Mama Was a Preacher

Mama was a Preacher Chapter Twelve-A of A/B/C/D The Golden Calf. Copyright 1996 AUTHOR22@aol.com All rights reserved.

The trashy gray car proceeded up Laurel Canyon, and over into the San Fernando Valley. I thought it strange that I had been arrested in West Hollywood, but was being transported to another area.

The two police officers ignored my existence, as I sat in the rear of the car, my hands still cuffed behind me.

In the Glendale Police Station, my handcuffs were removed. My pockets were emptied, my shoe laces removed, and my dignity stripped away.

After having been finger printed and photographed I was placed in a holding cell in full view of everyone in the booking office. There was no privacy, not even to use the toilet.

A young man, probably in his early twenties was already occupying the cell. He was a handsome fellow even though his shirt was tattered, and he wore only old jeans which had been cut off just inches below the crotch.

"My name's Rod, what's yours?"

"John," I replied.

My nervous system was in overdrive. Within the space of an hour I had been removed from the safety of those I knew and isolated in a hostile enviornment.

The only ray of sunshine was my cell mate. He was friendly, but not too intrusive. Several times he attempted to break through the barrier I had pulled down around my emotions, but I just couldn't take my mind away from the details of my arrest; the fast handcuffing, and equally fast removal from my church.

It was after dark when the older arresting officer rattled the door of our cell as though he wanted to wake me. "OK girls we are going to the Los Angeles County Jail."

The clock on the wall said that it was 1 AM. An envelope containing my possessions were handed to the officer. Our hands were again cuffed, and we were escorted to a waiting LAPD police car.

The drive from Glendale to downtown Los Angeles took less than a half hour.

The police car drove down a ramp into a basement area, and parked in a "No Parking" zone.

Again we were photographed and finger printed. At 2:30 in the morning we were placed in another cell. But this cell had more privacy; if you needed to take a crap you would not be doing it like an ape in the zoo.

My cell mate took the upper bunk.

I lay flat on my stomach, head resting on a smelly, grimy pillow. The blanket looked like it had never been washed.

Again, my cell mate attempted to make me feel better without much success.

"I had a date tonight, and shoulda gotten laid." His voice was a whisper. "You awake?"

"Yeah. Sorry, I wasn't paying attention."

The young man didn't repeat himself, "This your first time in Jail?"

"Yes."

"What are you charged with?"

I didn't want to answer the question, so I said simply, "I really don't know."

"Well, tomorrow we'll be arraigned and they'll have ta tell ya then." Rod climbed down out of his bunk and stood in front of the toilet. He seemed to stand there for a long time without pissing. "Damn, I can't piss when I gotta bone." He turned toward me, his hard cock still protruding from his fly, almost as though he wanted me to help him with his problem.

Under other circumstances I might have been tempted. But, at that moment, his erection did not lure me. I rolled over, facing the wall. "I'm going to try to go to sleep. Night."

Rod did not climb back into his bunk. Shortly I could hear the sound of his hand massaging his cock. What started as a slow, sensual sound, increased in tempo as the rhythm of his masturbation took on a musical cadence broadcasting it's lusty message.

I consciously changed the pattern of my breathing feigning sleep.

Soon my cell mate returned to his bed.

In exhaustion I must have fallen asleep, because I was awakened by the sounds of people being fed.

Two prisoners were pushing a cart in the aisle way. "Breakfast. Now or never."

Rod smiled at me. "Feeling better this morning?"

I lied and said that I was.

The bowl of oatmeal had already been sweetened and mixed with a small amount of milk. It was tasteless, but it was hot.

At seven AM we were moved downstairs. As we moved out into the hallway we joined at least another hundred prisoners. The arraignments were arranged alphabetically. I was separated from my cell mate who disappeared into the crowd to my right.

I had been assigned to the court of a municipal judge by the name of Robinson. We were herded through a locked door, and into another barred enclosure. Someone said, "Did you see the sign. Robinson has a stand in today: Judge Thompson."

Someone else remarked that if it was Thompson from the Superior Court they were in for a hard time. The judge had a reputation as being a no nonsense adjudicator. It wasn't unusual for a trier from a higher court to replace one on a lower bench because of sickness or other emergency.

As we were led into the prisoners section of the court room I was looking around hoping to see someone from our group. There was no one.

As the prisoners were arraigned it became clear that the prosecutors office was used to running this court. It was also clear that Judge Thompson was having none of it.

Repeatedly he clashed with the prosecutor over minor procedural matters. In a final dispute he told the prosecutor that this was not Judge Robinson's court. That he didn't care how Robinson did things, and if the prosecutor continued to be disruptive he would site her for contempt.

There were three people before me. One pleaded guilty, one pleaded not guilty, and the third one was so out of it that the Judge refused to accept a plea.

My turn was next. The charges were read to me, and they were different than the ones I had been told were the basis for my arrest. I was now being charged with lewd and immoral conduct, and sodomy.

When asked how I pled I told the Judge that I had never been aware of these charges until that moment.

Thompson looked closer at me, then said "Are you the Brother John who has been working with the teen runaways in Hollywood?"

I acknowledged that I was.

The Judge looked over the sheets of paper that had been presented to him by the prosecutors office.

"When were you arrested?"

I told him.

"Where were you held?"

I told him of the arrest in West Hollywood, my being jailed in Glendale, and then transported to Los Angeles in the early morning hours.

The Judge again looked over the papers, then over at the prosecutor. "Do you have anything else, or is this it."

The prosecutor had been taken by surprise and was not prepared for this none routine exchange. "This is all that my supervisor gave me your honor."

Under his breath, and in a stage whisper that could be heard through out the courtroom he muttered to himself, "This smells."

The drama had changed and the courtroom was very quiet.

"John, do you understand the charges made against you, and do you know the basis for them?"

I shook my head negatively.

Thompson addressed the prosecutor. "I want the DA, and the Chief of Dectective's at West Hollywood in my Chambers no later than 12:15."

The prosecutor made the mistake of saying, "I don't think I can get the DA that quickly."

"If they are not in my Chambers by 12:15 I will issue a bench warrant. And I don't want an assistant from the DA's office. I want Bert himself. Do you understand."

The Judge resumed his calendar. An officer started to move us out of the courtroom, and back to the holding cells.

"What do you think you are doing." The Judge shouted at the officers. "That man," pointing at me, "Will remain in the custody of this court until this matter is resolved."

At 12:20 the Judge recessed for Lunch. He beckoned the bailiff to bring me into his chambers.

The bailiff escorted me into the Judges office. There were five people already seated. The Judge looked at the best dressed man in the room, and said "Bert what the hell is going on here."

Instead of answering the question directly he introduced the others. Bates, the head of Hollywood Vice, the older of my arresting officers, an assistant DA. The fifth man was a shock. He was introduced as undercover officer Rod Johanson; my cell mate.

There was no evidence to support any of the charges. And when I told the Judge of Officer Johanson's conduct in the privacy of our cell, he blew his stack.

"Damn it Bert, I want some answers here. This young man has done more to cleanup the streets of Hollywood than anyone in this city. Who in the hell is behind this."

There was some hemming and hawing, but finally it came out that Doctor Jules Gros, head of the Los Angeles Council of Churches, had requested that something be done to curtail the work being done by our church. The broadcasts on KPFK had been mentioned several times.

Everyone, but me, started to leave. Judge Thompson addressed the DA. "Bert, if I ever hear of anything like this again, I'm going straight to the bar association. I'm warning you," he paused, then added, "and that pompous ass Doctor Gros."

Thompson asked if anyone in the room had heard the radio program. Everyone shook their heads no. "Well I have. I had to get up at 2:00 o'clock on a Sunday morning, but it was worth it. Now, I don't agree with a lot of what Brother John says, but most of it makes more sense than the tripe you hear in the churches in this city." Just as the DA started to exit the judges chambers he fired one last salvo, one that went right over the DA's head. In reality it had been intended for my ears. "Bert do you have a lot of Faith in the system?"

The DA smiled, "Of course your honor. Where would we be without Faith?"

The court held me in custody until the afternoon session when the charges were formally dismissed.

It was well past four in the afternoon by the time I had been released and my personal property returned.

I walked to the nearest pay phone and dialed our home number with the only dime I had. I thought I had dialed the number correctly, 654-9432. It rang several times before it was answered, "OKI DAWG". I had reversed the number getting 654-3294. Momentarily I was taken back. Then I told them who I was asking who was out front.

I could hear the phone being put down. There was muffled sounds of voices in the distance, but I couldn't make out what was being said. Again silence. Again the noise of the phone being lifted. "Johnny is that you? This is Philip. Where have you been?"

I remembered the little hustler who had jumped into our tiny car during the rain storm. "Phil, I need a favor, and I'll explain what happened later."

He interrupted, his voice full of excitement. "Cowboy said you got busted. But nobody has been able to find you or nothin."

"Phil listen, this is important. I need for you to walk over to the house, and find Cowboy. I need to be picked up as soon as possible. I'll be on the steps at city hall. I'm broke so I can't take a cab."

"Yeah man. I'll see to it." I was about ready to hang up, when Phil said, "Johnny, I know you've got Cowboy, so I may be way out of line, but I wanted you to know I've had the hot's for you since that first day we met."

My mind flashed back to his crowding into the car, falling onto my lap with his hand flat on my cock, and the wink and smile that had followed.

The background noises from OKI DAWGS disappeared as I heard the click of the telephone being hung up.

I was alone. My mind, body, and soul felt deprived of contact with humanity. Oddly, what crossed my mind was one of my last studies at LIFE before I had been kicked out. It was the plain English biblical history study of those last hours of Jesus Christ.

"And I have declared unto them God's name, and will declare it: that the love which he has loved me may also be in them, and I in them."

When Jesus had spoken these words, he walked with his disciples over the brook Cedron, where there was a garden, into which he entered, with his disciples.

And Judas also, which betrayed him, knew the place: for Jesus oft times rested there with his disciples.

Judas then, having joined a band of men and officers from the chief priests and Pharisees, came with lanterns and torches and weapons.

There was no similarity, Judas had been one of Jesus's disciples, officer Rod Johanson had been a Trojan Horse.

Jesus, knowing what was going to happen, walked up to them and asked, "Who are you looking for?"

They answered him, "Jesus of Nazareth."

Jesus responded, "I am he."

Judas who had betrayed him, stood with them.

Jesus repeated his question. "Who are you looking for?"

And they said, "Jesus of Nazareth."

Jesus answered, "I have told you that I am he: if I am the one you are looking for, then let these others go their way."

My imagination brought forth the image of Cowboy watching me being whisked away from our church.

Jesus knew that his destiny was sealed, his words had been written over the centuries, and now were uttered thus fulfilling the ancient prophecies.

For the first time in many months I again felt a presence. Had the spirit of the woman in white returned?

Then Simon Peter having a sword drew it, and smote the high priest's servant,

and cut off his right ear. The servant's name was Malchus.

Then Jesus said to Peter, "Put your sword into its sheath: the cup which my Father has given me, shall I not drink it?"

Then the band and the captain and officers of the Jews took Jesus, and bound him, and led him away to Annas first; for he was father in law to Caiaphas, which was the high priest that same year.

Now Caiaphas gave counsel to the Jews, so it was expedient that this man should die for the people.

Simon Peter followed Jesus, and so did another of his disciples: that disciple knew the high priest, and went with Jesus into the palace of the high priest.

But Peter stood outside the door. The disciple who knew the high priest came out and told the woman keeper of the door to let Peter in.

The woman asked Peter, "Are you not also one of this man's disciples?"

He said, "I am not."

It was a cold night. The servants had made a fire of coals, and they and the officers stood there warming themselves. Peter stood with them also warming himself. One of the servants asked of Peter, "Are you not one of his disciples?"

He said, "I am not."

Inside, the high priest asked Jesus about his disciples, and about his doctrine.

Jesus answered him, "I spoke openly to the world; I never taught in the synagogue, nor in the temple, where the Jews always study; and I have never said anything in secret."

"Why do you ask me? Ask those that have heard me. They know what I have said."

At that response, one of the officers which stood by struck Jesus with the palm of his hand, saying, "You answer the high priest so?"

Jesus addressed him, "If I have spoken evil, bear witness of the evil: but if not, then why do you strike me?"

Now Annas had sent him bound into Caiaphas the high priest.

One of the servants of the high priest, who was a relative of the man whose ear Peter cut off, said, "Did not I see you in the garden with him?"

Peter then denied again: and immediately the cock crew.

Then they led Jesus from Caiaphas into the hall of judgment. It was early, and they wanted to partake of Passover, so they did not go into the judgment hall as that act might defile them.

Pilate came out to them, and said, "What accusation do you bring against this man?"

The image of Judge Thompson raced into my mind. I had been more fortunate than Christ. My Pilate had no fear and had been my champion.

They answered, "If he were not a criminal, we would not have delivered him to you."

Then Pilate told them, "You take him, and judge him according to your law."

The Jews explained to him, "It is not lawful for us to put any man to death."

With that being said as to the intent of the Jews regarding Jesus, the ancient prophecies had been fulfilled.

Pilate entered into the judgment hall again, and called Jesus, and asked him, "Are you the King of the Jews?"

Jesus answered him, "Are those your words, or did others tell you to ask that of me?"

Pilate answered, "Am I a Jew? Your own nation and the chief priests have delivered you to me: what have you done?"

Jesus answered, "My kingdom is not of this world: if my kingdom were of this world, then would not my servants fight, that I should not be delivered to the Jews? My kingdom is not on this earth."

Pilate then asked him, "Are you a king then?"

Jesus answered, "It is you that say that I am a king. To this end was I born, and for this cause I came into the world, so that I should bear witness unto the truth. Every one that is of the truth hears my voice."

Pilate rhetorically asked him, "What is truth?"

Again he went out to the Jews, and said to them, "I find in him no fault."

"But you have a custom, that I should release to you one criminal at the Passover: will you not therefore prefer that I release the King of the Jews?"

The crowd cried out again, saying, "Not this man, but Barabbas."

Barabbas was a robber.

Then Pilate took Jesus, and lashed him.

The soldiers made a crown of thorns, and put it on his head, and they put on him a purple robe, and said, "Hail, King of the Jews!" and they struck him with their hands.

Pilate again addressed the crowd, and said, "Behold, I bring him to you, so that you will know that I find no fault in him."

Then the soldiers brought Jesus out, wearing the crown of thorns, and the purple robe. And Pilate said to them, "Behold the man!"

When the chief priests and officers saw him, they cried out, "Crucify him, crucify him."

Pilate said to them, "You take him, and crucify him: for I find no fault in him."

The Jews answered him, "We have a law, and by our law he ought to die, because he made himself the Son of God."

When Pilate heard that quotation of Jewish law, he was the more afraid; and went again into the judgment hall, and asked Jesus, "Who are you?" But Jesus gave him no answer.

Pilate said to him, "Why don't you speak to me? Do you not know that I have the power to crucify you as well as to release you?"

Jesus answered, "You have no power at all against me, unless it were given you from above: therefore he that delivered me to you hath the greater sin."

Pilate sought to release him: but the Jews cried out, saying, "If you let this man go, then you are not Caesar's friend: whosoever makes himself a king speaks against Caesar."

When Pilate heard those words, he brought Jesus before the crowd, and sat down in the judgment seat in a place that is called the Pavement.

It was the preparation of the Passover, and about the sixth hour: and he said to the Jews, "Behold your King!"

But they cried out, "Away with him, away with him, crucify him." Pilate asked them, "Shall I crucify your King?"

The chief priest answered, "We have no king but Caesar."

Then Pilate delivered Jesus to them to be crucified. And they took Jesus, and led him away.

Jesus, bearing his cross, carried it from the Hall of Judgment to a place called "the place of a skull".

They crucified him, and two others, one either side, Jesus in the middle.

Pilate wrote a title, and put it on the cross. "JESUS OF NAZARETH THE KING OF THE JEWS."

Golgotha, the place of the skull, was close to the city, so that many of the Jews were there to watch the crucifixion.

The title was written in Hebrew, Greek, and Latin.

The chief priests of the Jews told Pilate, "Write not, The King of the Jews; but that he said, I am King of the Jews."

Pilate answered, "What I have written I have written."

Then the soldiers, when they had crucified Jesus, took his garments, and made four parts, and gave each soldier a part; and also his coat. The coat was without seam, woven from the top to the bottom.

They said among themselves, "Let us not rend it, but cast lots as whose it shall be," again the scriptures were fulfilled, which said, "They parted my raiment among them, and for my vesture they did cast lots."

Now there stood by the cross of Jesus his mother, and his mother's sister, Mary the wife of Cleophas, and Mary Magdalene.

When Jesus saw his mother, and the disciple standing by, whom he loved, he said to his mother, "Woman, behold thy son!"

Then he said to the disciple, "Behold thy mother!" And from that hour that disciple took her into his own home.

After this, Jesus knowing that all things were now accomplished, that the scripture might be fulfilled, said, "I thirst".

Now there was set a vessel full of vinegar: and they filled a sponge with vinegar, and put it upon a stick, and put it to his mouth. When Jesus had received the vinegar, he said, "It is finished!" and he bowed his head, and gave up the ghost.

The next day was a high sabbath day, so it was important that the bodies be prepared immediately for burial. They asked Pilate to have the legs broken, so that they might be taken away.

The soldiers, broke the legs of the first, and then the other which had been crucified with him.

But when they came to Jesus, and saw that he was already dead, they did not brake his legs.

One of the soldiers with a spear pierced his side, and blood and water flowed from the wound.

And those that saw it bore record, and that record was true.

For these things were done, so that the scripture should be fulfilled, "A bone of him shall not be broken."

And again another scripture said, "They shall look on him whom they pierced."

Without regard to the validity of the bible being the word of God, there became little doubt in my mind, that it was an interesting and useful history of some of God's creatures.

My thought's in reexamining the scriptures in light of my own tribulations had occupied the time between my telephone call for help, and the sound of our MG pulling to the curb in front of city hall.

Cowboy tooted the horn to gain my attention. I walked to the car, and got in.

"We've been worried about you. When I told Jackie about your being taken away he had Jew Boy (Robbie) call his dad. They called the Hollywood Police station and were told they knew nothing about your arrest. Then we called The L.A. city jail; again nothing."

The opportunity to unload my emotional story caused an outburst from me, as I dwelt upon the trip to Glendale, jail, officer Johanson, the arraignment, Judge Thompson, and finally the cause; Doctor Jules Gros of the Los Angeles Council of Churches.

Cowboy told me that Sid wanted to talk to me as soon as I was up to it. Monday night was NOT a good time. Maybe tomorrow.

There was a crowd of friends at the house. Of course Philip was there, as was Jew Boy, Ho (Danny), Stack (Peter), Jackie, Sunshine (Charlie), David, and Todd.

I was tired and wanted to go to sleep. Begging off from telling my story, I left that task to Cowboy.

I must have slept very deeply, as it was mid morning on Tuesday when I awoke.

Phil was sitting in a chair just watching me. His presence surprised me, and that surprise must have been expressed on my face, as he said, "Cowboy asked me to keep an eye on you. We are all worried about you."

I crawled out of the sack, not realizing I was both nude and had a pisser rod so stiff that Phil said, "Want me to take care of that for you?"

That idea made my cock pulse, but in reality it was not a sexual hard-on. "I've gotta piss like a race horse," and wandered into the bathroom.

Phil was still sitting when I returned, my giant rod now just a wilted reminder of its recent reverie.

"How about a back rub? I'm really good; just ask Cowboy."

The idea of fingers digging deeply into my weary muscles appealed to me. I flopped face down upon the bed, "Oh yeah. I could really use that."

Philip moved toward me. "Move over in the center so I can straddle you."

I half expected him to strip as I moved in the middle. However, the only thing he removed was his shoes and socks.

He knelt over me in a crouched position, his butt just below mine. His fingers first grasped the back of my neck and with increasing pressure made deeper and deeper circles within those muscles. The strong, warm fingers, worked their way downward, kneading my back deltoids and shoulders.

The feeling was the ultimate in relaxation.

"God, can one day in jail due that to ya?" He asked in his Bostonian accent.

I grunted in both reply and as an expression of the pleasure he was providing.

As he worked further down on my back, he lowered himself from a crouched position, resting his buttocks on my upper legs. I could feel the heat from his groin warming my cheeks.

His fingers continued a path from side to side and downward. His work on the small of my back again brought forth groans of real pleasure.

Now he was working on the cheeks of my ass; first the left cheek, then the right. His fingers went back to the small, then worked their way down to the top part of the crack. My rod returned, and I squirmed to give it some degree of freedom. As I did so I could feel Phil's hot breath closer to my shoulders. Then he shifted moving further back on my legs. His fingers again returned to the small of my back and continued their downward exploration. As they approached my anus it caused my dick to pulse. I had moved so that it lay vertically downward between my legs. His fingers proceeded downward and grasped the muscle between my testicles and my ass hole, massaging it.

Suddenly Phil jumped off of the bed. I looked at him. His cock was hard and had created a tent within his tight blue jeans. "I'd better go tell Cowboy that you are awake and ready for breakfast."

He disappeared before I could reply.

I went down to the study that the boys had built in the basement, to make notes of both my arrest, and the subsequent court session. Also, I wanted to write about those thought's that had flooded my brain as I sat on the steps of city hall while waiting for Cowboy.

The unmistakable sounds of Jew Boy's Austin Healey brought me out of my secluded world. I heard both doors on the Healey slam closed. Curiously, I went upstairs to say hello to Robbie. I should not have been surprised to see Sid with him, but I was.

"Johnny, Dad want's to talk to you. Do you feel up to it?"

"Sure. What can I do for your Mr. Cohen?" I asked.

"Can we talk in private?"

I told him that we could, and motioned him to follow me downstairs into the study. Once we were comfortably seated, I asked him what was on his mind.

"John, you know I think a lot of you, but frankly in the past year you have been a real idiot." He paused to let me reply. I didn't so he continued.

"I love my son. And I am damn proud of him. I know he isn't into boys, yet he has a deep respect for you and the things you are doing."

"You know John, success can be measured in many ways. But almost without how you measure it, the one sure thing is that success comes from pleasing people. If you get too many people pissed off you'll have a battle on your hands."

"I like to think I'm a successful man. I make a good deal of money working for Capitol Records. I own a large home, have a damn good family, and our standard of living is way above most peoples. I'm respected by both my colleagues and my competitors. If Capitol ceased to exist I could easily find a position at RCA, Columbia, or any other recording company."

"If you are a success it is because you please people. We are all in the people pleasing business."

"One thing that I have learned is that you do not tell people that the things they believe in are untrue. And that's where you made your mistake."

"You know, the entire floor below mine is the legal department. They have more than fifty guys whose sole purpose in life is to take any document and interpret it to support their point of view. And Johnny, that's what you've got to do. You cannot just throw out the recorded history of mankind and call it fiction."

"You've been studying the Torah, and are familiar with the New Testament as well."

"The Torah, codes of behavior, laws, procedures... are all attempts to simplify the understanding of what is loving and hating... which is which. And while that is useful to some degree, it is clear from history, that law never produced goodness; it is only good at displaying what was right or wrong."

"This is why religious communities that are based on 'touch and touch not' cannot, as a rule, love; because the knowledge of right and wrong does not, in and of itself, contain the ability to make the choice between them."

"The only thing that the law could 'produce' was death because apart from a measuring stick of right and wrong, we are still saddled with the 'gap'; and that has not been addressed apart from the 'biblical new dispensation': that of grace and truth."

"We learn to love. We learn that loving enables, and hating kills. There are no other options."

"It has been said that the glory of young men is their strength while the glory of old men is their wisdom. The process of aging dictates that strength diminishes so wisdom should be sought at all costs. Sooner or later those who choose to hate reap the normal consequence, 'death'. Those who live by the sword die by it."

Jew Boy's dad paused to catch his breath, and I took advantage to say, "Sid, we have not thrown out the Bible, nor the Torah, we simply put it aside until we could build a proper foundation."

He responded, "That may be true, but that is not the image you have created. Again, I must rely on what Robbie tells me. But, he is young. He loves you and your followers, and that love blinds him to reality."

"But the main reason I wanted to talk to you today is to tell you how important image is. If you want to be successful in your work then you MUST build on accepted philosophy. Use the Bible, or the Koran, or the writings of Mohammed, or Confucius to support your discoveries."

"I'd recommend using the Bible because it is the foundation upon which most churches are based in the United States, and also because it is more voluminous. According to our legal experts, the more that is said the more likely one can find a way to prove your point; any point."

"I asked rabbi Solomon if he knew of any Biblical reference books which contained detailed cross indexes. He ordered one for me. It is upstairs in Robbies car, and I want you to have it, to use it, and to profit by it."

My mind had filled with replies to Sid's invasion of my innermost thoughts. Yet, I couldn't convey those feelings. The events of the past 48 hours had pounded an entry into my vault of beliefs, and cracked them open like a walnut under a sledge hammer. There was too much to resolve in one giant step. I needed to think.

I thanked him for the gift, but begged off further talk. He seemed to understand that it was all too much to cope with in such a short time.

I sat in my chair as he climbed the stairs to the kitchen. Voices from above were too indistinct to understand, but moments later I heard the doors to the Austin Healey slam closed followed by the purr of the engine as Robbie guided the vehicle out of our driveway.

Cowboy came down the stairs. "One of Phillips friends has a house close to Palm Springs. We can use it for a few days if you want to get away."

"Jerry, I swear you can read my mind. Sid just dumped a ton of thinking in my lap. If I stick around here I'll be inundated with concerned well wishers.

Do you think we really can go?"

"Phil said he'd ask. If we do, he wants to know if he can come along and play house boy. What do you think?"

We both said, as though we were reading from the same script, "And he gives the best back rub's in the world."

We looked into each others eyes, re-confirming what we knew deep within our souls, "We are one mind sharing two bodies."

The trip early Wednesday morning had been preceded by a shopping trip engineered by Philip, and financed by Cowboy. The trunk of the MG was stuffed with enough food to have fed the three of us for a week.

Cowboy was at the wheel with Philip sitting on my lap playing navigator. Even though the boy was pretty light, his weight was not well distributed, putting undue pressure on my left leg. In an attempt to allow circulation, I lifted the leg pushing the boy towards my right. In doing so I had also shifted his heat center directly above my dick. The vibration of the vehicle combined with the radiated warmth jostled my member to an uncontrollable erection.

Even though Cowboy and I slept together every night, it had been a long time since we had enjoyed each other sexually. My days started early and ended late. There was little time for personal pleasures. Usually I was asleep within seconds of crawling into bed.

Philip wiggled his butt and announced, "Johnny's gotta rod, Johnny's gotta rod."

Cowboy's hand moved between the boy and my lap, verifying my condition. He patted it for a moment, then said, "Hold that thought. The next four days are going to be ours. There will be no others in our universe; just the three of us."

The trip was a little more than a hundred miles, but took almost three hours. The highway took us through Alhambra, El Monte, Upland, and Beaumont. Each succeeding city seemed to be 20 degrees hotter than its predecessor.

My rod had given up any prospect of an adventure, although ever once in a while it stretched and throbbed reminding me that it would appreciate what ever attention any one had to give.

Our destination was Desert Hot Springs, a small resort community ten miles north of Palm Springs.

Even though Philip had been here before he relied on written instructions given to him by our benefactor.

Cowboy had spotted the first deviation from the highway, and turned left on to Palm Drive. This took us into what appeared to be the center of the town. There were several hotels whose signs touted the benefits of their hot spring baths. At Pierson we made a left and drove west looking for Little Morongo Drive. When we found it we made a right proceeding north to Mission Lakes.

"Ok, we go west on Mission Lakes. You gotta keep your eyes peeled for this dirt road, it heads north into a clump of trees. The house is just beyond the trees. If we cross Indian Avenue we've over shot the house." Philip was alternating his attention between the written instructions and the road signs.

Most of the buildings, including the hotels in town were hardly what you would call luxurious. The further we traveled west on Mission Lakes the more decrepit were the buildings. It looked like this adventure would probably be a camping trip. Out loud I wondered if there were beds, or should be have brought sleeping bags.

"There's the turn off." Philip pointed to a dirt road that appeared to be little more than a path. "Turn right. See that clump of trees?"

Off in the distance, perhaps a mile away was a lonely thicket of trees. As we approached this oasis it expanded into a grove which protected a small, white stucco building with a ceramic tiled roof. A concrete brick wall surrounded the lot, creating a distinct border between the dry desert sand and the green garden within.

Philip popped open the car door and was out before Cowboy brought the MG to a halt. He fished a key out of his pocket and released a sizable pad lock which secured a sturdy wrought iron gate.

We parked in the shade of a tree whose branches spread shadow over most of the front yard.

Philip used another key and opened the front door.

The beauty of the place dazzled me. The entry way was part of a large room which served as living room, dinning room, and family room. The floor was a greenish white ceramic tile which in itself seemed to lessen the heat. On the opposite side of the room was a sliding glass door, and beyond that a small swimming pool. The back yard area was totally enclosed by a red brick wall which was more than six feet in height. The pool decking appeared to be an extension of the ceramic floor inside of the house.

Philip was unloading the car as we explored the property.

Lattice structures surrounded the back yard providing support for vines which shaded the area and provided even more privacy.

The main room was devoid of any chairs or couches, but instead had many long mattress pads. Guests could lay comfortably on the floor, or fold the pads into low chair like seats.

There were several low tables. The design was distinctly Arabic. On the right wall was a large fireplace. It too was an odd design. It contained a bulbous cast iron cooking pot. In an alcove hidden by the left wall was a well equipped kitchen.

The bath was accessible from both the pool and the living room. The shower was quite large. Three nozzles propelled water at you: one from above, one from the front catching you in the stomach, the third from the rear hitting your ass.

The air conditioning had not been turned on, and despite the shade and good insulation the room was as warm as a slow oven.

Quickly we stripped and jumped into the pool. It was like jumping into one of the towns hot springs. Nevertheless the evaporating water soon cooled our bodies, giving us relief from the desert heat.

A third splash heralded Philip's entry. His slender body darted past us, his genitalia set like the centerboard of a sleek day sailer.

Cowboy and I pulled two pads into the shade adjacent to the shallow end of the pool and laid down.

Philip also left the pool and entered the house. Shortly he returned with a tray covered with crushed ice. On the ice were bowls of fresh fruit: Banana, Apples, Grapes, Oranges, Pears, and Honeydew. Each had been peeled and cut into bite sized pieces.

He sat down on the bare tiles facing us, folding his legs under him. "Ok open your mouths."

With that he placed a bite of cold apple in our mouths. The taste was sweet, the juices cool; just enough tartness to cause saliva to form.

Next came two seedless grapes. They were sweeter. I could hear Cowboy's go pop as he bit down on the morsel exploding it in his mouth. Like peanuts, you wanted more.

Our body servant put one end of a peeled banana in his mouth. He lowered himself offering the free end to me.

I opened my mouth and sucked the fruit in. Once well seated he released his end, and I offered that to Cowboy, who grasped just the end and partially withdrew it from my mouth. We both had our lips and teeth at the very ends. We began nibbling towards the center as we looked into each others eyes. Our lips met and kissed. The penis shaped fruit was still caressed by our lips.

Phil laughed. We bit the fruit in two and looked at him. He had a sizable erection. "So what do you expect? You gave that banana the best blow-job I've ever seen."

Phil moved from his cross legged position and placed his knees between each of our legs. His hands began massaging both of our backs, starting at the base of the neck, working their way downward till they began to invade the cracks of our buttocks. The close proximity to that erogenous zone caused my cock to stir. Sensing the discomfort he stood up and said, "Dinner will be ready in just a couple of minutes. You guys go for a quick swim, then come on in."

We did a shallow dive and within three strokes were across the length of the small pool. One hard kick off of the end, and we were back. The warm desert air dried our skin almost as fast as our bodies left the water.

Jerry (Cowboy) slid the glass door open. The cool air put goose bumps on my bare skin.

A long low glass table had been moved to the center of the room. Two of the pads had been reformed into low seats.

Sitting on the table were two bowls and a plate of thinly sliced sour dough bread.

The bowls contained a mushy textured, slightly yellowish liquid. I touched the bowl lifting it towards my nostrils. The liquid was cold. The distinct odor of garlic wafted its way into my nostrils.

"Use the bread to scoop out the Humas."

"The what?" I asked.

Philip repeated himself, "The Humas. It's middle eastern. Its blended garbanzo beans with sesame oil, lemon juice, and garlic. I cheated a little and added some yogurt."

Jerry and I both scooped some of the thick substance on to a slice of the sour dough, and tasted it. The garlic did not pound our tongue for attention,

instead it was a subtle taste that affected our nostrils more than our taste buds. The lemon combined with the yogurt yielding a tantalizing odor and tartness which beckoned further tasting.

"Try some of the wine. I think you will like it. It's not too sweet."

Our naked waiter lifted a green bottle from a iced bucket and poured a small quantity into our glasses. He was right. The wine was neither sweet nor tart. Yet it brought a reaction which caused a most pleasant aftertaste from the Humas. The coolness of the wine was pleasant to my throat, while the alcohol warmed my soul.

Both the small bowls of Humas and the bread seemed to disappear all too soon.

Philip was turning out to be quite a surprise. He had talents that went beyond the obvious, especially for a lad that had just recently turned sixteen.

He brought a wooden tray upon which sat an odd looking pastry. It was about ten inches in diameter, and domed shaped. It was covered with sprinklings of both powdered sugar and cinnamon. "You gotta eat that with your fingers, but be careful it's hot."

We punched our fingers into the pastry, pulling it towards us. The flaky exterior was Filo dough. The crust having been broken released an odor laden steam of curry and cinnamon. It was too hot to sample. Reluctantly we sat back and sipped our wine while the food cooled.

Phil carried a glass plate with several kinds of cold vegetables which had been chopped or ground. "This is your salad. You can eat that while the Pasteia cools."

"You don't believe in forks?" Jerry asked.

"Nope, not for this meal. Everything is going to be basic; as basic as the way we are dressed."

The sensuality of the idea struck my fancy. I wasn't alone because I noticed Jerry's cock began to inflate.

Eventually the pastry cooled enough for us to dig deep into it and break away bite sized portions. I was the first to try it. "God, this is great." I offered a portion of mine to Jerry. He opened his lips accepting a crumbling portion on his extended tongue.

The Pasteia contained a layer of shredded chicken meat mixed with chopped almonds, and a rich curry gravy. Sweet, spicy, and unique. The multilayered, flaky pastry added a delightful contrast to the meat; both in texture and in flavor.

I felt stuffed.

"Dessert is next; out by the pool."

We laid on the pool side pads. The hot sun had shifted so that it now radiated our naked butts.

Phil brought a tray containing two small plates of a tiny pastry. "This is Baklava. Turn over on your backs. I want you to feed each other."

We shifted the pads so that it was more like we were sitting up in bed. We were semi reclined at about 45 degrees. This allowed the sun to warm our legs and pubic region. The shadow of the trellis crossed at about our navels.

I took a portion of the dessert from the plate. It was as compressed and as rich as a week old fruit cake. The pastry portion was again made from the multi layered Filo dough. There were layers of pastry, nuts, and honey.

Philip moved down to our feet. He had a plastic bottle which contained a light brown liquid. He squirted a big puddle of the substance on to our stomachs. It smelled of lemon. It felt warm and sticky. Using both hands he rubbed the substance into our stomachs, and downward. I could feel the gooey stuff drizzle down on to my testicles.

Jerry and I ceased feeding each other, wondering what this new delight might be.

Phil looked up at us, then said, "Keep feeding each other. It's my turn to enjoy dessert." Whereupon he began licking the lemon honey from my stomach, then took my nuts into his mouth, sucking the sweet sauce from my scrotum.

It was then that I caught on: We were eating honey and nuts, and so was he.

Of course my penis had jumped to full mast.

He released my testicles, "If you don't eat your dessert, then I'm not going to enjoy mine."

I lifted a piece of the Baklava, placing it between Jerry's lips. He did like wise. As we nibbled away at the rich pastry our balls were being massaged. It was the ultimate in sensory pleasure.

Phil worked only on our testicles, sucking in each ball, massaging it, then transferring the kneading to another nut. Both Jerry and my cocks were on the verge of ejaculation, with precum laterally flowing in a stream down the shaft, and mixing with the honeyed sauce on our balls.

Our body servant lifted himself saying, "You guys better not get off till I want you to. And that's not going to be soon."

We laid there in the warm sun, the sticky honey sauce still on our skin. The odor of lemon wafting from below added an edge to our senses. I turned toward Jerry. We put our arms around each other, nakedly embracing from head to toe, our tongues explored the tastes of each others mouth. Our cocks were drooling so much that our lower parts mixed with the "Baklava Sauce", providing a lubricant.

Phil had made a trip to the kitchen and returned with a steaming tea pot and two small cups.

"Sorry to break this up, but we've got a lot more to do before this event is over." We looked at him wonderingly, but released our embrace. "You guys ever heard of a Regurgitorium?"

"You mean that ancient Roman practice?" I had come across mention of the ancient feasting style in some of my studies of Rome and the twelve Caesars. Caligula had inadvertently started the orgy.

"You need to get rid of what you just ate. Drink some of this tea, then go to the bath room. If you can't seem to throw up, then drink some of the clear stuff in the wine bottle. After you're done then rinse your mouth with the blue liquid, and drink some of the brown." Philip had spoken.

I was game for this new adventure so I headed for the bathroom while Jerry was still thinking it over.

Knee pads had been placed next to the commode, and a towel like cloth was covering the porcelain. Only the clear water of the bowl was visible. I tickled my throat with my index finger a couple of times, and my stomach muscles obeyed my command, regurgitating the just eaten meal.

My mouth had the bitter taste of bile, and my stomach muscles had a slight cramp from the unaccustomed spasms.

The blue liquid was a simple mouth wash for sweetening the breath. The brown fluid was a little bitter but instantly soothed my digestive system.

When I returned to the living room Jerry made use of the facility.

I felt a little chilly, and went outside to lay in the sun till the next chapter of this adventure was to continue.

My abdomen and stomach felt strained and uncomfortable. The sun, combined with the brown liquid were relaxing me.

Phil came outside carrying a white creamy bottle. Without asking, he aimed the container at my stomach and squirted what appeared to be about a half cup on me. "Spread your legs apart so I can sit."

He sat in an Indian cross legged position, then lifted my legs so that my knees were resting on his. Reaching forward, he put both hands in the lotion and began massaging it into my skin. His fingers dug deep. His hands moved upward to my chest area. Eventually they reached my chin. He began working towards the back of my neck.

Cowboy (Jerry) joined us, sitting on my right side. His fingers also dipped into the sun warmed lotion. But, his fingers massaged across my abdomen to my hip bone, then downward. My cock instantly responded.

"Isn't that the most beautiful piece of art that you have ever seen?" He asked Phil.

Phil placed his left hand around the base of my shaft. The odor of coconut gently caressed my nostrils as his hand slipped upward in a slow, tight movement. Just below the head he pulsated his hand causing my instrument to twitch in appreciation. Then, even more slowly he continued his upward course. The lotion combined with my precum formed a warm, sensual, smooth lubricant which dispensed erotic messages to my testicles. To put it another way: My desire to get off blocked every other thought from my brain.

Cowboy bent down, placing his lips on mine. I opened my mouth slightly, permitting him to explore if that was his wish; it was. Momentarily my message center was being inundated with thoughts of love. As my lover dug his tongue further into my oral chamber, the love from above mixed with the sensuality from below, and I exploded. The weeks of abstinence had all but dissolved my self control.

My body totally relaxed. The sun, the proximity of those I loved, the isolation from cares and responsibilities were the only elements in that days equation of life. I felt superb.

The two boys laid down, full length beside me. Their bodies began massaging the fluids into my skin; lotion, precum, and semen. Both had erections that felt as hot as a branding iron. In gratitude I reached down grasping both of their shafts.

"Nope! Not yet. We've got a long way to go before this day is over." With that terse edict Phil pulled Jerry from my grasp and they dove into the pool.

Phil disappeared into the kitchen while my better half returned to my side.

"How long have you guys been planning this?"

"Quite a while. Phil first brought up the idea the day after we first met him. I thought it was an interesting fantasy. But you've been so busy with building our church that you didn't have time to play."

I pulled him closer to me, regaining my purchase upon his lips. His nose was next, then his ears. His cock grew to attention. I let my tongue move its way down his chin, neck, across his chest, and at his belly button I made wide licks across his beautiful flat abdomen to each of his hip bones.

My tongue was beating a path downward to his bush. The love tool of my dreams was just inches away, growing toward me as I moved towards it.

A cold shock hit the back of my head. Phil had thrown a pitcher of ice water on us. "No more cuming till I say so."

I looked down at the bait that had enticed me. The cold water had collapsed it making it look more like a used condom then an instrument of love.

We both jumped to our feet and wrestled Philip into the pool. Then we took turns playing with his dick, continually bringing him to what we thought was the point of ejaculation, but not letting him go over the edge. At each cessation his cock had grown bigger than the last time. It was beautifully sculpted. I would guess about eight inches in length about one and half in diameter. The head was classic. The surgeon who had performed the circumcision had been a true artist. The shaft had a slight upward curve, but the weight projected it straight out from his body.

In desperation he lunged away from us. "Come on. The next course will soon be ready."

Surprisingly both of our stomachs responded with a growl. I couldn't believe that I was hungry.

I bent down and bit Cowboy's left buttocks, and sustained the hold with a suction for almost a minute. When I released him, my brand was well marked.

We moved inside and resumed our seating along side the table.

The smell of bacon was coming from the kitchen. On the table was another bowl of what appeared to be soup. The color was white with small green specks. It too was cold.

"Fresh ground Pepper?" Philip was carrying a mill. He bent over my bowl in response to my nod. As he turned the crank his butt was moving in rhythm to his arms. His soft penis and balls joined the dance as the black specks of the spice were scattered across the surface of the soup.

I looked over at Jerry, he was moving toward Philip's butt. In a quick move he clamped his mouth on to the boy's left cheek. He jumped in surprise, but Jerry held on. When he did release his grip, Phil had a mark just like the one that I had left on Cowboy's buttocks.

"Eat your Vichyssoise. The Chicken will be on the table as quickly as I can get the Cous Cous ready."

"OK. Explain. Don't forget we're from Arkansas not France."

Phil answered Jerry's question. "The soup is Vichyssoise. It's a snap to make. You take a can of Campbell's cream of potato soup, blend it with a envelope of sour cream mix, one and half soup cans full of milk, and all of a green onion. Then stick it in the freezer till it starts getting ice crystals on the surface. Stir and serve. Now shut up and eat or you're going to miss the finale."

The soup was delicious. Cold, creamy, with a slight taste of green onion. The texture was a delight. Jerry poured a little of the white wine into our glasses. "To our new love." We raised our glasses in a toast to Philip.

The smell of the bacon grew stronger as our chef carried a large glass platter to the table. Chicken legs and chicken thighs wrapped in bacon had been rotisseried, and now lay upon a layer of what at first looked like rice.

"Cous Cous is a form of wheat which had been steamed. It's mixed with apricots, and raisins. I removed the skin from the chicken before wrapping it with bacon. Be careful I just took it off the fire."

Adventurously we grabbed for a piece of the chicken. But it was too hot, so instead we grabbed for Philip. Jerry got there first and had his hand around the boys cock, and I held on to his balls.

Jerry reached over to the chicken with his other hand, greasing his palm with the bacon. This he applied as a lubricant to the lad's erect member. His dick pulsed from the sustained heat of the oil.

Following suit, I took a small amount of the cooked cereal and applied it to his testicles.

Not to be out done, Jerry unwrapped a strip of the bacon from a chicken leg, and wrapped it around Phil's very erect penis.

Then we took turns sucking on the bacon sheathed instrument, then nibbled off the bacon and the Cous Cous.

His cock had grown very rigid, and even though it stood straight out from his crotch, it pulsed upward. The head was darkening, the skin turning red. There was little doubt that the lad was ready to climax.

"Damn it! You guy's are not going to get me off till the end of the evening."

With that he pushed us away from him, practically sprinting into the kitchen.

The chicken had now cooled; the one on the table, not the one in the kitchen.

Philip's cock was still at full mast when he returned with a bottle of a pink wine. Staying out of our reach he poured some into our glasses, then replaced the bottle in the ice bucket.

The bacon wrapped chicken had a unique taste; slightly nutty. The Cous Cous created an interesting vegetable background for the meat. We had never tasted anything quite like it.

The Rose' wine was sweeter than the white, providing a stimulating taste bridge between the chicken and the fruit laden cereal. The bacon had been cooked so that it was crisp; only the piece that had been placed around Phil's cock had been flexible.

Unlike rice, Cous Cous was softer, fluffier, and more tender. It seemed to have absorbed both the flavors of the diced apricots and the raisins as well as the bacon wrapped chicken that had laid on top of it.

The crisp bacon covering had sealed in the flavors of the chicken while adding its own smoked meat flavor. The drum sticks were finger food, while the thighs could have been handled better by a fork. However, silverware had not as yet made an appearance.

Exuberantly we fed each other, mushing the Cous Cous into each other mouths and across our faces.

The wine must have gone to our heads as we became more and more frisky. We were living only for the moment, yesterday had not happened, who knew if there would be a tomorrow.

Here and now were the best things that life had to offer: Love, taste, sex. Our senses were being stimulated and gratified. Fuck yesterday! May today last forever.

Philip had now added music to the stimuli. The pounding beat of something I had not heard before invaded the room.

The naked boy twirled in a dance. He bent down, grasping my hand, pulling me to my feet. He stepped backward, attempting to spin me. I had not as yet gained my balance, and started to fall toward him. Staying in cadence he moved toward me, supporting me, pulling me against him. His hard cock was sandwiched between our bodies. Again, he stepped backward, successfully putting me into a spin. His butt began to shake. This in turn caused his penis to sway in counter rhythm. He pulled me back into his arms, and I sank my tongue into his left ear.

I must have pushed a button, because he broke pace with the music. His cock was again buried between us. I could feel the hot head pulse against my abdomen.

Phil moved away from me, "I almost got off on that one. I've got something special for dessert. The recipe comes from Israel about the time of Christ. In fact it is most likely he and his disciples enjoyed it. It was very popular in those days."

Still moving in time to the music he disappeared into the kitchen. Then returned with two bowls of apricot halfs in a thick sauce.

I tasted one. It was very sweet, but had a slight peppermint taste. I dipped my finger into just the sauce and tasted; sweet yet tart. "You've got my curiosity up. What's in it? How do you make it?"

Phil sat down at our feet, smiling in response to our appreciation and interest. "First you have to make a syrup by boiling chianti and honey until it is thick. While that cools, you wash, cut and pit a half pound of apricots. Put them with a little cold water in a pan. Grind in some pepper and add dried mint, salt, honey, the chianti syrup, 3/4 cup of white wine and just enough vinegar to make it slightly sour. Add 2 tablespoons oil. Cook approximately 20 minutes on moderate heat. After it has boiled long enough to tenderize the apricots, you add a tablespoon of cornstarch to thicken the sauce, sprinkle with pepper and serve."

Jerry commented, "It would be better over vanilla ice cream."

"They didn't have ice cream nineteen hundred fifty eight years ago."

"So? It still would be better over ice cream."

"Fuck you!" Phil jumped on top of Jerry, sitting on his stomach. He moved forward till his cock was now resting on his chin. Cowboy's tongue flicked out, tasting the tip. Then he tilted his head forward, sucking the head into his mouth, and further down till the head must have been buried in Cowboy's throat. Phil made several in and out movements, made a groaning sound, yanked out, and stood up. "You guy's are going to wait.. We are going to wait. Go to the bathroom. You remember the drill."

In unison Jerry and I kneeled on the pads next to the commode and ridded ourselves of the just ingested meal.

Instead of returning to the living room, we exited the bathroom directly to the pool and dived in. The plunge took me the length of the pool. Jerry was just behind me. At the end I turned heading back toward the shallow end. As I passed him, he made a grab for me, catching me by my feet. In a single quick movement he had his mouth on my left buttocks cheek. His teeth gripped on to me, while his lips sealed the space. He held on for a long time, then suddenly releasing me, he projecting himself beyond the surface of the water, taking in a giant lung full of air. I had been branded.

The sun was rapidly receding behind the mountains. Dusk was quickly upon us. Within just a few minutes the temperature dropped 20 degrees.

By comparison the pool water was very warm. You could see vapor lifting from the surface.

The sharp contrast between air and water made us reluctant to expose ourselves to the coolness. As I sat on the deepest of the shallow steps, water to my chin, Jerry came alongside, put his arms around me, and asked, "Are you coming down from the nightmare of last weekend?"

The boys had kept me so distracted that I hadn't had time to reflect on my encounter with the Los Angeles political system, and its subservience to the Los Angeles Council of Churches.

He must have seen a flash of pain in my eyes. "Oh, Johnny. I shouldn't have reminded you." He pulled me even closer, moving his lips to mine, and gave me a tender, loving kiss.

"I've been in never never land during these past hours. But, I am at a turning point. Not only for myself, but also for all of our people. Tomorrow I'm going to take a drive by myself and do some thinking; be like Moses; a trip up the mountain." I unwrapped myself from the embrace. "We'd better go inside, I'm sure Phil is ready for the next episode."

A cold breeze was flowing down from the San Jacinto mountains, rapidly becoming a wind. We escaped the warm haven of the pool and dashed into the house.

Phil had been alert to the change in weather, and had built a small fire in the immense fireplace. Nakedly we huddled in front of the warm blaze, our bodies still damp from our swim. The room reflected the light from the hearth, the dancing flames bringing a feeling of contentment and companionship.

"Here, taste this." Philip was carrying two ceramic mugs from the kitchen. He sat them on the table, picked up a glowing poker from the fireplace, then plunged it into the mugs. The aroma of clove was the first smell to reach my nostrils, followed shortly by a blend of wine and other spices. He handed us the hot drinks. "Mulled wine. That ought to mellow you out."

The hot alcohol rushed into our blood streams. Two sips brought about the reaction of two martinis.

Being unclothed seemed both natural and fulfilling. The golden light seemed to sew the environment into a cohesive place, filled with caring, kinship, and security.

Only the light from the fire was present. The sun had rapidly sunk behind the mountains; the moon had yet to rise. Out side it was pitch dark. Philip had again disappeared into the dark alcove of the kitchen. Clanking sounds of metal against metal told us that more was coming. When he returned, setting two bowls on the table, we insisted that he share our wine.

Jerry and I took turns, placing our mugs at the boys lips, demanding that we share equally.

Only the alcoholic fumes were left as the final reward. We each breathed deeply of those dregs before placing ourselves at the table.

Black Bean Soup had been laced with sharp chianti wine. Unlike the mulled wine, this was hearty and nutritious. The substance had sustenance. Our emptied stomachs were again demanding to be filled.

Next came chunks of well done roast beef, its edges being charred, and lean. A splash of cold apple sauce to the side provided the needed contrast of texture, taste, and temperature.

We had licked our platters clean.

Next came an exquisite apple pudding. According to our chef, made by chopping

raw apples and walnuts, then it was mixed with cornstarch, egg, vanilla, and nutmeg. The mixture was then formed into croquettes and baked. It was served with a dollop of whipped cream.

I couldn't believe that I had eaten that much.

Phil was now standing between us as we praised his culinary artistry. My hand sought the boys slender buttocks, cupping and kneading them.

Cowboy's right hand traced down across Philip's flat belly and pubes and quickly found the stiff center of the boy's universe. He gripped it tenderly between his thumb and two fingertips and eased into the practiced rhythm he knew so well. You could easily see that the familiar sensations were coursing through his body, filling him with a sense of rightness, as if he was where he was supposed to be, doing what he was supposed to be doing, and all was well in our little world.

He jacked the eager cock steadily, shifting his grip slightly as his speed increased. The soft skin moved easily over the dick's eight inch length, never quite completely covering the purplish pink head. His loose balls jiggled with the motion, and even that contributed to our pleasure. We were in tune with every nerve fiber in his body, as if with enough concentration we could follow every jolt of energy on its journey from the tip of the sensitive penis up his spine and into the deep primal recesses of his brain.

Shadowy images swept across the room created by the flames, invented by Jerry's administrations to Philip's penis.

I placed my hands just below my lovers, feeling the boys balls. I felt a shudder in the boy's gut and the familiar tension starting in those balls as his passion grew.

The boy was tall and slim, muscular and beautiful. He smiled at us, offering

something, something new, something wonderful.

As I continued to rub his scrotum Cowboy stroked. I felt the buildup begin deep within him and I knew this would finally bring him relief, and, at least temporarily, put out the fire in his loins.

Philip alternately held his breath and panted in time with the rhythmic waves of pleasure that mounted inside him. I could see that he was getting close. His muscular little ass clenched and relaxed over and over, grinding his soft skin against our hands. Still we pounded his cock, desperately reaching for the release that we knew he wanted, that he needed so badly.

Cowboy's hand began to cramp and I took over, hardly missing a beat. My rhythm was off for only a few seconds, and then he was back on the fast track to orgasm.

I looked up at the slim Adonis body to something impossibly long, straight and stiff. He was on the verge.

The boy sank to the floor, his burgeoning stock slipping from our grasp. "When the time comes, you guy's are going to get more than you are reckoning for." His feet pushed against mine, his legs sliding him away from us.

As he disappeared into the dark kitchen he told us, "OK! Last trip to the bathroom. Take a quick swim. I'll join you. Then the nights delight."

Once again, Jerry (Cowboy), and I found ourselves side by side, leaning into the porcelain food disposer in preparation for the apex of the days activities.

Regurgitation had become much easier. In just a few short hours our bodies had become accustomed to this reversal within the eating process. It was almost as though we could now throw up on command.

We averted our eyes from both the actual execution, as well as the deposit we were making in the bowl. Instead of thinking about what we were doing our minds were prophesying what was next to come.

A quick rinsing with mouth wash and we were out the side door and into the pool. The brisk, cold wind, pushed rather than suggested that we enter the water. A shiver ran up my back. My goose bumps got goose bumps. My dick shriveled in the short interval that it took to race from the protection of the toilet, to the pools edge. A streak passed me as I poised for my entry into the pool. A tremendous splash of water drenched me as Philip did a belly flop skid across the length of the pool. The cold wind evaporated the warm water in a burst of coldness that put goose bumps on top of the ones that were already there.

Cowboy came up behind me, grabbed me by the waist, thrusting us both into the warm water. Philip came along side, putting his legs around my head, pulling me down, and away from Cowboy. Not to be outdone, Cowboy got Philip in a scissor grip. Philip's cock began to inflate, and I reached down, and sucked it into my mouth.

Meanwhile Cowboy moved around so that his cock was resting against Phil's ass crack. I could see that the water was not making a good lubricant. I reached around, grasping Cowboy's cock, moving it deeper between the cheeks, hoping that his pre-cum would not be washed away. My fingers told me that the head was firmly against the anus. With luck, a little pushing would move it in. My air was beginning to run out as I twisted the three of us so that I could grab a lung full, that process enabled Philip to break loose, and sprint for the house. "This is the last act. Come and get it. On second thought stay put, we'll eat in the pool." The boy lewdly swung his hips, his dong projected in front like a bow-sprit on a sleek sailer. He turned and disappeared through the doorway.

He returned shortly pushing a cart which held a large soup tureen, three bowls, a bottle of red wine, and three glasses.

He sat the contents along side the pool, then joined us. Still the host, he uncorked the bottle. "Chatenuef de Pape. It is dry and velvety." He poured the three glasses two thirds full, and handed two to Jerry and I.

We sipped the wine. It was not chilled; just room temperature. The flavor filled the mouth; full and robust.

He unstacked the three bowls, then ladled in the soup. He lifted his, sniffed it, then put it to his lips and sipped gently. We followed suit. A subtle taste of sherry was in the background of an excellent Lobster Bisque: Hot, creamy, with lumps of lobster meat. The cream sherry created a some what nutty taste. It not only titillated the taste buds, but it warmed me from my toes to my nose. The blend of cream, wine, and lobster created a distinctive taste which only hinted at its ingredients.

Philip set his bowl down, still two thirds full, and ducked under the water. He slipped my penis into his mouth while still holding some of the hot soup. My member jumped to full attention as it was pleasured by the hot creamy substance. His mouth pulled more of me into him. Rapidly my nuts began generating fluid in expectation of fulfillment. Involuntarily my hands held his head, not wanting him to abandoned his chosen chore. Another 30 seconds and it would have been over. Sensing that he withdrew, surfaced, took another mouthful of the bisque, and treated Cowboy to the pleasure he had shared with me.

I took the opportunity to also take a mouth full of the soup. Then I placed my lips over my lovers, pushing my tongue into his mouth, then sharing some of the delicious flavors. I could tell by the way that his hips were moving that Philip had brought him to the edge. Nevertheless I continued my probing even though I felt Philip come to the surface.

Jerry's eyes opened and looked deeply into mine. There was an incredible display of emotion: Love, sensuality, and above all a total sharing of our souls.

In response I again kissed him, and we both began to cry. Our emotions truly had melded us into one creature. Our hearts were opened. We put our arms around Philip and drew him as tightly into our embrace as was possible.

"Come on you guys. We've only got two more courses, and then it's play time." Abandoning the warmth of the pool, Philip hurried into the house, almost immediately returning with a dutch oven. He set the container down next to our bowls, entered the water, and ladled out chunks of meat in a thick brown sauce.

I could smell a combination of garlic and wine, beef and paprika. I suspected it was one of my favorites; Hungarian Goulash.

This time we had spoons.

Mixed in with the sauce and meat were dumplings. In the European fashion they were more solid than what we were used to. In fact the dumpling was closer to a pasta. The major difference being that it was probably cooked in the sauce.

I found that my wine glass had been refilled. The Chatenuef de Pape had improved as it sat, uncorked, in the bottle during the past 45 minutes. The cold wind had chilled it.

I filled my mouth with the drink. Suddenly I was hit from behind by Cowboy. The impact caused me to spew the entire mouthful into Phil's face.

He laughed, filled his mouth with the Goulash and sprayed me with the sauce. Then yelled, "Food Fight!".

Both of them began spraying with the Goulash. I had meat in my hair, sauce running down my face, chest, and stomach. Then Cowboy and I turned the tables and coated Phil with the rich gravy.

"That's too good to waste!", I yelled and commenced licking the substance from Phil. Cowboy joined me. As we worked our way downward we could see the boys cock begin to grow.

I ducked under the water, stuck my head between Phil's legs, and raised him on my shoulders. At that moment Cowboy threw the entire contents of the dutch oven at us. We were both covered from head to water line. Most of it had been aimed, and had landed on the lad's chest, but it cascaded down, drenching me more than it did Philip.

Cowboy came towards me. I thought he was going to kiss me, but instead he embedded Phil's raging hard-on into his mouth. Phil began to squirm, trying to evade the attack. However, Cowboy had grasped him by the buttocks, holding him firmly in place.

I could feel it starting. His feet dug into my side as his strong legs tensed, lifting him from my shoulders until he was arched into the air with only his toes holding him. Cowboy began stroking furiously, one hand was only a blur of motion between his sauce smeared thighs, the other still holding on to the tensed buttocks.

Philip's pretty face contorted as if in horrible pain, but it was the ultimate pleasure he felt as he bucked and strained toward the brink. His skin was beet red and it seemed that he had held his breath forever, but still he bucked and strove for his reward.

"God!" was the only word Philip said as he came. He thrashed in the cold air and continued to pump his raw cock as the orgasm flooded through his young frame. His almost hairless balls quaked and pulsed. Pulse after pulse of white cum flew out of his cock, arcing into the air, a virtual cannon firing his juices into the air. He threw his head back, his long mane of mouse brown hair hanging down toward the water. His mouth opened and he howled like a wolf looking for it's mate. I could have sworn that something was still coming out of him, but the moisture on his trim belly was a sheen of hot sweat. Relentlessly Cowboy continued to stroke his dick, but slowing as the waves of excitement receded, until the roller coaster of the orgasm finally pulled to a stop and the boy slumped off of my shoulders and into the water, spent.

He lay there several minutes, eyes closed, blood pounding in his ears, chest heaving with his exertion. The wind was cold on his exposed skin, and the moving water around him made a soft, comforting sound that threatened to lull him to sleep. We couldn't afford that, the evening was not over. Nevertheless he appeared more than content to relax there a few minutes in the afterglow of his orgasm.

Cowboy's long, powerful legs came close and squeezed around my legs and butt. Then he looked down into my eyes, "You are next. Oh, Oh, oh, you are next."

Again his lips found mine, then kissed their way down my chest to the waters edge. He lifted me, sitting me on the top step at the shallow end of the pool.

With a reluctance that surprised me, he released my raging dick and let it slap wetly onto my belly. He grinned down at me, but he was determined to keep going until the end, giving the most pleasure to his friend. I went rigid again and a drop of semi-viscous stuff oozed out of my long prick and dribbled down between his flying fingers. He continued to stroke, massaging the hot, familiar fluid into the skin of my cock, as I slowly climbed this amazing peak.

Philip had regained his composure and began enticing Cowboy away from his chosen chore, leading him towards a similar adventure.

The wind began to gust in spurts that chilled us to the bone. In a rapid retreat we withdrew to the comfort of the fireplace. We placed four of the pads next to each other forming a single giant bed.

The wine, the expelled passions, together with the over indulgence teamed up to bring the final curtain down upon an extraordinary day. Exhaustedly we fell asleep, arms and legs entwined. Yet our genitalia was in contact as though we expected our raging passions to return.

Outside the wind howled as though it were echoing Philip's call for a mate. As the fire began to lessen, we drew closer to one another sharing body warmth, and security. It was as though nothing from the outer world could invade our sanctuary.

If you would like to receive Chapter 13 by E-Mail, a critque on this chapter will be greatly appreciated.

Please E-Mail me at AUTHOR22@aol.com.

Thank you.

AUTHOR22

PS: Note from the Author

Chapter 12, The Golden Calf, has sparked an interesting controversy. Readers seem to be sharply divided, and about 50 / 50. Some think the food orgy scene is the best thing in the book so far. Others say it is a real turn off.

I am ambivilant. Frankly, I don't know if I should cut the entire chapter and salvage just enough to carry the story line into what is now chapter 13, or make minor changes in chapter 12.

You comments will be GREATLY appreciated.

Also, what particular incident in Chapter 12 sticks out in your memory.

Thanks

AUTHOR22@aol.com