"Will be able to see 'em comin' up before they see us," said Colton with the confidence of a trail hand.

He had his piece out before the other two had dropped their shorts. "Over here you two." Tristan and Beau moved up next to him, Tristan casting a nervous eye backwards. "No, I'll stand and watch. You two can sit down."

They began to manipulate their cocks in the ways each favoured. Down came Beau's boxers. They were a loud plaid, of course--even though he was gay. He proudly showed his cock to Tristan. His brown pubes formed a thick triangle of the sort that Professor Troost would have liked, but they were trimmed very short. "Have to trim every week," complained Beau, who was evidently reading Tristan's mind.

"Nice cock." It was an anodyne gay remark--the equivalent of `very well thank you' in more polite circles--but Tristan mean it sincerely. It was the cock of a seventeen year-old and maybe had some more growing to do, but it was Texan in its proportions and Tristan wondered, not for the first time, of the influence of a diet of steak and Mexican food.

"Wish I was uncut like Colt."

"Yeah, me too."

"Did you convince him to get that ring?" Colton was tugging on it with his left hand while he jerked with the other.

"Yeah, had both mine done at the same time. Colt likes to twist them."

"That is so fuckin' hot!" said Beau and Tristan wondered if he'd said too much.

"Beau, I want you to suck Colt," he said quietly.

"No, Tristan, he's your boyfriend."

"No he's not. I've slept with other guys. Was with one the night he went to jail--should have been with him. Feel bad."

"No, you do it."

Tristan went with his gut feeling and looked up at Colton who was not engaged in their conversation, his mind being of somewhere else.

"Colt, let us help you out."

"I could sure use some relief."

Tristan had said `us' but when he stilled Colton's hand it was Beau who was directed to kneel before him. Beau did not object, and Tristan grasped Colton's cock and fed it to him.

"Suck me like an orphan calf, Beau. Tris, keep watch."

Tristan forgot about his own cock and stood behind Colton. He ran his hands over his chest and kissed his neck and shoulders while he was being fellated. He whispered filthy things in Colton's ear, nibbling the lobe between thoughts. He looked down and saw Beau, baseball cap reversed, bobbing away on his cousin while a free hand tugged at his own meat.

"Look up at me Beau," demanded Colton. Beau cast his green eyes upwards in hungry adoration. "That's a good boy. Service y'big cuz an' make me feel right."

Tristan had to keep reminding himself to glance occasionally at the trail below. Fortunately it was deserted. Beau was trying to deepthroat. He coughed and Colton's cock, when he withdrew it to allow him a breath, was covered in what they called `throat slime' in Timmy Plays College Ball. "Get back on it, Coyote."

"Fuck my face, Colt," gasped Beau. Colton went into a fiercer mode and grasped his cousin by the hair, dislodging his cap.

Meanwhile, Tristan had wetted his middle finger and slid it downwards. Colton was standing with his legs apart, so his cheeks were slightly agape. He found Colton's sphincter. It was closed for business, but Tristan tapped lightly on the door. Eventually, by whatever mechanism, it opened just enough for Tristan to ease in, applying a steady pressure. "Oh that feels good." Tristan assumed that was meant for him. He flexed his finger and moved it around in the squishy confines of Colton's guts. "Gettin' real close," announced Colton and the words had barely left his mouth when he shot into Beau's. After matters settled a little, Colton was contrite. "Right sorry, Beau, y'could have pulled off. Tried to warn y'all."

"No way!" He replied with a mouthful. "Do I have to show you?"

"Boy has respectful manners, Tris, take note. Yeah, show me." Beau, still on his knees, opened wide and moved his tongue in the puddle. "Y'all can swallow now," said Colton. "Well that was..."

"Beau and I haven't got off yet," complained Tristan. "You have to help."

"How?"

"Beau wants to eat your arse out and I want to suck out another load."

"Jesus, Tris, that was my fourth load today. I don't know if I can go again. Besides, someone might come by."

"Didn't worry you before, stud. I want another load and Beau wants dessert. You have to provide it or...or...you'll be running laps around the football field...with my plug in your lazy arse," invented Tristan.

"Gawsh, Coach, you's real mean an' demandin' but I guess I ain't got no other choice if I wanna keep m'place on the team."

It took a while, but Colton was made to come again. He grumbled and said that his balls were aching and that they should rightly carry him down the trail to the car park. The other two took small notice and talked between themselves.

"Fuck me, he tastes good," said Beau. "His slime, his sweat and that ass!"

"Yeah, I think so, and his cum is almost sweet."

"He keeps you plugged?"

"Yeah, he's really worked to open me up so we can both enjoy it. Never took it in the bum before, you see, and he is so thick that it really hurt, but he's `trained me' as they say in porn." He removed the black butt plug from his knapsack. "This is the largest one. I had it in this morning, but took it out for the hike. It's washed but not disinfected. You gotta be careful."

"God! That's so hot! He stretches you before he fucks you."

"Yeah, but we don't do it every day--just on special occasions. Isn't that right Colt? He said in a louder voice. "You only fuck me on special occasions."

"Yeah, it was the anniversary of the end of meat rationing during World War Two, so I gave Tristan a Texas T-bone." Colton seemed quite unashamed of having just had sexual relations with two guys (although, as observed before, President Clinton might not have called it that) "and he won't be getting any more until Confederate Heroes Day, if'n I recover by then."

"Suppose he' good at it, just like everything else?"

"Yeah, he's really great. If he's like that with girls, no wonder they keep friendly with him--probably had the best orgasms of their lives."

"I don't want to think about chicks having orgasms or Colton fuckin' 'em."

"Well, you kinda have to. He won't stop chasing girls just because I blow him or let him inside me."

"We all have our problems, I figure," said Beau, and became lost in his own thoughts.

They caught up with Colt and he put a heavy arm around each of them, in friendly style, and they walked three abreast down to where they had left the truck.

Please look for the next chapter. Henry would love to receive feedback and will endeavour to reply. Please email h.h.hilliard@hotmail.com and put Tristan in the subject line.