Tristan

Tristan by Henry H. Hilliard

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Chapter 34

The next day proceeded in a similar fashion. Colton brought Cylvah to `HMS Beagle'--Colton explaining the name to her--and, although carefully dressed and with her blonde hair wound up in a pile like a meringue, Cylvah was very cheerful and ready for work once again. She set herself the task of re-gluing the loose tiles on the kitchen counters. Apparently tiled tops were common in American kitchens in the recent past, but less so in Britain. It was fiddley work and some of the loose tiles were bull-nosed ones for the edge of the bench and probably now impossible to replace. Tristan left her and marched up to the loft to continue with his work while Colton aimed to finish the last of the grass before the sun was too high.

Tristan was not making good progress. He had been on a jaunt of his own concerning the detail of whether Gavrilo Princip was indeed eating a sandwich when Archduke Franz Ferdinand's chauffeur made a fateful wrong turn on the twenty-eighth of June 1914. Did they even eat sandwiches in Bosnia then? And what exactly is a burek? He found he had wasted an hour and scolded himself for not pressing on with the indexing, but the mention of sandwiches (not to mention bureks) had made him hungry and he went down into the kitchen.

"Tadah!" cried Cylvah. She flourished her hand. The tiles had been replaced with great care and Tristan praised her skill fulsomely. The countertops were now usable.

"Will you come shopping with me?" he suddenly asked. "I really need to stock the pantry and get things for dinner tonight--I'm going to roast some beef. You can tell me what we need."

Cylvah was almost childishly delighted to be included and went to clean up while Tristan made some coffee and took it out to Colton who was trying to level out the exposed soil in the backyard.

"Looks great, Colt. Will you watch out for the refrigerator while Cylvah and I go shopping?" Colton said he would. Then: "Are you wearing the black jockstrap?"

Colton lowered the waistband of his shorts. He was indeed. "Gettin' it real sweaty for y'all, Tris."

"That's what I'm paying you for, Cowboy," he joked.

When they returned they were loaded up with a dozen bags, brimming with everything from table salt to pots and pans. In their absence the refrigerator had arrived and Colton and the deliveryman had positioned it in the kitchen. "I'll get some beer later," said Tristan, suddenly realising the glaring omission.

Cylvah seemed to enjoy organizing the cupboards and the fridge while Tristan set to work fixing the set of pigeonholes to a blank area of wall above a small whiteboard that he thought would be good for shopping lists.

"Is it just a little bit crooked, Tris?" asked Cylvah, hesitatingly.

Tristan regarded it critically. He stepped back. He tilted his head. "Shit!" he swore and unscrewed it and began all over again. He then made them sandwiches and coffee for their lunch, telling Colton to take a break.

In the afternoon, Colton and Cylvah went out shopping while Tristan did some more editing before using Google to refresh his memory on how to cook a traditional British roast. Dinner would have to wait until Hollis arrived.

In the interim, Tristan called Rachel who was spending her summer working in a crisis centre that supplied groceries to struggling families, such as readily found even in a prosperous city like Dallas. It was important work, she emphasised, and she was vital to the operation of food bank upon which whole families depended and where she put in long, hard days for which she received no payment.

Tristan praised these worthy activities and then said, "I just thought I'd let you know that we're setting up the house. Colt's working in the yard and Holly's coming tonight to help. My dad's girlfriend has come down and has been cleaning the kitchen--looks a heap better. It's a pity you aren't here because I think she'd like a girl to go shopping with--you know, guys are pretty useless."

"Shopping? Be there in three hours." She rang off abruptly and Tristan laughed to himself.

Cylvah and Colton returned loaded down with more things they apparently needed. "Colton picked this, Tris," said Cylvah as she unrolled some wallpaper.

"Woah!" gasped Tristan. "That's sure funky, like an LSD trip." Cylvah went over to the wall where it would be featured and held it up. "How come you picked that, Colt?"

"Same paper as in Vegas Vixens. That was filmed in Myer Lansky' suite at The Sands. Watched it a heap o'times, although the colour and sound were pretty poor."

"I see," said Tristan.

"You do like it, don't you, Tris?"

"You've got a good eye for design, Cylva. I'll hang it tomorrow."

Cylvah smiled at Tristan and then at Colton and rolled up the wallpaper. "I also saw some cane chairs--you could have them on the porch. They were cheap, but I could spray paint them to make them look real nice."

"That's a very good idea," admitted Tristan. "You wouldn't mind?"

"No, I love doing crafty things." She gave her awful laugh, but Tristan didn't pull a face--she was being very kind indeed.

Tristan began to prepare the dinner and dismissed Colton and Cylvah from `his' kitchen. He could hear Cylvah getting Colton to move the furniture about and he smiled to himself as he peeled and sliced. He made a dash to the store for an apple pie and some cream and a few last minute things that we all find we require when cooking. He was just climbing into the truck when he remembered the beer. He used his false ID to lay in a supply.

"How does that look?" asked Cylvah anxiously when he returned. The living room looked exactly the same as before and Tristan looked blankly to Colton for an explanation. Colton gave a slight nod.

"Much better, Cylvah!" he gushed. "It really needed a professional touch."

Cylvah was pleased and went off to the basement to arrange the laundry room.

"We moved everything about six times," said Colton in a low voice after she'd left the room.

"Long as she's enjoying herself, what does it matter?"

Hollis and Rachel arrived at the same time. Hollis' old truck was loaded to the gunwales with a bed and the outdoor table and trash bags that apparently held his clothes--everything precariously tied down with rope.

"Where's Granny?" asked Colt sarcastically. "She get blown off in Tennessee?"

"Shut up!" hissed Tristan, not used to telling Colton off. "He's sensitive about his truck and his grandfather won't allow them to buy a new one."

Colton looked suitably chastened and made up for it with a fulsome hug for `his bro'.

There was a great deal of commotion and already Cylvah was hugging them like long lost children. Rachel had borrowed the gardener's truck and it too was loaded up with a bed and a great many boxes of possessions--some of which, she said contained, the aforementioned legacy from her great-grandmother.

Hollis and Colton made short work of the two beds. Rachel's was placed in the attic bedroom that she and Leesha would share. Hollis' went downstairs. "They're fine strong boys," observed Cylvah in an admiring tone. "Hollis is so handsome, a real cowboy." Tristan smiled and said he thought so too. Thereafter Cylvah and Rachel were busy in the attic doing `girls' stuff' as Colton said and Tristan was happy for them too.

It was apparently boys' stuff' to move the old workbench into the backyard. It was difficult but they all agreed that it would be a great table for cookouts'.

Tristan went back to the kitchen while Colton and Hollis were earnestly inspecting the construction site in the yard. He could glimpse them through the window and Colton was standing with his hands on his hips, listening, while Hollis seemed to be tracing imaginary lines on the ground.

Dinner was a great deal of fun, but not before a tense beginning. The food came through the hatch from the kitchen for the first time and they sat down at Rachel's table for their first proper meal--honoured in this case by proper plates.

"What's this?" asked Hollis, pointing with his fork.

"Roast pumpkin," replied Tristan with a straight face. There was minor consternation. "British people eat it," he said with finality.

"And this?" He pushed a white object contemptuously with his knife.

Tristan kept his temper because he had prepared himself. "Parsnip."

"Parsley?"

"No, parsnip, dumb ass" said Colton. "Eat it up, man, or we'll shove it up y'ass."

"Don't eat it if you don't like it," said Tristan in a conciliatory voice.

"I always like to try foreign food," said Cylvah, trying to keep the peace.

"I got them at Wholefoods," continued Tristan.

"I suppose you Limeys are still on rationing," persisted Hollis, smirking.

"They're food for pigs so I thought..."

"Hey!" protested Hollis. "I'm eating them pearsnips, okay?"

The horseradish was not quite so foreign'--coming as it did from Illinois--but apparently it was not eaten with beef in Texas. Tristan had taken the precaution of giving the beef an extra quarter-of-an-hour in the oven, as he knew that it had to be well-done' in this part of the world.

The beef was praised, the potatoes were praised and so was the gravy, although Cylvah suggested some sweetened black currant juice could be added. The store-bought apple pie was also a hit.

When Tristan returned from washing up, they were still seated around the table having a hilarious conversation. Rachel was showing them a picture of her new boyfriend, while at the same time bagging him for his clichéd liberal opinions. He was an earnest-looking guy with a full beard and was apparently in charge of the Centre. Then she showed pictures of Leesha's new squeeze. This was news to Tristan. He looked at the picture of a decidedly pretty black guy.

"He looks young," remarked Tristan as he handed the phone back.

"Leesha says she told her parents that he's eighteen and just baby-faced. The truth is he's only sixteen! The bitch ought to be in jail for that!" The shock was tempered with laughter and then the next topic was moved on to and there was more arguing and laughter.

Tristan stood there looking pleased. This is just how he imagined the house might be all those months ago. Cylvah caught his eye as if to say she knew what he was thinking.

It was late when Cylvah departed for her motel and the others went to their new beds. Rachel said she'd be locking her door, but told Hollis in front of everyone that she'd leave the spare key on the hook in the kitchen. Hollis announced he'd be locking his door and that there was no spare.

Up in the loft, Colton and Tristan were stripping for bed. "Y'all had a good night, Roomy?" said Colton. "I ain't never seen you so happy."

"Yeah, it was great," admitted Tristan, still smiling. "I love the house and everything--or everyone, I should say."

"Well then, do you want to ride the Colton train tonight?" He accompanied this invitation with the gift of the black jockstrap, flicked so it slapped Tristan in the face.

"Open me up with the dildo and the lube first. I want to enjoy it."

"The Hindenburg?"

"Yeah. Might as well get rid of the smaller ones."

They started on the Lubbock bench. Tristan buried his face in Colton's blonde bush and then set to work on his cock and balls, sucking and licking until his mouth was tired and covered with drool. "Yeah, treat me right, Tris," moaned Colton.

Colton was in danger of cumming too soon and so he hoisted Tristan up on the bench and started to open him up with his tongue, fingers and then the lubed dildo. Tristan was reaching for Colton's meaty butt, prompting Colton to say, "You want some of that?" Tristan did and so Colton got into a 69 posture where Tristan could satiate his perverted desires as Colton satiated his of putting things inside another person.

Eventually they moved to the mattress. Colton was on his back and Tristan settled down on his rampant erection. Despite wanting it, he yelped when he was broached. Colton employed the black jockstrap as a silencer. "Open up for me, Tris," Colton kept repeating. The Hindenburg had helped and within ten minutes Tristan had taken all of Colton's manhood inside him and his buttocks now rested on Colton's balls. Colton's face was a picture--of exactly what Tristan wasn't sure-- and he wondered what his own `fuck face' was like. Colton was so deep he felt his guts move and his skin of his abdomen unnervingly bulged. Colton lay his hand there and reassured Tristan that it was just his sigmoid colon moving slightly. He paused and said, "It's an intraperitoneal organ--'though it ain't exactly an organ on its own--and the mesentery are long--like rubber bands and it can move about some."

"Thanks for the lecture, professor."

"Just thought you'd like to know. You like it?"

"It hurts, but I really like that you're so big and can get so deep inside me."

"Them's the words I like to hear."

"And I feel really close to you."

"Any closer an' I'd be in back of y'all."

Tristan tried to wriggle, but found he was held fast by Colton's cock, which must be made of steel. "Do you like it?"

"Yeah, it's like a hot velvet glove. Real tight n' I can feel your heart poundin' real fast. Makes me feel a part of you too. Ride me, dude, until one of us cums."

Tristan bobbed up and down, hoping that Colton was enjoying it as much as he was. Colton knew how to stimulate his prostate gland and Tristan didn't need to do much before he came in what seemed to be a flaming arc right onto Colton's face. Perhaps it was involuntary, but Colton extended his tongue. Then he upped the pace by flexing his buttocks upwards and was deep in Tristan when he came.

"Oh God, is that in my sigmoid thingo?"

"Nah, just in your upper third of your rectum. I really have to try hard to get in deeper. How a bout some tongue for a job well done?"

This meant a kiss and Colton wasn't shy to kiss a dude--or at least Tristan. Colton's kisses, it goes without saying, were hot.

The next day Hollis and Colton got down to work. The milk float was pushed clear and the two trenches were begun. A line was drawn at the halfway point of the first and the boys began at opposite ends in a furious digging competition. Tristan looked down from the glass doors of the loft. The dirt flew as from terriers burying bones and the boys were shirtless. He could see Rachel and Cylvah looking on from the porch. It was an impressive show of bravado, but Tristan was worried that the footballers would injure themselves.

At 10:45 Colton claimed victory and a shout brought them all outside, Tristan left his desk wondering what just Bethmann-Hollweg was going to say to Sir Edward Grey and he found that both Colton and Hollis were exhausted and drenched with sweat, even their shorts being saturated.

"He cheated, Tris," gasped Hollis. "Measure his trench; it ain't deep enough."

Tristan reluctantly used the tape measure. "Two-and-a-half feet," he called. He measured Hollis'. "Nearly three feet."

"Holly, man, you dug yours too deep," said Colton, still panting and putting a sweaty arm around Hollis' shoulder.

"Shit, I thought you said three. I guess you win, fair and square."

"I declare it a draw,' said Tristan like King Solomon. "Now come on up to the porch for a cold drink. Then I'll make us all some coffee."

The boys began on the second trench at a more sedate pace and in a spirit of cooperation rather than competition.

Later, when Tristan had completed his tenth page, he thought he should make good on his promise to hang the wallpaper. Down in the kitchen he stood on a chair and scrubbed the old wall clean. He established a straight line in one corner and began with the first drop. The store had supplied a cardboard trough with a wire across the top to skim off the excess water. Rachel left off sanding the kitchen cupboard doors to help him while Cylvah continued to apply fresh varnish. The smell permeated the house. The first strip was pasted and trimmed. They all admired it. The design had several geometric elements, but the main ones were interlinked squircles' in tones of fawn, orange and harvest gold'. Tristan carefully matched the next drop. There only remained two smaller drops over the doors and a fiddley bit between the door and the old dresser.

"Should I paint this?" asked Tristan indicating the wooden dresser as he smoothed the last bubbles out with a little roller. There was an earnest discussion between Rachel and Cylvah. The dresser was much older than the rest of the kitchen cabinets. It was made of very solid wood. The drawers and cupboards had little cutglass knobs.

"It should be painted," said Cylvah at last, speaking from consensus. "Tan with cream doors." Rachel nodded.

"Rachel and I can start on it tomorrow, if you'll let us."

"Let you? Of course I'll let you. I'd be very grateful and I don't know how I can ever repay you both."

Tristan received two sweet kisses and blushed.

He looked away and out of the window. There, in the yard, accompanied by whoops, was Hollis riding piggyback on Colton. He was spurring him on with his hat as a whip. Tristan surmised that this was the result of Colton losing some sort of bet.

More seriously, Hollis was doing things with stringlines and timber edging ahead of the sand and paving which would be delivered the next day. Unlike with the morning's work, there was little to see by the end of the afternoon when the boys finally stopped work and headed for the shower.

Colton joined Hollis in the downstairs bathroom--the jocks' one, as Tristan thought of it. They soaped themselves up and then unselfconsciously did each other's backs as they had done countless times in the locker room and at Charles C. Selecman House.

"Tristan's been eatin' y'ass, I hear."

"Weren't like that and ain't none of your business. Tris offered in any case."

"Well, Holly, what was it like? Sounds pretty gay to me."

"Fuck off, Colt! I was just complainin' that my SueEllen don't do stuff like that..."

"And she does now?"

"Well, yeah. She' become much more--you know-- adventurous, and we can still screw around with other people."

"Live ones."

"For fuck's sake! It's her old man who's the undertaker; she works for the Stampede."

"And you liked it when Tristan tongued you down there?"

"Like I said, ain't none of your beeswax."

"Beeswax? Who says that, man?"

"Well, ain't none of your fuckin' business, but yeah, I liked it and Tris said I had a hot hole."

"Well, show me."

"Fuck off!"

"Show me your hole, man. We're buddies ain't we? Tris says you've got a great hole. I want to see for myself."

"You're a sick fuck." Nevertheless, Hollis bent over.

"One foot on the seat, dude."

Hollis obeyed. He spread his cheeks. Colton knelt.

"Humm!" he said critically. "Humm!"

"Hey, look but don't touch!" Colton was tapping his anus with his index finger.

"You like that?" He did it in double quick time.

"Feels weird, but kinda good.'

Colton stood. "Stand up, man." Hollis stood and looked puzzled. "Holly," said Colton putting his hands on his shoulders. "Holly, this is what a guy's ass is supposed to look like." He hoisted his own leg on the bench and spread his butt cheeks. "Look at mine. Go ahead and touch it." There was some hesitation. "Go ahead, man. Feel how it's different to yours. Real tight ain't it? A muscle butt." Hollis grunted an assent. "Yours, man, is what we call a `boy pussy'. It's a cunt, not an ass hole. Now whether it's become like that or you were born that way I can't rightly say...Do you like putting stuff up there?"

Hollis was flustered. "Well no, ain't never...maybe just a finger..."

"And young Grady hasn't been puttin' nothin' up there...like a broom handle or maybe a Sprite bottle?"

"Grady? Of course not. Most he's ever had is a little taste of his big bro's piece. No, not Grady."

"So Grady's not gay?"

"No, he ain't."

"Then it's just his big bro that has a chick's vagina instead of a ...." Colton couldn't keep it up and burst out laughing, actually rolling o the shower floor. It took Hollis a few minutes to realise that the whole thing had been to wind him up. Worse than that, Colton had been erect the whole time. He cussed him out and then slapped his cock. This only made it harder still. He grabbed Colton in a headlock, but he was wet and slippery and still convulsed with laughter. It was contagious and Hollis found he was laughing too.

"You're a pervert, Stone!" he exclaimed. Colton was now sliding his hand up and down his penis. Colton gave him a little nod of encouragement. Hollis gave in and was doing the same to himself. There was a pause. Colton placed his member in proximity to Hollis'. "All right, yours is way bigger, but Tristan said I have great balls."

"I'm jealous, Holly. Best low hangers in the locker room."

"Thanks. Hey, I didn't say you could feel them!"

"Can SueEllen get 'em both in?"

"Damn near choked tryin'."

"Way to go, Holly," said Colton grinning. Presently he came and Hollis didn't complain when the bulk landed on him. "On me, dude." Hollis reciprocated. Colton hosed him down with the handheld spray, then himself. "We good, dude?"

"Yeah, the best, Colt."

The varnish in the kitchen precluded another home-cooked meal so they went to Nonno's instead. Tristan was getting sick of pizza. Back home, the beer was broached, Rachel pointing out that it was still illegal for twenty year-olds to drink alcohol even in their own homes. "Did you know that the cops can enter and you can have your licence suspended--even if you weren't driving--and you could be fined or even sent to prison for 180 days for a third offence?"

"Have you ever thought of emigrating to a democratic country, Rache?" said Tristan, sarcastically.

"No, seriously, Tris. We have to be really careful if we have parties. If they find you and Colt have false IDs, that could be jail time without a good lawyer."

"We'll just have to be careful then."

The mood was lightened when Rachel produced her trombone. She played a Katy Perry tune and then attempted a duet with Colton on his guitar. It was a succès mitigé (as the French would say) at best.

It was hot and sultry, so they took chairs out onto the screened porch and continued chatting until it was late. Tristan was the last to go to bed. He wandered through the house collecting empty bottles, straightening chairs and turning off the lights. He was so happy he thought he'd burst.

It took an age the next day for Hollis to be satisfied with the sand base that was laid down for the paving. Colton did most of the shovelling, while Hollis worked with string and a spirit level and a length of straight timber to get it level. This work was interrupted by the arrival of the plumber and electrician. It took these visitors most of the day to do their tasks and then Colton backfilled the trenches after they had left. Hollis then covered the scarred area with sand.

They had had hired a vibrator at the suggestion of the hot' girl at Home Depot. Colton relayed the suggestive comments that she had made to him in the fixings' aisle, while she was neglecting her other customers, but they were too obvious, not to mention cheesy, to repeat. They all had turns on the throbbing machine that pounded the powdery sand into a firm slab and Tristan watched as Colton's privates jiggle inside the grey tracksuit shorts he was wearing that day over loose mesh boxers--actually a pair of brief swimming shorts that fastened with a tie.

At the very end of the day, just when Tristan wanted to rest, a truck arrived with the bricks and the concrete squares. In the twilight, it was all hands to the wheel in order to restack them into smaller piles around the site ready for the next day's work. Rachel and Cylvah did not complain. Tristan made a big pot of pasta with a sauce of his own invention concocted from onions, tinned tuna, chilli and dried breadcrumbs. It was nine by the time they sat down to eat.

"An awesome day's work, dude," said Colton in the jocks' shower.

"Yeah, Colt. We'll be all set for tomorrer. I did a job just like this for Grandpaw a couple years back. It's all in the preparation."

"You're a top worker, man. You work just as hard on the team."

"Hey, thanks, Colt. Good to be appreciated."

"Wash y'hair?"

"Thanks, dude, it's full of sand."

Hollis sat on the tiled bench in the shower and Colton bent and applied the shampoo.

"That feels sooo good," sighed Hollis as Colton worked his fingers into his scalp. Then Colton spread his legs and straddled Hollis, to sit on his lap facing him as he continued his massage. Hollis said nothing about this move.

"You're a great guy, Holly. I should say it more often. I'm sorry for teasin' y'all."

"You're the great guy too, Colt. We all look up to you."

"Well, this is fast becomin' a mutual admiration society," he laughed. "And I'm right sorry that m'boner is rubbin' y' tattoo of the chick with the snake."

"That's a Native American princess."

"Shit Holly, y'gotta tone-up, man. Thought it was Eleanor Roosevelt."

"They'd kill me in Kellogg," laughed Hollis who now had his eyes closed. The massage continued.

"Gonna cum," said Colton quietly.

"Yeah?" replied Hollis in a similar tone. "Go ahead, but y'all still a sick fuck."

Colton had been gently moving his hips and the sensitive underside of his penis had been rubbing up and down on Hollis' chest. One forward thrust was held there and with a grunt Colton jetted out half a dozen strong streams of his thick, white jizz.

"Feels warm," observed Hollis, his eyes now open. "Jesus you come a lot! Have you always shot like this, man?"

"Dunno," said Colton, now not moving but still on Hollis' lap. "Not so much when I was twelve, I guess, but by fourteen I was a big shooter. Bigger'n m'brothers." He tensed his muscles and they both watched entranced as a final dollop of cum burbled from the blindly gaping slit.

"Get off me so I can get off."

Colton arose and took the handheld spray and rinsed Hollis' short red locks and then looked down at his white chest. "The princess copped an eyeful."

"Yeah, well she's pretty well used to it. Loves it, in fact." Colton went to play the spray there when Hollis said, "Wait!" He scooped up some of Colton's cum and used it to lube his own piece. "Gotta keep the quarterback happy if I wanna keep m'place on the team." He jacked himself while Colton continued to wash him down.

"We still good?" asked Colton.

"Y'don't have t'keep askin', man. Always tight."

Colton's phone rang at 6:00 am sharp. It was Hollis wanting to start the day's labour. Tristan stirred, but didn't even have time to get Colton off--his usual morning chore. "The black boxer briefs," he called from the bed. "You might need the support."

Colton had come to bed the previous night fresh from his shower. "I blew a load on Holly," he had announced simply as he dropped his boxers.

"Oh," said Tristan, not quite knowing what else to say. Then, "Do you want to go down and sleep with him?"

"You want to?"

"No, I meant do you--alone?"

"With Holly? Course not, Tris. He' my bro--my teammate."

"But you covered him with cum?"

"Not completely, but yeah."

"I see."

The conversation died and quickly Colton was asleep. Tristan, however, lay awake for some time.

The paving was laid down at a steady pace. All day the sound of the rubber hammer could be heard and there was the grating scrape of the spade when more or less sand was required. Tristan abandoned his work for the task of bringing the materials to the workers who were on their knees.

At one point, just after they had stopped for morning tea, Hollis cast a critical eye on what they had done. "It's too low," he said gravely. "We're going to have to take up all that whole section and lay it again."

"What?" shouted Colton. Some harsh words were traded but, as Hollis pointed out, water would pool in the depression. Thus a couple of hours work had been wasted.

In the kitchen, Cylvah and Rachel were busy painting the old dresser. Tristan felt bad that they were working so hard. "You wanted to go shopping," he said. "Let me finish this."

There was some argument, but Tristan won and the girls went off to buy things for the rooms upstairs. Thus Tristan was running between jobs, trying to keep a steady hand on the paintbrush while feeding bricks and pavers to the boys in the back yard.

By lunchtime, they were halfway through and Tristan had finished his painting.

"Looks great!" he said as he brought them drinks and sandwiches. The two workers stood back grinning. Hollis put his arm around Colton's shoulders and gave him a brotherly shake.

By the end of the afternoon, with Tristan's help, the last brick was hammered into place. Hollis, who had clearly taken charge over the last few days then said, "Let's move the wagon now."

The three of them heaved and strained and the milk float was finally positioned over the pipes and conduits. The wheels were chocked while Tristan got out his phone and called the plumber and the electrician.

"Where should the table go, Tris?" asked Colton. There was some debate, especially considering they had to leave room for impromptu basketball games, however a spot was selected and the heavy table was settled into it.

"Beers!" cried Tristan after they had all admired the patio for the umpteenth time.

The boys were all a bit drunk when Cylvah and Rachel arrived back laughing and in a good mood and loaded down with purchases.

"Pizza for supper!" said Colton with a belch.

"Fine by me," said Hollis as he opened another one.

They passed the evening on the porch. It was a little less sedate than the previous evening, but it was fine in its own way and relaxing after all the hard work.

"I've had such a lovely time," said Cylvah to the group at large, tears brimming in her eyes. "You've all treated me just like one of the gang."

"You are one of the gang," said Hollis, giving her a chaste kiss on the cheek.

"Thanks, Holly. You're a real darlin'."

The following afternoon the women departed; Cylvah back to Mark Isley but with a group of cane chairs in the back her Mercedes van to be prettied up' in her Dallas studio'. The last act had been to hang her painting of that city above the panelling in the dining room. Rachel went back to her summer job. Tristan hoped that the destitute of Dallas had managed without her, then rebuking himself for being so cynical. He took a photo of her bedroom, now replete with a fanciful bedstead made of white-painted curly iron, a dozen pillows in artistic positions and one of those cheap tables that is disguised by a length of floral material. Tristan sent the photo to Ben, the architecture student. The reply just said Urgh!'. A second message followed. It was a picture of one of those wall beds--called Murphy beds' in America--that fold up into a cupboard on a spring, with the suggestion that it would do for the half-bedroom' in the attic--a windowless space that could be divided off from the large landing, which was envisaged as being a lounge for the three girls. Tristan thought that this was a good idea--even at nearly a thousand dollars--and ordered one on line. Rachel or Leesha could use it when they entertained gentlemen callers', he explained to Hollis and Colton, and was some compensation for them offering to share a bedroom. They amused themselves over their beer sketching situations where the girls (and the gentlemen callers) would come to grief when entangled with the malfunctioning furniture.

Mr Perez came to cut the grass in the front yard. He offered to take away the large pile of turf and soil if the boys would help shovel it onto his truck. He then offered to lay new grass when Tristan was ready. All three boys set to work, although Tristan was embarrassed, once again, that he could not keep up with the fit college footballers.

Tristan insisted that they go swimming later in the afternoon. The College pool was closed for the vacation, but Colton had a key to the separate one used by the football team. The pool was yet to be drained and Tristan had the unusual experience of virtually being alone in a swimming pool. "Get 'em off, Tris," said Colt. "We swim nekkid, don't we Holly?"

"Yep, team rule. Ever been skinny dippin', Tris?"

"Yes, don't you remember? With you and Grady." He didn't mention his camping trip with Colton.

"Feels great, don't it?" said Hollis. He didn't wait for an answer but ran to the edge and, grasping one knee to his chest, executed a huge `bomb' into the pool. Colton followed suit. Tristan wondered if there'd be any water left in it by the time he jumped in.

Colton and Hollis were competitive in everything and this included swimming. Perhaps Colton was the better swimmer over distance, seeming never to tire; Hollis was leaner and could sprint. They ganged-up on Tristan who had been trying to keep out of their way as a minnow might avoid a pair of whales. They dunked him and threw him into the air. Tristan was convulsed with girlish laughter and humiliated at the same time when the two strongmen tossed him between them like that film of the orcas tormenting the hapless seal cub.

A shower in the players' locker room followed. Tristan felt strangely thrilled at this, only having glimpsed the hallowed chamber (or more particularly the cleaner's store cupboard) on the single occasion of the tryst between his roommate and Mrs Rusk--the wife of the Senator.

Both Hollis and Colton found no shame in walking naked around the complex--although it was empty save for the cleaners. Both boys were half-hard and Tristan was staring as they washed themselves.

"Who has the best cock?" asked Colton.

They looked at Tristan for an answer. He sighed. "You do, Colt." Colton looked triumphant.

"Who has the best body--shoulders, chest, legs n'arms?"

"You do, Colt."

"Holly?"

"Yeah, you do, Colt."

"Who has the best ass?"

"Ahh,' said Tristan. "Shape or taste?"

"That's right," said Colton, "You've tasted his, so it's not a fair contest. What about cum? Whose is the tastiest?

"That's not a fair contest either, Colt,' lied Tristan.

"Right again. Holly, whose cum tastes best, mine or y'own?"

"All right, yours. Satisfied? Now shut the fuck up y'pervert."

"Who can throw a football further?"

"You can, Colt, but who's the best wide receiver?"

"Apart from De, you are Holly."

"Hey, that's not fair."

"Only teasin'. Want me to wash you?"

"No! You'll cum on me or make me put a finger up m'ass or somethin sick."

"Do you want Tristan to wash you? I'm sure he'd like to."

"I'll wash myself an' then I'm getting' out o'here."

"Do you want to wash me, Tris?"

"I'd like to wash both of you. In the locker room here, would be a fantasy come true."

"Like in one of your sick stories?"

"Well, yes, actually." They laughed at his `posh' turn of phrase. "In this one story, this blind boy called Tommy insists on getting a place on the basketball team in a university on Puget Sound."

"How can a blind dude, play ball?" sensibly asked Hollis, who had stopped washing himself to listen.

"Of course he couldn't, but he had to be allowed to stay on the team as part of the college's diversity and inclusion policy--it was Washington, after all."

"So what happened?" asked Colton, passing the shampoo to Hollis, but looking at Tristan.

"Well, they gave him the job of washing down the team after a game. They weren't embarrassed because he couldn't see them, of course. Yet he could tell all the individual players apart just by his sense of touch. It had become so acute after all his years of blindness, you see. He'd soap them down, moving from one to the other, washing under the foreskins of those he knew to be uncircumcised and jerking off those who he knew liked it and sucking off those who like that sort of thing--which was pretty near the whole team and the coaching staff. He'd thank them all by name, even though he mostly only heard grunting above the noise of the showers. Yes, Trachoma in Tacoma was a hot story.

"How'd it end?' asked Colton, perhaps even regretting it as the words left his mouth.

"Well, turns out that Tommy was faking it the whole time. They grew suspicious that he seemed to home in on the black cocks and the arrogant white guys weren't enjoying their `privilege', and then someone threw the soap and Tommy caught it by reflex action. He was asked to leave and ended up at Community College."

"That's ridiculous!" said Hollis, who was obviously unfamiliar with the genre.

"So I can't wash you both?"

"Okay," said Hollis, "but y'gotta keep your eyes shut."

"I don't mind if you peek," said Colton.

"No, I'll do it like Tommy--or rather as he was supposed to do it.

Tristan knelt down on the shower floor and closed his eyes tight. Hollis and Colton whispered to each other then moved about--reversing their previous positions but silently resuming them. Tristan began by washing legs. It was easy to tell the difference; he knew every muscle of Colton's tree trunks, but for the sake of play, he pretended to be unsure. It was the same with the abs. "You've been working out, Holly," he said as he soaped Colton. There was a chuckle above him. They moved around and now their butts were presented. "Ah, a mangina!" he said, trying to stifle his laughter. "That's Holly's pussy."

"Fuck, Stone! What shit have you been tellin' him? I have a normal guy's butt!"

"Ain't the butt, it's the meatus."

"The meat what?"

"The opening--y'hole."

"That's fuckin' normal too!"

"Taste m'bro's boy-cunt, Tris."

Hollis didn't object and so Tristan wormed his tongue in between what, if he'd cheated and opened his eyes, he knew to be white globes dusted with ginger hair.

"Aw fuck!" cried Hollis as Tristan struck gold. He sensed that Colton was supporting him somehow.

"Feels good, man?"

"Yeah, like a thousand little electric shocks," he moaned in pleasure.

"Y'can open your eyes now, Tris," said Colton. He did, but he saw little except the expanse of white, freckled flesh spotted with ginger hairs that was Hollis' arse.

"Do what SueEllen couldn't, Tris. Take both of his lowhangers inta y'mouth."

"No, keep eatin'," begged Hollis.

"Let me get a taste," said Colton.

"You wanna clean me out?"

"Right now I do. Swap, Tris."

Tristan somehow positioned himself underneath Hollis and licked his scrotum. It tasted only of soap and Tristan was a little disappointed. Hollis had to support himself by leaning on the tiles with his arms outstretched while Colton went behind and knead Hollis' butt cheeks with unnecessary firmness. He then gave eat cheek a slap just as Tristan achieved his goal.

"See that, Holly? Y'need to get your SueEllen to try harder. Make her want your balls!" Hollis grunted at the wisdom of this advise from a master. "Now pull on those suckers with y'mouth, Tris. Drag 'em down to his fuckin' knees."

Tristan did pull on them, but he didn't want to permanently injure his friend. However, he heard Hollis gasp `Harder!' in between moans and he thought that was directed at him rather than at Colton who now had his strong tongue somewhere inside Hollis' anus.

"Fuck, y'spicy, dude," he managed to say when he pulled away, his blonde scruff of facial hair covered in his own saliva. "You ate the peperoni last night didn't ya?"

"Stop talkin', Colt, and get back in there. I gotta get off."

Colton did but then replaced his tongue with one, then a pair, of thick jock fingers and he curled them inside the frantic wide receiver. "Don't let him cum yet!" commanded Colton when he saw Hollis removing one hand from the tiled wall and reaching for his own member.

Tristan slapped his ball sack hard and Hollis yelped. The urgency was let pass. Tristan then went back to his balls and went lower, at one point sneaking a kiss between Hollis' spread legs with Colton who was still rimming him from the rear.

"Getting' close," he gasped.

Colton went back to using his fingers while Tristan sat back on his haunches and just watched the scene between the two hot college footballers in the steamy locker room, his surety in Life imitating Art strengthened.

Hollis came without touching his cock. Tristan intercepted some of the forceful blast.

Colton kept his two fingers deep inside Hollis for some time while he talked him down from his orgasm. "If you can do it once in a while without touching y'piece the pleasure is more intense."

"That were sure intense, man."

"It's sometimes called a prostate orgasm or an anal orgasm. You can stimulate the gland on the inside, like I was doin', or from the outside by pressing on your taint--the bit nearer your hole."

"Will it make me gay?" asked Hollis as Colton slowly removed his soapy fingers.

"Sure will! You'll be queuing for tickets for musical theatre quicker than you can say Steven Anderson."

"It's a bit gay though." They had slumped to the floor and were leaning back against the tiles.

"It weren't gay, were it, Tris?"

"Compared to what?"

"I was just givin' y'tips on sex education culled from my wide experience as a stud, Holly."

"So who sticks stuff up your ass? Tristan?"

"Ain't sayin', but I'm just sayin' that quite a few chicks have."

"Chicks?"

"Yeah, tell him about the hook, Tris."

Tristan didn't quite know what to say, but he was cautious. "Colt has this thing--a souvenir--from this girl who liked to tie him to the bed an' stuff."

"Go on, Tris," encouraged Colton.

"Well, it's shiny metal and shaped like a fishing hook. One end goes up your arse and the other end has a rope that can be tied around your neck or to the roof or somewhere to keep the hook buried right up."

"A hook!"

"Well, it has a ball on one end, so it's not sharp."

"Did it hurt Colt?" asked Hollis in amazement.

"Yeah, it sure did. I was like a prisoner but it was real hot. Kept me trussed up for hours and I came and I came and I came. If I didn't come when she wanted me to, she'd slap m'balls with this felt hammer. That fuckin' hurt like a bitch."

"Wow! Don't know if they go in for teenage bondage in Kellogg."

"Bet they do, behind the lace curtains," said Colton.

"Terylene out there," corrected Tristan.

"I've had dildos and vibrators and all sorts of junk shoved up there--seems like everyone wants to get the quarterback--but don't go for dudes fuckin' me."

"We're in the locker room, Colton, tell us some more stories."

The water was still cascading from the showerheads, but the boys remained alone in the deserted locker room. Tristan didn't say much, but Colton placed his hand on his own flaccid cock as he talked and Tristan left it there. If Hollis saw it through the steam he said nothing.

"...and the daughter never knew?" asked Hollis.

"Not unless her Mom told her afterwards. We raised $15,000 that year. I reckon she had to throw them satin sheets in the trash before her husband came back from Atlanta."

They dressed and walked back to the house. When's Grady coming?" asked Tristan.

"How about next Monday? He's been on church camp this week."

"He'll miss Brooklyn."

"Like hell, somehow she got to go with him--don't even belong to our church. Colt, y'gotta have a talk to m'lill'bro. I'm so afeared that he'll knock that bitch up. Don't do no thinkin' with his head at all."

"And you think I should be the guy?"

"Well, y'all pretty good with the sex ed stuff--wish I'd had you instead of old Miss Willard."

They had just flopped down in the living room in front of the television and Tristan was just wondering if it were different football matches that they watched or just the same one every time, when there was a knock at the door. He left the other two engrossed and opened it. "Dr Baddeley, what a surprise!"

"Well, I just got back from Buffalo and I thought I'd catch up with my favourite freshmen. Colt in?"

"Yeah, come in. I suppose we're juniors now. Colt, we have company--put some shorts on."

"Don't mind a footballer in his scanties," she said, but Colton has disappeared. "And who's this cutie?"

Hollis was hardly `cute', but Tristan introduced him to the doctor and surreptitiously turned the television off.

"Oh, of course, you're McGarvie the wide receiver. Shoulda recognised y'carrot top. You practicing safe sex, Cowboy?"

She could see Hollis' mind thinking and perhaps trying to classify just having his arse eaten in a locker room shower. He came to a conclusion: "Yes, ma'am. Reckon I am--mostly."

"Huh! What about your iron levels? Y'pretty pale."

"Well, that's jus' natural. M'arms ain't pale." He did a double bicep flex.

"And your abs?"

He lifted his tee-shirt to expose them. Dr Baddeley probably noted that he was shaved down.

"Nice!" she said, then to Tristan: "It's so darn easy to get these jocks to drop their gear. It's worth the lousy pay to work here." She gave a laugh and Hollis looked slightly bewildered.

"This a gay dive, Tristan? Only you girls here?"

"Oh no. Rachel's just left--you know her and Leesha."

"Responsible for two deaths."

"Shit, Dr B! Don't say that, even as a joke!" Tristan was really angry. "Especially in front of Colton."

"Sorry, Tristan, my mouth ran away with me." There was an awkward silence. "Gonna show me the house?"

Colton had just come back into the room, now wearing a pair of running shorts. He sensed a tension. "I miss somethin'?"

"We were just going to tour the house, Colt."

They did the tour and by the backyard Tristan had calmed down. He took a breath. "We should have the grill hooked up by tomorrow night. Would you and your husband like to come for a barbecue? It will be just us."

"Well, that's real nice of you. I'm sure I can drag Orison away from sport on TV."

"At eight?"

"Seven," said Colton.

"Six," said Hollis.

"Come at five-thirty," said Tristan and we can have a glass of Stone's wine.

"Not beer? You sure this ain't a gay house after all?"

Tristan saw the joke and `deadpanned'. "Colton's father's gay. Didn't you know?"

Dr Baddeley was taken aback. With shocked expression she turned to Colton. "I'm so sorry, honey. Shot m'big mouth off again."

"Yeah, well that would be news to Mom--but I don't actually like to think of them doin' the dirty, though I allow that they must."

"You mean he' not gay?"

"Tristan's rattlin' your chain."

Dr Baddeley recovered and laughed, awarding Tristan a point with a wetted index finger in the air. "Can I have a little chat with you, Colt? Perhaps upstairs in your boudoir?"

When they had departed Hollis turned to Tristan. "She always like this?"

"Pretty much. She gives the students a rough time--the Judge Judy of the medical profession--but she's really a good egg?"

"Egg?"

"Means she's a good guy. You know what she'll be talking to Colton about?"

"The Clinic?"

"Maybe, but I'll bet she'll be checking how he is after the Bonfire. She comes across as blunt as a battering ram, but she can be real devious when she wants to drill down to the truth."

Presently they returned and Tristan made coffee in the machine and they drank it sitting on boxes on the screened porch.

"We've got funding for another psychologist next year," announced Colton.

"Depressive illnesses and substance abuse are pretty rife," said Dr Baddeley completely seriously for once.

"Tris, I told her about Brady--you know, not coping and cuttin' himself. He's a buddy o'mine back home, Holly."

"You've done the right thing, boys. Got him some home support and some clinical support. Those two strategies are his best hope."

"I was thinking," said Tristan, "that Brady might go back to Community College or somewhere to get a diploma--maybe working part-time and then we could try and get him a job out west with Dacey or someone he knows."

"I don't know the boy, but I would try to give him some stability before pushing him out on his own just yet," said Dr Baddeley. "If he's receiving clinical help, it's best not to sever that too early." The others nodded. "If he's ever in town, I'd always be glad to see him, but if he became a patient, I wouldn't be able to talk to you about him."

"I understand, Ma'am," said Colton. "Actually, it's pretty good having someone to talk to about him."

"You're a good boy, Colt." She rose and gave him a kiss on the cheek. Colton blushed. "And I'd like to see your folks too--before football. Understood?"

"Yes, Ma'am."

After the Doctor had departed they tried to straighten the back yard a little. Colton then announced that he and Holly were going for a run. Tristan went upstairs to work on Dr Macpherson's book and he took little notice when he heard Hollis' truck noisily depart.

As usual, Tristan's work was interrupted. He didn't mind, because it was a dull stretch and he was wondering if he'd dare tell Iain that it needed jazzing up. It was Carlos on the phone. He was home in Shreveport but had been in Birmingham to see Alexinia. Tristan told him of all their doings then Carlos got down to the business of his call. A cousin, with whom he had been working at his demolition company and who owed him a favour, had procured an old locker door. Apparently it was so old that it was made of some heavy wood--maybe mahogany--and Carlos wondered if they could use for a coffee table and to ask Colton. Tristan took down the details and noted the photo that was sent. It was indeed framed and panelled in flame mahogany, but Tristan wondered if the big square ventilation panel made of bronzed wire might make it useless for containing spills--of which he anticipated a great many. If they wanted it, Carlos would bring it when he came with Deshawn in the coming weeks.

Not long after, Colton and Hollis returned. It was evident that they had not been for a run but had, indeed, been engaged in thievery. Tristan was alarmed. It the back of the truck were two benches from the footballers' locker room.

"Just what we need for tomorrow's cookout," said Colton.

While appropriate in one way, they could not be made to understand that taking them would be likely be noticed and considered wrong and certainly illegal. "Nah, they won't touch us," said Colton. Hollis agreed and said they were a `protected species'. Tristan flew into a rage and told them they were arrogant, stupid, foolish and a great many other adjectives. "Can't you imagine what they will say? They'll ask you to resign, maybe kick you off the team altogether. You could even end up in court."

Little-by-little Tristan made headway and the `joke' became a little less funny. Then Tristan went for compromise. "Look, text Coach..."

"Which one?" asked Hollis.

"The one that likes you best. Tell Coach that you `borrowed' the benches for a function and will return them afterwards."

"Brilliant!" beamed Colton and fist bumped Hollis. Tristan was left shaking his head at their juvenile behaviour--especially when in a pack.

Colton was busy on his phone when Tristan remembered Carlos. "You guys heard of a footballer called Jimmy Unitas?"

"Johnny Unitas, you mean? Just about the greatest quarterback to have ever played, that's all. Played in the 'fifties and 'sixties."

"Yep," concurred Hollis. Drafted by the Steelers but didn't play for them but then spent most of his career with the Colts--that's Baltimore."

"Practically rewrote the game," said Colton and went on to give some statistics that meant little to Tristan. "Why?"

"Carlos says he has his locker door and would we like it for a coffee table."

"Bull-shit!" said a sceptical Colton. "Holly, would Baltimore ever give that away?"

"Be in their hall of fame in a glass case of somethin'."

"This isn't from Baltimore or from Pittsburgh. Carlos says he went to Louisville before he turned professional and this door is from an old locker room that hasn't been used for decades. Carlos' cousin was doing the demolition and clearing away of the junk when he recognised it."

"Shit! Shit! Shit!" cried Colton jumping up and down and fist bumping Hollis who was also excited. "Yeah, get it! Fuck! I'll be putting my beer on Johnny U's locker door!"

"How can we be sure its his door?' asked Hollis when they had calmed down.

Tristan showed them the photo. In old white paint was a rather crude number 16. "Carlos said that was his number then and they retired it when he was drafted to the Steelers."

"He was number 19 with the Colts," said Colton who was frantically using his phone to find out if Unitas was ever number 16. Eventually: "Johnny `Golden Arm' Unitas fuckin' wore the number 16 jersey at the Cardinals!" He began his excited jumping and then did a little dance around the backyard. Tristan was beside himself with laughter.

They unloaded the stolen (or borrowed) benches and put them by the outdoor table. Not everything was finished around the milk float, but in the meantime they positioned the gas grill, the second-hand sink and the small refrigerator in readiness. Colton went out again to buy some barbecue tools.

When he returned he showed Tristan his phone: `Keep them Colt. I expect an invite for steak when school starts.' "See? Coach loves me!" said Colton, still bursting with enthusiasm over the old locker door that had belonged to someone Tristan had never heard of and had been dead for nearly twenty years. Tristan realised that he loved him too.

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.