"That men, being in need of each other, should learn to love each other and to bear each other's burdens." – G.A. Sala
I smiled to myself; Frank was right, nothing came of the "little dust-up" on the school bus. Frank was right about so many things; the establishment of Nodaway Ridge Serves; arranging a hook-up between Alex and Mr. Hanson; zeroing in on the young men in our community who needed our help, guidance and protection and; the lease on a building to headquarter NRS in order to store items and distribute them to those in need.
The lease to the building, which was once a hardware store during our high school years, was renewed every ten years through the bank and has really served its purpose well over the ensuing years. The Steering Committee has remodeled the building, added shelving, freezers, refrigerated cases, and a work area for re-bagging and re-packing bulk items such as beans, rice, and pasta.
I chuckled, remembering only too well when he came up with that idea; it was the year we graduated from high school and we were entertaining a nice little fuck fest for a few close friends at the creek running through the woods on the backside of our farm. The creek was wider than most so could have been considered a river, I should suppose, but either way, it was nice place to party or cool off with a nice swim. Our swimming hole was at a real wide spot in the creek with a nice deep spot in it making ideal for skinny-dipping!
Frank and I tied a strong rope from an overhanging tree branch so, if we stood on a big rock near the tree, gripped the rope firmly, pushed off, swinging over the stream, and let go over the deep hole, make one hell of a drop and splash! It was so damned much fun! That one activity could occupy most of our time, just laughing, splashing, and swinging into the water. Since we all swam nude, it was important to keep your legs tight together, because if you landed wrong, your pecker and balls took a beating and we just couldn't have that now, could we? Unless it was someone else's hand or puckered, brown passage doing the beating or massaging, however one wishes to describe it.
We had a good sized crowd coming to our party, according to our count, around sixteen with Frank and me, so we spent the morning carrying wash tubs with soda and ice to the bank of the swimming hole and a small table to put sandwiches, chips, and other snacks on it. It was going to be our going away party since we were both entering college in the fall and a new crew would take over NRS, working with the Steering Committee like Frank and I and the original Boys did.
New comers attending in the afternoon were, Brad Sommers and Troy Peterson (11 th grade); Bob Novak, Jim Reid, and Lester Pratt (10 th grade) and; Karl Stiff, Alan Laycock, and Gabriel Thomas (9 th grade). Eddie and Norm; Kenny and Max; Sam and Micah rounded out the crew. The younger boys hitched rides with Brad and Troy since they had licenses and vehicles.
The afternoon was warm and sunny and fun! Watching the new lads cavorting in the water, resting, snacking, and playing grab ass made Frank and me comfortable we were leaving NRS in good hands. They all seemed to get along as well as the original eight did. We were so comfortable, laying there naked on our blanket, Frank decided it was time to do a few pushups, but on our sides. I shoved my butt back to accommodate his desires and felt him slip inside.
Norm, leaving Eddie for a moment to retrieve another soda, walked over to us and sat down on the blanket. He peered over my body, saw what was happening, nodded his approval, but said casually, "Pastor Tolliver is concerned his little church hall is running out of room to store all of our food. The freezers at Maude's are full too and she's going to need the space. Any idea what we're going to do?"
Frank raised his head, looked over my shoulder, wrapped his arms tighter around me and said, "Rent the empty hardware store; no one's used it for a couple of years and I doubt anyone will. They can buy things cheaper in Central City. I'm pretty certain we could get for almost nothing. It's not as if Nodaway Ridge Serves is a brand new organization. Besides, George Winthrop at the bank is on the Steering Committee and the bank owns the old store."
Satisfied, he pushed forward a little more and I could feel his mushroom head slide past my prostate and settle deeply in my inner sanctum. I flexed my ass-cheeks with a sigh, knowing he was well seated and found his home. He made no real effort to pump hard, just a lazy, "this feels so good" kind of action, not in a hurry to finish; of course, Frank never was.
There were all shapes, sizes, and color shades of boy meat prancing around as they took turns grabbing the rope and swinging out over the water before dropping in. All in all, they were just average looking, small town boys; not what you'd call beautiful - handsome and good looking, but not beautiful – save one! Gabriel Thomas was that exception; slim, delicate, eyes and a smile that could seduce a Mack truck, and lips that could suck a tennis ball through a garden hose! He had the beginnings of a faint, but dark mustache and wisps of hair under his arms. Just above his perfectly shaped, circumcised cock was the beginning of a nice, but sparse black forest. When his perfection was erect, all five inches of that hard nail stuck straight up toward his belly-button; it didn't poke out front like Frank's or droop a little such as Micah's, but straight up, standing at attention, ready for action!
Not only was he able to seduce you with his giggle, grin, and batting his eyelashes, but once the spider caught the fly, he let his victim know he loved it! Gabriel was as good at giving as he was at getting. The boy loved sex! As Frank and I lay there in coital position, one or another of the lads would ask, "Gabriel, want to blow my horn?"
Gabriel, not wanting to disappoint anyone, including himself, would take willingly to the task. Once he had the fleshy protuberance well slicked up with saliva, he'd pull off, swap ends and present that tantalizing little, fleshy butt for a good rogering. His little pucker would milk the lucky guy's dick until it was emptied of all goodies. Frank and I figured, by the time we were on the blanket, Gabriel had taken at least four loads that afternoon and didn't seem the worse for wear, in fact, seemed to be cruising for more. Brad Sommers was taking his turn and, wielding about seven inches of thick farm flesh, was hammering Gabriel. Frank, just seemed to perk up and unloaded in me.
He pulled out, stretched, lay on is back and watched the action. I rested my head on his stomach, enjoying the view myself. Micah and Sam decided to join us, but Sam being Sam, assumed the doggy position and Micah decided he needed a little relief. As he began his intrusion and Sam's pucker stretched to accommodate the familiar object of his desire, the others gathered around to watch. Now Micah was a good-sized dude and the first time you ever saw him fuck Sam made you wonder how Sam could do it. Well, he could and loved it and Micah as well.!
Only Gabriel dared reach under Micah and grasp his cock, checking to see what was happening, and made remarks about the thickness and length of the probe.
"There's one I'll bet you can't handle," challenged Brad.
"Bet I can!"
Micah stopped his efforts, Sam looked over his shoulder and said, "Take'em."
Gabriel was on his hands and knees faster than fart in a whirlwind, spreading his ass cheeks, and inviting Micah to take a ride. Gabriel was still leaking some cock-snot from his ass when Micah inserted his bologna pony in the stall. We all heard Gabriel squeal, "Jesus Christ, that fucker's huge!" But, as Micah pushed forward, he pushed back, groaning the whole time, until Micah had passed all barriers and was bush deep in the butt. The action got hotter and hotter and everyone was transfixed watching the assault on the prince's pucker. I had one leg raised for support and was just as interested as everyone else. Micah made his final thrust, Frank howled, "GOOSE!", Micah responded "YES!" as he unloaded a massive shot of cum up Gabriel's love tunnel, but I looked toward my raised leg and screamed "You Son-of-bitch" seeing Pepe, my grandmother's pet gander, preparing to attack my slightly brown, plump hose, resting on my crotch!
Ever since Grandmother Harris decided to raise the small Toulouse gosling gander, that feathered bastard and I had a "thing" about each other. That gander hated me as much as I hated him since he'd no more tolerate me than he would a rival gander around the small harem of geese he tread on a regular basis; as if I was ever going to fuck a goose! When I was younger, the damn vicious bastard would fly at me, flapping his wings, hissing, and issuing loud "honks" as it prepared to inflict major damage with his beak on any fleshy, exposed part of my body.
That changed one day when that asshole made a hissing charge and began chasing me around the pump house. I had a good start on him and as he rounded the small outbuilding, I lay in wait with a garden hose. Instead of a piece of warm flesh, as was his desire, he hit a blast of cold water from the hose. The dirty fucker popped up in the air like his feet were on fire and when it hit the ground, the hen house became his destination! From that day on, all I had to do was pick up a garden hose or even a piece of one and he shied from me like seventh grader in the locker room with a hard-on!
I'm certain when he saw me laying there, my limp cock resting on my stomach, he figured he'd grab that piece of hose, since it appeared to be a smaller version of what I used to attack with, and rid himself of the nuisance or he figured that was a likely spot to take a chunk out of me, who knows? I do know I rocketed off of the blanket faster than Micah unloading his first shot up Gabriel's butt, and took off, but not before he nabbed a piece of flesh just two inches west and two south of my compass needle, pinching the shit out of me!
"Cover your balls, guys!" Frank hollered trying to avoid the honking, flapping goose, now trying to get the hell out of there and all of the screaming and yelping the boys were doing as they grabbed their crotches and ran in seventeen different directions, all convinced they were under attack and wanted no part of it. Man that put a damper on the party!
I can remember howling, "I'll kill that damned critter. Someone help me catch that Goddamned pecker pincher and I'll whack his head off so quick he won't even know it's gone before it hits the ground."
Once the gander was gone, the boys gathered around me as I lamented, "Look what that damned critter did to me," pointing at the rather large welt made by the goose very high on the inside of my left leg. Frank, Sam, and Micah bent over, inspected the scene of the crime, and Frank said, rather matter-of-factly, "That appears to be powerful sore and in a rather personal location," and laughed.
"Don't laugh, Frank," I snorted, "he almost destroyed your favorite toy."
The rest of the boys gathered around to check out the injury and make comments, that is all except Gabriel, who knelt down, grasped my cock in his hand, moved it to the side, and began gently sucking on my balls, rolling first one, then the other around in his warm wet mouth, until he suddenly engulfed both of them.
"Gabriel," I moaned, "what are you doing?"
"Kissing it and making it better!"
"Well, he didn't get my balls, so back off before I fire a load."
Gabriel, clearly disappointed, stood, but not so disappointed he couldn't grin and smirk, "You can't blame a fella for giving it try, can you?"
Pepe now stood a good fifty or so yards away, watching us carefully, much like a cheetah watches a small antelope in preparation for an attack. I looked around for a club, anything with which I might dispatch the feathered fiend!
Frank saw the desperation and murderous look in my eyes and on my face, cautioning me, "You know, Nate, that gander is your Grandmother's pet and I don't think she'd take kindly to someone hurting it. However, I'll bet if you go up to the house, pull down your britches, drop your boxer shorts, and show her what the goose did, she'd feel real sorry and help you whack the head off of that goose herself."
"Frank," I replied, teeth clenched, "no way am I going to drop my drawers in front of Grandma and prance around with my pecker hanging out. She's my Grandmother for God's sake!"
"You just might have to move your tally-whacker to the side a bit, like this," observed Gabriel reaching forward, gripping my limp dick and moving to the side, "or perhaps the other way," and moving it back while sliding my foreskin up and down in the process. "That way the full extent of the damage could be assessed and appreciated."
I gently removed his hand; after all, you can't blame him for trying can you?
"That damned gander will just not leave me alone," I lamented to the crowd of "Boys."
"Nate," offered Troy, "why don't you just pick up a rock, chuck it at the bastard and kill it, like this?" With that he reached down picked up a rock and threw it in the general direction of Pepe.
It was not a particularly big rock nor was the arm that threw it necessarily one of great strength or even experienced at playing baseball, but a truer pitch was never thrown from the mound of a major league ball club than the one that Troy tossed on that fateful day! Time seemed to stand still; the rock lofted, sailing in apparent slow motion toward Pepe. Had that gander ducked his head, flapped his wings, or taken one step in any direction, the tale of misery would have ended there; but that was not the case!
"SMACK" went the rock as it connected with the gander's head; down went the bird like a pole-axed ox, uttering not one solitary "honk," or "hiss," as it met it's apparent demise. Not a feather moved on the prostrate fowl!
The silence was deafening; Troy stood with his mouth gaped, speechless. He closed his eyes, then opened them, hoping against all hope what had happened really didn't happen. But, alas, when his eyes opened, there lay the goose, deathly still!
"Shit, Troy," snorted Frank, "you done killed Nate's Grandma's goose!"
"Oh my God, Nate," he said apolitically, tears welling up in his eyes, "I never meant to kill it; just show you what you could do."
"It's not your fault as much as it is mine for even suggesting I'd like to kill it. I'll just tell Grandma what happened and take the punishment, so don't sweat it."
"Let's not be too hasty concerning our situation here; we may want to have another party before we leave for college," offered Frank, his brows deep in thought. "There may be a solution to our dilemma. Why not gather up the carcass, hide it in the trunk of Troy's car, since he's the one that beaned the bird, pitch it out on the county road, and then run over it? That way, Nate, you can honestly say that it got run over by a car. You wouldn't lie, we might not be banned from the swimming hole, and no one would be the wiser."
"Hey, asshole," growled Troy, finally regaining his composure, "just remember it's just as bad to sip the devil's soup as to drink the broth. You're part of this so don't be volunteering me for anything else. If it's got to be my car, then you drive and run over the goose." That said, Troy picked up a big beach towel and wrapped the corpse in it.
Well, the party was about over anyway when Pepe made his appearance; the soda, the sandwiches, and chips were about gone and most of the crew just about fucked out, so we all scurried around getting dressed, readying ourselves to be the funeral cortege for the dead goose. When we all reached the yard where the cars were parked, I looked about, saw no one, and gave Troy the high sign to deep six the bird. He popped the trunk, tossed in the towel-wrapped goose, and slammed the trunk shut, satisfied he'd succeeded in concealing the crime.
Alan Laycock, arm wrapped around Gabriel, was opening the rear door of Troy's car to ride home, when he exclaimed, "Oh, for crap's sake."
We thought maybe Gabriel was preparing him for a horn recital, but he continued, "Troy, you have a flat tire."
Troy raced to the other side of the car, accompanied by the phalanx of the "Boys" and sure enough, the right rear tire was as flat as the chest of a nine year old girl.
"Great," muttered Troy, standing there, car key in his hand with a desperate look on his face, "the spare and the jack are in the trunk. What the fuck are we going to do?"
The "Boys" waited too long, pondering our decision because Grandpa Harris appeared from the well-house, spotted us standing there and announced, "Troy, you have a flat tire."
That much we knew, but we didn't expect him to do what he did next!
Grandpa quickly took the car key from Troy, as we tried to explain it was no problem, there were plenty of us to change a tire, but he smiled, "No, I've lots of experience, besides you boys are probably wore out from swimming all afternoon," and popped open the trunk.
There are miracles and then there are miracles; in this case I would be uncertain in classifying what happened next! When the trunk lid came up, it would be a sight akin to Moses parting the waters of the Red Sea or water into wine or the miracle of loaves and fishes, all coming together in one cosmic event! Some things in life are unexplainable such as how can one cut a fart through your britches and never tear a thread or when Pepe, the Gander, poked his head out of the trunk, shook it a couple of times, honked vigorously, and flapped his wings! Given that little bit of exercise, he did a Kitty Hawk and took flight, narrowly missing the "Boys" as they ducked and covered and he weaved and dodged heading for the chicken house. Frank and I headed for the far side of my truck, hoping it would shield us from further attack. Frank, thoughtful for my welfare as ever, cupped his right hand over my crotch!
There were boys running all over the yard, fearful the damned critter was going to seek revenge and attack them. Everybody moved except for one person, Troy, who stood there, mouth agape, so frightened by the resurrection happening before him, he couldn't have said "please pass the beans" if he was starving to death!
Goose gone, boys beginning to return to the cars, Grandpa casually handed Troy his car keys and said, "Close your mouth Troy, you're on a farm and the flies around here dine on shit." He walked over to where Frank and I were standing and asked, "I suppose I don't dare ask why your Grandmother's pet goose was in the trunk of Troy's car do I?"
Frank and I just shook our heads, hoping he wouldn't push the issue; he didn't!
Years later, when Frank and I were situated in my law practice and he was doing well as an accountant, Grandpa Harris confessed he'd heard all of the racket down near the creek and arrived just in time to see Troy bean the bird with the rock. Watching and listening to our solution to the dilemma facing us, he'd sneaked back, let the air out of one of Troy's car tires, and waited for his opportunity.
The Literary works of Nicholas Hall are protected by the copyright laws of the United States of America and are the property of the author.
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