Tristan

Tristan by Henry H. Hilliard

This work fully protected under The United States Copyright Laws 17 USC 101, 102(a), 302(a). All Rights Reserved. The author retains all rights. No reproductions are allowed without the author's consent.

If reading this story is not legal in your jurisdiction, stop it right now.

If you enjoy this story, please consider making a donation to Nifty to keep this platform alive.

Chapter 33

"And what else did she say?"

"Said that he'd be working with Dad. Didn't think the job at U-haul was a good idea--or more likely that Rooster Bar Colletta was not a good idea."

"Guess he's got enough girl troubles without hooking up with any more," said Tristan.

"Just have to keep an eye that weasel don't crack on to Mom!" joked Colton.

The news via Colton's cell phone was that Brady had relocated to the Stone's farm as part of Clarice's `intervention'--as they call these things in the big cities, but not in rural areas where being good neighbours did not have to be systematized. Perhaps Clarice had decided that he needed some mothering, if not parental supervision. Tristan thought that this might not be easy, as Brady had been living as an independent adult for so long. But then, he didn't know how tough or lenient were Colton's parents, even though they had taken in troubled youth before.

"It'll be great having him there, Tris. He's like a brother to me. Just a pity we can't stay longer."

"You can if you like. I mean, you could bring the wagon up with Angel and then come back. The work in the backyard can wait, or I can get Holly to do it."

"No, no." said Colton, firmly. "We go back as planned. I wanna, besides, I think it best for Mom and Dad to have Brade without any distractions at first. He'll still be there when I come back for harvest."

They were retracing their journey from Big Bend National Park. They had packed up early--as early as they could after Tristan had tried to clean Colton's cum from his face with just cold water--without saying goodbye to the three girls. The evening had not ended well and both Amanda and Kristy had departed in tears. Elysia had been the sensible one and offered a sort of apology on behalf of her cousin and roommate.

"Bitch had undone m'shorts with one hand and was getting' me to feel her up with the other, Tris. I didn't start nothing."

"I know"

"She was fuckin' soppin' wet between the legs an' just gagging for it," explained Colton. "That chastity crap is plum dangerous. Do you think I should have fucked her to scratch her itch, so t'speak?"

"What, in front of everyone?"

"Yeah, why not? Could have done all three if you didn't want that Kristy for y'self."

"I didn't want Kristy. Just felt a bit sorry for her."

"Well, maybe if you saw how it was done proper, you might like to try it."

"I'm one hundred percent gay, Colt. If I saw you fuckin' them, I'd only want to make up the fourth."

"Yeah, you're right. Might have only complicated thangs, besides."

"Definitely."

Tristan begged Colton not to go the shortest way, through Fort Stockton. "It's just too depressing and there's nothing fit to eat." Colton, who was driving, headed on a more southerly route that followed the Rio Grande and they made for the border town of Del Rio.

The town was green and there were still the vestiges of the old main street that had once been the thriving centre of the town, with a couple of buildings that were four stories or even more.

"I don't understand American towns, Colt."

"Huh?"

"I mean, the nicest parts of these small towns are these old downtown areas. There's usually a few interesting buildings left and a nice, tight urban feel, but they are always half-deserted because people now buy things at all those shit stores on the boring outskirts and let places like this--their heritage--just die. It doesn't make sense." Tristan looked out of the window. Many of the once grand stores now only had low value occupants. A few were closed altogether.

"Y'don't understand how Americans think, Tris. They're not interested on old stuff like you are..."

"Not just me."

"Well, the sophisticated urban elite, then. To most folks, old' means bad'. They'd say this is a ghetto--only fit for black folks, Latinos. They'd be afeared of just getting' outta their cars because of crime."

"That's ridiculous."

"Maybe so, but to them these old buildings remind them of the bad old days, the Depression, the Dust Bowl...Out there, everything was shiny an' new an' you could park y'new car t'shop."

"Well, now out there looks pretty tired to me."

"It's all been downhill since the sixties, I reckon."

"Well, what about young people--they don't think like this?"

"That's true. Some civic-minded folks would see the po-tential for renewin' downtown, but y'all notice that most the young done got up and left for greener pastures, like me."

They drove around for a few minutes.

"Hey!" said Tristan looking at his phone, "It says here that this was a hotel built by a quack doctor who transplanted goat glands into patients with `depleted virility'. You might need some of those on day." Colton snorted. "He also operated his own radio station over the border and ran for governor a number of times." Tristan continued to read out snippets of Dr Brinkley's remarkable career.

They stopped at a cafe in Main Street. It was not part of a chain but Colton had come to terms with Tristan's strange British tastes and took the risk of eating something unpredictable and in an edgy neighbourhood.

It was mid-afternoon when they had regained the farm and the first thing Colton noticed was Brady's old truck. They went straight to the barn where Brady was helping Drake with a repair to the tractor.

"Hey, bro!" called Colton cheerily.

"Colton, man!" cried Brady, standing up. They bumped fists then Brady surprised Tristan by falling into a hug with Colton. He was close to tears.

They exchanged a few more words. Tristan was greeted and then Tristan and Colton departed for the house with their gear.

Almost immediately they were met by Clarice, Colton's mother. "You've seen Brady?" They nodded. "He's not in a good way. We got to him just in time, I think. Have you noticed his wrists?"

"No, what do you mean, Mom?"

"Scars, Colt. Brady at some time has--how do you say it? Self harmed?"

Tristan was jolted and Colton said, "Shit Mom! I'm pretty sure I didn't see no scars when we went dirt-roadin'. Tris?"

"Can't say I noticed anything, but then I wasn't looking."

"Well, I haven't mentioned it to him and I don't know when it happened, but he's been cutting himself--at least once."

Colton looked as if he were about to cry. His mother looked at Tristan helplessly and then put her arm around her son, who was so much bigger than she was. "I've made a appointment for him to see Moira Daly on Tuesday. She's the psychologist who visits our school, Tristan."

"Is she any good, Mom? I want Brade to have the best help."

"I think so. You know, I think Brady has been better since he's been here. That girl he was living with had a termination. The other girl--her friend-- rang him."

"Is he freaked out by that news?"

"I don't think so, but of course I don't know how he feels underneath. I think it might be a relief--one problem less on his plate."

"Yeah, that would be how Brady would see it."

"Well, we should just act normally around him--we don't hide knives or anything melodramatic. He's your friend, so just keep it that way. Understood?'

Colton nodded. "How long is he goin' be here for? I mean what about his grandpaw?"

"As long as it takes, Colt. You know how it works. Mr Sullivan managed when Brady was up in Waco, so I suppose he will manage now. Of course, Brady can go over and help him when he needs it. We're going to employ him as a hand. Your Dad says he's a good worker."

"Oh he is. He can fix stuff too."

"Well, give me those dirty clothes to wash and let me get supper ready."

It was a lively supper around the kitchen table. The talk ranged from farm work to the Big Bend National Park, but Brady's problems were not alluded to.

"So did you have any adventures down there?" asked Brady, with an arch tone to his question.

"Some," said Colton, shovelling in his apple pie. "Tell y'all later."

`Later' was when the boys were getting ready for bed.

"I took Matt's bed, I hope that's all right," said Brady.

"Course," said Colton as he was emptying the contents of his backpack into the closet. "Tris has Dacey's. Dude, you know you can have any of my stuff that y'be needin'. I mean m'shorts an' m'radio an' my porn stash, anythang'."

"Thanks, Colt. Any 'nineties lesbian porn?"

"You know my tastes. There's some real classics: big hair, high heels, shaved pussies, leopard skin, and those red bikinis with gold chains. They're in this shoebox. You'll have to drag out the old DVD player."

"Colt's a real pal, Tristan." Tristan just laughed. "So what happened at Big Bend?"

"Brade," interrupted Colton. "You're not fuckin' sleeping in those in this room!"

He had turned around from his task and Brady was down to boxers. On his arse was written Make America Great Again'. When he turned round, across his crotch was written Trump Tower'.

"Hey, they were a gift from a chick. She was political and they're `ironic'."

"We don't do irony here," said Colton, who like all Americans even struggled to pronounce it, saying, `ion-ey', "Tristan says so, ain't that right?"

"Maybe their sardonic," said Tristan from his bed where he was looking at his phone.

"Sardonic, be day-amned," said Colton, "they're covering his deplorables and I think `tower' is an outright lie in your case, Brady."

"Well, give me a pair of yours."

"There's a rule in this room since Matt's time. We boys sleep in the buff."

"Doesn't your Mom object?"

"She don't come in here and why should she?"

Brady slid the ironic (or sardonic) underwear off and jiggled his goods as men do.

"Now you can take mine off and see what a real man looks like," said Colton.

"Fuck off, Stone!" said Brady as he made for his bed.

"Okay, then, I won't tell you about the three chicks at Big Bend."

"Three?"

"Yeah," said Tristan. "There was Amanda, Elysia and Kristy."

"Gotta hear this." He retuned to where Colton was standing and made to slide down his plaid boxers.

"On y'knees," commanded Colton.

Brady grumbled but knelt and removed the boxers in a more reverential fashion.

"Fuck, y'all a pervert, Stone," he said as Colton's engorged cock swung free. "But you are hung, I gotta admit."

"Want to give it a little kiss?"

"Fuck off! I don't care if there were six chicks."

Colton laughed and Brady climbed into his own bed.

"Do you want to give it a little kiss, Tris?"

"Brady's right, you are a pervert."

"Is that an answer?"

"Go ahead, Tris,' called Brady. "It's kinda hot and I want to hear this story."

Tristan nodded and Colton climbed onto his bed and faced him on his knees. "Watch and see how it's done, Brade."

Tristan picked up the sagging penis and brought it close to his lips. Colton smelled of sweat and soap. "There's a little treat for you there."

Colton was oozing precum and Tristan extended the tip of his tongue to capture it. It was almost sweet. "Now the kiss."

Tristan pressed the folds to his lips, which were parted slightly, and gave the head of Colton's prick a lingering kiss, as if it were a head of a different kind. Then he stabbed his tongue into the slit, which surprised Colton and he pulled away.

"That's how you please a dude, Brady."

"Yeah, well that's Tristan's thing, not mine."

"Fair enough," said Colton and relaxed into his own bed. "Now I spotted these three babes when we drove in..."

It was a highly coloured version of what happened and Tristan wondered what Iain Macpherson would make of this recasting of an historical event.

"And this Kristy chick was all over Tristan here and he kissed her, didn't you, Tris?"

"I guess I did."

"And meanwhile this Amanda was getting drunker and drunker on the wine and she's holding m'hand--which I thought was just friendly like..."

Brady and Tristan both snorted at exactly the same time then laughed. Colton had the grace to join in.

"Then she undoes m'top button and is runnin' one hand in m'pubes while she grabs my hand in t'other and starts to slide it into her tracksuit. The bitch ain't wearin' nothin' under it and she shoves m'fingers straight up her cunt, which is just drippin' with juice. She's moanin' and then drops down on top of me and is Frenchin' like crazy."

"And you didn't want her?"

"Nah, didn't really like her, even. Too desperate."

"Well, you're a footballer, surely you could have thrown her off."

"Not as easy as it sounds. She was a big chick and was fuckin' determined. She held m'hand up her snatch something fierce and the more I struggled the more she enjoyed it."

"What happened?"

"Got her off with the help of her buddy and she was fuckin' near hysterical. I reckon she was crazy. Know the type?"

"Yeah, I sure do." He looked at the photo on Colton's phone. "Fat ass." And thus Amanda was dismissed, such being the way with guys.

They talked a little while longer. Brady opened up a little and said how he missed his mother, who had died suddenly. Tristan wondered if he had been helped during this crisis.

"...an' I'm there hollerin' with m'prick stuck in the knothole and Mom runs from the house, holdin' a glass of wine in one hand and a cigarette in the other an' she just stands there laffin' for twenty minutes until she fetches some butter..."

Tristan was laughing too but then there was a sob and he looked over. Emotions had overcome Brady and he was weeping. Tristan knew the feeling, but simply said, "Colt."

Colton was visibly distressed for his friend. He climbed from his bed and went over to Brady's. He got under the covers and put his arm around Brady, just as he did when comforted Tristan. Colton looked across at Tristan and gave an uncertain smile.

Presently Brady recovered. "Fuck you're disgustin', Stone. You is barred-up in my bed an' it's stickin' into m'leg."

"Want me to go back?"

"Nah, this is kinda nice, if y'don't mind none."

Tristan put out the light. There were a few more sniffles from Brady interspersed with `cussing' when Colton farted or dripped precum onto his flesh. Then they must have drifted off.

When Tristan awoke in the morning, Colton had returned to his own bed--perhaps Brady had found Colton too much. He smiled to himself as he pulled some clothes on and crept outside for a walk around the farm for the last time before they returned to the College. It was a beautiful morning and a fine thing to pause and to take in the sights and smells of early summer in Hill Country.

Presently Colton and Brady were up and about. Colton was anxious to be ready for when Angel arrived. Tristan's truck was loaded up with the couch and other things. They were cooling their heels when at last a plume of dust indicated the arrival of Angel.

The vehicle was a low loader--ideal for transporting antique milk floats destined to become barbeque grills. Angel himself was a swarthy pirate of a young man with glossy long tresses down to his shoulders. These last were resplendent with tattoos of Catholic iconography--Madonnas, bleeding hearts, the head of Christ with the crown of thorns and other baroque subjects. Despite this, Angel was light hearted and friendly, with beautiful green eyes and a flashing smile revealing a gold tooth.

He greeted Colton and Brady enthusiastically and they laughed and joked for several minutes before Tristan was brought over. They walked to the barn and inspected the milk float, discussing the best way to move it. In the end, Angel skilfully backed up close to the door and they wheeled it out, the rubber tyres being still inflated. A winch dragged it onboard. Angel was to bring a grader back from Fort Worth, so the little vehicle was no trouble at all. It took quite a while for Angel to professionally secure it but when finished, Tristan was confident that no harm would come to it.

Drake and Clarice came to see the action and then it was time to say farewell. There were hugs all round and Brady nonchalantly fist-bumped Colton and Tristan but looked quite distressed at the parting all the same and Tristan hoped he'd be all right.

Angel didn't want to stop, so it was not the sort of lazy, tourist journey that Tristan liked. Tristan fought to keep pace with the truck and he was feeling tired after a couple of hours. "Phone Angel, Colt, and tell him I need to fill up at he next town. Will you drive the rest of the way?"

Colton agreed and they affected a swap and also brought some snacks and then they were off again. It was odd following the milk float at 75 miles-per-hour when it would never have done more than five in its working life.

Tristan felt an unexpected thrill when he neared home. This was nice, he decided.

"Place looks great, Tris," said Colton as they pulled up. "Dino seems to be smilin' at us."

"He's probably laughing at us. How are we going to get it around the back?"

Angel was patient and they managed to push it round on its wheels with the timely assistance of a couple of neighbours who came out of their own homes to see what the crazy students were up to this time. Tristan felt slightly foolish when he was forced to explain what the cart was intended for, but the neighbours didn't seem to think it strange. Tristan was grateful that Americans could be as tolerant of eccentrics as the British. Angel was paid off and he left to continue his journey of another three hours.

"Come on, Tris, don't stand there looking at it. We gotta to unload the truck."

The Lubbock settee was carried in and settled on the polished floor. Colton hadn't seen the television, so he sprawled on the new furniture and watched an old basketball game, quite forgetting about the rest of the unpacking. Tristan didn't care and went about organizing his own things.

"Help me with the stools," he said at last. Colton got up, praising the comfort of the new couch. Two of the matching padded benches were placed in the living room under the front windows. They tested them. The view of the screen was good, even if one could only lean back against the timber sill.

"The third one should go up in the loft."

"So we can watch TV?"

"No, I think it's just right height for you to suck m'piece on' y'back."

This dawned on Tristan too and, fully dressed, they adopted various Karma Sutra positions on the piece of furniture in question and, indeed, found it more than satisfactory, if not fully versatile.

It was carried up. Colton hadn't seen the room for some weeks and its beauty impressed itself upon him once again. "It's a bit stuffy in here. Turn on De's punks.'

"Punkahs," corrected Tristan. He threw the old knife switch on the wall and, after a moment of indecision, the mechanism started working after its steam punk fashion and the air was pleasantly disturbed.

"Wanna try the shower?"

Of course Tristan did. He found some towels and already Colton had stripped off. The timber floor felt soft on bare feet and the warm water--heated by solar power--coming from the multiple nozzles was very pleasant. Tristan lovingly washed Colton's blonde hair--longer than it had been when they'd first met. Then Colton stood there while Tristan soaped him with body wash, running his hands sensuously over Colton's muscles.

"Y'all getting' off on this?" asked Colton, half amused.

"Yeah, it's a gay boy's dream job," said Tristan, making circles on Colton's chest and tugging at his nipple piercing. "Just like in Flannel My Fanny, Flanagan."

"What was that about?" asked Colton who now had his eyes closed.

"This redheaded Irish towel boy had to wash down the entire hockey team at Notre Dame."

"Why was that?"

"Team morale-building. They hadn't won a game all season and it was the coach's idea."

"Oh?"

"Yeah, well Kieran was a freshman and he had to not only clean the team but leave them sexually satisfied so they could concentrate on hockey."

"Did it work?" Colton had turned around and Tristan was reaching up to do his shoulders.

"Nah, they lost every game and half the players turned gay."

"I didn't think you could turn gay?"

"Yeah, neither did I, and Coach was sure surprised. Kieran Flanagan had to service Coach Horvath too and then Coach would piss on him."

"Why didn't Flanagan just leave?"

"Why? He loved hockey."

Tristan was now soaping Colton's more intimate parts. His soapy finger lingered on Colton's jock pucker. "Hey!" said Colton and removed the probing finger. Tristan expressed his disappointment. Presently Tristan put Colton's half-hard member between his lips and sucked.

"I love the way you hold my balls while you do that."

"Yeah," said Tristan between mouthfuls. "They're like the handle on a pistol."

"Well, don't let me shoot yet."

Colton moved to the slatted timber bench out of the fall of water. He turned his back on Tristan and hiked a beefy leg up onto the seat. To aid matters, he pulled at a buttock cheek with his fingers. Tristan knew what he had to do and got down to it, without the detailed instructions that Kieran Flanagan had required--a lack of natural instinct that Tristan had felt sure had kept him off the ice.

"Oo yeah! Get right in there!" came Colton's clichéd exhortation.

Presently Colton sat on the bench with his knees parted. As he approached climax he stood. "Gotta swaller it all, Tris." He grasped Tristan's skull and fucked it roughly for half a minute, then he came. When the shuddering ceased, Colton opened his eyes. Tristan was still on his knees with his brimming mouth open.

"Swallow!" commanded Colton and then patted him on the head like a faithful dog.

Tristan grinned guiltily up at Colton.

"Do you want some of what Coach gave Finnegan?"

"Flanagan. Yeah."

Colton paused and then let loose a stream of piss on Tristan's chest. Tristan knelt still until Colton was empty. Colton then reached for the hand spray and rinsed Tristan down. "That was so dirty," he chuckled. "Now you get off."

Tristan was already pretty excited and lay down on the bench. Colton used the spray, with its needles of water, to tickle his privates. He then handed Tristan the gel and Tristan got to work. Colton was being mischievous and kept distracting Tristan by sucking his big toe and putting his arse on Tristan's face. "Fuck off!" said Tristan through his laughter. "I'll never cum if you keep doing that!"

Eventually he did come. Colton praised his volume and velocity--these seemingly being important to him--and then roughly washed him down, this manner perhaps somehow being less gay in his mind, thought Tristan.

"I wanna see you piss, Tris."

"On you?"

"No, of course not on me! Just piss on the floor--it'll go down the drain."

Tristan did as he was told, wondering if he was ruining the new slatted wooden floor made of that expensive wood. The water washed it away instantly.

"Did that excite you, Colt?"

"Nah, it didn't. I mean it wasn't gross or nothin', but it didn't do nothin' for me like when I done it to you."

"Well, you're not gay," concluded Tristan with considerable reservations.

"Yeah, of course."

When they dressed again, they moved some more of their possessions into the loft room. Then they went shopping for provisions so that Tristan could at least make sandwiches.

It was hot in the yard, but Tristan thought they needed to take measurements and order materials for the forthcoming project. At Ivy's suggestion, the paved area would be simply and cheaply formed from ordinary square concrete pavers set in sand. Four of these made up a bigger square of four feet and between these was to be single line of old red bricks. It made a simple check (or plaid) design and Tristan thought sentimentally of a pair of Colton's boxers similarly decorated, then rebuked himself for being so soppy.

Colton roughly paced out the area. "We need to buy a tape to measure up properly, but I think it should come out to about here,' he dug his heel into he grass. "And go across to the milk wagon and then across to the stairs to the loft."

"That's a big area, Colt"

"Yeah, well, I reckon it needs to be big enough for a half court basketball match. Carlos has a ring, I think."

It was a jocks' house, thought Tristan, so this made sense. "Also it gives us plenty of party space."

"Yeah, that too. What with the porch, we won't need to trash inside."

"I've got the number of a plumber who lives locally. I'll see if he can come and look tomorrow."

"Better get an electrician too." Tristan nodded.

One of many expeditions to the hardware store was made. They measured up more carefully and did a calculation of the materials required: pavers, bricks, sand and timber. They bought two shovels and two spades--Colton explaining the difference between them. Tristan now found he owned a level, rubber mallets, a hammer and all sorts of things he never imagined he needed. These were dumped into the stable.

"I'm paying you wages from tomorrow, Colt," said Tristan as they watched something on Netflix, Colton sprawled on the Lubbock sofa and Tristan resting on the other. They were eating pizza.

"Nah, wait until Holly gets here.'

"No," said Tristan firmly. "We'll work together tomorrow for a bit and then I'll leave you and start on Iain's book which I have to have done by the end of summer."

"There's the division of labour for you: brains and brawn, master and servant, pharaoh and slave."

"It's a patio, Colt, not the fuckin' pyramids!" laughed Tristan. "By the way, did I show you the picture of the old table that Holly got for us? It was his great grandfather's workbench. It's knocked around a bit, but it will be great outdoors."

He opened his phone and searched for the image. "Grandpa said it's made of a good weather-proof timber. All we need now is some benches around it and we're set for your cook outs."

"Looks cool, Tris. He's bringing down in his truck?" Tristan nodded.

They repaired to the loft bedroom. Colt challenged Tristan to a game of pool.

"Enjoy opening the table," said Tristan as Colton turned the old ceramic switch to operate Deshawn's masterpiece, "because that's the only joy you'll get."

"Winner fucks the loser," said Colton as he applied the chalk.

"No, loser fucks the winner."

"Hang on," said Colton, confused. "You don't want to fuck me?"

"You that certain you'll be the winner?" asked Tristan, grinning.

"Well, last time was just a fluke. I wasn't used to the table. Ain't sure it's level."

"It's on the level," said Tristan, firmly, "but I'm not sure about Colton Stone."

The game began. Colton concentrated really hard, his tongue protruding for difficult shots. He called for the rest. He applied more chalk.

Tristan potted the cue ball. "Jesus, I'm playing poorly. Looks like you might be the winner after all, Colt." It suddenly dawned on Colt what that meant. Tristan was sure he tried to miss a set shot, but the ball bounced off the cushion and plopped into the corner pocket on the other side.

"Shit!" said Colton.

Tristan took pity on him and played brilliantly, marching around the table until it was cleared. "Oops, looks like I won. You have to fuck me..." Colton grinned. "With Océane's hook up your arse."

"That weren't in the deal."

"Read the fine print."

"Don't even know where it is."

"The hook and the rope are in your closet. You put it there today."

"Shit, Tris!" grumbled Colton as he went to the closet. "Don't I do you good enough without extras? Y'all as bad as Océane. Y'not goin' to bash m'balls too are you?"

"No, but you let her tie you up and stuff."

"That were diff'rent. She was so hot and made it excitin' an' so I went along with it."

"You said that you've never come so hard."

"Almost passed out."

"She was a dominatrix."

"You mean like Amelia Earhart?"

"What? No, she was an aviatrix, dumbass."

"What's the difference?"

"Just get the lube, loser."

"Jesus, I coulda roomed with Doule or someone..." muttered Colton.

The shiny chrome hook with the gumball-sized terminus was produced along with the red cord. Colton mounted the new Lubbock bench. It was indeed the right height, thought Tristan as he knelt down. For the second time that day, Tristan licked the quarterback.

"You sure you haven't been letting Coach up there? Or maybe Deshawn?"

Colton was laughing. "Shut the fuck up an' tongue m'hole, asslicker."

Tristan did, then put lube on his middle finger and pressed in. Colton grunted. "More lube, dude." Tristan obliged and then greased up the sinister looking hook. "Do you want to put it in, Colt?"

"No, you do it-- but slowly. And I mean slowly or I'll kill you."

Tristan did it slowly and Colton winced at the widest part then sighed.

"Fuck, that feels weird!"

Tristan looped the red cord around Colton neck and tied it off with the skills he learnt in the 7th Wimbledon & Earlsfield Scout Troop. Colton moved and the fiendish hook pushed the ball end even deeper. "Oh fuck!" he involuntarily exclaimed.

Tristan had him stand and the same thing happened. "Y'happy now? You've humiliated the quarterback. He has something shoved up his ass."

"No, Colt, you have it wrong. You look hot. Walk around a bit."

"Yeah? Hot?"

Now Colton strutted. The pressure on his prostate causing him to harden.

"Yeah, I feel kinda sexy." He did a little dance, then winced. "Let me look in the meer."

"It's pronounced `mirr-ah'--two sylables, no diphthong"

"You're just beein' annoyin' Tris. Not in Texas it ain't, but I'll look inta it." He swivelled about and gave his hips a thrust. "Does Colty look hot or what?" He swaggered over to the bathroom to look at himself and, satisfied, came back. "Right, up on the bench!"

"Take it out, Colt. I've had my fun. You don't need it, stud."

"So our room's a success, Colt?"

"Yeah, it sure is, Roomy. It's now well n'truly christened."

"You don't want me to sleep on my mattress?"

"Nah, it's nice here with you." Colton glanced up from his phone and smiled.

"Colt." Something in his tone made Colton give him his full attention. "Colt, I think you should go back to chasing girls."

"I don't have to do too much chasin', y'may have noticed."

"You know what I mean. I think you need girls."

"You afraid I'm turnin' gay like the Ice Hockey team at Princeton."

"Purdue. You know, it might be instructive if you read over that story carefully, but I actually meant after the Bonfire and Madison Rusk and a few other..."

"Disasters?"

"Well, not exactly, but you're happiest with one-night stands and you haven't had any for some time."

"Y'all think Colty should get back in the saddle?"

"Well, there are a lot of girls out there missing out, I suppose, and you have a responsibility to your team mates. They look up to you. Did you think of that?"

"Well no, and you wouldn't mind? I mean, I'd be sharin' it round some--but I'd still let you help me out an' stuff."

"Colt, you're having man-sex with me."

"Is that what you call it?"

"Well, yeah."

"I'm not gay, Tris. I mean, I don't want to have no man-sex with no other dude--you know, Brady or Holly or De or anyone."

"Yeah, I know that, Colt. You only use me to get off."

"Shit no, Tris! Don't say that. I ain't using you like that--I mean I use you--but I'm not using you, you know, like a...a...I dunno what, but you're my best friend." There was panic I his voice.

"Relax, Colt, I know what you mean. I use you to get off too. You know that. And you're my best friend, without a doubt."

"Yeah, well, about girls: maybe I need to come back onto them slowly. I've got my lezzo porn to keep me interested--and you too of course--not that you're a lesbian, exactly, but...well, hey, did you see the way the girl in Home Depot was givin' me the once over--the one in fastenings who wore her orange apron real tight?"

"A good screw?"

"Hah! Yeah, I shoulda spoke to her. Reckon she mighta been a football fan too."

"Well, she might be ideal if you could get her to give us a discount."

They returned to their respective phones and then it was lights out. The day, as all days go, was gone, and they fell asleep in a comfortable pile on the mattress on the floor of the loft bedroom, the only sounds being that of gentle breathing from untroubled sleep and the whoosh made by the punkah that stirred the summer night air.

The next day Colton set to work in the backyard under Tristan's supervision. He marked out a line and began to remove the turf, which he piled up in a corner of the yard under the rotary clothesline.

Tristan left him, but turned back to admire his muscley form clad only in boots and denim shorts over the camouflage-patterned nylon briefs.

On the billiard table he set out the work from Dr Iain Macpherson. His manuscript on the origins of the Great War was 220 pages long. Tristan set himself a goal of completing ten pages per day. Using an ap, he had to read through the work carefully and note down the names of people, places and events for the compiling of an index. Immediately he found that place names were easy-- Paris', Sarajevo' and the like. People's names were more difficult when they had titles and Iain had given him no guidance as to this. Was Edward Grey under G' or under F' as he was the 1st Viscount of Fallodon? Then there were tongue twister Armenian names like `Gulbenkian, Calouste Sarkis', and others from Central Europe that seemed to be devoid of vowels altogether.

He just decided that he had to make a start without having every last detail decided, but had only done two pages when the first interruption occurred. A sweaty Colton appeared at the glass doors and informed him that Mr Crisp, the plumber had arrived. Tristan hurried down. It took some explaining to make it clear to the elderly man that the milk float was to support both a sink and a gas barbecue. At last Mr Crisp described the need for a sort of box on the paving where flexible connections could be coupled safely and shut off when necessary. The waste pipe for the sink would need a separate route to the sewer point.

"So we need to buy a natural gas grill, not a propane one?" asked Colton. The answer was `yes'.

"Mr Crisp," asked Tristan, "Is the roof of the wagon sufficiently high for the heat of the grill?" At nearly six feet is was.

The plumber marked out the route of the trenches that would have to be dug and gave their dimensions. Colton said that he understood the task and then Mr Crisp departed, saying he would come back when the boys were ready.

Tristan went back to work and was just getting interested in the Fashoda incident when the electrician arrived. He was dealt with quickly as he said he could run the cables for the light and power outlets in the same trench as the plumber's water pipes.

Tristan congratulated Colton on the area of grass that had been scalped and brought him a cold drink before he went back to work once again.

It was nearly lunchtime when his phone rang. To his surprise it was Cylvah. At first he was alarmed that something had happened to his father, but then it became clear that Cylvah was offering her help with the house.

"I thought I could drive down and help you settle in, Tristan," she sad with some hesitation. "I mean, I'd stop at a motel and not cramp you, but I might be able to help in some way--you know I could paint walls or clean things. I'm not frightened of hard work and I really would like to help you."

Tristan was conflicted. He had grown to like Cylvah in a way that he'd never imagined he could. He felt a little sorry for her too and had realised that she looked on him as a stepson. The contrast to his real mother was not unnoticed by him, and perhaps not by Cylvah also.

"That would be great," he said with slightly exaggerated enthusiasm. "I've got Colton here working on the back yard. Our friend Hollis will be coming in a few days, I think. There's stuff we could do together, but I'm also doing some History work, if that's okay with you." Cylvah had real joy in her voice and Tristan was glad he'd said the right thing.

"Perhaps we can shop for stuff that you think we'll need," he offered. Cylvah gave her awful laugh. "And you're sure you don't mind a motel? We only have two beds at the moment and they're only mattresses on the floor. Cylvah said that a motel would be fine. "I didn't know you even had a car."

"Tristan, you can't get by in Texas without a car. It a Mercedes Sprinter. I need it for clients, but they can do without me for a few days."

"We'll have a good time, Cylvah. Colt will be really happy that you're coming. And Cylvah..."

"Yeah?"

"Please bring the Dallas painting. We'll hang it in the dining room."

Cylvah gave a squeal and rang off.

He went down into the yard and told Colton. Colton looked up, with another square of turf poised on his spade. "Cylvah's comin'?" He was dripping with sweat.

"Jesus, Colt, you don't have to kill yourself. Do the rest tomorrow. Stop and I'll make you some lunch, then we'll go to Home Depot to buy a grill this afternoon.

When they returned Colton was as pleased as Punch and Tristan was two thousand dollars poorer. The drop-in grill, with its shiny steel hood, had all sorts of features that excited Colton and Tristan was sure a whole hog could be cooked on the spit. It was stored in the stable with all the other things.

They were sitting on the step of the screened porch looking at the scarred back lawn when Tristan's phone rang again. Tristan answered and Colton made to move away to give Tristan some privacy when Tristan made a sign to stay him.

Tristan wasn't saying much for a long time. "And when did this happen, Rodger?....And what did the doctor say?.....That was the specialist?....No, I haven't spoken to him, but I will ring him tonight....Yes, yes,...You must be very worried...Yes, an appeal might not be useful." Tristan listened for a good while longer then hung up.

Colton looked at him questioningly. "What a cluster fuck, Colt!"

"What happened? Who was that?"

That was Rodger Trefusis--Mum's husband. Mum's had some sort of breakdown and is in a clinic--The Nunnery--a sort of posh loony bin."

"Shit, Trish! Is she all right?"

"Yeah, apparently. They're making her rest and giving her meds."

"And baby Alice?"

"She's feeding and Mum has her in The Nunnery too. They're helping her and it could be post-natal depression--that's pretty common."

"You said she was acting strangely. What happened?"

"Well, you know about Rodger's elder son and the drugs?"

"Yeah, of course. Dealin' at school."

"Well, it went to court and Jago got a suspended sentence of six months and a community-based work order. Apparently one of his mates copped a custodial sentence. One of his clients a--a girl--died. Apparently this guy was the ringleader."

"And it pushed your Mom over the edge?"

"Pretty much. Wouldn't eat, acting strange, then Rodger persuaded her to see someone."

"She'll be all right?"

"He didn't say so, but I suppose she will be, won't she?"

"Oh yeah. Bit of rest and psych help and then she'll soon go home."

"Thanks for saying that, Colt."

"Yeah, well..."

"I think I'll go and see her when she's home. What do you think?"

"I think it might be good for both of you--although I can't really speak for your mom."

Tristan nodded. "I'll ring dad tonight, when I'm sure he's not working."

He went back to work while Colton was sent over to Sunset to a supplier of paving materials.

"We have to do something about food," lamented Tristan. "We can't live off pizza"

"Why not? I love pizza."

"We need a proper fridge and food in the cupboards. I'll do that with Cylva when she comes."

"Be good if Holly could come too. We could really make some progress in the yard."

"I'll text him."

Colton was left finishing the pizza and beer while Tristan returned to the loft to work, hoping he could do another ten pages before morning to free up the day for Cylvah.

Tristan found himself quite involved in the Far East' and making index entries for exotic entities such as Darlain' (three spellings and See Port Arthur'), Weihaiwei', Harbin' and the Chinese Eastern Railway (under C'). He laughed to himself when Roosevelt, Theodore' was proclaimed a peacemaker at Portsmouth, Treaty of'. Then his phone pinged. Hollis would come in two day's time. The isolation of the loft rather encouraged the use of the phone so Tristan texted the news to Colton in the living room. Very quickly Colton appeared and announced it was time for an essential jack off before bed--if Tristan wanted any work done the following day.

"So how do you want it? In the shower? On the bench? With Océane's hook up your butt or do you want to fuck me?"

"Spoilt for choice! I think I'll just do a little dance in my camo briefs--as y'all like 'em so much-- and then I think I'll just use m'hand."

"But what will I do?"

"You just watch Colty at work and get yourself off."

Colton went into his routine. "I was watching reruns of The World's Sexiest Dancer," he explained. "It's old and the spell's sure broken when we hear the girls' back stories.

"No boys?"

"Nah, just chicks." Colton was busy gyrating his hips with his arms held loosely over his head. "They could have had me as the host or the judge, 'cept I woulda only been twelve."

It was funny and sexy at the same time. Tristan was still sitting at the table and called, "Show us y'arse!"

Colton wriggled some more, then turned his back and lowered his briefs for an instant.

"More!"

He slid them right off and deftly hooked them with his toe in Tristan's direction.

"Spread 'em!"

Colton bent over and exposed his anus. "Do I get the job, Mr Weinstein?"

"I think we can get you an opening at the carwash in Passaic."

Colton' bust up laughing and jumped onto his mattress. "Come on Tris, put the work away."

Tristan got into Colton's bed once again, wondering if he'd ever get to use his at the other end of the room. Colton stretched out and grasped his cock and began to stroke it. "Come on, Tris!" Tristan began on his own, while still looking at his bedfellow. He had no way of telling what Colton was thinking, although he was pretty sure that the reverse would not be true.

Tristan could not help but admire Colton's action: right hand orthodox grip, as Tristan described it to himself.

"God, m'nuts is sweaty!" said Colton suddenly, and gave them a tug with his free hand. They stretched away from his thighs and began to bounce as he stroked. Tristan wondered if they could be stretched to resemble Hollis'. "Ain't this great, Tris?" he huffed. "Doin' what guys do best?"

The J.O. session went on for some time then Colton grunted and came. It was thick and white and settled into the ridges of Colton's perfect abdominals, tanned from this outdoor work.

Colton relaxed and presented such a sensuous image in naked repose that Tristan found he could cum easily. He cast about for their cum towel but could not find it.

"Leave it, dude. We sleep covered in our own spooge, okay?" Colton said sleepily.

It was all right by Tristan and, despite the warmth of the night, he felt he just had to touch some part of Colton in order to find sleep, so he turned on his side and extended his fingers tentatively to those rippling muscles. They were hard as rock. Suddenly Colton pulled him closer, the lengths of their bodies now completely united and Colton, half asleep, mumbled something comforting that Tristan could not quite be sure of, but dared to guess at, and it did indeed help him sleep.

The next morning, Colton was up and out in the yard working. The squares of turf now formed a miniature mountain and Colton was trying to roughly level the exposed ground. There was a growing pile of small rocks to be disposed of.

Tristan was frustrated. While he made some coffee and toast for the hardworking labourer and himself, the food situation was still not resolved. He couldn't buy much because they had no refrigerator or clean pantry. He couldn't cook anything because the old stove was just too disgusting. He took the coffee out to Colton and then set off to buy some breakfast burritos--not his favourite breakfast, but Colton liked them.

He went back to the loft to do some work. He needed some clarification from Iain Macpherson on several points so he shot off an email--the professor being abroad at the present.

It was close to lunchtime when Cylvah arrived. She was beaming and cheerful and dressed neatly in jeans and a top--clearly she was ready for work. Colton put his tools down and joined them on a tour of the house. Cylvah screeched with delight at Dino and Tristan gritted his teeth, but to his surprise she thought the house was `darlin'," and gushed praise at appropriate points and frequently hugged Colton and Tristan in her excitement.

Tristan explained the food crisis and insisted that they all go to a cafe for lunch. Over this meal it was decided that, as a priority, Tristan and Cylvah would purchase a refrigerator that very afternoon--a large one at Colton's suggestion to accommodate steaks and beer. Cylvah gave her horrible laugh.

Back at the house Cylvah turned her attention to the old kitchen. "I'll clean it up real good for you, Tris. I think I can repair those loose tiles if you buy me some stuff and what do you think about painting?"

"What do you think, Cylvah?"

Well, those timber doors could be cleaned down and revarnished--there's nothing wrong with them really. I think some funky wallpaper would look good."

"Wallpaper?" There actually wasn't a lot of blank wall, but the thought of introducing more patterns into the `harvest gold', burnt orange and mission brown melange sounded a bit much.

Cylvah fished around in her big bag and produced a magazine--it was an expensive glossy one that dealt with glamorous interiors. She found the page she was looking for. It was a house in Sugar Land that had been built in the 1970s and now was occupied by an obviously wealthy gay couple. With their extensive collection of Barbie Dolls displayed on glass shelves, the place was a museum to the period, with many orange knobbly pottery lamp bases, turquoise carpets and a copper chimney flue. The wallpapers were vivid exercises in Op Art.

"I suppose it is cool, when you see it like that," admitted Tristan. "It's just that this house is much older."

"I don't think it matters, Tris. It's a separate room and I'd advise clients to go with it, rather than trying to disguise it."

"You have clients that like this sort of thing?" said Tristan in amazement.

"Sure, Tris," said Cylvah who was too nice to be offended. "It's not my taste, but all sorts come to me, including some who want to go all retro."

"Well, if you think it would look good, go ahead and get some paper."

"Tris, this floor covering..."

"It's just been put down." He stared at the beige vinyl sheeting. "It was cheap and the old tiles were all scungy."

"I'm afraid it looks terrible. Could we tear it up?"

"But it's just been laid!"

"Brick red would be better. I think I can get a good deal."

"You must be very persuasive with clients, Cylvah," said Tristan laughing.

"I get to the husbands first--that's a trade secret!"

They measured up for the refrigerator and for the flooring and departed in Tristan's truck. It took a while, but they returned having paid for a fridge and some plain red vinyl was obtained for just $300 and they brought this home in the truck. Tristan would find a tradesperson to lay it.

Despite the expenditure of money or perhaps because of it, Tristan found himself in a good mood, for he had come to find Cylvah funny as she told stories about hapless, but wealthy, clients and also took a few sly digs at Tristan's father. Tristan always wondered how she could live with him, but apparently she loved him in some way or other.

Next, Tristan found that Cylvah could work really hard. She pulled on rubber gloves and rolled her sleeves up and began on the old stove. The accumulated grease was nauseating, but after some scrubbing the name `Tappan' was revealed as well as the Ohio town from whence it came. It was a big stove and Tristan wondered if it dated from the time the house was a hostel for visiting academics.

Tristan's job was to clean out the cupboards. There was mouse shit to be removed and then the laminate was scrubbed and disinfected. It was hard work but he had made good progress by the late afternoon. Cylvah had bought decorative paper to line the shelves with, just as her grandmother used to, she said.

"Where were you born, Cylvah?" he asked, the act of working together having given them a sort of intimacy.

"I was born in a place called Panhandle in Breathitt County, Kentucky," she said from inside the oven. She pulled free so she could look at Tristan. "We moved around a some and then my daddy up and left, abandoning Momma and us kids."

"You have brothers and sisters?"

"Sister in Beaumont. Haven't seen Cade for years. Last I hard he was in Florida."

"You said you grew up on a farm."

"That's right. Momma moved to outside Bristol, Tennessee, where my grandpa had a farm. We kids all helped of course, milking, doing chores. Momma was working in town and when a job came up at an apparel manufacturer, why she whipped me outta school faster than you could say stonewashed denim. I was just 16." She began to scrub the enamel especially hard. "I cried and cried, Tris. I didn't want to work in no factory, I wanted to finish school with my friends, but Momma said we needed the money." She stopped at looked at Tristan fiercely. "What made me so mad was that they let Cade finish school--he didn't even finish--went into the Army-- and he was lazy and stupid, but my sister and me were taken out because we were girls.

"Anyway, the factory wasn't so bad--they were actually nice people to work for and they made beautiful clothes. I got a job in the sales department and I was dealing with all the big department stores--you know Macy's and Wanamaker's--and I knew a lot about fashion."

"What happened?"

"Well, the economy started goin' bad--especially in textiles and clothing. We were importing a lot more stuff and our clothes couldn't compete. This girlfriend offers me a job in her fashion store in Dallas, but I didn't really like it, although it got me away from Momma. And then I got a job in a gift and home wares store. It was real exclusive. Then Carol--she was the owner, wanted to retire because she had three kids and I was able to buy her out, with the help of my boyfriend. I ran that for a while and did real well. I paid Kent back with interest and then got rid of Kent!" She went back to scrubbing. "Then I found a lot of customers wanted someone to design their homes and source furnishings for them--rich clients, so I shut the shop and just concentrated on that. That's how I met your dad!"

"So it was tough growing up?"

"Yeah, pretty tough. Momma had her troubles. Some mean boyfriends too. Grandpa liked his whiskey more than his farm work. You know, we would have thought this kitchen was somethin' outta Hollywood when we were living in Bristol. Everything there was old and kinda shabby--you know, too old to clean up no matter how hard you scrubbed. No indoor plumbing of course. Grandpa couldn't afford a new place, but wouldn't even fix up the old house up a little for Momma and Grandma."

"I suppose I've been very lucky."

"Well, you can't blame yourself for good luck just as y'can't for bad. But you haven't had everything easy. I know about your momma."

"Yeah, a bit of a shock. I worry about the baby. I mean, how bad must it be if they admit a mother with her baby to a hospital?"

"But this Rodger is a nice man?"

"Yeah, he' okay. I'm thinking of going to visit later this summer."

"I think that's a fine idea, Tris, if you don't mind me sayin' so. Will Colt go with you?"

"He'll be helping his dad. I don't want to involve him in my troubles, besides he's been to England and there's a girl there that's gunning for him." He laughed.

"Only one?"

"Well, he was only here for a week."

"Seriously, Tris. He'd be good support if you--you know--find it upsettin'. You don't know exactly how your mom's goin' to react, do you? And it's best not to be by yourself."

Tristan thought this was true but said, "You and Dad mustn't worry about me. Even if Mum is horrible to me, I will cope and I won't do anything stupid."

"Still be nice if you weren't alone, Tris."

"Yeah," he conceded and turned it over in his mind while he went back to his work.

As the day drew to an end, Colton cleaned up and came inside to inspect progress. The stove actually sparkled like a 1950s Chrysler as it had lots of chrome. "It's a pity the light doesn't work," said Cylvah as she couldn't resist giving the enamel a final buff. Colton took a look and fiddled. The light came on and illuminated the cooktop.

"The bulb was just loose. Are we cooking on it or is it just for show?"

"We can't until we get the fridge and some food. I promise I'll cook roast beef tomorrow night. He turned to Cylvah. "Hollis is coming to help tomorrow. He's on his family's ranch out west. You'll like him."

"He's a footballer?"

"Yeah," said Colton. "Pretends to be, anyhow."

"He's a good footballer, Cylvah," corrected Tristan. "A tall, redheaded cowboy."

It was pizza again, but Colton didn't complain. There was wine for Cylvah and they sat at Rachel's unusual table to eat. "We haven't got any plates or cutlery," complained Tristan.

"We'll just have t'make do with plastic and paper until Rachel gets here," said Colton, grabbing another slice with his hands.

It was true. Rachel had promised several boxes of china that had originally been her great grandmother's and then had been passed down. "But that would be too good for us to use and break, Rache," Tristan had said.

"Look, it's been in the attic for years. I can't even remember what it looks like--probably has ugly flowers on it--just know that there was a heap of it and Grandma would use it for family dinners when Mom was a little girl. No one wants it, Tris, and it will just go to a thrift shop. Same with the knives and forks: `Oneida Community Plate' -- a wedding present I think. Mom hated it because she had to clean it and she likes stainless steel for the dishwasher. Best to make use of it, don't you reckon?" Tristan thought so too and reflected that it was very pleasant to see how the house was being assembled by the actions and generosity of his friends.

In the living room they turned off the television and Colton was made to fetch his guitar.

"What d you want me to play?"

"Something we could all sing along to?" asked Cylvah who was beside herself with excitement.

Colton began with a particularly jangley one. Tristan didn't know it, but Cylvah and Colton certainly did and they performed an hilarious duet to a tune called, Walking the Floor Over You. Tristan applauded vigorously and the performers bowed.

"This one you'll know Tris: Sometimes it's har-y-d to be a woman..." Tristan knew the rest and the three of them performed a shocking parody of Tammy's greatest hit.

"You guys will have such fun living here," said Cylvah breathlessly but with a real tinge of longing in her voice. "I sure wish I'd gone to college. 'course that song was a lot fresher when I was a girl."

They had a fun night and Colton thought it best to drive the tipsy Cylvah back to her motel, promising to collect her in the morning.

"You must be tired, Colt, what with all the work you've done today," said Tristan as they made their way up to the loft.

"Yeah, a bit."

"Want me to give you a massage?"

"You know how to give massage?"

"Not really," laughed Tristan. "I was just going to rub you with baby oil and get you off. I just called it `massage' to sound less like a slut."

"I can live with `slut'. I really need a shower."

Tristan followed Colton into the new bathroom as they both shed what little they were wearing. Tristan washed Colton and then himself. He stood behind him and held his penis while he pissed--it was very intimate, thought Tristan.

They repaired to Colton's bed--the mattress and the covers on the polished floor of the loft. Colton lay on his stomach with his hands clasped under his chin. Tristan retrieved the new bottle of a popular brand of baby oil--perhaps named for a former President--and wondering if it was ever used on babies-- and how-- and which he had purchased for just such an occasion.

He didn't really know what to do, never having had a massage himself and with his only knowledge gleaned from gay porn. Nonetheless, he started with Colton shoulders, which he imagined must ache from all the digging he'd been doing. He alternated kneading with rubbing and smoothing actions.

"I'll tell y'all somethin', Tris, the coach and trainers don't give a sexy rubdown like y'all do."

Tristan took this as a sign he was doing well.

"Pimple!" he exclaimed.

"Yeah? Go ahead and pop the sucker."

Tristan did and experienced the thrill of satisfaction.

Colton's body tapered in a classical V', from his broad, young shoulders to his impossibly youthful waist. There were all sorts of interesting muscles betwixt and between whose names Tristan did not know. As he got closer to Colton's meaty butt, he encountered more hair--wiry and almost invisible in its blondness. When he reached his butt he didn't quite know what to do, so he just played with it, occasionally running the edge of his oily palm down the crease. He left this region for Colton's legs--footballer's legs with powerful thighs that filled the leg holes of his shorts-- and his tensioned calves, for as a quarterback, Colton had to be fast rather than a mere brick with eyes'. Tristan lavished attention on his big feet. Colt sighed softly and murmured that it was `good'.

"Turn over."

Colton did. He had his eyes closed. Tristan kept applying oil to his hands and even drizzled it straight onto Colton's chest. He made circles on his pecs, ensuring that rasped over his big nipples--everything was big with this boy. Colton's cock had begun to inflate. Tristan was looking forward to sitting on it and feeling the thrill and intimacy of it inside him.

He worked harder on his chest and was just wondering where to go next when a noise startled him. It was a snore and Colton was asleep. He felt a twinge of disappointment inside--particularly inside his bottom, he said to himself. But he let him sleep, for he had worked hard all day and had entertained Cylvah and himself all evening. He didn't want to be selfish. He arose from the oily bed and turned off the air conditioner and the punkah and then got back on the mattress, pulling the bed sheet over them both. There was always the morning.

Please look for the next chapter. Henry would love to receive feedback and will endeavour to reply. Please email h.h.hilliard@hotmail.com and put Tristan in the subject line.