Tristan

Tristan by Henry H. Hilliard

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Chapter 31

The days immediately following `Bonfire' were a confusion of images. Everywhere stood groups of students discussing the curious and tragic events that had seen the life of their Vice President and that of a popular African-American sophomore taken. The media had besieged the campus and television reporters could be seen on the lawns wringing every last drop out of the tragedy, whilst humming outside broadcast vans topped with satellite dishes lined the campus roadways. One reporter even came to interview Colton, but Tristan sent her away, lying that he had no idea where the quarterback and date for the ill-fated Provost's daughter could be found, although he was, at that moment, lying on his bed staring at the ceiling.

At the same time, the end of term was approaching and the students of Charles C. Selecman House were busy moving out. All the late spring day students could be seen ferrying boxes down the stairs and into waiting parental vehicles.

Colton had taken it very hard, especially as it followed so close upon the allegation of rape that had seen him held in police cells, even if briefly. Then there had been the tension with Senator Rusk, not to mention dealing with the police and the Corps of Cadets on Tristan's behalf. It had been a stressful semester, even without football.

"I think you should go home, Colt," said Tristan as he began his own packing. "I think you should go to avoid the media and everything."

"I should run away?"

"It's not running away! You haven't done anything wrong and I think you need to stop feeling sorry for yourself. You had no part in those girls' deaths. Think of their parents. Think of Keaton Davies who has lost two girlfriends. They have real reason to grieve."

"You're being a cunt, Tris."

"No I'm not, Colt,' said Tristan in a kindly voice, "but I'm not going to let you take on the blame for this. Go home. But help me move this bloody exercise equipment over to the house first. Then I will drive you to the bus depot."

The fallout of the Bonfire Tragedy began to play out almost immediately. There had to be autopsies and an inquest into the deaths. This would delay the two funerals until well after the College had closed. In any case, Sharon's was to take place in Houston and Wynetta's somewhere in Missouri.

The Corps of Cadets came under severe criticism for the construction of the bonfire and for the practical joke of the explosives. Colonel Emmett P. Wilmer resigned just two days later. Curiously, no more military manoeuvres by the Family Defence Militia were reported from the forest. Tristan came to see this as some sort of vindication.

President Isaac Barlow also received a share of the blame. The Cadet Corps was, after all, a part of his university and Bonfire was a university-sanctioned event. However, the Board of Regents gave him their backing and the grieving Provost, Newt W. Pellman, did not apportion any public blame, perhaps to protect his late daughter's reputation.

The other casualty was the Corps' Ceremonial General, Teddy, who was the individual, after all if one was to excuse Rachel, Leesha and Kate Smith, who had precipitated matters. He was sent to the San Diego Zoo and the Huffington Post ran a vitriolic piece condemning the unsuitable diet militarism combined with Oreos on captive primates.

Colton did go home, with Tristan promising to visit in a couple of weeks and with the intention of bringing him back to labour on the house as paid vacation employment. Parker and Hollis helped Tristan in moving, before Parker too had to leave. The contents of the storage locker were emptied, with much of it having to be stored in the old stable because the newly varnished floors needed another day to dry.

Tristan spent his last night in the dorm room--now mostly stripped bare. He held onto a pair of Colton's plaid boxers, occasionally putting them to his nose to conjure up their owner and his eyes moistened with the thought that he would not see him for some time. Then he fell to recalling all that had happened since the last September. How long ago that seemed! How remote now was that dreadful, wonderful day when his father to this place had brought him. How angry and frustrated was his father and how delighted Tristan had been by this. How he had been high as a kite on medication just to get through the ordeal. How he had met Colton and how he had turned his life around. How happy he now was. This made him cry all the harder.

The next morning Hollis woke Tristan and they began work by disconnecting the large television in the Common Room that had been a gift from his father. Tristan felt a bit mean for depriving the next intake of freshmen, but his father had given it to him and it was, as Hollis kept pointing out, too expensive to simply give away.

It was loaded into the truck with the last of Tristan and Colton's clothes and taken the short distance to `HMS Beagle'--the new house.

The house was now shrouded with scaffolding because it was being painted--the last major job to be undertaken by Mr Wilcox and the firm of contractors that Tristan's father had arranged through Globoco. The colour scheme was thought to be similar to what had obtained before: a soft sage green with cream-and-Indian red trims.

Hollis and Tristan were able to walk inside. The floors in the main rooms in the old part of the house were now glowing and it seemed a shame to mar them with their flipflop footprints. The dining room had its original panelling back to how it must have been when new in the nineteen-twenties. Only the built-in sideboard on the kitchen wall was absent, but there was an opening, neatly framed in modern timber, through which future meals might yet magically appear.

Holly went to look at the front bedroom--a large and handsome room that he was to share with Parker. It would be tight, but there was room for two beds and the closet was of a generous size. There was also a view onto the front verandah and over the lawn to the street.

Meanwhile, Tristan was preoccupied with where the television was to go--a vital piece of planning in a house of jocks. With one wall having the wide opening to the dining room, and the street wall occupied by the front door and a range of windows, it really only left two options and the best one seemed to be above the fireplace.

Tristan called Hollis. "If we put the TV there, do you think that would work?"

"Are y'all going to light the fire?"

"I guess not very often. Would it fuck the TV?"

"Might could. Also y'need it as low as possible so y'neck don't get strained."

"I see. Where do you suggest?"

"I reckon this corner," said walking over to the angle of the fireplace and front wall. He stood with his arms outstretched. "It would miss the fireplace an' just cover a bit o'window."

"What would we stand it on?"

"Nothin'. I reckon the full-motion bracket could go here," he said pointing, "and it could swing out to any angle y'like. We'll need a drill an'other stuff. Where does the aerial plug in?"

They hunted about. It was actually on the other side of the room.

"Shit! You know what this means?"

"What, Holly?"

"We'll need a longer cable an' your goin' to have to crawl under the house--the basement isn't excavated this far forward."

They went back to the truck and unloaded the rest of the cargo. The television was leaned reverently against the wall and then they set off for the hardware store.

They returned and now Tristan was the proud owner of some basic tools. He wondered for a moment if he would end up as a suburban handyman like Mr Hill--Rachel's father. Still, he had little choice.

Hollis was quite handy. "Y'gotta be out on a ranch." And soon the bracket was secured and levelled in the chimney wall. Holding the huge television while it was fastened to the bracket was more properly a job for three, but they managed after a few failed attempts. The television was stupidly switched on, but there was no picture without the aerial.

Now Hollis came into his own. "We drill holes here and here," he said, pointing. "I tie this pencil to the string an' drop it through the hole. You are under the house and find it when I jiggle it. Use the light from your phone. Then y'takes it across to the other hole where I'll have dropped a second string."

Tristan nodded dumbly.

"Can y'all tie a reef knot, Limey?"

"I was a Scout," replied Tristan indignantly.

"Well, tie 'em off an' I'll pull it through. I'll attach the cable t'one end an' I'll pull and you can stay there an' guide it."

"Understood."

It took three attempts, but Tristan's knot held and the cable slithered out of the hole and into Hollis' fingers. However Tristan emerged from the opening in the trellis skirt that concealed the subfloor from public view, covered in black dust and awful spiders' webs. Hollis roared with laughter at the sight of the forlorn figure and quite quickly a picture was on its way to Colt and the others.

Tristan trudged back inside, dimly conscious that the house was now truly his now that he had crawled under it. To his delight the television was now working, so the next job was to carry in the green sofa from the stable and position it.

They sat down and watched daytime rubbish for half an hour. "You know, Holly, I don't think we'll fit three long couches in here."

Hollis narrowed his grey eyes like a cowboy scanning the horizon for Indians. "Well this one here," he said thumping the cushion next to him. The couch they were sitting on was on the blank wall that backed on to the front bedroom. "Then one across the opening--there's room to walk around."

"And then?" There was silence.

"Could the one across the opening be one of them "L" shaped ones? Y' know, seats four or a dude can stretch right out."

It might preclude a good view of the screen, but it was a possibility, thought Tristan. "Yeah and then something small--maybe bean bags under the window."

"Dunno if y'all will find one of those in no thrift shop. Might try on the way, of course."

Hollis was referring to the trip they were making to Hollis' ranch out west. They were going in Tristan's truck and Tristan would be a guest until he went to see Colton. Tristan was looking forward to the experience.

Being with Hollis was always fun and he had a goofy sense of humour. He was a tall and rangy figure with ripcord muscle, unlike Parker and Colton who were more solid. With his red-blonde hair and freckly skin covered in tattoos he was the very image of a cowboy and quite good-looking in a masculine way.

"Come on, let's get some pizza and beer," said Tristan at last.

"You goin' out like that?"

Tristan had forgotten he was covered in muck. He looked down at himself. "I'd better find my stuff and have a shower."

"I'm coming with you," said Hollis. "We'll christen the new shower together."

Tristan chucked to himself at the delightful notion. He was continually amazed that his jock friends did not mind getting naked with a gay boy. Perhaps they were super confident in their own sexuality or maybe they were simply inured to it.

So, as at Charles C. Selecman House, Tristan found himself in the splendid `boys' shower' downstairs. It was nearly eight feet long and dispensed with the usual doors and curtains. There were three overhead roses and two hand-held ones. With a tiled seat and carefully designed shelf, there was room for everything and the long mirror above the two basins would not fog because there was a powerful exhaust fan set in the wall. In every respect it was superior to the dorm, except that Tristan would miss the parade of male jock flesh of a morning, although the freedom from tinea had to be weighed against this.

Hollis had wet his hair and asked Tristan to pass him the shampoo. Then Hollis used the hand shower to wash the sticky cobwebs from Tristan's hair. "Don't you go backin' into me none, gayboy," said Hollis laughin', "or you might get more than y'bargained for."

"Oh! I've dropped the soap. It's behind you, Holly. Pick it up?"

"I ain't come down in the last shower," said Hollis, making a very good pun, "an' I know all the locker room tricks. Ain't bendin' over neither."

"Day-amn!" cried Tristan in imitation. This was not how it went in Tommy the Towel Boy's Work Experience. But, he realised, it was unlikely that Hollis had read that particular story.

"This is sure a nice bathroom," said Hollis as he dried himself off. "You done us proud, Tris." By now he was in his boxers, which were the sort covered in a design of red lips.

"Well, you and Parker and Carlos can all get ready at the same time--just like in the dorm."

"I'll buy you supper. Y'all is always puttin' y'hand in y'pocket for other people."

They returned to the house with more beer, but first they carried Rachel's table into the dining room. One end was butted up against the hatch to the kitchen. Four could sit on each side when the bentwood chairs were put around. "Rache has sure done a fine bit of work here." Hollis ran his palm over he glossy surface with its Lone Star decoration. "She's wasted doin' trombone and shit at College."

"Would you go out with her, Holly?"

"Might could but, you know, it's like Colt says: the girls is buddies now an' off limits."

"I suppose that's a good policy. Have you got one in Kellogg?" he asked naming the town nearest the ranch.

"Did have when I left--but you know--separation an' stuff..."

"That's tough"

"Nah, it's all right. Freed me up. SueEllen works for the Stampede and Rodeo. Daddy's owns a business in town."

"What's that?"

"Big event in August. Rodeo riders come from all over. It's real fun."

"Do you-- you know-- ride?"

"Yeah, I've ridden, but it freaks m'step-mom. I'm okay, but nothin' like the best of `em."

They drank the beer and watched more television. Periodically Tristan moved about the empty house trying to figure out what still needed to be done. The kitchen was still as when he had bought it. The timber cupboards were still filthy and full of mouse shit. The `harvest gold' tiled bench tops were similarly dirty. Some tiles were loose when Tristan touched them. The only improvement had been the floor. The old vinyl tiles had been chipped up. They were found to contain asbestos--an additional expense--and the floor was ruined. Tristan had laid some cheap fawn Congoleum.

Later Tristan and Hollis packed their bags for the trip west. As only the loft bedrooms had mattresses, they took their bedding there. Tristan was to sleep in his own room for the first time, while Hollis would take Colton's bed. Tristan found it amusing, but said nothing.

It was odd sleeping on the floor, but Tristan thought he could get used to it. Rather than a bedside table, Tristan simply placed his things on the floor and hoped he wouldn't tread on his wallet and phone.

In the morning Tristan was awoken by a gentle kick. It was Hollis standing there in a pair of plaid boxers. "Tris, we better hit the road. It's a long drive."

Tristan grunted and got up. They showered together in the new loft bathroom. Hollis kept letting out cowboy whoops when he discovered each new spray. "What's this one do?" he asked as he held up Tristan's `Shower Shot'.

Tristan didn't know whether to roar with laughter or blush with embarrassment. Instead he played a straight bat and said, "Oh, that's used to clean out the shower drain, I think."

The house was locked up even before the painters had arrived for their day's work and Tristan and Hollis hit the road, heading northwest. "We'll by-pass Waco an' stop for breakfast at Marlin--a real road breakfast," said Hollis, who was riding shotgun at the moment.

They passed the time talking about desultory subjects, it being too early in the journey for music, according to Hollis.

Marlin was a sizable town that had once enjoyed a history as a spa, for warm mineral springs had been discovered and some fine buildings and hotels bore testament to this. Hollis selected a roadside diner on the edge of the town.

"Right. We need a trail breakfast."

"What does that involve?"

"Greese n' fat mostly. Some sugar too."

There were fried eggs and sausage', fried potatoes, bacon with maple syrup and biscuits-and-white gravy'. Weak coffee completed the horror. Still, as Tristan said to himself, as he broke the yokes, they were in Texas and he was hungry.

"Is Kellogg like Marlin?" he asked Hollis.

"No, man, Kellogg is tiny and it ain't purty like here or like where Colt lives."

"Unusual name."

"Yeah, it was once gonna be called Kellogg City an' was planned to be an ideal community." He chuckled at this last.

"When was that?"

"'bout a century ago--bit more. This businessman come to Texas for his health an' he reckons he can found a utopia on the prairie--right where the Brazos forks. Bought a huge ranch and then laid out the town around a courthouse square, built houses, planted trees, prohibited liquor an' brothels an' sold or rented the land to cotton farmers an' ranchers. Built a cotton gin an' a spinnin' factory."

"What happened?"

"Trees died. Sections of land was too small to make a livin'. Railway came in about 1910 an' they discovered oil in the 'twenties."

"So it boomed?"

"For a bit, but the cotton comes from China now. Only way to make the land pay is to combine spreads. That's what m'daddy did."

"How big is your ranch?"

"Y'not supposed to ask that in Texas, but it's close to ten thousand acres."

"That' huge!"

"Nah! Land's pretty dry, not like in Hill Country, so the spread's got to be bigger. Daddy added to Grandpa's land an' then they bought out some o'the neighbours. Still grow cotton on part."

"Do you want to work it?"

"That's the $64,000 question."

"I suppose your dad want you to."

"Yeah, although there's always Grady."

"Grady?"

"Yeah, he's my little brother--or half-brother, actually."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. He's sixteen. A great kid. I've got a sister too. Ruby is twenty-three. Lives with a dude in Lubbock."

"Well, I never knew."

"Actually my mom died when I was three. Don't rightly remember her. Kimberly is more like my mom."

"So you all get on?"

"Yeah, we do. Dad don't say much, but he's a funny guy underneath. Ruby an' Kimberly are real nice an' kept me in line growin' up--or tried too. I was a bit wild. Daddy would wop me until I got big--but only for stuff I deserved."

"And Grady?"

"He's just like a mini-me. Loves football an' ridin' an' stuff. Probably has a string of middle school babes climbin' in the window."

"Like you?"

"Yeah, I had a few who didn't mind a little break-n'-enterin' after dark."

"That's so exciting. I couldn't do any of that."

"So how'd y'kick the tracers, Tris?"

"Well, we used to sneak out of boarding school and go up to London--it wasn't far."

"What did you do?"

"Oh, we went out to clubs where they didn't check ID. You have to be eighteen to buy alcohol."

"Eighteen! Shit! I'm still sneaking it an' I'm nearly twenty."

"Well, I blame those Puritans who came across on the Mayflower. We were sure glad to be rid of them."

"What else?"

"Oh, we used to drink an' do some party drugs--nothing heavy. Don't miss that at all."

"Did you--you know--have boyfriends like I had chicks."

"Not really, just a few hook ups and a bit of stuff with boys at School."

"So you weren't a serial relationship junkie like Colt?"

"Definitely not. He sure turns them over."

"Turns them over! That's a good one!"

Tristan laughed too. "You know what I mean."

"He's a great guy."

"Yes, he is. He changed my life."

"You mean when you were fucked up on pills?"

"Yeah, that too. But in all sorts of ways."

Hollis lowered his voice. "You crushin' on the quarterback?"

"Yeah," admitted Tristan, feeling instantly better. "Pretty much." He looked bashfully up at the grinning Hollis.

"Way to go, gay boy. Obvious as dog's balls."

Tristan laughed ruefully.

Tristan elected to drive until they reached Abilene. The landscape was generally flat and given over to grazing, with sparse tree cover, but occasionally there was a silver grain elevator to break the horizon. Tristan felt that he was being hypnotized by the yellow line that divided the narrow highway.

"You know, Holly, back in Britain we would never think of driving like you do in Texas. It's like driving to Edinburgh, but with less stuff in the way. We'd go on the train, but you just get in your car and drive with no planning or anything."

"Lot of space out here, I suppose."

There was a lot of space and big, windy skies. It was very different to the grey, intimate Toyland landscape that was Britain.

Abilene announced itself from further away than most towns. It was, in fact, a small city with a cluster of tall buildings that stood out on the horizon. It proved less attractive on closer inspection, but the group of buildings from the 1930s that included an old picture palace, was interesting. Hollis directed them to a diner called `Dixie Pig'.

Hollis took over the last couple of hours driving that would bring them to the North Fork Ranch. The country beyond Abilene seemed flatter and more treeless than before. Only the telegraph posts, a few lonely jack pumps and a wind farm broke the horizon and it seemed to Tristan as if all human interest was packed into a frieze about an inch deep above the endless prairie and beneath the vaulting sky. It was spring and the land was mostly green, but it was also brown where, for some reason grass and crops did not grow. "Don't look like this in summer," said Hollis from the wheel. "Brown an' bone dry mostly. Brown after a cold winter too." Tristan nodded.

At last, coming around a bend, they came upon the small town of Kellogg. Indeed there was not much to see. Plenty of yards with ugly tin fences catered for mechanical things: pump repairs, tractor sales, scrap yards and the like. It was a man's world. The neatly clipped garden around the `funeral home' seemed out of place. There was a set of traffic lights and a cross street seemed to contain the usual stores and civic amenities. In a minute they were through the town and out the other side.

"Nearly there," said Hollis.

The road rose ever so slightly and passed through a shallow cutting. On the other side was the flood plain of a branch of the Brazos River. "All this can be covered in water when it floods," Hollis informed him. They turned through a gate onto a white gravel road. This driveway formed a loop about a low, modern house. Outbuildings made of iron suggested a barn, a machinery shed and so on. "This is our house. Grandpa's place is further on a piece."

"Your grandfather is still alive?"

"Sure is. He and Dad work the ranch."

"And your stepmother?"

"She used to work as an accountant in Lubbock. Still does a bit of work, but mostly she looks after the business side of things."

By now they had stopped and Tristan looked up to see a reception committee outside on a deck that was gained by a pair of aluminium sliding doors from the house. Tristan could pick out Hollis' father--Mr McGarvie--and Kimberly, who had reddish hair like Hollis and his father, although they were not related. The younger boy, also a redhead, must be Grady, Tristan thought. He looked a fit and handsome schoolboy, although it was hard to tell because he was wearing sunglasses. The lean, older man with iron grey hair must be Grandpa, Tristan said to himself.

Tristan put on a smile and gave a little wave from the passenger seat. Hollis let out a whoop, and waved his hat. They got out and the first to move was Grady. He rushed to Hollis and threw himself onto him. Hollis tried to pick him up and swing him around--and he could have--but he faked collapsing into the dust.

"Gee, little dude, you sure have growed."

"Five-nine an' I'm the second tallest after Wayne Slater."

"Good for you. The smartest and best at football too, I reckon."

"Well, maybe best at football, Holly. How long y'home for?"

"Wait a minute, dude, let me get some introductions in here." The tableau had unfrozen and had walked across to the truck. Hollis shook hands with his father, then with Kimberley and then with his grandfather. There were no kisses as at Colton's.

"Everyone, this is my buddy, Tristan Isley, who you knows about anyways." Introductions were made and Tristan tried to keep smiling, although his face was starting to ache. Mr McGarvie said to call him Rich and his wife asked to be called Kimberley. Tristan did so. Mr McGarvie senior just said `Boy' and shook his hand.

"Holly's told me all about you," lied Tristan when he shook Grady's hand. Indeed he was a `minime' as Hollis had said. Even a little puppy fat could not disguise the fact that Grady would grow to be tall and lean like his half-brother.

"He's sure got a funny accent, Holly," said Grady, then to Tristan. "Can't y'talk American?"

"Syurzhell can," said Tristan in a perfect Texas drawl then, in his normal voice, "I've been learning at nights since climbing the wall." He wondered for a moment if this was too political, but could not take it back. They all laughed and Grandpa, who was closest, cuffed Grady's ear playfully. Then the group turned and walked back to the deck and proceeded inside.

There was coffee and cake on the table. It was not the home made feast the Colton's mother, Clarice, would cook up, but Tristan was grateful nonetheless. There was general conversation while the coffee was poured and the apple cake dispensed.

"How did you come here, boy?" asked Hollis' grandfather.

"Tristan, please, Mr McGarvie."

"Figure o'speech."

"Well, I'm nearly twenty..."

"How did y'all come to be at College, Tristan?" asked Kimberly more politely.

"Well, about four years ago my parents' marriage broke up."

"Happens a lot, sadly," editorialized Rich.

"I was not enjoying living with my mother and her new husband--or rather Mum and I fought a lot. She sent me to live with Dad who had moved to Texas for work and I finished school in Dallas."

"What's y'daddy do, boy?" asked Grandpa.

"My name's Tristan, Mr McGarvie. My mother liked Wagner." He received a blank look. "Dad works for a shale oil company. He was a corporate lawyer in London--when I was little."

"He works for Globoco, Grandpa. He's the vice president."

"Only one of six..." began Tristan, apologetically.

"Well, that is pretty high powered," said Kimberley. She poured a second cup for Tristan and one for herself. "And Holly says you've bought a house?"

"Well, yes. Like everyone else, I had to find somewhere to live next semester. No one wants to do two years at Charles C. Selecman, do they Holly?"

"Shit no!"

"Watch your mouth, boy," said Grandpa.

"Sorry, sir."

Tristan wanted to get this encounter over with. "So, there was this old house I saw near the University and I thought that if I fixed it up I could have a bunch of us share the living expenses. Far nicer than those shoebox apartments."

"Your Daddy bought it for you?" asked Rich.

Tristan thought that this was worse than asking how big someone's ranch was, but said, "No, Gran died and left me some money. Houses are cheap here compared to England."

"Show them a picture of your grandma's house, Tris," said Hollis. "It's real cute and looks like something out of Midsomer Murders."

Tristan tried to not be annoyed and spent a few minutes with his phone until he found the pictures he had sent to Colton all those months ago. "Here!" He passed the phone around.

"Wow! That is sure beautiful," said Kimberly.

"Well, I liked it. It was a lovely old place. I spent a lot of my holidays there. I was sorry to sell it, but neither my cousin nor I wanted to keep it."

"Tristan went to a boarding school with a full sized billiard table. You should see him shoot pool."

Tristan laughed. "It had a lot of other stuff, Holly. I did graduate."

"Don't hold with fancy schools," said Grandpa, testily.

"No, I didn't suppose so," said Tristan flatly. "Anyway, the house is just about finished and there is plenty of room if you would like to visit." He directed this remark to Grady whose eyes lit up.

"Could I, Dad? Could I go stay with Holly?"

"We'll see," came the parental reply.

"If you can spare Holly, I could employ him and Colton Stone to work on the yard for a couple of weeks."

"Boy's needed here," said Grandpa.

"Well, that's that, then," said Tristan.

"Hold on, Sir," said Hollis. "If I was to get a job at Sim's or with the Stampede as I was plannin' to do this summer, it'd be just the same."

"No it ain't. All the water troughs is shot." He looked around the table. "He'll need to be seein' to 'em."

"Dad, I think this is something for Holly to decide."

"It's all right, Holly. Colt and I can do the work. Colt is helping his dad this week too."

"That's right," continued Grandpa, drinking from his coffee mug. "Water troughs mean cattle an' cattle means money. Fancy stuff doesn't count."

"Wait on!" said Tristan, getting angry.

"What is it, boy?"

"It's Tristan', just like it's Mr McGarvie' and not `Old man'. "For one thing, Hollis would be earning a wage. For another, Hollis will be living at my house rent free for next year and beyond if he wants to. That will be saving your family from having to support him while he studies. So the work on finishing the house is actually of financial benefit to you." Tristan was red in the face.

"So the boy has some spunk! Maybe he has a point, but those troughs still need fixin'."

"Dad, Tristan is our guest and you're bein' an asshole."

Grandpa chuckled. "Maybe I am, but I'm the head of this here family. What do you think, boy?" The turned his blue eyes onto Tristan.

"I think you're being a prick. What happened to Texas hospitality?"

"Well, well," he chuckled again. "I'll have to make it up to him. He can help me do the barbecue for tonight. Will you do that, Tristan?"

"Yeah, sure," said Tristan in an easy manner, but still cross at the treatment he had been put through.

"Show Tristan where his room is," said Kimberly at last.

Hollis got up slowly from his chair, his long legs seeming to uncoil. "Come on, Tris."

Tristan nodded to the table and followed.

"Sorry about Grandpa. I didn't know he'd be so off his tree. You handled him brilliantly. He probably likes you. He's like that."

"Have you got any other relatives that I should know about?"

Hollis slapped him on the back. They were now at the other end of the house. "This used to be Ruby's room--it's now the guest room. Bathroom's over there. I'm right next door an' Grady is next to me. Dad an' Kimberly are up the other end."

Tristan went inside, Hollis stood in the doorway. It was a perfectly standard bedroom--all traces of Ruby evidently having been expunged. The window had a door and Tristan used this to reach the truck to bring his bag inside. He then lay on the bed, wondering what the next week would bring. He could hear Grady and Hollis through the wall. He smiled to himself; Grady obviously worshipped his brother.

Ten minutes later Hollis knocked and came in. "Come on, Tris. Grady n' me want to show you round. Ever ridden a quad bike?"

"No, not a lot in Wimbledon."

"Well, there real fun. Grady an' I will teach you."

"I thought you'd ride horses like at Colt's."

"Nah. We have some horses for fun too, but for farm work we take out the trucks and the bikes."

They caught up with Grady at his room. Tristan noticed through the open door that there was a big poster of Hollis in his football gear on the wall. Tristan decided he should not mention it. They went out through the kitchen. Grandpa and Rich were gone. Kimberly was stacking the washer. "Were goin' to show Tristan around," said Grady as they pushed through the screen door and into the yard.

They crunched across the gravel to one of the sheds. Inside were three trucks. "This one is mine,' said Hollis pointing to an old Toyota truck.

"Why didn't you bring it to the University?"

"Well, Grandpa said they might need it here. It's pretty beat up, so we use it for bashin' about in the paddocks--like for dirty jobs. 'sides, it don't look fancy like yours."

"Well, you can always bring it if you want to. We have plenty of parking and there's the yard and the barn. You can use it to drive home and stuff."

"Maybe. But I'm used to the bus and I have m'bike."

Grady was busy at the other end of the shed. There were four of five quad bikes. Two were made by Honda and the others were Bombardiers. He rolled one towards Tristan, grinning just like Hollis did. "We'll give y'all a lesson, Tristan. It's just like a motorcycle."

There was much laughter as Tristan was inducted into the art of driving one of the ungainly vehicles, but, he had to admit, it was fun. Presently they started out in a line going down hill from the house along a track, Tristan imploring them to go slowly until he had mastered driving a four-wheeler.

Tristan realised that the house was built on a slight rise, presumably to keep it above floodwaters. They drove on and on, occasionally stopping to open and close gates. The landscape was one of endless grass, green and fresh with spring growth. Here and there were wiry bushes. Tristan did not see any cattle for some time until they came to a paddock that bordered a stream. Tristan realised that this was the headwater of the might Brazos River that crossed all of Texas until it emptied into the Gulf of Mexico. The course of the river was marked by trees--a comparative rarity--and when they took their bikes down the slope, Tristan saw that the watercourse was quite shallow and braided and that the sandy soil was red in colour.

"Dries up completely in summer--just a few deep water holes for the cattle," explained Hollis as he rested on the handlebars.

"We pump it up to water troughs an' others are fed from bores," added Grady. "They're what wants Grandpa wants fixed."

"Where does this fork begin?"

As one, Hollis and his understudy pointed behind them. Tristan turned to see a long escarpment of red rock quite near on the horizon. It too was flat-topped and did little to mitigate the horizontally of the landscape.

"That's the Estcado over near Lubbock. That's where the Great Plains begin proper. Real flat, only rises ten feet in a whole mile."

"Grass clear to Canada," added Grady.

"Wow!" Tristan found himself saying. "Do you swim here?"

"Sure!" said Grady. "Just along there is a great swimmin' hole."

"Can we go swimming tomorrow?"

"We'll see if Grandpa leaves us five minutes spare," said Hollis.

After throwing some stones into the water to test its depth, they revved their bikes and climbed the slope. Hollis called out a warning for Tristan to avoid a steep section for fear of rolling.

They stopped at a water trough.

"These old galvanized ones are in poor shape," explained Hollis. It was true, for it was bent on its feet where the cattle had nudged it. The feed pipe that drew water from underground was also bent and uselessly pooling water on the ground. The windmill above clanked in the breeze. "The modern ones have concrete troughs and diesel pumps. Trouble is, we can fix these, but if the diesel goes wrong, we have to get the guys in from Kellogg."

"Well, how would you fix this one?"

"Well, Grady n' me would straighten it with muscle power--you know, crowbars and a sledge hammer. We could grind off old bolts n' put in new ones. Dad is good at weldin'."

"Well, I can help you guys if you tell me what to do."

"Thanks, pardner."

"Yeah, thanks, Tristan," echoed Grady.

They rode on. At last Tristan saw some cattle. They stopped and dismounted. The three of them leant on a gate looking at the beasts. Grady said a few words about their particulars. Tristan just nodded. A gentle breeze picked up and Tristan sniffed. There was the fecund scent of spring in the air. Then he sneezed.

"Smells great, don't it?" said Hollis, with a faraway voice. "That's the smell that brings me right back here. Tall Prairie Grass, Blue Grama, Sideoats Grama, Lupins, Indian Blanket..." He turned to Tristan. "It's not just `grass'--there's all sorts of flowers n' stuff grow with the grass. I reckon it's the best smell in the world, ain't it, Grade?"

"Yeah, an' it smell like bakin' bread in early summer."

"Yeah, it does, Little Dude."

They stood silently for quite a while in the ocean of grass, the rest of the world seemingly quite distant. Tristan saw Hollis but his arm around his little brother. It was an affectionate gesture. Then Hollis flicked Grady's hat off and the moment was broken as they wrestled good-naturedly. Once more, Tristan wished he had a brother.

"Come on, back to the house. Tristan, you've got to help Grandpa with the grill."

Tristan wasn't sure that he wanted to do this, but he mounted his quad-bike and they road over the rough tracks. Tristan saw some enormous mechanical device on the horizon. "Is that for irrigation?" he shouted as he came close enough to Hollis.

"Yeah! Cotton!" Hollis shouted back.

Back at the house, the bikes were stowed. Rich was busy in the shed working on something and Tristan addressed a few remarks to him and then went inside to wash, for he was covered in red dust.

"Come on, Tris, Grandpa's at the grill."

Tristan hurriedly dressed and went out in the yard.

Grandpa was stood still, glaring at the barbecue, holding a glass of ice tea in his hand. It had become clear to Tristan that the McGarvie household was t-total and that Hollis' references to `going into town and getting drunk' was very much an exception. The grill was a homemade affair but on an industrial size. It required an actual fire and the bars and plate showed that it had been well used. A big table made from an old door--perhaps from a barn--stood on trestles.

"Ah, bo..Tristan!" exclaimed Grandpa at Tristan's approach. "Know how to set a fire?"

"Yeah, I think so. I was a Scout."

"A Boy Scout!" He roared with laughter. Tristan wasn't sure what was so funny. "Well, let's see you make a fire while I clean this here grill."

Tristan looked about. There was an axe and a hatchet. There was some firewood and Hollis was bringing some more over in a wheelbarrow. Tristan set to work to make kindling with the hatchet. After he had a pile and without losing a finger, he turned to the larger `rollers' that had been sawn, but would need to be split to give the fire a hairy edge to catch light. Larger whole logs could be placed on later when the fire was mature.

Meanwhile, Grandpa was scraping away at the steel to clean it, the noise sometimes putting Tristan's teeth on edge. He wondered if Grandpa was doing it deliberately.

He came to the logs that required splitting. He looked at the axe. Screwing up courage, he turned to Grandpa. "Mr McGarvie, do you have a splitting maul for these; a felling axe isn't the right tool."

The old man turned and grinned. "That's damn right. Holly!" he bellowed. Hollis was at the wheelbarrow. "Bring the splitter for y'friend!"

Hollis appeared a moment later and inspected Tristan's pile of kindling. He was carrying the wide-bodied axe.

"Thanks," said Tristan.

"D'y'want me t'fetch some Firelighters?"

Tristan saw Grandpa turn slightly. "No, I won't need them." Then he heard a chuckle.

Tristan waited until Grandpa was busy with some steel wool on the metal before he used the splitter, lest his non-professional action be exposed. How he wished Colton were here instead.

When he was ready Grandpa stood back and let Tristan in to set the fire. Tristan found a piece of newspaper and balled it and started to assemble the wood.

"That's right, Tristan," said Grandpa, the only encouraging comment he'd made. "What did you think of the spread?"

"Very impressive, Mr McGarvie. We checked some troughs down by the river. I'd like to look at the cotton fields."

"That's the original part. We bought out the neighbours right along the river."

"It's beautiful down there," said Tristan, exaggerating slightly.

"Of course it is."

"You truck your cattle to market?"

"That's right. Amarillo or Oklahoma City."

"Did you ever do it by train?"

"When I was a boy, we did. Trucks an' the roads weren't s'good in them days. Now the depot in Kellogg's closed. Trouble was, freight charges were high in Texas an' the railroad look them south where prices weren't s'good neither. Shipping by truck gives us more options."

"I see." Tristan continued at his task.

"In my Daddy's time they used to drive the cattle north to Dodge, mainly."

"That would be on the Western Trail," said Tristan.

The old man looked at him in shock. "Yes!"

"Feed would have been good along the Brazos, but by then farming would have been a barrier to--where was it? Fort Griffin?"

"That's right. Counties wouldn't let us cross cropland."

"And the Goodnight-Loving trail over in New Mexico was too far west. Drier there and the cattle would have lost too much weight."

"I guess that's right too. How'd you know stuff that my grandsons don't know?"

"I studied it in History. This author Prescott was connected with the University."

"Well, I'm glad they're teachin' you somthin' useful an' not all that socialist rubbish."

"They teach all sorts of things," said Tristan, defensively.

Grandpa lit a small cigar and then handed the matches to Tristan. Tristan carefully lit the newspaper and the fire kindled.

"My son tells me your one of them gay fellahs."

"It's no secret: I'm gay. Don't worry, you can't catch it."

"Don't hold with all this gay stuff." He stepped back to admire the blaze that was doing nicely. Tristan realised that he'd passed some sort of test. "Weren't no gay people in my day--leastwise not out west. We went for wimmin in my young day. Mostly."

Tristan was forced to ponder on this statement. Just then, Hollis came up to join them, bringing more iced tea. "You don't go gay, do you, Holly?"

"No Grandpa. Why, do you want me to try it?"

"No I don't!" He swiped a blow at his grandson but Hollis dodged it. "What I want you to do is to see to those troughs tomorrer an' probably the next couple days as well. Take Tristan--he can light a fire proper--an' your brother. Perhaps y'daddy can take the weldin' gear down."

"Okay," replied Hollis, swallowing the last of his drink. "I'll mark down which ones need Miguel lookin' at 'em." He turned to Tristan. "He's the diesel mechanic in town. And Grandpa," he continued in a bolder voice, "Later in the afternoon I'm takin' Tristan inta town t'look around. He's out guest."

"You don't have to do anything on my account."

"No, with you an' Grady, we should get Grandpa's water troughs seen to."

"They're your water troughs too, boy," Grandpa reminded him.

Grady staggered from the house with a tin tray piled high with meat. There were huge steaks, ribs, beef sausages and all sorts of other cuts. Tristan thought there was a whole cow there.

"Let the fire die down to hot coals, that's the secret," said Grandpa to Tristan. "Holly, I want you to take Tristan up to Lubbock, there's some things I'm needin' from Whitrods."

"Maybe on Wednesday?"

"That's fine with me," said Tristan.

Eventually the fire was ready for the meat. Kimberly emerged from the house with some bowls of salad, but it was the meat that was important. Following Kimberly was another women--a girl of about 24--it was clearly Ruby, the older sister. She was with her partner who was introduced as Ched'. Tristan was introduced. "Your accent is so sophisticated," she said. Tristan thought it was preferable to cute'. "You must think that we all talk like hillbillies." Tristan denied that slander.

Ruby looked like Hollis in that she was tall and had red-blonde hair, rather than Grady's true carrot-top. She worked in planning for the County while Chad sold farm machinery and was a personal trainer on the side.

"I hear Colton Stone's your roommate," said Kimberly. Evidently she was a college football fan. "Yeah, we're all good friends. I'm going to see him next week."

"What sport do you play?" asked Ched.

"None, really."

"He plays pool!" called Hollis from somewhere.

"I thought Holly's dorm was one for athletes." Ched himself looked dangerously fit. Tristan wondered if he used steroids.

"I thought so too, but that's where they put me." He shrugged then laughed.

Grandpa strode over and his granddaughter planted a kiss on his whiskery cheek. Ched shook his hand in a manly fashion. "This boy...er...Tristan here, is going to help with the water troughs. I think he might be alright for a city fellah... and a gay boy."

Tristan looked annoyed but said, "Yes, Mr McGarvie is correct. I come from London--that's in England--and I'm partial to sodomy." He kept a straight face.

Ruby actually looked shocked whilst Ched looked flustered then said, "Any friend of Holly's..."

Grandpa thought it was funny and roared with laughter. Hollis came over to see what was up. "Your grandfather was just telling everyone about my sexuality. They'll read all about it in the Kellogg Post anyway."

"I'm sorry Tris. Jesus, Grandpa, shut the fuck up. What's it to you?"

Mr McGarvie kept laughing but managed to say. "Watch your mouth, boy!"

Tristan decided not to stalk off, but to tough it out. Hollis returned to the grill and fortunately the conversation then shifted to cattle.

"You know why prices are so darn poor?" Grandpa asked rhetorically. "It's all the cattle they're letting in from China."

"China?" Tristan found himself saying.

"Letting in foreign cattle to flood the market. Comin' in through Canada an' up from Mexico. Congress won't stop it because of the free trade agreements."

"I didn't know we had free trade with China," said Ched.

"Leastwise, not for cattle,' added Ruby. "What about disease?"

"They quarantine 'em in Canada an' Mexico first so they can say they're not Chinese stock."

The three younger ones looked at each other, sceptically.

"It's a way of cheapening production for the meat packers in this country an' a way to bringin' American producers to their knees. That's when Chinese Communist Party companies will buy us out. They've infiltrated the American Meat Institute and the USDA." There was silence for a moment. "They've bought up Washington with big campaign donations."

Mr McGarvie's conspiracy theory as cut short by the arrival of Kimberly with a stack of plates. It was time to consume the barbecue.

That night, Tristan was alone in Ruby's former room. The house was at last quiet. He Face-Timed Colton. He was in bed and answered groggily.

"Hey," began Tristan quietly.

"Hey," answered Colton.

"I miss you."

"Yeah, I miss you too. How's things at Holly's?"

"Kinda weird. They're not like your family--not close. Grandpa rules the roost and is an old cunt. Doesn't like gays, though he may have had some experience--I don't know when--in the nineteen fifties? Anyway his dad's real quiet but his kid brother is great. The place is huge."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah, not like Hill Country at all. Flat, treeless. The town looks a dump--I'll see it properly tomorrow. Grandpa's got us working."

"I can't hear you."

"I'm whispering so they don't hear me bagging them. What have you been doing?"

"Helpin' Dad. Tris, I wrote a letter to Sharon Pellman's folks. Mom helped me."

"What did you say?"

"Oh, just nice stuff--pack o'lies mostly--but they'll want to believe them. It's made me feel a heap better."

"Then that was good. Seen the Coyotes?"

"A couple. Quite a few are back for the summer. You comin' next week?"

"Yeah. Sooner if things don't pick up. You're in bed?"

"Yeah."

Tristan could see Colton's bare torso. "You naked in bed?"

"Yeah." Colton moved the covers and tilted the phone. Tristan could see his cock and his blonde public hair that had been let to grow.

"Phone jack?"

"Yeah!"

"Hold the phone so I can see your balls," said Tristan. The image wavered and there they were.

"Still two?" asked Colton. Then "Lemme see y'pretty hole, Tris. I bet it's been cryin' out for a good stretching from Colty's cock."

"You are so conceited, but yeah, I wish you were in me right now and in up to the fuckin' hilt."

"An' makin' you moan an' scream."

"Yeah, in stereo, an' writhe an' pant an'...I can't think of any other verbs."

"Just make it wink at me... Hello, asshole! Now play with those titties. Does Holly like Tristan's man tits?"

"Hasn't said anything, but then it never came up."

"If I was there I'd fuckin' twist them," said Colton aggressively as he stroked his cock furiously. Then he paused. "Look at all m'juice. Wouldn't you like to taste it?"

"You taste it for me."

Colton put some on his finger then did so. "Yum yum! Better than syrup on bacon."

Colton set his phone down carefully so he could stroke with both hands. Tristan did the same--although, in his case, one hand was sufficient.

"You look hot, Colt. Getting close?"

"Not yet, but you can cum first, long as you keep your eyes on me."

"I wish you were here so we could do it together," panted Tristan. Colton was too lost in the moment to reply. They went on like this for some minutes.

"Oh, I lost it," said Colton slowing down. "I needed more lube anyhow." He reached out of camera for some. They resumed. Tristan's eyes were glued to Colton's flexing muscles and the dimples in his buttocks. They looked awesome.

"Coming!" rasped Tristan.

"Come for me, dude. Make it a big Texas load."

Tristan didn't know how to do that, but came in the ordinary way. He was pleased when Colton wanted to know how far he'd shot. Tristan pointed to up near his collarbone. The silence resumed, except for the rhythmic noise of Colton masturbating.

"Fuck!" screamed Colton so loudly, that Tristan, coming down from his own orgasm, was alarmed that someone might hear at either end. Tristan, however, could see little for Colton had pointed his cock at the phone. The lens was covered in cum.

"Should be here to lick it off," said Colton, at last, wiping it down, his grinning visage coming into view once again. "Hey aren't they my boxers?" They were and Tristan was, at that moment, using them for a cum rag.

"Goodnight, Roomy, said Tristan as he relaxed into the mattress.

"Goodnight, Tris. Same time tomorrer?"

"Yeah. That'd be hot."

Hollis knocked softly. Tristan roused and looked at is phone: it was 6:00am. "Come on Tris, Kimberly has a nice breakfast for us."

Tristan quickened into life and pulled on some clothes, wondering what the day would bring. Hollis, Grady and Rich were already at the table. Kimberly placed a plate of eggs before Tristan, expressing the hope that Tristan liked them scrambled, which he did. The three men were dressed alike: all in blue wife beaters and jeans. "Those shoes won't do, Tristan," said Rich. "See if Holly has an old pair of boots for you. Perhaps wear two pair o'socks if'n they's too big on y'all."

"Thanks, I was wondering that. Holly, when we go into town later, do you think you could come with me while I buy some work boots. I can wear them at Colt's too."

Hollis nodded with a mouth full of pancakes that had arrived on the table.

"Put some of this on," said Kimberly pointing to a big pump pack of sunscreen. "You ain't no redhead, but your English skin's liable to fry out here." Tristan thanked her. Presently, Tristan in his borrowed boots was helping Kimberly stack the dishwasher while the others loaded up the oldest truck with equipment. Hollis would drive it down while Grady and he would go first on the quad bikes. Rich would come later with the welding equipment if he was called on his cell phone.

"That was a great breakfast, Kimberly, but I don't know how I will keep awake!"

"My pleasure, Tristan. A man needs a good breakfast for a day's work on a ranch. I'm making up a cooler with sandwiches and drinks for your lunch."

"You haven't always lived on a ranch?"

"No, bless you, I'm a city girl like you--not that I mean you're a girl, just you know, I'm a `dude'."

"Where were you from?"

"I was born in Omaha, but my parents moved around some and we ended up in Lubbock. After school I had a few dead end jobs and a dead end boyfriend until I wised up and did a business diploma at Texas Tech. My employer encouraged me to take a degree in Accounting."

"I see," said Tristan, searching the cupboard for the powder.

"That's how I met Rich--seventeen years ago now. He was struggling with two young'uns. His Mom was alive then, but Ruby an' little Holly needed a mom."

"Well, they've turned out very well. You must be pleased."

"Thank you, Tristan. That's real nice of you to say so. I can't claim any credit for Holly or Grady as football stars--that'd be Rich and Grandpa--but they're good kids."

"Yeah."

"Y'know, Tristan, I never would have thought that this is how my life would turn out when I was your age. P'haps too many stars in m'eyes, but, there you are, y'never knows how Life will turn out."

There was a shout from the yard and Tristan went to depart.

"Take the cooler. See you at supper time."

Grady knew where to go, and with many shouts and joyous `whoops' they rode the bikes down the undulating ground towards the river where they had been the previous day. When Tristan turned his head, he could see a plume of dust above the gentle curve in the horizon; it was Hollis following in the truck.

They pulled up at a steel trough underneath a windmill. Tristan could see immediately that the trough was half off its concrete pad and the water pipe wasn't filling it.

Hollis bumped along and finally pulled up. He swung himself out of the cabin in an athletic, cowboy fashion. He came up to where Grady and Tristan were contemplating the cattle trough and rubbed the scruffy red stubble on his chin.

"What do you think, Little Dude?"

"Grind off the old bolts and straighten it with the crowbars. New bracket on the pipe."

"Yeah, I agree."

Tristan saw Grady beam.

They went to the truck and brought back a two-stroke grinder. "Get the goggles and gloves, Tris." Tristan found them and handed them to Hollis. "Gas can, Grade." Grady brought the plastic petrol can with the long spout. Hollis filled the machine. The can was safely removed and Hollis pulled the cord to start it. It didn't turn over and he tried several more times, punctuated by colourful language.

"Let me," said Grady. Hollis handed it over, still fuming, and Grady fiddled with it. He pulled the cord and it started directly.

"What the...?"

"Y'ain't opened the fuel tap!" cried Grady with glee.

"Well, put these here goggles on and you try those rusty nuts."

Grady did so and soon the first one was cut. He was having trouble with the second, the edge of the grinder striking the concrete. Hollis took the machine and quickly the second nut was off. The trough was now free at one end.

"What can I do?" asked Tristan who was feeling impotent.

"You and I can use the crowbars."

These were fetched from the truck and by muscle power the trough was straightened on its concrete pad. Tristan was sweating, although the sun was not high yet.

Hollis then used a big drill to bore fresh holes in the concrete, while Grady scratched through a box for suitable bolts. Tristan was given the honour of driving the bolts home. He felt his wrists would be jarred, but did not complain.

Hollis fitted the new bracket to the pipe while the other two packed up. Hollis was left scratching his head. "Water still isn't flowing proper. He looked up at the windmill. It was barely turning in the breeze.

"Grease, I reckon."

"I'll do it," said Tristan before he could stop himself.

"Shit, Tris! You'd have to climb thirty feet."

"That's okay, I don't get vertigo--I think."

Hollis tied to dissuade him, but didn't try hard enough as Tristan was now committed to the climb.

"It'll be the shaft that works the pump. You'll need to get grease into the sleeve it travels in, but you'll need to pull that lever to stop the blades first."

"That one there?" said Tristan squinting and pointing.

"Yeah. You up for it?"

Tristan lied and assured him he was. A grease gun was slung around his neck. Fortunately there were climbing rungs welded to the metal tower and Tristan steeled himself and began his assent. His knees shook slightly, but he kept going. He didn't look down, because that's what people always said to avoid, and in a minute he had reached the leaver. He had to wrap one arm around the stanchion to put enough pressure on the rusty lever for it to move. Eventually it gave, causing Tristan to panic for an instant. He regained his composure. "Just a bit more, Tris, to make sure the blades don't move. Tristan gave it anther shove. His foot in the oversized boots slipped slightly, but he hung on. "Now, about fifteen feet up is the spot!"

Tristan looked up. Fifteen feet seemed very distant, but he began to climb slowly. He looked at the blades to reassure himself that they were not moving. Then he wondered if the rungs were rusted through, but did not dwell on this possibility for long. At last he was at the point where the thick steel rod that was moved up and down by the `motor' passed through a steel pipe of a slightly larger diameter to steady it. Tristan could see where he could squirt some grease-- that is if he could manipulate the gun. After a couple of attempts he was successful and called out to those below. Then he noticed that his right gloved was greasy. This could be dangerous he calculated, so he pulled it off with his teeth and let it fall. He watched its slow fall through the spider's web of steel and felt sick. With the gun about his neck he began his own descent. "The lever!" called Hollis. Tristan put it back in its original position and looked up to see if the blades were turning. They weren't. In a moment he was on the ground, knees visibly shaking, and receiving pats on the back from the brothers.

"Fuckin' fantastic, dude. I've got it all on video." Hollis waved his phone.

"It's not turning!" complained Tristan looking up.

"Wait a bit for the wind to pick up." They put the equipment away and sat on the grass for a few minutes. Tristan's breathing returned to normal.

"Look!" cried Grady. A little breath of air moved the blades. It grew stronger and the wheel turned a full circle. There was a creak, and the shaft could be seen slowly rising...then falling. In a moment water splashed from the pipe into the trough.

They cheered.

Tristan climbed onto his quad bike very happy. He'd proved something to himself.

Their next stop was at a much more modern concrete trough. It was bone dry. Hollis tried to start the diesel pump, but there was something wrong. He made a note on his phone and they moved on again. Tristan thought he would die in the heat.

The third trough merely required some old brackets to be replaced. Hollis and Grady did this quite quickly. They moved on again.

The next paddock was filled with cattle, clearly anxious for a drink. Grady kept them back while Tristan and Hollis used the crowbars and heavy hammers to straighten some metal. The water now flowed into the trough when the diesel pump was started by the fall of the float.

There were two more jobs and then they came to a third. The trough was an old galvanised iron one and had rusted through. The water was pooling uselessly on the ground as the windmill turned heedlessly.

Hollis called his father. "We might as well have some lunch until Daddy gets here. There were no trees, but they sat under a large bush, hoping that the cows would not be interested in their sandwiches. Tristan found he was starving, although it was only 11:00.

"So how y'findin' bein' a ranch hand, Tris."

"It's a bit different to Dudes' Ranch."

"What's that?"

"Oh, just a story I once read."

"I hate readin'," said Grady.

"You can read?" teased Tristan.

"Course I kin read. Just don't do it for fun."

"Football and girls, that's right, ain't it?" said Hollis as he bit into a cold roast beef sandwich.

"Football, but...I ain't done nothin' much with girls."

"Boys then?"

"Shut the fuck up, Holly, that wasn't what I meant. Sorry, Tristan."

"How old were you when you had your first experience Holly?" asked Tristan.

"He was sixteen. It was that Slater girl from the truck stop."

"What would you know--you were only twelve."

"I know stuff. Tristan, he had some that used to sneak in nights through the winder."

"Yeah, Grady, he told me."

"Did he tell you about Tessie McCall who was so fat that she got stuck an' hollered so loud that Daddy came runnin'. He had to jack the winder wider to free her."

"That's a damn lie," Short Stuff. We got the winder open without tools. An' Tessie had a gland problem!"

Tristan was rolling around with laughter.

"Well, what about me?" complained Grady. "I haven't lost my `V-card' an' all the other guys have."

"Don't you believe it, Grade. Guys tell a pack of lies in the locker room. Fuck, I did. I bet none of them have gone any further that you. Besides, I was just tellin' Tristan on the way out here that I bet there's a whole heap of girls interested in Grady Mc Garvie. Wet between legs with excitement when they see you in the halls."

"Is it true that girls get wet down there?"

"Yeah, sure, when they're excited."

"When their brain gets excited," put in Tristan. "So, I believe," he added sheepishly.

"Just like guys leak pre," added Hollis. "You leak?"

"Yeah, of course, that's normal."

"He's a hot little dude, ain't he, Tris."

"Why sure, if I was just ten years younger..."

"There's this girl..."

"Go on, Little Dude."

"She left a note in my locker on the last day."

"You'll be a junior when you go back. What did the note say?"

"Well, she said that she's liked me all year an' watches me play football..."

"Do you know who it is?"

"Yeah, it's Brooklyn Boyd."

"Brad Boyd' little sister?"

"Yeah, but she's ain't so little. She's real grown up an' she'll be a senior."

"So she's a year older, big deal."

"It is a big deal, Holly, she's not like the other girls in my year. She's go big tits an' is real curvy. And she's got a boyfriend already--Curtis Heinz from over in Grassland."

"So, she obviously likes you better. What, you scared of this Curtis dude?"

"Yeah, a bit, but I'm more scared of Brooklyn. I mean, she's certain to be doin' it with Curtis and if I was to go out with her I might make a damn fool of m'self. Might not know how to do it right. Might blow my wad too early. I can just picture it." Grady had tears in his eyes.

"Tristan will know how to handle this, won't you Tris."

"Thanks, Holly," he said sarcastically, "but this is a big bros' duty."

Hollis put his arm around Grady. "Little Dude, this chick might not be doin' it with this Curtis. Or if she is, she mustn't like it or she'd never be puttin' notes in your locker. She might be real unhappy an' lookin' for a nice guy like you."

"I'd rather be a stud like Colton Stone."

"Colton's not such a stud, is he Tris?"

"Well, he is actually, but he's always getting into trouble with chicks--he's not as smooth as he makes out."

"Yeah, it's just confidence, Grady."

"Supposin' she thinks my cock's too small or a funny shape?"

"Look, you can go out with her an' you don't have to do nothin' with your cock. Just get to know her first--if y'all wants to--an' then see where that leads. Besides, your cock can't be as small as Tristan's."

"Shut the fuck up, Holly. It's average!"

"I have see it every day in the showers." He pulled a face and Grady smiled. "How big is it anyway, Grade?" Grady looked around, although there was no one there, then he whispered into his brother's ear. "Way to go, bro!" cheered Hollis and held his fist up for a bump. "Just a word of warning. If, and I don't think you should do nothin' for a while before you see that it's a good relationship, but if you should do somethin' at all, wear a rubber. I'll give you some of mine. You can't rely on pullin' out. You can't trust girls who say that it will be all right or that they're on the pill an' shit. Girls round here look for husbands at eighteen an' then your life is totally fucked. Ain't that right, Tris?"

"Yes, I think that's true. And Grady, you know, I never went all the way--with a guy I mean--until I this year and I'm nineteen."

"Shit!" said Grady, turning that over in his mind. "Did it hurt?"

"Yes, it fuckin' hurt. You don't want to hurt the girl either, so make sure you're both ready. Maybe wait a while."

"Maybe, but I'd sure as Hell like to do it. All those other dudes in the locker room can say stuff, but I'll actually have done stuff--and with a chick an' not just m' hand."

Hollis and Tristan looked at each other in despair.

"Exactly the wrong reason for havin' sex, bro. Maybe you are too immature," said Hollis sternly.

"No, no, I didn't really mean it like that, Holly, I just mean that it would be..."

"Ironic?" suggested Tristan.

"Yeah. I think I know what that means. You wouldn't expect me to have had sex when all the others are lying about having had it."

"Tristan, I'd like you to have a longer talk with Grady tonight. Grade, could you show Tristan some of your new games. Tristan loves gamin'." Tristan loved no such thing and looked at Hollis, who was looking a little guilty. "Err, I've got to slip into town for little business tonight, Tris. Better catch up with SueEllen."

"I heard she's been hangin' round with the new deacon."

Just then they heard a horn. It was Rich in his truck. He came to a halt and got out.

"Howdy, boys!" I saw the video, Tristan. That was damn brave for someone who was unused to it. Well done!"

"Well, I think I'd be less nervous for the next one."

Rich took a sandwich from Hollis and spoke between mouthfuls. "Those old windmills are antiques now. I'm goin' to ask Grandpa if we can try one of the new solar powered pumps. Less moving parts to go wrong, but they're a couple of K each. They've got polyprop tanks too."

"He'll take some convincin' to try anythin' new," said Grady.

"I know, but I'll work on him. Now, let's see this trough." They inspected the rusty old vessel. The boys were given wire brushes to scrape it back while Rich got his welding outfit and some spare metal from the truck.

It was interesting to watch. There was little for Tristan to do except ply Rich McGarvie with food and drink while he worked. In about forty minutes the trough was holding water again.

Just then Rich's phone rang. It was his father and he stepped a little away from the boys and was heard in an earnest discussion. Tristan tried not to listen, but he could hear, `Yes, Dad...No Dad, But Dad...but Dad, we've already sunk a fortune into that and it's not payin'...No, I'm not back chattin' ya..." Then he shouted--"Jesus, fuckin' Christ, Dad!" and all three looked over.

"It's just Grandpa bein' a dick," explained Hollis.

Rich was putting his phone away and was red in the face. Tristan tried to avoid looking, but he could not help it. There were tears in his eyes, he was sure of it. Then in a quiet voice Rich said, "Day's work's over boys."

The convoy of bikes and trucks bumped its was back to the house. Equipment was stowed in the barn. Rich went to call the diesel mechanic.

"Get cleaned up, Tris an' well go into town."

They drove in Tristan's truck. "Y'don't mind stayin' home with Grady, tonight?"

"No, that's fine. Let me know how you get on with SueEllen."

"Yeah, I don't know what to expect. We didn't part on the best o'terms. Maybe it's best that I don't work for the Stampede this summer."

They were fast approaching the town. Tristan's unfavourable first impression was renewed on closer inspection. The roads and roadsides were untidy and without proper kerbs. Some of the residential streets were not even paved. The houses too were small and in poor repair--some little better than shacks. Clearly there were no common building regulations. Oddly, there were often expensive cars and boats outside the meanest of houses, their junk-filled backyards left open to public gaze because most were unfenced.

An adult and a juvenile prison were notable features on the edge of the town. They drove on. "This is the Senior High," said Hollis. "And this is the football stadium." They were neat, but not large and lavish like Colton's school. "I had to take a couple of subjects over at Lubbock because my school didn't offer them."

"That would have been hard, Holly."

"Was a bit, but the teachers were good and it helped that I was their star wide receiver."

By now there were at the railway line. It looked lonely with old sheds and weeds forming the chief features. "This is the old Depot. It's closed now."

Tristan looked. It was a most unusual building, made of concrete with geometric decoration. "I like that. It's a pity it can't be used for something--you know, a bar or a cafe."

"There was another one like it over in the next town, but it was pulled down. The folks around here don't seem to have the energy or inclination to make anything look half decent, let alone look after their heritage." Tristan thought this was a good assessment. "They're just concerned with gettin' by."

The main street was at right angles to the highway. For a couple of blocks there was a grassy median dividing the roadway and some juvenile trees had overcome the prairie wind to dignify the space. A handful of older buildings of two floors were perhaps the remnants of Mr Kellogg's model town. Two or three were made of crude stone with arched windows--but now mostly boarded up. There was an impressive bank with cement columns, an Art Deco cinema that was now a church, and a small residential hotel in a restored building. Past the supermarket at one end and past the McDonalds at the other, the neglected vacant lots and the shacks began again.

Tristan pulled up. "Well this is Kellogg," said Hollis, looking about as if he'd never seen it before.

"Let's go for a walk." Hollis grunted assent. "I like these verandahs," continued Tristan. Shingled roofs over the footpaths shaded some of the older shopfronts. It gave the town a western feel. Everything was very quiet. "Hey, here's a bookshop."

"Yeah, y'can get a coffee in here."

They did so, with Hollis telling Tristan stories about growing up in Kellogg. "Suppose it's different to where you grew up."

"Yeah, about as different as you can get, but school everywhere is similar."

On the sidewalk Hollis met three friends. They were introduced to Tristan, but Tristan immediately forgot their names. Two were Latinos--who evidently formed the greater part of the population of the town itself--and one was a white boy, but not of the impressive stature of Holly. The talk immediately turned to football and Tristan listened patiently. They made plans to get drunk on Saturday night. Tristan was included. They departed in their trucks and Hollis and Tristan continued their stroll.

"In here and we'll get you a hat and work boots."

They went into the big, old-fashioned men's outfitters. Tristan emerged twenty minutes later looking more the part.

"I think we'll visit with Coach. I saw his truck in the yard when we drove in. I owe him a lot, Tris. That man has been like a father to me. Not only has a great football brain, but it was his contacts that got me a walk-on at College."

"I see. Look, I'll drive you round and you go see him. I'd like to look around some more. Text me when you want me to pick you up."

Tristan drove Hollis to a small house. It was not quite so falling down as were its neighbours. A truck and a large speedboat were the chief adornments of the front garden. Tristan wondered where a body of water could be. He dropped Hollis off and continued on with his exploration.

The Court House was a grim brick building, perhaps dating from the 1930s and it sat in the middle of a boring square of grass dotted with about a dozen small trees. It formed a terminal feature to Main Street--a parody of the Arc de Triomphe. Beyond it he found an old sanatorium that had been turned into a museum. It was open and Tristan spent twenty minutes inspecting its not very interesting contents. The lady behind the desk asked him if he had been to the market in the old cotton mill. Tristan asked for directions.

The old factory still retained some machinery, which told the story of how the town once prospered on cotton spinning. He wandered about the stalls which displayed the usual miscellany of things: scented candles, handicrafts, antique tools, old bird cages now filled with artificial flowers, scarves, reproduction posters and advertising signs.

However, in one of the junkier ones he spotted something that he thought might be useful. It was a series of pigeonholes made of cedar wood--presumably from an office in the days before plastic and email. Neat little brass holders on each of the ten divisions could take name cards. Indeed one remained that mysteriously read `Mr Mort Fridays'. Tristan spent several minutes trying to work out what Mr Mort collected on Fridays or if indeed Fridays was his last name.

"Twenty-five bucks, young fellah," said a voice. Tristan looked around to see a fat man in overalls and a baseball cap. "Gen-u-ine wood, that is. Can't get nothing like that now'days."

Tristan didn't haggle and a few minutes later he was carrying it back to the truck, thinking it would be ideal for the house.

The town had given up its lions, so Tristan was just thinking of going back to the bookshop for another coffee when his phone pinged. He drove around to Coach's house and there he saw its owner laughing and talking to Hollis in the front yard.

Hollis hailed him over and Tristan was introduced to `Coach' who said, "Howdy, Tristan! Holly was just tellin' me all about you."

Tristan thought he may not have been a native of Texas by his accent, but was delighted to find that fitted the stereotype of every coach he had read about in stories. He was not a tall, lanky cowboy as was Hollis; instead he was a `fireplug' of a man with a buzzed head of greying hair. Coach Mertz was wearing sweat shorts and a windcheater with the sleeves cut off. His arms and legs were very muscular, but unattractive, thought Tristan, and he was sure that his calves had been shaved.

Tristan was asked the usual questions and gave his accustomed replies. Hollis showed Coach the pictures on his phone of Tristan climbing the windmill. There was more laughter and Tristan found that he was chuckling too.

"That's a beautiful boat," said Tristan. "Where do you take it out?"

"Lake Alan Henry or Buffalo Springs. But it's Larry that loves fishin'. I'm just happy to sit back n' drink beer."

The conversation drew to its close. Coach put his arm around Hollis in a hug and said not to forget to email him and to make sure he did upper and lower body split training. "You're not body building; you're a footballer." Hollis promised and asked Coach to come to see them in the playoffs.

Back in the truck, Hollis was extolling what a great guy Coach was and gave many instances of how he treated the boys as his friends.

"Yeah he seems a very nice guy. Larry?"

"Oh, Larry is Coach's house mate. He drives the ambulance at the EMS. Fun guy too."

"I see," said Tristan. "Are they a couple?"

"Coach and Larry? Nah, of course not. Just friends. They go campin' an' stuff together, that's all."

"Oh," said Tristan who knew better. "Oh," he said again, "I've bought this cool thing for the house--out at the Old Mill. It's a set of pigeonholes--you know, from an old office. Two sets of five slots and I think it would be just the thing for leaving stuff for each other and for mail of course."

"Sounds great. Did they have a thing for keys?"

"I know what you mean. I didn't look."

"We'll go back tomorrow."

"Where does SueEllen live?"

"With her folks in a real nice house at the other end of Main. Old place with a stone chimney like yours. Dad owns the funeral home."

"So when you see her tonight...?"

"Folks are in Santa Fe for the night. All she has to do is keep the phone handy--you know--in case of customers. We'll go out for pizza first and then see where the night takes us."

"So you'd still like her as a girlfriend?"

"Not sayin' that, but I haven't had any for weeks, Tris. Don't know about SueEllen."

"Do you believe Grady about her and the new deacon?"

"He's probably just trying to rile me. Why would she prefer a clergyman when she could have a college wide receiver?"

"Why indeed? Perhaps because he's six hours closer?"

That night they all ate around the kitchen table. Grandpa was at his own house and Kimberly had taken some food over there beforehand. The talk was all about Tristan's work that day. Tristan himself began to feel that it was `a good day' and the sense of accomplishment in the open air, so far removed from the cares of urban life, was something to be factored. He even looked forward to the next day's labours.

Hollis disappeared and Tristan resigned himself to playing x-box with Grady. They had plenty of laughs, often at Hollis' expense, and Tristan's good impression of the sixteen year-old was confirmed.

In bed, Tristan Face-Timed Colton. "I was just about to start without you," said Colton before laughing and putting the phone down inside his camo briefs. Tristan's screen went dark. "Your phone liked that visit. Fuck, I'm horny, Tris. Just as well you didn't fall off that windmill or I wouldn't have anyone to jack with."

"So kind," said Tristan sarcastically.

"No, you really were d'man climbin' up that thang. Holly shouldn't have let you."

"It was me who said I'd do it."

"So, what did you do tonight?"

"Gaming with Grady. Holly was seeing his girlfriend."

"SueEllen the mortician?"

"Her dad is; she works for the Stampede."

"So our Holly is probably riding rodeo right now?"

"I guess so."

"I just helped Dad. Rode Tammy, but didn't ride no old girlfriends." Colton had his big dick in his hand and was slowly stroking it up and down. "Get yours out."

Tristan did so. He touched his dick to the screen and Colton did so too, laughing. Tristan then put his lips to the screen and kissed the image of the quarterback's cock.

"You can do that for real next week."

"You have your dogwater all over the screen." Colton's tongue appeared and licked it.

"Are you fingering your butt, Tris?"

"No, do you want me too?"

"Yeah, I know you're hot when you do it."

Tristan positioned the phone on the bedside table and his left hand disappeared from sight and his knees hove into view. "Are you thinking about Scandinavian lesbians?"

"No, I'm thinking about your lips on m'piece an' your tongue doin' that thing..."

"Really?" asked Tristan, surprised that Colton would be thinking that way of him.

"Cum, Tris, shoot it all over yourself!"

Tristan did. He opened his mouth and a drop landed on his tongue, Colton style.

"Great, Roomy. Y'learnin'."

Colton, not to be outdone, depressed his erection between his thighs and masturbated from behind. "Oh, too hard," he said laughing.

"What, your cock or too difficult?"

"Both," said Carlton. He flipped over and Tristan saw him frotting the mattress. "Oh BettySue, baby!" he said, clearly joking. "I promise I will make an honest woman of y'all."

"BettySue?"

"Yeah, BettySue Lumbersupport--she's my girl when all the others have left me."

"Your arse looks great when you're on the job."

"Fuck this feels good...I'm gonna cum!"

Tristan did not see the consummation, because Colton's prone body hid it. The sheets were probably ruined.

"You cum yet?"

"No, I've been watching you. Flex your muscles for me."

"I'll do a workout."

It didn't take long. Tristan came in Ruby's old bed and he used a pair of boxers to mop up. He'd have to ask Kimberly if he could wash his clothes before he left.

"Can't wait until Monday. Night Tris."

Tristan felt warm all over as he snuggled under the sheet; Colton was looking forward to seeing him.

Tristan was awoken by a slight rap on his door. He hadn't been sound asleep. It was Hollis.

"Hi, Holly," he said sitting up. "How did your date night go and why are you wearing a jockstrap?"

"This is m'lucky jock." He snapped the strap. "Trick is not to warsh it."

"Yes, but why are you wearing it now?" Hollis was naked except for the Bike Jockey Strap. It's white mesh pouch was well-packed and bulged youthfully.

"I was just goin' t'bed an' I thought I'd talk to y'all."

"You sleep in your jock?"

"Yeah, sometimes. So does Parks."

Tristan wondered what that meant but said. "And SueEllen?"

He grinned in the lamplight. "Still hot for yours truly but says we should see other people. Best of both worlds, eh? How lucky can you get?"

"I guess so."

"Yeah, we never got no pizza. She jumped on me straight away and had m'clothes off before you could say embalming fluid..."

Tristan chuckled.

"...an she sucked one out straight up. Fuck, Tris, you would have thought she was starving for cock..."

"I know the feeling."

"...and all the time she had her fingers on her cooch goin' twen'y-to-the-dozen while she choked m'piece down."

"Wow! That sounds hot, Holly."

"Yeah, well, just thought you'd like to know." He stood there awkwardly. "I see that it's got you all excited."

Tristan tried to flatten the sheet.

"And then I fucked her until she screamed for me to stop."

"You mean you were that bad?"

"No, dumbass. Because she was comin' too quickly."

"Wow, so a good night? The lucky jock, right?"

"Well, maybe not so lucky. The phone rang and old man McClintock had kicked the bucket and she had to go out. Woulda stayed the night."

"Holly's a popular boy!"

"Well, I am the town's champeen footballer an' she says m'muscles is what makes me so purty. Says my ink's hot too."

"You've got muscles, Holly, but your balls are your best feature.'

"M'balls? Yeah, suppose they are pretty big."

"And they hang low."

"Well, I tell you, Tris, she had 'em in her mouth--one at a time of course--an it drove me plum crazy." He pulled the pouch down and the splendid plums dusted with ginger hair were revealed. He hefted them with pride. "Bigger than Parker's"

"Park's chest is his best feature. His pecs are perfect."

"And Colt?"

"He's the whole package, Holly, I'm afraid."

"SueEllen said my ass is my second best feature."

"She put her tongue up there?"

"Tongue in m'ass? No, SueEllen wouldn't be up for that! Not sure I would either."

"Fuck, Holly, a ginger arse like yours it deserves proper eating. No girl's ever tongued your butt?"

"Nope. Had a few wild ones, but none went there."

"You'd love it."

"Not sure."

"Yes, you are. Your cock is hard as a rock just thinking about it. I bet Coach would like to tongue your arse--maybe line up the whole team, bums in the air!"

"Coach ain't like that."

"But I am. Do you want me to eat you out?"

"Fuck, I don't know," whispered Hollis, breathlessly.

"Yes you do. Lot of nerve endings there--just made to pleasure college wide receivers. Come on Holly, just as an experiment, bend over."

"Will it make me gay?"

"I hope so, but I fear not. Leave your jockstrap on."

Hollis bent over, resting on the chest of drawers. Tristan, despite his nakedness, got out of bed. So as not to freak his friend, he drew on a pair of boxers.

"No, you'll have to let go of the chest of drawers, I need you to spread your butt cheeks."

Hollis did so. His crack was lined with ginger hair. Tristan blew on his pink hole and Hollis jumped. Tristan wanted to laugh. "Wider!"

Tristan began by kissing his cheeks then extended his tongue. He ran it the length of his trench in one sweep.

"Fuck!" moaned Hollis, drawing out the obscenity. "Feels strange--good strange."

Then Tristan set to work in earnest, varying his ministrations to cause what he knew to be the maximum of pleasure. It was working, if Hollis reactions could be judged. He released the grip on his cheeks and Tristan took over. Hollis reached behind to hold Tristan's head in.

"Oh fuck, get right in there!"

Hollis was pushing out and Tristan had managed to relax his sphincter sufficiently to push the tip of his tongue into the wide receiver's anus. He tasted sweaty and very masculine. Hollis' legs were trembling. "Oh fuck!" he kept repeating.

"On the bed, Holly. Sit on my face."

"Fuck, if you say so, Tris."

It was awkward, for Hollis was all arms and legs, but he was sexy and his butt lowered towards Tristan's hard working tongue.

"Oh fuck that's good!" cried Hollis, softy. He went to reach for his cock.

"No!" Tristan managed to say. And then: "I'll suck it out. Wait!"

Tristan's field of vision was reduced to the white-and-ginger flesh of Hollis' buttocks. When Hollis could no longer squat, he pushed Tristan off the bed and lay on his back with his knees drawn up.

"You really loosen up with some tongue-lovin', Holly. You should see how wide your gape is."

"Put your tongue right in there an' I be forever grateful"

Tristan jabbed and jabbed with his pointed tongue.

"Fuck that feels fantastic!"

"I think you're ready for stage two," said Tristan who now had his index and middle fingers in his mouth. Without much ceremony, Tristan inserted the pair of digits into the wide receiver's `boy pussy'--although Tristan did not refer to the aperture as such--and tried to find his prostate. He must have been successful, for Hollis went wild. He managed to pull his cock from its mesh embrasure, but Tristan was quicker and with the aid of his left hand it was in his mouth in a trice. Tristan sucked and worked his fingers. Hollis gave up his nut and Tristan sucked until he could bear it no longer.

"Fuck that was good," he gasped. "Thanks. I suppose I'm gay now."

"Nah, it doesn't work like vampires," Tristan licked his lips. "You're a straight boy who likes his arse eaten and his cock sucked."

"SueEllen can't hold a candle to you."

"Maybe you should do it to each other." Hollis looked thoughtful. "Holly, it's none of my business, but do you and Parker...you know, on the nights you wear your jockstraps to bed...?"

"You mean help each other out?"

"Well, yes, I guess I do mean that."

"Not really, maybe just a helpin' hand once in a while--another dude's hand makes a real nice change--but Parks is a pretty straight guy. We've never sucked cock and sure as Hell ain't never eaten no ass."

"Be hot to see."

"Hey, do you think I should get Grady in here and strip him down an' you could eat him out too...?"

"Holly! He's only sixteen. You might mess his head up for real. He's a hot kid, but he's just a kid and a bit confused like all kids. Let him do stuff with his buddies first if he's not doing stuff with girls yet."

"I guess you're right. Got carried away."

"He loves you, Holly. He told me so. If you introduce sex into it, it will fuck everything up."

"I didn't mean with me."

"Holly, he'd probably eat you out and suck your cock, if he knew how to, if you told him to. Let you do stuff to him too, probably, but it's too unequal a relationship."

"I'm sorry." Hollis looked a bit ashamed.

"You better let me have that lucky jock tonight."

"You want it?"

"Yeah, I might get lucky again tomorrow night if I wear it."

"You mean it?" Tristan nodded. "It was a good day, today?"

"Yeah, I actually liked being out and doing something physical. We're good for tomorrow?"

"Yeah," said Hollis, as he stepped out of the jock. "Then off to Lubbock in the afternoon." He threw it to Tristan.

"Holly,"

"Yeah?"

"Why not take Grady to the movies in Lubbock tomorrow night. I mean just you two. He'd really love some bro time. I'll be all right here."

"Yeah," he said with a thoughtful pause. "That would pretty cool. I'll sure ask him."

The next day found Tristan working enthusiastically alongside Hollis and Grady. They checked a number of troughs and made some small repairs on a few. Then there was a call from Rich asking them to move some stock. Tristan felt sure that it was Grandpa who was dictating these orders.

With Grady on the other bike, they found the herd and got behind them. Hollis was on foot and called out various cowboy ejaculations to get the beasts to move. When they were at last motivated to move he raced ahead to open and close gates. Meanwhile Grady and Tristan were on their noisy quad-bikes at the rear. The cows were irritatingly slow and contrary. They were unlike the cows that obediently lined up for morning milking that Tristan had seen in his limited experience of farming.

There was a breakaway group and Tristan was having a hard time herding them. Hollis took his bike and eventually reunited this group with the main herd. Tristan tried his hand a yelling at them.

"Hold it down, Tris! We don't want a stampede," called Hollis.

Eventually the beasts were relocated and it was time for lunch. They were near the Brazos River and ate under the shade of some small trees. "How about skinny dippin'?" said Grady as he drank his Coke.

"What's in that river? Is there anything that could bite my junk?" asked Tristan.

"The bait's too small," laughed Hollis.

"The bait is average!"

"Well, come on. Don't be shy, ladies," said Grady who stood and pulled off his blue wifebeater.

He sat down again and untied his boots. Then stood again and shucked his Wranglers. Tristan looked.

"Cowboys don't wear no boxers," said Hollis who had just shucked his too.

"I can see you two are brothers, right enough," laughed Tristan who was busy removing his own clothes.

"My little bro's a stud eh?" said Hollis, putting his arm around him. Grady beamed.

"Are you sure your only sixteen?" said Tristan.

"Wayne Slater is taller, but I've got a bigger piece."

"Well, Wayne Slater ain't here to speak for himself, Grade," said Hollis as he scratched his balls.

"I think that girl Brooklyn will appreciate you as a beau, Grady," said Tristan with amusement.

"Come on!" cried Grady and the three of them clambered down the sunbaked slope of naked red soil and plunged into the water.

It was warm and not very deep. The current was not strong and there were plenty of sandbars in the lazy course. They horsed around, dunking each other. Hollis took Grady on his shoulders and chased Tristan, who tried to duck and weave before Grady slid off, pulling Tristan down under the water with him. Tristan felt very free and happy. The troubles of the world seemed, at this moment, far away.

Back on the shore they lay naked in the sun to dry off.

"I heard you," said Grady suddenly.

"Heard what?" asked Hollis lazily.

"I heard you last night, after you come home from SueEllen's."

"Sorry if I was noisy."

"No, I heard you an' Tristan. He was lickin' your butt an' you were moaning like a cow what lost her calf."

"That's bullshit!"

"No, it's not. I might still be a virgin, but Wesley Amos has licked my ass."

"Wesley Amos?" asked Hollis, surprised and forgetting to protest his lie.

"Yeah, he's on the team an' some of us have circle jerks an' watch some porn in his basement. He asked to taste m'butt an' I said okay."

"Shit, Grade. Why d'y'let him?"

"Same as you, big bro; I was pretty worked up an' I wanted to see what it was like."

"Did he suck your cock?"

"Nah. That was Spencer Welwyn-Reynolds."

"The Baptist minister's son?"

"Yeah," he's our quarterback and the cocksucker for the team--leastways, some of us."

"I didn't know any of this was goin' on, Grady!"

"Didn't you do the same when you were in Middle School?"

"Well, a few circle jerks to VCR porn, but no ass lickin'."

"Until last night?"

"That was different. I was drunk. I was drunk an' Tristan talked me into it."

"Thanks, buddy," said Tristan, annoyed. Annoyed that he's been spied on, annoyed that he'd been found out and annoyed that Hollis was leaving him hanging out to dry.

"That's not 'xactly how I heared it through the wall."

"You shouldn't have been listening."

"Well, you shoudda been quieter or not had your white ass tongued at all."

"Why you cheeky little shit!"

Grady was now laughing and not the least afraid of Hollis. Tristan admired his boldness. "It sounded like you did my big brother as good as Spencer Welwyn-Reynolds."

"Should I thank him for the compliment, Holly?"

"You should beat him up for it."

"Nah, I enjoyed it, Grady. Let's just say your big brother was very receptive."

"Look," said Hollis, trying to recover a shred. "I was horny and I wanted to try somethin'. Doesn't make me gay or nothin'."

"Didn't say it did. I've had Spencer's tongue an' it didn't make me gay--only made me cum."

"I did suck your brother off at the same time, if we're confessing shit," said Tristan.

"That's not helpin' Tris."

"Was it good?"

"Yeah," they both answered in unison and then looked at each other before breaking up.

"So, are you goin' to blackmail me, Grade?"

"Blackmail? Shit no, bro. Why would I do that? You goin' to tell Dad about Wesley n' Spencer?"

"No, not my business."

"Well, I reckon we should jack off right here."

"Why do you reckon that?"

"Cause I want to jack off right here. I want to jack off with my big bro."

"Tristan might have somethin' to say about that."

"I think I'll go back to the house. This is between you two cowboys."

They nodded and Tristan took a quad bike back.

Half an hour later Tristan heard the truck. Hollis was back. He went out into the yard. "Grady has gone to one of his buddy's."

"Not Spencer or Wesley's?"

"No," Holly laughed. "Jeff's."

"So everything's cool?"

"Course. Told you he was a great kid.'

"Maybe not so much of a kid anymore."

"Nah, he's still my baby bro. He just wanted to jack me off and have a bit of a taste."

"You don't think that will fuck his head?"

"Nope. Mostly wanted to talk about this Brooklyn bitch. I figure she's been fuckin' with his head. We're goin' to see some shit in Lubbock tonight. Hey, we better head out there now."

They took Tristan's truck and Tristan drove under direction from Hollis. It wasn't far out of town that the road began to rise through a cutting in the Estacado and quickly they were up onto the Great Plains. The road was flat and straight. There were cotton fields and a railway line. The number of tin sheds and workshops multiplied as they headed into the metropolitan area of the small city. It had an urban feel compared to Kellogg, with freeways and overpasses. Like most Texas towns, telegraph posts were its main ornamental feature. The downtown section was mildly surprising, for it boasted several miniature skyscrapers. Some older buildings dated back to the nineteen-thirties, including the High School, which Hollis pointed out to him.

There was a list of purchases for Grandpa. Hollis collected some obscure tool from a specialised dealer. The next stop was at an enormous drug warehouse. Apparently Hollis grandfather was a devotee of vitamins and supplements.

They stopped for a burger at a place that Holly assured him was good. "Your Grandfather is a formidable man," ventured Tristan.

"Yeah, you've seen how he calls the shots. Daddy don't stand up to him enough. Wants to keep the peace. I mean Grandpa has run the ranch real well for years, but now he's gettin' resistant to change. I know 'nough 'bout economics to know that it would make horse sense for us to try some new crops and to modernize--those old pumps, for example. Cotton's doing well an' Grandpa thinks of the glory days, but every year the total crop in the country has increased--new record every year. But the price has fallen with it. Was eighty cents, then seventy cents, now just sixty cents a pound."

"You mean oversupply?"

"Yeah, I think so. Cotton's real thirsty too. If we have a dry year the crop is fucked. Beef prices are risin' and with demand from Asia..."

"Do you want to take over the ranch?"

"Like I said, don't rightly know."

"Grady?"

"Don't know. All he's interested in is gettin' his piece wet."

They looked around the more interesting parts of Lubbock. A branch of Texas Tech occupied a large area. Hollis said that there were several Christian colleges too. Then Tristan spied an antiques store. He persuaded Hollis to go in with him. He was almost sorry, for it has mostly `old ladies' wares, as Hollis characterized them: Victorian and Edwardian bric-a-brac --Ansonia clocks, chiffonieres, lace and cut glass. They were just about to walk out when Hollis spied something behind a curtain.

"Is this for sale, Ma'am?" he asked the lady.

She shuffled over and Tristan looked too. It was a settee of some size. The legs were of ordinary black square tube, but the broad, deep seat and the low back were stiffly quilted in dark red vinyl. It formed an `L' like Tristan had been looking for. It had a stylish retro look, perhaps from the nineteen-sixties.

"You like that?" said the woman in surprise.

"Yeah," said Tristan. Hollis nodded.

She pulled the curtain more fully aside and they went into the back room. There were a few other items, perhaps getting ready to be put out in the store, and an electric kettle and a fridge indicated that this was where the proprietor had her lunch.

"It's very nice," said Tristan. "And firm," he added as he sat on it.

"You're British?" asked the woman.

"From London," replied Tristan. "But I live here now."

"I have some nice English bone china if you'd rather..." Tristan smiled but shook his head. "Well, I've had this here for years. It came from the Metro Tower."

Tristan looked blankly.

"Tall office building that was struck by a tornado in 1970. Did a heap of damage and they had to refurbish it. My husband bought it. Look at this."

She stepped over and swung the backrest over. You could sit on either side.

"What do you think, Holly?"

"I think it's cool, but it doesn't 'xactly go with your old house. More like from the set of Mad Men."

"Maybe, but I really like it."

They took turns in sitting on it. One didn't sink deeply into it, but could sprawl out like on a daybed. Perhaps it had been in a foyer, thought Tristan.

"How much is it, Ma'am?" asked Hollis at last.

"That's an unusual piece. A thousand dollars."

"Oh, I'm sorry," said Tristan. "We're poor students and we're just buying second-hand stuff for our house."

Hollis took over. "We can only afford six." Tristan nodded.

"I can't let it go for six, but if you could make it eight I'll throw in these." She pointed at a pile in the corner. Upon inspection it was revealed to be three matching backless benches. They were in good condition when they were unpacked. Each could seat two people at a squeeze.

"They could go under the front windows--you know, an' people could lean against the wall to watch TV."

"Yeah, I see what you mean." He turned to the lady. "Okay, eight it is."

They loaded up the truck with their buy, adding a fancy wooden board with a row of hooks for keys that Hollis thought would be useful. They then turned the truck for home.

Kimberly was excited by their purchase and made them lay it out in the yard. She vowed that she would clean it for them if they put it in the barn. Then they had another big supper--a huge beef pie that Kimberly had been busy making all afternoon. Grady took a smaller one over to his grandfather's along with the purchases they had made in Lubbock. Tristan helped to wash up while Hollis got ready to take Grady back to Lubbock for a movie.

Tristan's evening was a busy one. He sat with Rich and Kimberly in the comfortable living room and opened his laptop. There, as promised, was a copy of Ben and Ivy's project that had been submitted to Professor Troost. It was full of pictures and drawings and he shared these with the other two, who seemed genuinely interested.

There were images of the nine prospective householders and their individual desires for an ideal home were stated. There was the brief from Tristan and it's interpretation by Ben and Ivy. A lot of the thesis was in `archi-speak', but Tristan understood most of it.

The pictures of the old house were of the before' and after' kind. There were old images of bungalows by Sears and other suppliers for comparison. There was even an image of Tristan's house from the time it was a dairy. A group of milkmen stood beside an early motor truck emblazoned with the name. Gilmore's Ideal Dairy' and underneath, Pure Pasteurized Milk'.

"You should have a copy of that framed Tristan, it's so cute," said Kimberly. Tristan studied it closely and agreed.

There were sketches that showed the evolution of the plan--particularly of the back porch--and then a long section detailing the problems encountered with the construction phase and how they were dealt with. Tristan felt as if he were living through it again.

The pictures of the finished house looked wonderful and Rich vowed that they would come to see it one day. Then there was a chapter on the costs and the dreadful numbers that made Tristan feel sick in his stomach. "It overran by fifteen percent, not including some changes that I made."

"You could have bought up the best house in Kellogg and still have change," said Rich and then, "Sorry, I shouldn't have said that."

"No, it's true," said Tristan and then went on to freely admit that the house was a reaction to his loss of his old home.

"And then Gran died and left me money. Dad was really good and paid for the whole barn conversion and, well, there you have it."

"It's a beautiful house, Trisan," said Kimberly kindly. "And I wish I was young again and living there with all of you."

"Yeah, how could that be wrong, Tristan?" said Rich. "You have done it for other people as much as for yourself. That should bring joy."

"I suppose so, never thought of it that way." He was quiet for a moment. Kimberly brought in some coffee. "I was serious when I offered Holly work over the summer. We need to build a barbecue and straighten the yard. I think we'll need to relay the stable floor--it's brick and you read how Holly wanted a table tennis table in there."

"Do it on a level sand base and then sweep a dry mixture of cement and fine sand into the joints. A little water and a clean up and it will look great," said Rich. "Holly will be your man for that, he's done it before up at Dad's."

"Well, he kept that quiet! Also I was serious about Grady coming. He'd be most welcome, if you could spare him too, that is."

Kimberly looked nervous. "I don't know, Rich. Amtrack doesn't go here and he'd have to go by bus--change at Dallas. Those bus stations are dangerous for boys his age."

"He can look after himself pretty well," said Rich, patting her arm. "Perhaps if you and Holly were to meet him in Dallas?"

"Sure, I could see my Dad who lives there."

"Well, we could see him onto the bus at Lubbock if you'd meet him at the station in Lamar Street--do you know it?"

Tristan nodded. "We'll look after him, don't worry. Maybe in three weeks?"

"Well, I haven't said `yes' yet," said Kimberly, defiantly.

"Pert near, Kim," laughed Rich.

Tristan went to his room and sent some emails. Then he FaceTimed Colton. He told him about the trip to Lubbock and the day's purchase. Colton responded by describing how the early summer shoots were being tied in the vineyard. It was hot work, but not unpleasant.

"Colt."

"Yeah?'

"Last night something happened."

"What, Tris?"

"After we spoke last night, Holly came in after his date with SueEllen. He was just wearing a jock strap--do you know he has a lucky jockstrap?"

"Yeah, wears it for important games--don't warsh it."

"Well..."

"Somehow you sucked his filthy ginger cock?"

"Well, it wasn't filthy and there's more."

"Do tell."

"I licked his butt."

"You what?"

"He'd never had anyone lick him downstairs and I sort of showed him what it was like. I hope you don't mind."

"Of course I don't mind. You and I can both do what we like."

"Oh."

"Kinda pleased that you told me, though. I suppose you want me to beat him up."

"Of course not."

"Holly's my best bud--after you--so if he wants his ass licked and you want to do it, well I suppose that's okay, although why you want to put your face in that skinny ginger butt is beyond me."

"He's hot, Colt, in his own way."

Colton snorted contemptuously. "The sooner you get down here, the better."

"Yeah, but in the meantime, I want to watch you jack."

"I'll put the phone down here," said Colton getting up and balancing on of the chest of drawers. "That way you can look at my ass. Tell me that Holly's ass is finer than mine?"

"Yours is finer, Cowboy. More meat."

It was sometime later that Hollis appeared--once again just in his jock--a black one.

"Jesus, Holly! You don't expect me to lick your butt again after last night. Grady is probably selling tickets."

"He's not home. Dropped him at a buddy's house. They're doing somethin' tomorrer."

"Well, how did your movie night go?"

"The film was shit, but Grade liked it. Boy, that kid can eat--the bucket of popcorn was this big," he waved his arms, "and there was ice-cream, Doritos and he wanted a burger afterwards."

"Did you talk?"

"Sure we talked, about girls an' sex n'stuff. He then gets a call from this Brooklyn bitch and guess what? She asks him out on a date tomorrer night! She asks him! I tell yer, Grady is more of a stud than I was at his age!"

"What did you say to him--about the date I mean?"

"Told him to pick her up in my truck--if she don't object to that old thing, she really must be keen on Grade--an' take her out for pizza an' to pay for her."

"And if the question of sex comes up?"

"How likely is that? He's only sixteen and it's their first date. I said to kiss her an' --you know--have a bit of a rassle, but don't try for even second base."

"I see," said Tristan trying to imagine it.

"Boy says he don't know how to kiss a girl proper. I said we'd give him some lessons before the date."

"Well, that should be interesting!"

"Now, Tris, my butt's been cryin' out for some more of your tongue."

"Holly, you're not gay. You can't just bounce in here and get me to do stuff to you."

"Why not? Can't I just be gay until you make me cum?"

"It doesn't work like that."

"Come on, Tris, you liked it last night. I won't tell Colt."

"What's Colt got to do with it?"

"Come on, Tris, don't tell me that that straight sex machine don't get you to do stuff to him." Tristan didn't say anything. "That's all right. I'd probably be down on my knees, even if it was only to keep my place on the team."

"Colt's not like that and you're not gay."

"How do you know that?"

"Well, when you jack off, do you think about guys or girls?"

Hollis stood there thinking whilst absent-mindedly kneading his jock pouch. "Well, eighty-percent it's chicks."

"Colt likes lesbian porn."

"Ten percent is chicks having sex with guys--even gangbangs. Is that sick?"

"Not if it's only a fantasy. Real life is different."

"Ten percent might be sex stuff with guys--you know, jacking off together..."

"Jacking off with Colt and the team?"

"Yeah, I've fantasized about that. Have you been reading my mind?"

Tristan laughed. "Holly, you're straight."

"Oh. So you won't eat me out again?"

"Get on the bed, arse up."

Tristan set to work, although he felt it lacked the spontaneity of the previous night. Still, Hollis was appreciative and moaned and cried `Fuck!' at appropriate intervals

Tristan was amazed, once again, for how relaxed Hollis' sphincter became under his lingual ministrations. Hollis pressed his cock backwards between his legs. Tristan took this as a sign that he should lick that too--and Hollis' ball sack that swung so low that Tristan could grasp in his clenched fist.

"Roll over, I want my reward."

Hollis turned and Tristan removed his jock entirely and put his still flaccid penis between his lips. He sucked and he stroked. Hollis began to thrash around on the mattress. "Put your fingers up there, like last night!"

Tristan reached for his bedside lube and smeared some on the index and middle fingers on his right hand. Then they were pressed in as far as they could go and then some. "I'm getting' close!" cried Hollis. Tristan would not pull off and presently he was savouring the distinctive taste of his friend's semen.

"Fuck you're good," gasped Hollis. Tristan went back for seconds. "Don't you want to get off yourself?"

"Nah, I'm all right. Got my nut earlier."

"Can I kiss you?"

"Do you want to?"

"I did a few moments ago but now..."

"That's all right, Holly, kisses aren't obligatory."

"You won't tell Colt about this?"

"I'm pretty sure he wouldn't mind."

"You've already told him."

"Well, yes. He said you were his best buddy and he didn't mind. I was to look after you."

"He said that?"

"Pretty much."

"I hope he doesn't think I'm turnin' gay."

"Nothing wrong with being gay, Holly."

"Oh, sorry, I didn't mean it like that." He thought for a moment. "He won't say nothin' because he gets his cock sucked too." Tristan remained impassive. "Well, good luck to him, although how y'all can get that big anteater thang o' his in your mouth I don't know. It's as big as a baby's arm!"

Tristan laughed. "It's a pity you and Parks can't do each other."

"Like I said, he ain't really like that an' I'm not sure I'd like to do nothin' to a guy. I'm just a wide receiver." He had made a joke.

"You've never tasted his cock?"

"Never tasted no cock. I can tell yer, Parker shoots a bucket an' he likes to pinch his nipples. I've done that for him--after a few beers."

"When he says to sleep in your jockstraps?" said Tristan, smiling.

"Yeah, or boxers or nothin' at all, like Colt."

"How do you know that?"

"Seen him often enough in your room. Bunked with him on football trips. Likes to bust one before he goes t'sleep an' when he wakes up. Don't care who watches."

"Yeah, that's right and sometimes in-between."

"I'd sure love to have his body and his way with women."

"Tell me about your girlfriends, Holly," said Tristan, relaxing back onto his pillow.

Perhaps he'd been waiting for someone to ask this very question, for he began at the age of twelve with his first kiss and then moved on through various BettyJoes, BobbySues, Rihannas and the like. Tristan felt his eyes closing. "So she was the cousin?" he said sleepily.

"No, that was Harper. This is the one what taught Sunday School..."

When Tristan awoke he was slightly shocked that Hollis was still in his bed, asleep and with no clothes on. He smiled to himself in the dark and pulled the covers over them both.

Sounds from the distant kitchen woke Tristan. He looked at his phone. Then he looked at the sleeping Hollis. He was on his back, snoring quietly. Tristan had time to examine the gallery of tattoos that he had collected. His right arm was completely inked whilst the left was still a tabula rasa. He knew there was the image of a rodeo rider between his shoulder blades. Texas stars surrounded his small, pink nipples. Across his abs in old English script was written `SUCH IS LIFE'--in capital letters. Tristan wondered why this world-weary phrase had been chosen, as it was so unlike Holly. There was a curious rinceau pattern on his side and Tristan had just seen something when Hollis stirred.

"Oh, sorry, Tris. Was I here all night? Musta been out like a light."

"That's okay," said Tristan kindly. "Holly, does that say `Grady' on your side?"

"Yeah, you spotted it? He never has. Got that one when he made the junior varsity football team."

"You should tell him, he'd be really chuffed."

"Does that mean pleased?" Tristan nodded.

"Holly, I think you'd look hot--hotter--if you shaved down. Your balls, your bush, everything. It would made your cock stand out."

"It's already standin' out,"

"Got some juice for me this morning?"

"Suck it and see."

"I will, if you'll let me shave you down in the shower."

"Deal."

"Fuck! You're hard as a fucking rock." Tristan had uncovered Hollis to find his erection flat against his abs. "I can't bend it to get it in my mouth."

"Just lick the underside. It won't take much."

Tristan did whilst Hollis pinched his nipples--a vice he had accused Parker of.

"Are you always this hard?" Tristan managed to say between swipes.

"Pretty much."

Tristan then varied matters to work on Hollis balls--universally said to be his crowning glory. "Get 'em good an' wet," Hollis managed to command.

Tristan then paused, leaving Hollis hanging. Hollis made a grab for his cock, but Tristan told him to wait. He rummaged though his bag and produced a silk tie. "You'll enjoy this."

The tie was a thin one and Tristan proceeded to wind it round his scrotum. Risking damage to the good tie (it was from Gieves in London) he formed a loose knot.

"Look at them now," he said.

Hollis rose from the bed and waddled over to the mirror. His balls were already reddening and were pulled away from his body. "Weird, but hot," was Hollis' assessment.

"It should intensify you orgasm," said Tristan, who actually had no idea whether it did or it didn't.

Tristan knelt before him and sucked as best he knew while giving the occasional tug on the ends of the tie.

"Getting' close, Tris. Fingers."

Tristan reached between Hollis' legs and found his rear opening. With the other hand he pulled steadily on the tied testicles. The rest was managed with his mouth and tongue while Hollis leaned backwards, his hands resting on the chest of drawers.

Will animalistic noises he came and kept pumping into Tristan's mouth. His penis slipped free but was still pulsing and cum besmirched Tristan's supplicating form.

"Oh that was mighty intense! You're an artist, Tris."

Tristan was still scooping up gouts of cum. "Just picked up a few tricks of the trade--the rough trade." He began to unloosen the tie, now ruined. "Did you hear the one about Monica Lewinski and the deaf drycleaner?"

Hollis hadn't.

"She comes in to the store with a dress and says that she'd like it cleaned by Tuesday. The old man cups his ear and shouts, `Come again?' and she replies, "No, mayonnaise sauce."

Hollis `bust up' laughing and rolled around on the bed. "Y'all real droll, Tris Isley."

Tristan just grinned to himself. "Come on, into the shower and I've shave you down. Then we've got to go up to your grandfather's, remember?"

It was a shaven Hollis who drove his old truck down the farm road to the southern end of the ranch. He kept putting his hand down his Wranglers to scratch, Tristan having said not to wear boxers. Holly's skin was chalky while and freckled, except where outdoor work had tanned his neck and arms, the lines of his wifebeater being quite discernable. It was literally a `redneck' look, but Tristan was not blind to its attractions.

"An' it makes my piece look bigger?" asked Hollis anxiously as they bounced along the gravel road.

"Yeah, sure does," said Tristan with a straight face.

Hollis' grandfather's house was an older style farmhouse made of white-painted weatherboards. It must have dated from the nineteen-thirties--perhaps before--but it was in good order. It was surrounded by a constellation of rusty-red barns and iron sheds. Not faraway began a vast field of cotton. Tristan couldn't tell at the time but later learnt that the bushes were not planted in traditional rows but in vast concentric rings so that they could be irrigated by an enormous, slow-moving overhead system that rotated around a central pivot.

"Cotton's a thirsty crop," observed Hollis, "and Grandpa believes that the aquifer is limitless. It's not and he won't move to drip lines or nothin' to conserve water. This is the driest part of Texas too."

Grandpa was found by one of the sheds engaged with three farmhands--Latino men whom Tristan was introduced to. Grandpa wanted Hollis to help him with the silage. Apparently, in addition to cotton, some land was devoted to sorghum and hay. They bailed the hay for their own use, but the sorghum they `pickled' and sold it to dairy farmers.

Eventually they got down to work. The tractor was used to bring great rolls of black plastic to the pit with its stinking mountains of chopped greenery. Grandpa was inordinately proud of his new cutter, which could cut even the stalks of the plant as they stood in the field. With difficulty they unrolled the plastic to make a blanket over the silage. Old tyres were used to weight it down.

After three hours, Grandpa congratulated the boys on working so hard. Tristan took this as a great compliment, at the same time explaining that he was a novice to this sort of work and the Texas heat. Grandpa looked at him oddly; he could little envision a world beyond that of his ranch. However, the visit of Tristan, not to mention his grandson, seemed to put him in a loquacious mood as they made their way back to the house.

He mostly talked about the history of the ranch, of the good years in the nineteen-fifties, of the lean times in the 'seventies. "May I see a picture of Hollis' grandmother, Mr McGarvie?"

He shuffled off to the living room, leaving Hollis and Tristan to enjoy their instant coffee. He came back with a framed picture. It was a colour studio portrait of a young women in the faded tones of the nineteen-sixties. She wore a pale green sweater with a scarf knotted jauntily over one shoulder. Her blonde hair was in the style of Doris Day.

"She is a very attractive," said Tristan at last.

"That was my Mavis. Prettiest girl in the whole county."

"That's not very many, Grandpa."

"All right, in the whole Panhandle. Real lovely nature. You remember your grandmother, don't you, boy?"

"Yeah, of course. I was twelve when Grandma passed."

"I were the flu, Tristan. Cruel it was."

"You're a lot like your grandmother, boy."

"Grandma played football?"

"Huh!" he laughed. "I mean you have her nature. Sensitive deep down."

"Me?" asked Hollis incredulously. Grandpa said nothing more.

"And Rich is your only son?" asked Tristan.

"No, there's Ty. He's in the Coast Guard down in Corpus Christie an' m'daughter, June who lives up north." The old man brought out other photos and talked about his life. "When I was a young 'un I had my share of girls. I reckon you take after me in the stud stakes, Holly."

"If'n you say so, Grandpa, but I don't know much about girls. Study and football."

"Don't bull-shit me, boy," he said, drawing out the two words. "I've heard about that SueEllen. Been sniffin' around the new deacon, but been moonin' for a certain red-headed footballer all the same."

"Well, we were kinda friendly."

"Is that what y'call it? I'll tell yer somethin'. When I was your age I had a string o'girls that I bedded. Some real nice ladies. When I married your grandmother I still kept company with some of 'em. Was an unfaithful husband. Probably hurt your grandma. But when your pa was born, that's when I woke up an' realised that I loved her far more deeply than I had ever thought. Was a faithful for the rest of our lives."

"I didn't know that, Grandpa."

"Well, I'm just tellin' yer that...well, don't 'xactly know what the lesson is there."

"Could it be that when you find the right one, she is the right one?" suggested Tristan.

"I reckon it is, Tristan. Think about that, Holly, when you're fuckin' those dolls of yours, don't y'all let the right one git away."

"No one says `dolls' any more."

Mr McGarvie took an offhand swat at Hollis and missed.

"Listen to your grandfather, Holly."

"That's right, Tristan. You'll have to see to him when y'all livin' in that house of yours. Boy needs guidance. Thinks only with that big dick o'his."

"Huh!" said Hollis. "Wrong dude to ask. Grandpa, could we look in the sheds for stuff we could use in the house?"

"You wanna `pick' my stuff."

"Just things you don't want any more."

"Sure. Go ahead an' call me if you find somethin' good."

Hollis looked at Tristan. "There's stuff in those sheds that goes way back." Tristan nodded enthusiastically, thinking of their success in Lubbock.

The first shed contained farm machinery and things that looked as if they were in current use. The second one--made of red-painted boards--was quite different and the struggle to open the doors was an indication that it had not been in use for years.

Inside was a great deal of rusty machinery and scrap iron, for which neither could envision a use. There were no enamel advertising signs, let alone green dinosaurs. However there was a big table. A wood vice attached to one side told of its history as a workbench. The surface was crisscrossed with saw marks and there were splashes of old paint.

"How'd this be for an outdoor table?" asked Hollis.

"Great, but it must weigh a ton. How'd we get it back?"

"If we could lift it, I could bring it back in m'truck."

"No offense, but would your truck make it? I mean it's a big load."

"She's beat up, but she's got stayin' power."

"Well, I think it's a great table. No need to pretty it up. Can't you see us sitting round it and drinking beer?" Hollis could.

Then there were old boxes and crates. The boxes were of beautiful wood and had once contained products like lamp oil, cider vinegar and Kraft Cheese. These would clean up well and be useful for general storage. The crates could be used as seats in the yard.

"Do you think these could go in the truck too?"

"Sure, as many as we can pack in."

Tristan then though he had discovered a great `peacock chair'--the sort that Mortitia Addams sat in. However the seat had rotted. There was nothing else and it was hot and dusty work. They went back and fetched Grandpa.

"This old table? What do you want that for?"

"Make a good outdoor table for when we have cookouts, Grandpa."

"You wouldn't sooner have a nice, clean, store-bought one?"

"This one has real character, Mr McGarvie, if you don't need it that is. I guess we don't need the vice."

"Spanish cedar that is, boy," he said, running his palm over the surface. "And it will last you two lifetimes, especially if'n you don't stand it direct on the ground. That were my daddy's work table." He had a faraway look in his eyes. "I can see him now standing over it repairin' our shoes. In them days we didn't have money for throwin' shoes away; we got 'em repaired--mended them yourself if you knew how. Did you see that big ole iron shoe last in there?" Tristan had. "Well, Daddy would put our shoes on it--big one for himself and the little one for us kids. Then he'd tack on a new piece of leather that he had cut with his knife or put metal tips on the toes an' heels so our boots didn't wear out s'quick."

"You have brothers and sisters?"

"Had an older brother, Bob who died in the Korean War and there's Irv who is younger and lives in Amarillo. M'sister lives here in Kellogg."

"They own a share of the ranch," put in Hollis.

The old man returned to his story. "I reckon Daddy only stopped mendin' shoes when times got better. I can still recall the look on his face when I came back from Dallas with a pair of blue suede shoes with crepe soles. Had a fit!" He chortled at the memory. "Claimed no real man would wear such thangs! But there was that song and this girl, BillieLou Heskell, said I looked mighty fine in 'em. Only went out with me on account of those shoes I reckon." He gave a laugh. "Next thing I remember is that I was huntin' for 'em under her bed like crazy, because I hears her daddy's old truck acomin' up the road. Thank the Lord for a faulty muffler!"

"Is that BillieLou Mrs McCurdy who volunteers in the Thrift Store over in Tahoka?"

"That'd be someone quite diff'rent, boy," said Grandpa. Hollis and Tristan exchanged looks.

"You wantin' all those boxes? Make good kindlin' wood."

"No, they're lovely,' argued Tristan. "Some even have dovetailed joints. I can keep magazine, socks, tools and all sorts of stuff in them. Isn't that right, Holly?"

"Yeah, they're real neat, Gramps, if'n you don't want 'em no more."

"Y'welcome to them, boys. How about we go back to the house and have a beer. Don't tell y'mom."

With a few brews under their belts, they returned to Hollis' place. Kimberly eyed them suspiciously and said, "Holly, Grady is waitin' in his room for you." She paused. "He'd plum exited 'bout this date with this Brooklyn girl. But I don't know if I like the idea of him walking out with someone who seems so much older an' more mature. He's only a boy."

"Have you met her?"

"No, it's just what he's been sayin'. You're supposed to teach him how to kiss. Said I was no good as a teacher!"

They all laughed quietly.

"Holly, give him some good advice on how to treat girls, please." She spoke sincerely. "I don't want him to get all his ideas off the Internet."

Tristan went red thinking of certain blandishments that might be loosely termed `kissing' which he had learned--or at least perfected--from the Internet.

They found Grady in his room laying out his clothes. "Shorts or these black jeans?"

"The jeans make you look older, but the shorts show off y'legs. Tris?"

"Black jeans. Shorts for a daytime date."

"Right!" said Grady and the shorts were moved aside. "Is this button down okay? Or maybe the new polo?"

"Button down makes it look as if y'tryin' too hard--you know, Prom Night. The polo shows off y'chest. He's got great pecs for just sixteen, eh Tris?" Hollis gave his pink nipples a twist and Grady screeched.

"I want to wear my blue vans--like Colton Stone wears," said Grady, evidently well informed.

"He doesn't wear socks with them. Reckons chicks dig his feet," Tristan contributed.

"Now, boxers or briefs?"

"Neither!" the other two said in unison.

"I should go commando?"

"Let her get a hint of what y'packin'. They're real tight jeans too," said Hollis.

"Yeah, I can hardly get into 'em."

"Well, all the easier to get out of them without stuff in the way."

"Just don't have a bar down your left leg that's too obvious when you pick her up. Play it cool," said Tristan, imagining unfortunate first impressions.

"You can have some of my Axe," said Hollis.

"Got my own."

"But you don't shave."

"I do--occasionally--but I still stink up."

"Oh yeah, I guess so. Now, Kimberly said I should teach y'all the finer points of tonsil hockey."

"Is he a good kisser, Tristan? Good as Colton Stone?"

"How would I know?' lied Tristan. "Are you Holly?"

"Colton reckons he's the best at every damn thang. Trouble is, Rachel and Leesha says he is."

"That's okay, bro. Second best is good enough for me. When I get good, I'll give you lessons."

A rap to the testicles chastised the impudent younger brother.

"Now, she'll be expectin' a kiss--at least by the end of the night. If she don't want it, she'll back outtta that truck quicker than a crawfish or she'll turn her head or somethin'. You'll know all right."

"An' if she does want it?"

"Don't come over all shy an' squib it. Man up an' think of Texas."

"Faint heart never won fair lady," said Tristan.

"There! Shakespeare always got it right."

"I don't think it was the Bard, Holly."

"Oh well, probably one of Stone's."

"How do I start?"

"Don't go straight for the tongue," said Hollis, sagely. "Work up to that slowly if it feels right. If it don't, don't stick it in."

"And don't start off with one of those hard old Hollywood kisses. You'll break her retainer."

"She don't wear no retainer."

"Just soft, but on the lips--she's not you're grandmother."

"Mouth just parted slightly at first, real gentle-like. As if you just realised how wonderful she is."

"Hey, that's well said, Holly!"

"This is not my first rodeo."

"Well, it is mine," interrupted Grady. "Y'better show me. It's like swimmin', y'can't teach it from a book; y'gotta jump in an' try it."

"All right, young 'un. Here goes. I'm you an' you're her."

Hollis moved in. Grady stood frozen. Hollis made their lips touch lightly. He pulled back and touched again, this time with no hesitation. Grady dropped the shirt he had been holding. The kiss intensified.

"Stop!" cried Grady.

"I was jus' getting' worked up."

"What do I do with m'hands? I figured out the noses part, but m'hands?"

Hollis looked at Tristan. "Where do they go?"

Tristan was thoughtful. "I usually go for the cock and balls, but that doesn't apply here. The lower back and gradually onto the arse?"

"No, too forward. Round her shoulders in a light hug first."

"Grady, just do what she does."

Hollis and Grady resumed. There was a reprise of the first kiss. Gradually Hollis' arms went around Grady's shoulders and Grady's arms slid down to Hollis' buttocks. The kissing became more intense. Tristan, observing closely like a wrestling referee, could see tongues. Hollis pulled on Grady's lower lip. A minute later Grady used his teeth gently on Hollis. They fell to the bed, still locked together. Then they broke. They were both laughing.

"Fuck that was good!" said Grady. "I'm barred-up fit to be tied."

"Maybe you prefer boys, Grade?" suggested Tristan mischievously.

"Maybe my brother does." They all looked to where the pouch of Hollis' jock was protruding from the raised hem of his shorts.

"Yeah, Grade kisses better than SueEllen--and he don't smell from formaldehyde neither. You don't need no more lessons, y'all graduated."

"Oh, I wanted to try Tristan."

"No, that's too gay. Get ready. Come an' show y'mom. She wants to see her little boy whose becoming a big boy. But maybe let that big boy go down first," he said, cupping Grady's genitals.

Grady was seen off and Tristan, Hollis and his family sat down in the living room and watched an action film. Tristan was also busy texting Colton, telling him about the loot from Grandpa's shed. Colt replied eventually that he was spending the night at his brother's house and that he also had a surprise for Tristan. He could not be drawn on what it was.

Once again Tristan was awoken by Hollis, but this time Hollis wanted them to go and see Grady, who had apparently just returned from his date. Hollis knocked and Grady replied, sleepily, that he should come in.

Grady switched on the lamp and sat up. He still reeked of Axe.

"How'd it go bro?"

"Great," he said stretching, Tristan admiring his well-developed chest and arms in the lamplight. "Brooklyn's real nice an' interested in all sorts o'stuff. We talked about our families and junk like that. Here." He picked up his phone and went to his photos.

"Gee, Grade, she's got terrible acne," said Hollis.

"What?" He took the phone back. "That's the pizza we shared, asshole. This is Brooklyn."

"Wow! Take a look, Tris."

Tristan took the phone. Brooklyn was indeed very attractive and seemed years older than just seventeen. She had a great deal of dark hair down to past her shoulders, blue eyes, heavily outlined, and full lips that were parted to show unnaturally white teeth."

"Take a look at this one," said Grady, now sitting up more fully. He fiddled with his phone. There was Brooklyn photographed on some other occasion. She had sunglasses perched on the top of her head and was standing very straight, giving a slight twist to her body like professional models do. Her halter-neck top plunged low to reveal a pair of very large, firm breasts. "They're real!" Grady declared, his eyes shining.

"Y'don't get many of them to the pound," observed Hollis, taking back the phone.

"You did very well for yourself, man," said Tristan encouragingly and high-fiving Grady who was still in bed. "Did the kissing lessons help?"

"Sort of, but she said she didn't mind that I was inexperienced and said she would teach me stuff."

"What sort of stuff?"

"Oh you know, just stuff."

"Spill, Grade, or I'll tickle you."

Hollis made a lunge towards the supine sibling who giggled then said, "I'm not supposed to tell."

Hollis whipped the covers off. Grady was naked in bed and his youthful erection was urgent.

"You horny fucker. You think y'all man enough to sleep in the raw now, little bro? What will your mom say?"

"I'm man enough, big bro. I've had m'piece between those big titties."

"Y'haven't?"

"Have too. And in her sweet mouth. Said I tasted real good." He became excited. "She shaves her twat, 'xept for a little patch like Hitler's moustache--know any girls like that?" Hollis thought for a moment then nodded. "Learned to kiss down there too until she was cryin'. Is that okay for a first date, big bro?"

"More than okay, Junior Stud."

"I never thought that would happen," added Tristan rather primly.

"Me neither, but it did. We kissed a little in the truck--after the pizza. She said she'll pay next time--and then says what every guy wants t'hear: that her parents were away for the night. Man, I'm so hard I can hardly walk." He was idly stroking his cock as he recalled the details of the night.

"Who was it that taught you to jack when you was still in Elementary School?"

"It was you, Holly."

"Damn right and look at the little sex fiend I've created."

Grady grinned and angled his cock towards his half-brother. "Better show me again. It's been a while."

Hollis took over, with the comment directed to Tristan that he had not been so big at Elementary School. He jacked him as Grady continued.

"Well, we go into her livin' room and she's got the lights down real low and some music on. She goes into the kitchen to bring us some cokes, but when she comes back she ain't got a stitch on--'cepting for her high heels, that is. She asks me if I think she looks pretty an' I say, `Pretty as a pie supper'." Tristan wanted to laugh. "Then she says she thinks I'm pretty--a funny thing to say to a dude--and I say, maybe you should see if I'm pretty with m'gear off."

"Good move, dude."

"You're pretty with your gear off, Grady," confirmed Tristan.

"Yeah, that's what she says, then she kisses me and then...and then...she drops to her knees and takes m'hardon into her mouth. Now she don't suck it well, but she's so fuckin' gorgeous an kinda slutty doin' it I have to ask her to slow down."

"Then what?" asked Hollis as he continued to stroke his half-brother as he groped himself.

"Then she gets on the couch an pushes my head down an' I just sort of go for it. Musta worked because she cums. We kiss a whole lot more an' feel each other--you know. Then she kinda hotdogs m'piece an' says she likes guys to blow on her face. I'm a little shocked but I obliges."

"Fuckin' hot, bro. Pump out a load for me now. Show me what you gave her."

It didn't take much before Grady came all over himself. Hollis then whipped his cock out of his straining jockstrap out blew a load all over Grady's face.

"Fuck, Holly, y' scum ball!" He recovered from his shock rather quickly and was casting round with his tongue. Hollis was laughing. "Yeah, that was what it was like for Brooklyn, I guess," said Grady, reaching for what must have been his cum rag under the bed and wiping off. "Sure stings the eyes, though."

"You look hot covered in your big bro's cum, Grady," said Hollis, still grinning as he squeezed out the last drops out, "Should take a photo for y'buddies."

"Dickwad!"

Hollis took over wiping duty and was quite tender. He picked up some on his finger and sucked it. Then another finger was offered to Tristan. "Want a taste, Tris?"

"Nah, I'm good. When's the next date?"

"Tomorrer. Folks still away."

"Don't think there's much Big Brother can teach you, Grade, but come to me anytime an' we can talk about anythang that's botherin' you. Might not know the answer, mind."

"Thank's Holly, y'all the best. Best bro in the whole damn County."

"One thing, Grade: I reckon it'd be a good idea to call her or text her right now--a bit lovey-dovey like. Chicks like that. Makes them think they ain't been used."

"I ain't used her--she used me."

"Chicks' ain't rational, dude, believe me. Just do it and you'll thank me afterwards."

"Ain't rational?"

"They're emotional. Ain't that right, Tris?"

Tristan wasn't sure, but for educational purposes agreed with Hollis. Then Hollis covered up his teen brother, with the same tenderness that Tristan had seen before. There was a little more conversation until Grady said he was tired and needed to conserve his strength. The boys left and returned to their own rooms where Tristan found he too had to squeeze one out, with the recurring image of Hollis blowing all over the sixteen year-old's surprised face fresh before his eyes.

The next day, Saturday, was a full morning's work. With Rich and Grady joining them, they repaired some gates, moved cattle and pressure cleaned a tractor and the quad bikes. In the afternoon, Hollis, Grady and Tristan went into town. There they met some of Hollis' buddies. Tristan was introduced, but could form little impression of the country boys. They agreed to meet up that night at a `bar and grill' on the edge of town. Apparently the establishment was known to be lax with IDs.

Tristan could still not get his head around alcohol laws in the United States. His university was completely dry', for example, as were the two adjoining counties to where North Fork Ranch was. Indeed the City of Lubbock had been totally dry just a few years previously. In Gaza County some beer and liquor' sales were permitted, but the dead hand of Prohibition still weighed heavily and elders still saw `drink' as a threat to their young people--an attitude quite different to the threat of high powered firearms, mused Tristan.

They idled their afternoon away in the town. Tristan was shown SueEllen's parents' house on Main Street. Then they went out to the ground where the Stampede would be held in late summer. "Riders come from all over," explained Hollis, "and the whole place becomes a village of trailers an' carnies. It's real cool."

"You'll be here for it."

"We wouldn't miss it, would we Grade?"

Grady endorsed his brother's opinion and illustrated it with some of the fun things he had done during Stampede.

They drove over to some adjoining towns, some little more than ghost towns and all rather depressing, although Tristan did not voice this assessment, for these places all meant something to Hollis and Grady, who attached funny stories and anecdotes to each.

In Tahoka there was a sign for a lawn sale. It became clear that younger relatives were clearing out the home of someone who had passed on. The house was rundown, with many collapsing outbuildings and, as was usual, no fences to divide one patch of misery from another. They stopped and inspected. There was nothing they wanted. Then Tristan spotted an old wooden seat on the front porch. It was the kind that hung from chains and swung. It was not marked for sale, but Tristan thought he'd try his luck. He had some qualms because the vendors looked desperate, but he tried to rationalise his actions as he approached them.

"Good afternoon."

"Good afternoon, British sir," said the man.

"I've bought an old house like this one. I'd really like a porch swing. Would you consider selling this one?"

The girl spoke. "Sure, make us an offer."

"A hundred."

"Better take a look first, before you say that."

Tristan thought that was good advice and went up onto the porch with the other two.

"Old but in fair condition," whispered Hollis.

"Porch roof must have kept the weather off," said Grady.

"How do we detach the chains?" asked Tristan.

"Tire lever from your truck and we could unscrew them eyes in the beam."

They returned to the lawn. "If we can unscrew it, I'll pay one hundred dollars."

"Done!" said the man. "I'll get you a ladder. Pay Roxy."

It took quite a while to shift the ancient bolts--which may have been there for ninety years--but eventually the seat and its chains were conveyed to the truck.

"Look Tris, leave it at the ranch. I'll clean it up--maybe oil the wood--and I'll bring it down before the semester starts. Can't bring it and Grandpa's bench."

Tristan thanked him and was delighted to contemplate one day swinging, with a book and a beer, on his very own front porch.

Grady was got ready for his date night. Grady chose some freshly ironed chino shorts and a new plain tee-shirt. "Jock strap tonight. Brooklyn asked me if I wore one for football."

"She's clearly interested in sport," said Tristan. Grady was unaware of his sarcasm and went on to innumerate all the sports in which Brooklyn apparently excelled.

There was little need for kissing instruction, but Hollis made sure that he had rubbers when he left in the old truck.

The night at the bar was fun, but Tristan elected not to drink so he didn't enter into the spirit of things as Hollis did. By ten o'clock he was quite drunk. The talk was largely about football and girls. Several of the group had been away at college and so their various exploits were held up for comparison. It became clear to Tristan, that Hollis enjoyed something of the reputation that Colton held in his hometown, being a walk-on football player in just his freshman year.

Tristan managed to get Hollis home and put him to bed. He was out cold and snoring.

About five in the morning Tristan was awoken, yet again, but this time it was a tapping on his window, not his door. He got out of bed. It was Grady.

"Hah, hah! Tristan has a hardon."

"Fuck Grady, what do you want?"

"Let me in. Forgot to leave m'window open. Didn't want to wake the rents."

Tristan quietly opened the glass door to the yard. "Might get lucky a second time tonight."

"Shut up, you little shit!" laughed Tristan. Grady started to take off his clothes. "What are you doing? Go to your own room."

Sleepin' here, Mom will hear me. "I'll sneak into the bathroom later an' when she get's up to go t'church, she'll think I've been home for ages."

Tristan went to put on some boxers.

"Don't be a wus, man, I don't want y'dick."

So Tristan found himself in bed with Hollis' younger brother who smelled of Axe and some virulent perfume that presumably belonged to Brooklyn. He sent a text to Hollis. Hopefully he'd read it when he awoke.

"Wakey, wakey!" boomed Hollis. Then he made an immediate grab for his eyes; he was feeling the effects.

"I see my brother has bedded another slut."

"Hey, Brooklyn ain't no slut. Not compared to SueEllen."

"Where does that leave me?" asked Tristan.

"Slut!" retorted the brothers in unison.

"Come on, Mom wants us all in Church."

"I don't go to church, Holly."

"Yes you do if'n y'all wants to come to the big barbecue this afternoon. It's for you."

Hollis pulled back the covers and laughed at their morning woods.

They showered one at a time and Tristan searched for some more respectable clothes to wear. Kimberly had some coffee ready, but they would eat their breakfast at a diner after the service.

The procession set off in their trucks. Grady, who was riding with Tristan, directed him and Tristan told Grady that he should pray for forgiveness for his sinfulness. Grady took small notice and Tristan did not give him the satisfaction of being asked about his date.

The Methodist Church was an odd-looking structure of red brick--not the least ecclesiastical in appearance and with a distinct lack of ornamentation of any kind. It may have been an old factory with its ordinary sash window, or a library with its flight of front steps or--thought Tristan with a shudder--a schoolbook depository.

The steps formed an important social meeting point. Tristan came to realise that the McGarvies, with their extensive landholdings, were prominent citizens in the small community. Grandpa was in his element as head of the clan and obviously relished the display of family unity. Hollis was a successful college footballer. Tristan was an exotic guest. Grady, perhaps, was no longer a virgin.

They passed through the brick arch of the porch and entered a plain, rectangular space with the usual timber pews. There were flowers, but no stained glass, marble tablets, rood screens, statues or even pictures. The minister described herself as a `pastor' and was addressed by just her first name.

Whilst evangelical, it was not like the self-indulgent hoopla that Tristan had experienced with Colton's girlfriend at the Pine Ridge Family Church and Spiritual Welfare Temple in Sunset. Like everything else the service was plain and, while not unpleasant, Tristan did not find it uplifting. He hoped that the afterlife would not be a version of Kellogg.

Tristan was thankful that there was no communion--this only obtaining on the first Sunday of each month and with unfermented grape juice instead of alcohol. "But didn't Jesus and the disciples drink wine?" Tristan whispered to Hollis who had been filling him in. They were shushed before he could answer.

Grady was sitting on the other side and nudged Tristan and pointed out the new deacon--the one SueEllen was reported to be friendly with. Tristan observed him while his neighbours prayed. He was a tall young man of slight build, but could reasonably be said to be good-looking. Tristan was, however, a little unnerved by his radiant smile which seemed to be turned on for too long--as if he was spiritually lit from within. He wondered if he could be trusted and thought, rather nastily, of Trollope's Obadiah Slope. Then Grady pulled down the waist of his good trousers just enough to show Tristan he was wearing a jockstrap. Tristan glared at him--the English pull of propriety running deep. Grady only grinned all the more and pulled them down a little further to reveal the purple bruise of a `love bite' on his hip.

"Where is Brooklyn?" Tristan whispered

"In New York." Tristan rolled his eyes. "Baptist. Goes with her grandma but not this morning. Plum tuckered."

They were shushed again.

The rather barren service game to an end and there was more socializing on the steps. The McGarvies with the addition of the realtor and his wife then headed off the breakfast at a diner. They must have been expected because a large table was reserved. Tristan realised that there were few opportunities for fine dining--or dining out of any kind--in small communities like this. Tastes were plain and tended to sugar and fat as Tristan well knew from his years in Texas.

Grandpa held forth. He didn't hold' with women ministers--apparently she was new--and he didn't hold with a faith partnership' with a community in The Philippines. He disapproved of the sign reminding parishioners to leave firearms outside--although he added that he did not hold' with bringing guns to church. The realtor's wife reminded the table of the recent case where a well-armed congregation in another town, swiftly dealt with an armed intruder with comparatively little loss of life and a great deal of community satisfaction. Grandpa finished by suggesting that the new deacon was one of them trans freaks'. Hollis winked at Tristan and said, "Reckon you might be right, Grandpa".

The food arrived and other people were given a chance to shine.

Back at the ranch, preparations were being made for the afternoon's barbecue. Everyone was keeping an eye on the weather, for a storm was predicted for later that night. Tristan was also busy packing for his trip south to Colton's.

Kimberly had done a wonderful job on the nineteen-sixties couch. "You know, Tristan, I think I remember sittin' on those stools when I was a little girl when my daddy went to do a spell of business. It was called the Great Plains Life Insurance Building then." Kimberly had used vinyl cleaner to remove years of grime. The cherry-red material was now a brighter and more assertive colour. She had cleaned all the black metal legs with steel wool and even applied a little black paint where there were some spots of rust. The sections were covered and loaded into Tristan's truck and secured with cord.

As he had experienced at Colton's, a big bonfire was part of the festivities. Grady was in charge of that and was busy collecting rubbish to burn and hauling tree branches from somewhere--it not being a greatly treed location.

Tristan redressed in his church clothes to make the best impression. Guests began arriving at 3:00. One old lady was Grandpa's sister. The realtor and his wife came, as did the family from the ranch on the other side of the main road.

"Coach!" cried Hollis.

"Y'grandpa called me. Tristan, this is Larry."

Tristan shook hands with the large man--perhaps fifty--who had a nineteen-seventies porn star moustache. It was quite evident to Tristan, but apparently no one else in Kellogg, that Larry and Coach were a gay couple.

Some of Grady's and Hollis' friends arrived and the noise level increased considerably. There was no alcohol provided, but several of the boys headed off somewhere, presumably to where they had a stash.

There was meat cooked on the giant, homemade grill and then came salads and then cakes and pies. Tristan once again saw how essential to the Texan character was the barbecue. He moved about, chatting to people--strangers--in a way that he could not have done just twelve months before.

Sometime later Tristan noticed that all the young people had gone. He too slipped away, leaving Grandpa railing against Washington. Tristan found the boys behind the barn. Some had taken their shirts off. They were laughing and mucking around, passing a bottle from hand to hand. It was an interesting picture: lanky, youthful figures in boots, jeans and plaid shirts, their spare bodies leaning artlessly against the board walls or sitting on whatever lay about or on the dry grass itself. They were like so many peasants in a painting, relaxing after the harvest. Tristan joined them and took some whiskey and found himself having a good time.

As the sky darkened it was time to light the bonfire. Kimberly and some of the other women appeared with more food. She said nothing about the boys being obviously drunk, merely warning them not to fall into the fire. Once again Tristan found himself watching flames lick the broad Texas sky. The first stars came out and Tristan felt quite moved. He looked about him. The young guys were now talking quietly or were completely silent as they contemplated the fire, much the same as primitive man must have stood in awe of his creation. The flames eerily illuminated their faces; teenagers, young ranch hands and the sons of farmers, a few boys who were home from college. Hollis pressed some more Jack Daniels on him and then put his arm about young Grady. It was a simple gesture of brotherhood and with that unspoken understanding that was the freemasonry of the young.

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.