Copyright© 2015 – Nicholas Hall
"For I must to the greenwood go, alone, a banished man." (Anonymous – from The Nut Brown Maid.)
Nestled securely on a higher piece of ground, a bench so to speak, snug in the low valley between two ridges, overlooking the swift rapids and deep pools of the Osage River as it raced its way to the great lake to the north, was the log cabin lodge. The cabin was constructed many years before by six very close and dear friends as a place to seek refuge from life's terrors and mundane experiences so they could enjoy the accoutrements nature offered in the abundantly natural lakes, rivers, and streams of the vast northern forests. Its very location and appearances beckoned the weary and those seeking its warmth and comfort.
The eight sections of forested land where the Lodge was constructed contained not only the Osage, but numerous other smaller streams entering it and small lakes and swamps. The forest on the property provided the necessary logs, properly peeled and varnished, and stacked with meticulously care, to form the outside walls. The thick logs, chinked with insulation and concrete, held the wraths of winter's cold at bay and remained cool even on the hottest of summer days. Inside, the men made changes over the years to adapt to their changing ages and preferences; consulting each other, improving their sanctuary, always amicable to each other's suggestions, until, through death or re-location, one by one the original six dwindled to but two.
As each of the departed partner's share became available, the remaining members of the original sextet were extended the right of first refusal to buy. Only one partner had enough financial security, thanks to his lovely bride's banker father and his own successful law practice, to make the purchases. Finally, five years previously, the other partner passed away and with the purchase of his share, the buildings and large tract of land became known as "Hunter's Lodge on the Osage," so named for its current owner, Thomas Hunter, my grandfather, Green Bay, Wisconsin, retired attorney at law.
Grandpa Hunter set about continuing the modernization of the Lodge, installing solar panels to generate power to charge the bank of 12 Volt DC batteries, when inverted into 120/240 volts, for electric lighting, pumping water to the house from the well house, and the hot water pump on the outside wood furnace heating the Lodge. A 7,500 watt liquid propane generator for 120/240 AC power to run power tools and act as a backup to the solar electric system, an LP propane kitchen range, water heater, and LP refrigerator and freezer completed the energy system. Liquid propane was stored in two one thousand gallon tanks, tucked behind the storage shed and garage. A wood-fired Franklin stove provided additional heat whenever the outdoo r furnace wasn't needed. All of this was finally topped off with the installation of a composting toilet, shower, and sink in a large storage closet remodeled for the purpose. As he said to me, once the project was complete, "It sure as hell beats plopping your ass down in some cold biffy when the weather's nasty." I couldn't agree more!
It was a place I enjoyed so often in the company of Grandfather Hunter, fishing, hunting, hiking, canoeing, relishing in the comradeship and closeness as the we fished trout in the river or small streams, walked the logging roads in the fall seeking grouse or the occasional turkey, standing in the blind on the point overlooking a small lake and marsh on the outer edges of the tract of land, hunting ducks and geese, or just relaxing with him, soaking in the ambiance of the Lodge. But today wasn't the day to relax; not after what I saw in front of the Lodge from my hiding place on the hill!
Squatted, sheltered behind the massive grey/green rough-surfaced granite boulder, the warmth collected and stored from the day's early June sunlight and emerging phallic-like from the hillside, provided the concealment necessary to watch surreptitiously not only the Lodge but anything or anybody in the vicinity of it. The late afternoon sun was beginning to cast shadows from trees surrounding the clearing and the Lodge some one hundred yards in the distance. I cautiously, furtively, peeked from my watching point, while trying to determine a course of action or inaction to take.
Slipping back and turning, I let my back rest against the ancient monolith hiding me, slowly assessed and then silently cursed my fate and what lie below near the Lodge's front porch. Groaning to softly I lamented softly, "Great, this is all I need on top of everything else!"
The long, tiring drive from Green Bay, after a restless night preceded by the events of the past two days, only added to my anxiety and confusion. "Life can be so fucked up and doesn't seem to getting any better," I muttered to the non-responding rock.
Up until a year ago, June in fact, life had been pretty good. My father, Conrad Sanborn, divorced my mother nine years before when I was eight. The marriage was shaky and had been for several years from what I could observe around the house. My father, an insurance claims adjuster, made one adjustment too many on one of his house calls, and was caught by the woman's husband, in a "rather compromising position." Well, the shit hit the fan and Mom tossed his ass out and filed for divorce! Mother received the house we lived in in Beloit and child support payments for me until I reach the age of twenty-one, whether or not I decided to continue my education or not beyond high school. The support payments, under the guidance and direction of my grandfather in reviewing and redrafting the settlement agreements, was deposited in a Green Bay bank for my and Mom's use in my care. My mom, Lorraine, continued her employment as a pediatric nurse in a large Beloit hospital after the divorce so we had the benefit of a steady income. As far as my Dad was concerned, he became "persona non grata" after that time and I've not heard from him since the day in court when the divorce was finalized.
I thought life was pretty darn great until August of last year, when Mom came home from work and announced she was going to remarry! Harvey Wilson brought little else to the marriage except a gift of gab and empty pockets. Harvey made such a big deal out of proclaiming "now I have two fine sons and love each of them equally." People believed him, all except me! I thought Harvey tended to let his ass overload his mouth! Besides, he struck me as a bully who was just abiding his time to let his true colors through. Harvey made no effort to adopt me, thank God for small miracles!
Harvey's son, Dennis, a year older than me, lived with his mother and "would join us soon" proclaimed Harvey. If Dennis was as big a bullshiter as his old man, every farm field in southern Wisconsin could be fertilized a couple of times per year and life at home would be a living hell!
While at the Lodge during deer season, I finally broke down and confessed my fears and concerns to Grandpa Hunter, seeking his comfort and advice. He assured me all would be well and just to stay out of the way. He allowed he wasn't a bit pleased with either of his daughter's choices in husband, especially Harvey Wilson, but kept his own counsel each time, preferring to support me in other ways, yet encourage me to persevere, even in the face of adversity. Grandpa was quite candid when he admitted viewing Harvey as a con-artist hunting for a way to come into money without working for it. Perhaps Harvey thought by marrying a well-to-do lawyer's daughter, he could reap a financial harvest as well. Grandpa Hunter quietly made other arrangements, specifically to make certain I wouldn't suffer financially. There was little he could do to assist me while I lived with Mom and Harvey, except to comfort and give me a shoulder to cry on when I needed it.
My senior year of high school, I took my grandfather's advice to heart. I did my school work, continued to work at the meat department of the supermarket in the mall, and stayed out of the way. Shortly after the Christmas break, after I'd returned to school, my world came crashing to the core! While sitting on the couch one evening, visiting with me, Mom suddenly collapsed! One minute she was alive and the next she was dead! The doctors said she suffered from an aneurism in the brain and death was instantaneous. Their diagnosis did little to comfort me – I'd lost my mother and I was all alone in this big house with Harvey!
Harvey promised Grandpa he'd care for me as if I was his own natural born son, even though he never adopted me. What a sham! Harvey got the house, but I, thanks to the efforts of Grandpa, was the beneficiary of Mom's life insurance and the death benefits from her pension plan. Those benefits, though not large, were to be paid to me in a monthly annuity over a period of thirty years.
Grandpa, drawing on his years of experience before the bar and realizing the difficulties facing me, encouraged me to finish the school year in Beloit and graduate. "Your grandmother and I will be on a tour to the Mediterranean in June and July, but we'll be back home in August. If you want to move up to Green Bay then, you may do so," he promised me. I figured I could last that long at least, but made plans to leave as soon as possible. I made several trips, on weekends, with the pickup Grandpa bought for me when I turned sixteen, topper filled with those items I didn't need immediately, including my hunting clothes, deer rifle, two shotguns, and .22 caliber semi-automatic rifle and pistol, up to Green Bay and back, storing the items in my bedroom there. On my trip during Easter Break, I loaded all of Mom's pictures and personal items and transported them to Green Bay also. This left very few items in the house in Beloit; just enough to get me through after graduation.
On my return, I was surprised to discover Harvey had moved in with him, his "lady friend," Jean Sanders and her twelve year old daughter, Vickie. Jean and Vickie were nice enough and kind to me, but as I watched them around the house, I thought they were both "two eggs short of a dozen" as Grandpa would say.
The first of May, Harvey's son Dennis made his appearance and life became quite difficult for me. Dennis never missed a chance to slap me up, swear at me, or call me "gay boy" or "faggot face." Of course I called Grandpa and he advised me to bear the disrespect and ill treatment stoically and try to stay out of the way. So I was gay – so what? Mom knew about it before she died and my grandparents knew also and they thought it was no big deal! I had plenty of fantasies, but no practical experience, but hoped, once I was away from this hell house, I could find someone! I was positive, right after graduation I'd blow this popcorn stand, vacate the premises, and head up to Green Bay. I had a key to my grandparents' house and the code to disable the alarm system so staying there while they were gone would be no big deal. Well, all of that changed!
Dennis immediately took a liking to sweet, young Vickie; putting his arm around her as they walked, cuddling her on the couch, and, if her mother wasn't looking, would slip a finger up under the front of her shorts and finger-fuck her! Harvey would see it and just grin lecherously!
Two days ago, when I came home from work, after giving notice of quitting to the manager at the store, walking by Vickie's room on the way to mine, I heard Vickie whimpering, not a hurt type, but more – well- sexually, followed by Dennis groaning, "You sure love having my big cock stuffed up your bald little cunt, don't you sweet thing?"
His vocalization of pleasure was followed by Harvey pleading, "Hurry up and unload, kid; I want a piece of that before her mother comes home!"
From what I could see from the hall through the open door of the bedroom, Harvey was damn near beside himself watching Dennis thrust in and out, riding ever closer to a nut-busting climax. How his man-sized cock fit into her small hole, was unbelievable to me., but somehow, it did. As for Harvey, he was already dripping with anticipation and knew he wouldn't last long once he was sheathed in that young, velvet purse.
Dennis grunted his release and was barely off of the bed before his father climbed aboard and mounted Vickie in one swift, deep push of his even bigger cock into her young hairless pussy. I must have gasped aloud when he did and Dennis heard me, turned toward the door, and growled, "What the fuck you lookin' at gay-boy?" and flipped me the finger! It didn't stop Harvey however, he continued to pant and gasp as his movements became more vigorous, sensitizing both him and his young, smooth paramour.
Man, I headed to my room, grabbed clothes from my dresser and began packing them in a large duffle. Things were going to heat up around here in a hurry and I wanted out! I was gathering the last of my clothes from the closet when Harvey, Dennis, and Vickie, all quite naked and the men still in a state of semi-arousal, appeared in the doorway of my bedroom. Leaving Dennis, who pulled Vickie close to his side and began tickling her prepubescent breasts, Harvey walked angrily across the bedroom and when got close enough to me, raised his hand and slapped me – hard enough to knock me down!
"Listen, gay-boy," he snarled, "I want you out of my sight before Jean comes home. You say one word to her and I'll hunt you down and cut your balls off." Walking past Dennis as he left the room, he muttered, "Keep an eye on him and get him out of the house."
Dennis and Vickie, both still naked, walked over to a straight-backed chair and sat down; Vickie positioned herself on Dennis' lap where he proceeded to reach around her and insert his middle finger up her vagina and began pushing in and out, bringing about a giggle and a jiggle from her. By the time I was carrying the last box of things from my room, Vickie had turned to face Dennis and he was embedded in her again, pumping her up and down. I just shook my head, not quite believing what was going on and left, glad to be rid of the whole damn bunch!
I arrived at my grandparent's home in Green Bay around midnight, let myself in, and went to the bedroom I ordinarily occupied when visiting. Emotionally and physically, I was wiped out and really wanted to sleep. The next morning, I called my grandfather's law firm and made an appointment with the young attorney Grandpa used to handle his legal affairs. It was late afternoon before I was able to get in, but once there, I unloaded the whole story, including what I witnessed Harvey and Dennis doing. If the attorney was concerned for the girls safety he said nothing to me, instead he listened carefully and finally asked, "What about you Jeremy? Where are you going to stay – at your grandparents?"
"I'm going up to the Lodge and live there until Grandpa and Grandma return from their trip and then talk to them about what I should do." In the back of my mind I was really planning on trying to stay the winter there, but said nothing to the attorney. I'm certain he would've tried everything he could to convince me otherwise, so why stir a bucket of shit? I could access my money through my debit card and decided it wouldn't take much to live there once I'd assessed what the pantry and freezers held. Grandpa had an open account with the propane gas distributor so keeping the big tanks full at the Lodge wouldn't be a problem. I also figured I could hunt and fish to supplement what I needed for food. What I couldn't harvest or wasn't already on the premises, I could buy at stores in one of the small towns in the area.
I slept little that night, excited about my next adventure, but still apprehensive, not totally convinced it was the right decision. After all, I could just stay in Green Bay and do what? Work, when no one knew me and was living alone? I don't think I could sit around all summer watching television. Besides, I was madder than hell about the way I was treated by Harvey and Dennis and that probably contributed to my inability to sleep. Someday, the chickens would come home to roost and those two would pay up big time!
"No," I muttered aloud, "the Lodge is the place to go. If Harvey gets pissed because I told the attorney what happened and comes looking for me, he'd never think to look up at the Lodge. He's never been there and, besides, I don't think he has the balls to go wandering around in the woods."
The next morning I finished loading the truck with the items I'd stored at my grandparent's house, including my guns, ammunition, and hunting clothes, locked up the house, climbed in my truck and started the journey north.
My first clue something was amiss when I arrived late in the afternoon, was the open gate at the entrance of the property and the Lodge. A quick check assured me the storage building, where the canoe and fishing boat and motor were stored, hadn't been entered since the lock was still secure on the entrance door. Yet, a single tire track in the graveled lane was a clear indication someone had traveled down the lane and was probably still there, since there wasn't one coming out.
"Looks like a motorcycle track," I muttered to no one in particular since there was no one immediately near me, locked my truck and starting down the lane on foot. Nearing the Lodge, stopping on the slope overlooking the front yard, I suddenly ducked behind a big rock near the edge of the lane, fearful of being detected by what I saw below.
Safely concealed, I peeked around the granite obelisk again and watched the trespasser dismount from a small motorcycle weighted down over the rear tire with a rather large and full duffle bag, strapped in place so it wouldn't slip off. The intruder, helmet and face mask still in place, his back toward me making identification difficult, stood for a minute, fumbled with his hands in front of him, and took a piss! Right in the front yard of someone else's property, of all things!
The interloper was taller than me, maybe five foot eleven or maybe six foot, not overly muscular in appearance, with a narrow waist and hips, long legs, and probably outweighing me by twenty pounds or so, and seemed damned confident of his whereabouts! He must have had to piss pretty bad since it just ran out of him and ran out of him! When he finally finished, I quickly ducked my head back behind the rock and mulled over my options. Like an idiot, I'd left the pistol in the truck – not that I'd use it, but maybe just scare the guy.
When I looked again, the stranger was just coming from the wood shed and, if I didn't know better, had the key to the Lodge in his hand. Now how in the hell did he know that's where the key was? With confidence and purpose, the lanky, lithe interloper climbed the steps to the porch, unlocked the front door of the Lodge and walked in!
Now was the time I thought to confront him and find out just what the hell he was doing on my grandfather's property, and raced down the short distance to the Lodge door. Bounding up the steps, throwing open the front door, and stepping in I came face to face with a young black man!
"Who the hell are you?" we both shouted at once!
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