Prairie Dogs, Pronghorns & Penis Sheaths

by Biff Spork

Chapter 6

You can get anything on E-Bay

LONDON, 11 May, 2021 - Natural hazards - most of them driven by climate change - have forced an estimated 288 million people from their homes since 2008. That is three times the numbers displaced by war and conflict. These people have become, however briefly, climate refugees. And the number will grow. A new study has found that for every 1°C rise in global average temperatures, the chance of displacement from river flooding alone will rise by 50%. And that calculation is based on population numbers right now. As human numbers rise, so will the risk - by 110%.

(https://climatenewsnetwork.net/tide-of-climate-refugees-swells-as-earth-heats-up/)

The next morning as I palmed the security door in the wall, I wondered if I would ever not feel excited when I stood there. It was early, nine o'clock, and I hoped that Marcus would be in the workshop. He was, and already bent over the cart that we were building.

"Hi Marcus," I said. Simply seeing him there gave me such a rush of emotion that I felt shy.

He looked up from tightening a bolt, then put the wrench down and opened his arms. "C'mere Bumps, and give me a hug."

I wrapped my arms around him and squeezed him tightly. He made little kisses up my neck to my ear and said, "I missed you last night, but I enjoyed your pillowcase." Then he laughed and said, "And I enjoyed it this morning too!"

We fell to hugging and trading little kisses and only pulled apart when it seemed that things were getting out of hand downstairs.

"Your cart is basically finished now," said Marcus as he turned to the table. "But I want to test every nut and bolt and cable and connection before we take it out for a spin."

We did that for an hour, then installed the battery that we had left charging overnight.

The cart was light enough that the two of us easily carried it outside. We set it down and Marcus stood back and surveyed me. "You know," he said, "you might wipe out a few times before you're ready to take this out at night and those shorts and T-shirt won't protect you from road rash." He pulled me back inside the workshop. "Let's get kitted up."

A half-hour later we were back out in the sunshine wearing black vinyl leggings, jackets and crash helmets. "We're gonna roast in this stuff," said Marcus. "But if we take a tumble, we'll be okay."

I sat in the new cart where I usually sat on our night excursions, and he drove us around to where his cart was parked under a shelter beside the factory building. While he drove, he gave me brief instructions. There was little to understand. Driving it was simple: two pedals, accelerator and brake, and a steering wheel. "You have to learn to feather the accelerator," he said. "It's really sensitive. Just a touch and you'll be moving. The acceleration in these electric motors is crazy. If you jam your foot down you'll be doing sixty miles an hour in a few seconds." He looked at me seriously. "So, don't jam your foot down on the accelerator."

Marcus wanted to test drive the new cart so I belted myself into his cart and followed him slowly along a dirt track that wound through the trees. "Let's take it slow and easy until you get the feel of it," he said.

The circular trail had ups and downs and curves, both left and right, some right-angle turns and a few hairpin turns. A half-hour later we were back at the beginning. I was starting to feel comfortable driving the cart though I was getting sweaty inside the black vinyl.

Marcus made a few small adjustments to the new cart and then said, "Okay, let's go around again but a little faster. You okay with that?"

"Yeah, this is great," I said.

We accomplished the second circuit in about twenty minutes. The third time around we were back at the workshop in ten minutes.

"Good, now we go again but in the opposite direction so you get good at driving no matter which way you're going," said Marcus and I followed him around the track again.

"Okay," he said when we arrived back at the start. "Let's go again, but this time you lead so I can watch you. Don't try to race. Just drive as fast as is comfortable. But first, hold on while I organize some lunch for us." He pulled out his phone and a few seconds later said, "Anna? We're gonna be up for lunch in an hour. Is that okay?"

Apparently it was okay because he signaled me to lead the way along the forest track. We did two more ten-minute circuits and then he led me onto a dirt road we followed for a few miles. It merged into a paved driveway that wound gently upwards through natural woodland. The trees thinned and I could see we were climbing a hill but there was no house that I could see. When we came to a stop on the hilltop I was surprised to discover that the summit was the house. The sprawling mansion was so low and so integrated into the landscape that it seemed to have grown out of the hill.

"Nice house," I said after we had parked near the front entrance.

"Yeah," said Marcus. "Some famous architect designed it a long time ago, somebody named Wright. It's an old house but it's been updated regularly with modern stuff so it's still really comfortable. Let's go to my room and grab a shower before lunch. I'm feeling sticky."

Marcus had one of those great walk-in rain showers in his bathroom so we just stood there while the gentle sprays washed away the sweat and dust. Then we toweled dry in his bedroom. Marcus laughed, threw his towel at me and went over to his desk. "I've got a surprise for you," he said. "Close your eyes and don't open them until I tell you, no matter what I do. Okay?"

"Okay," I said.

"Promise!" he demanded.

"Okay, I promise," I said. I finished wiping my wet spots and getting my hair a little dry and then stood there naked, wondering what he was planning. I heard the sound of paper tearing, then his footsteps approaching.

"Okay, no peeking," he said. Then he grasped my penis and gently squeezed it. I boned up instantly.

"Oh," I said. "I like this surprise."

"That's not the surprise," he said. "That's just the preparation."

Then I felt him sliding something over my boner. He then lifted up my balls and I felt a string tighten around them. Another string was tied around my waist and then he said, "Okay, you can look now."

A long, narrow, yellow gourd, engraved with intricate designs, was perched snugly astride my penis. "A koteka !" I said. "Where did you get a koteka ?"

"eBay," he said. "You can get anything on eBay. How's it feel?"

I pranced around and wiggled my hips. The koteka continued to sit firmly atop my boner. The pointy end of the gourd poked up to about the same height as my nipples. "It's great," I said. "Thank you, Marcus." It felt so nice I couldn't help laughing. "Let me take it off and you can try it."

"No need," he said. "I've got a bunch more of them, all different sizes and shapes." He held up another gourd with a corkscrew tip and said, "Maybe you can put this one on me?"

I grasped and squeezed his penis until he had a boner, then carefully slid the koteka over it. "Okay, now, hold it while I tie the string under your balls." Then I tied the other string around his waist to hold the koteka upright.

He pulled me over to a floor-to-ceiling mirror and we stood there grinning and wiggling and looked at each other.

Then we turned to face each other and laughed and fell into a hug, careful not to crush the kotekas standing up between us. As we stood there quietly enjoying the hug, suddenly my stomach gave a great groan.

"Marcus," I said. "I'm starving."

"So I hear," said Marcus. "And, my dear Bumpus, food you shall have. But first, let us dress properly for lunch. I've been researching on the net. A properly appointed Papuan wears more than a koteka ."

From the same E-Bay package, we next donned two colorfully feathered headdresses and cowrie shell necklaces from the Papua New Guinea highlands. Then Marcus painted my face with red, blue and orange stripes and laid a random pattern of purple polka dots over my neck and shoulders. More stripes in yellow covered my belly and back. When I had similarly decorated him, we stood again in front of the mirror.

"Beautiful," he said. "Let's go have some lunch."

"Like this?" I was torn between starvation and modesty.

"But yes, my dear Bumpster." Marcus was merciless. "You said it would be good to walk around wearing nothing but a koteka , and your wish is my command. So, let's go."

"Arrrggh!"

"Don't worry about anyone seeing you. They've all seen me naked hundreds of times, since I was a baby, and you're pretty much the same as me. And lotsa times even now, I don't bother with clothes around the house. And besides, we are dressed, just not in dull American style."

While he spoke he pulled me out into the hallway. I could feel that my boner had shrunk but the koteka remained firmly attached and continued to point upwards in a spirited fashion. I did feel costumed, even if not exactly clothed. Marcus led us through the house to a terrace at the rear overlooking a swimming pool, with some treed meadows beyond. There, he seated us at an umbrella-shaded table laid for two, and poured us each a glass of cold kefir. Almost instantly a woman came to the table with two plates of food. She set the plates down before us and then tittered. Then she bent over and slapped her ample thighs, as her titters grew into guffaws.

"Anna," said Marcus gravely. "Control yourself. We have a guest.."

Anna straightened up and Marcus continued, "I am happy to present to you my dear friend and colleague, Gerald Kelly, generally known as Bumper."

Anna was a large woman, not obese, but solid and bursting with motherly curves. Yet she managed a half-curtsy, though snickers continued to escape from her.

"Bumper," said Marcus, "I am pleased to present my dearest help-meet, Anna Accardi, who has been taking care of me since before I can remember. She's the best vegan cook you'll ever know. She's the boss of this house and she thinks she's the boss of me."

I stood up and bowed and nearly took my eye out with the end of my koteka .

Marcus wasn't exaggerating about the food. Anna's cooking was beyond delicious. We topped off the main course with cherries and bananas and some spicy roasted cashews. By the time we pushed our chairs back I was feeling quite comfortable in my koteka and head-dress.

Marcus reached over the table and took my hands in his and held them. "Bumper, let's not do anything important this afternoon. I've been thinking it would be fun if we just walk through the woods from here to the swimmin' hole, like wild boys, and then wash all this paint off in a nice long swim."

He stood up and led me off the terrace, pausing as we stepped onto the grass to shout back into the house, "Anna, Thank you for the great lunch."

Anna came onto the terrace and waved to us. I shouted my thanks also. We strolled downhill to a narrow trail through the trees. Once within the woods Marcus turned to me and wrapped his arms around me. I buried my nose in his hair and smelled him and he cupped my bum with his hands.

"How does that koteka feel?" he asked after we had nuzzled for a while.

"Nice," I said. "It just feels nice, like a little hand is holding onto my dick. And I do feel dressed or at least not naked. It's neat, like when we finished eating and Anna came and cleared the table, I had a big boner. But there it was, nicely stuck up inside my koteka and I'm sure she couldn't tell I was sitting there all boned up."

"Yeah," he said. "Me too. I was so full I think I had to have a boner because there was no room for my dick in my insides. But it just swelled up inside my koteka and felt fine."

"Too bad we can't go to the mall like this," I said.

"Yeah, but I think it's more fun to be in the woods, almost like we are in the forest in Papua New Guinea, two native boys hanging out in the jungle."

He led the way and I followed. It struck me as the most amazing mystery, that the sight of him in front of me should give me such joy. It didn't make any sense, but I didn't care.

"Do you think these kotekas have been used?" I asked.

"I don't know," said Marcus. "But they were described by the seller as 'authentic' and they look and feel like they have been worn a lot. But that's kinda nice, to think that a boy in another country had his dick up inside there where mine is now."

"Yeah, these are small kotekas , boy-sized kotekas . Some of the kotekas for men are huge. And these are really smooth inside, like a boy wore them and made sure they were comfortable to wear, and weren't just made for show, for tourists."

At the workshop, we laid the headdresses and necklaces aside and picked up a bar of soap. We didn't remove the kotekas until we reached the swimmin' hole. It was strange to suddenly feel naked, as if a koteka and a few strings comprised a garment, though it left everything naked except for my penis. We dived in, then sat on the bank and soaped and scrubbed each other until all vestiges of paint were gone. We rinsed the soap off and stretched out to dry in the sun.

I drifted into a light doze. When I awoke, Marcus was fastening my koteka to his penis.

"I thought I would try yours on," he said and tossed his corkscrew gourd over to me.

When we got back to the workshop I realized that all my clothes were up at the house in Marcus' bedroom.

"No problem," he said. "We're the same size. You can wear some of the clothes I have here to go home. I undid my koteka while he rummaged through the bureau in the workshop and selected shorts, a T-shirt and shoes and socks for me. I went to a hamper in the corner and he warned me it was dirty laundry.

"Good," I said and dug through it until I found a pair of worn underpants, took a deep sniff, and pulled them on, satisfied they were ripe enough to fuel the night's fantasies.

Marcus looked at me and threw me a clean pair of underpants. "No need to wear those," he said. "Here's some clean ones."

"No, these are perfect. You've got my pillowcase but I've got nothing. Your dirty undies are so ripe and cheesy that, as a vegan, I feel guilty sniffing them. But I'm addicted to your stinkiness and intend to enjoy it tonight."

Soon I was dressed. His garments felt familiar to me, like I had worn them before but forgotten them. To be inside his clothes was another way of feeling close to Marcus. Even his shoes and socks welcomed my feet like old friends.