Tristan

Tristan by Henry H. Hilliard

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Chapter 40

The sound of a tree branch against the window woke Mason, although he hadn't really been asleep, and he raised his tear-stained face from the pillow--the same pillow that still bore his bite marks. "Garret, what are you doing here?" he said in a soft voice--his mom and dad were asleep not far away.

The bulky quarterback squeezed through the opening, sending an avalanche of soft toys to the floor. Without answering, he moved across the room and swept Mason into his strong arms, immediately enveloping him in a haze of Axe. The kiss was a scorching one but, for the thousandth time, Mason wished his mouth were not so full of metal.

"You've been crying, baby. You know I don't like to see you cry." Garret was hurriedly undoing his jeans and he was quickly down to his plaid boxers. His belt with its big buckle fell to the floor with a hollow thunk.

Mason was alarmed at the noise and exited his bedroom to make sure his parents' light was not showing under their door. He returned in a flash.

"But I thought you were with Shawna-Marie?" he continued, running his fingers through the footballer's dirty blond hair.

"I've done with that bitch. Jaxon told me that she's been cheating on me with Austin. I was only taking her to the Prom because she was blackmailing me over you."

"But you love her--she's been your girlfriend for years."

"Look, baby, I only started dating her because our dads belonged to the same country club. I only fucked her a couple times to keep up appearances--she didn't like it anyways. I was just her trophy jock."

"Oh, Garret!" cried Mason, quite overcome, and then he rested his cheek on the filling station logo on Garret's work shirt. "What does this mean?" His big eyes looked up under their long, feminine lashes.

"It means you will be my date for the Prom. I'll come out in front of the whole damn school. Fuck 'em!"

"But after that?"

"Mase, don't you realize, babe, that I'm sayin' that it is you who I love." Mason's eyes were wide. "I love you, baby!"

"Oh Garret, I love you too. I've loved you ever since you tipped your tray over me in the cafeteria."

"That weren't my fault; Jaxon nudged my elbow. I'm sorry I humiliated you in front of everyone in the whole school."

"That's all forgotten--although I haven't been able to touch chocolate milk since."

"I'll make it up to you. After Graduation we'll get married and we can move to Salado."

"You mean we can take over my auntie's florist shop, just like I've always dreamed?"

"That's it exactly, baby. Your dream has come true."

"But what about your parents? Your dad is a pastor in the Steadfast Baptist Church, after all; I can't see him kissing the bride."

"Oh, that's the other thing. I forgot to tell you, both my parents were kidnapped this evening by Islamic terrorists--broke into the house with guns. The police are over there now but I just had to slip away to see you to make things right between us..."

Tristan closed his laptop in disgust.

"What's wrong, Tris?" asked Colton as came in to Tristan's bedroom eating one of Mrs Torres' sandwiches.

"The author used `exit' as a verb."

"Don't know why you read those stupid stories an' get so involved."

Tristan didn't answer and wondered, for just a minute, if Colton was like Garret and would one day suddenly sweep him away to...to what? He couldn't quite imagine.

"I suppose we should pack the truck."

The boys had spent the night of their return from England at Tristan's father's apartment in Dallas. It would soon be time for the long drive down to the farm where Colton's help with the harvest was still needed and where Tristan hoped that his skills would be more of a help than a hindrance.

The packing, which embraced Colton's new clothes and underwear and the heavy-duty 140-watt vibrator, also included a completely unexpected item. Sheathed in bubble wrap was a small oil painting.

During their novel journey back from Newquay in the sleeping coach, Tristan had received an unexpected text from his mother. She had asked him to tea the following day, the same day that Colton was to meet Professor Hipwell--Saskia's father--who was so taken with Colton that he was invited to stay on for dinner where the lengthy talk into the wee hours provided Colton with all sorts of ideas for his future Biological studies. It was, perhaps, a turning point in this aspect of his life.

Tristan found his mother was having a good day'--without the unnerving elation' that had marred the dinner with Colton. Jago and Huw were there too, so Tristan felt the focus was not entirely on him. Fiona asked if Colton had enjoyed Newquay and Tristan made some suitable remarks.

"You said that you were on the night train."

Tristan then explained the adventure with the three chavs and tried to downplay his own heroics. The story seemed to make a good impression on the room.

"Tris, I brought something down from the attic that you might like for your new house."

Tristan was gobsmacked but thanked his mother like a gentleman.

"You remember your great uncle at St Ives?" Of course Tristan did, but his mother gave an account to Rodger and the boys. She produced a small oil painting from beside her chair. Tristan need not have feared that it was a creepy study of naked twelve year-olds, because it was not one of his relative's works.

"Uncle Henry was very good friends with Harold Harvey and his wife over in Newlyn."

"They were painters?"

"Yes, well known in your Gran's day--still collectable today. He must have given this to Uncle Henry."

Tristan unwrapped it. It was a beautiful study of the old harbour at Newquay. There were fishing boats with sails and the suggestion of nets being mended on the stone mole. It was artistically executed in a conservative style by someone who could draw as well as paint, and the treatment of the sunlight on the water, and a certain blockishness to the cottages, suggested a tentative modernism--it was very English.

"Wow! It's really lovely, Mum. Thank you so much. I can't wait to show it to Colt."

The five-hour drive gave Colton plenty of time to air his thoughts on their time in England.

"Richard," he said, naming Saskia's father, "is doin' some really interestin' work on phenotype plasticity--that's how quickly a phenotype in a species can adapt to environmental changes. Some species without phenotypes that protect them might actually do better--be fitter-- when they live in an environment that does not have dangerous predators, for example."

"Why's that?"

"Because some phenotypes--such as heavy armour f'example--might be costly when they ain't needed. A high degree of plasticity might be valuable." He turned to Tristan who was driving.

"I think I see."

"Well, he opened m'eyes and I'm goin' to research it."

"That's cool."

"He's real nice."

"So you said."

"He told me--in that po-lite British way--that I was plum barkin' up the wrong tree in what I said at the Linnaean Society talk."

"Well, he must have been impressed at the same time."

"Yeah, guess so."

They drove on in silence until Colton spoke again. "Hey Tris! Sounds like you an' y'mom have made up."

They were pulling in to Hamilton and Colton said knew a steak place out at the rodeo stadium that he reckoned to be great for an early lunch.

"Well, we're better than we were. Now I know she's up and down because she can't help it--she's sick. I'm going to have to expect that--accept that--and just hope she gets better. I won't go beating up on myself. She liked you."

"Of course, m'natural charm."

The perky waitress had departed with their order.

They went over the events in Newquay and it provided plenty of laughs. They had seen the girls briefly before they had left. It had indeed been a good wedding and Chel had hooked up with a groomsman and Kathleen had bedded the marriage celebrant in the back of his van. Tristan was laughing so much that the waitress came and refilled his water glass.

"Y'all in a better place than last year," said Colt looking on with approval.

"Yeah, that's very true. You know, wasn't it luck that I got to share a room with you? You've helped me straighten myself out and because of you I've even reached an accord with Dad, I suppose. He's never goin' to spontaneously say anything but..."

"Y'dad loves you Tris."

"So you keep saying."

They were now back on the road and they were nearly at Lampasas before Tristan could find voice.

"I do love you, Colt. I guess I have from that first day."

"I know you do. I love you too, Tris. Maybe from before we met."

Tristan said that was silly, but went on. "But you love me as a buddy--a roomy."

"More'n that. I love you as my best friend. We're so diff'rent but--you know--we compliment each other. It's easy with you."

"You mean I'm easy--a push over for a hot quarterback."

"That too, but, you know, I jus' like bein' with you, Tris. Just hangin' out or drivin' someplace or feelin' you next t'me in the sack. It's not just about me stuffin' m'piece down y'willin' throat or up y'tight ass."

"That's just a manifestation of how you feel?"

"I know y'jokin', but yeah, I reckon it is."

"It's a big word."

Colton nodded. "I guess I can't say what love is, Tris, I'm just twenty--same as you. What the fuck do I know?"

"Me too. I only know what I feel."

"And it feels good?"

Tristan looked inward for a moment. "Yeah, it does."

"And better'n a year ago?"

"You mean a lifetime ago? Yeah, sure does."

"Well, let's not question it none in case it dis'ppears like a mirage."

Tristan nodded and turned his attention to `The Big Spur' in Lampasas. "That's a big prick," said Tristan nodding in the direction of the rusted iron attraction.

"Seen bigger," replied Colton, deadpan. Then they both laughed.

"Fuck I'm randy," said Tristan, squirming

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. I need some cock, big boy."

"You plugged?"

"Yeah"

"Fuck! That's so hot. Roadhead won't do it?"

"Afraid not."

"Can you wait until Nadir?"

"Is it far?"

"Turn off down here."

They took a side road that led to the old highway. After about ten miles they came to a little `unincorporated' hamlet--a mere scattering of old buildings. Colton directed Tristan to drive just a little further.

"There!"

Tristan read the faded sign: `Sleep in a tepee'. It was a rundown old motel--Tristan wondered for a moment if it was even operating. The remarkable thing was that it was composed of a series of cabins surrounding a circular drive and these cabins were concrete structures moulded into the shape of giant wigwams. They must have once been an arresting sight on the old highway, for Tristan could tell that they had once been smartly painted in white with vermillion zigzags. Now the paint was faded and peeling and the garden plots were unattended.

"Is forty-seven bucks too pricey for a fuck?" asked Colton.

"Only twenty-three, fifty each," replied Tristan looking around.

The office was in a slightly larger tent and a lopsided ping-pong table also suggested that this was also the `recreation room'. A bell that might have suited a wood-burning engine on a western railroad summoned an elderly man from somewhere.

"Howdy!"

"Hello," said Tristan. "We've been driving--just flew in from England and we need a rest or else I might drive right off the road."

"Don't want a wreck out here. Mechanic would have to come from Llano."

"Yeah, good point."

"So just for one night?"

"Yes, and I'll pay now in case we get going earlier. I might feel like driving after some shut eye."

Tristan filled out the register--it was still hand-written. "England, you say?"

Tristan said that was right and that he'd been visiting his mother. "Colton's practically a local and we're making for his parents' farm."

"We get visitors from all over," said the man with some pride, now with his back to them as he searched for a key. "This is a unique building. Built in 1937. Heritage listed."

"Yeah, it's really cool," said Tristan trying to please him.

"Tee pee fifteen," he said handing over an old fashioned key. "It's the best one. Fixed the air con just yesterday." Tristan handed over the money. Leave the key in the tee pee when y'all leave." As an afterthought he handed over two clean towels.

"This is cool,' said Tristan as they walked through the `Native American' village, "if you're not too hung up on cultural appropriation."

The door to each tee pee was cleverly done. The concrete peeled back' as if it were a canvas flap to reveal a front door protected by a humble but sensible screen door. It goes without saying that that the interior was an unusual shape--although perhaps routine for Native Americans--and without any conventional windows. Instead, light streamed down from a glazed oculus at the apex where the structural steel sticks' crossed in the traditional manner and illuminated the hideous furnishings.

The bathroom was a tiny space with a small shower, hand basin and lavatory. The room was lined with cream-and-maroon tiles--clearly the originals from 1937.

"This place is worth a visit, even without a fuck."

"So you don't want it now?"

"Go get the lube and we'll try out the vibrator."

Colton was back from the truck in a flash and down to his camo briefs even quicker. He looked hot and heavy hung.

"Show me that plugged ass."

Tristan shed his shorts. He was wearing the tight backless briefs he had purchased in London.

"Does my arse look big in these?" he said, turning around to look at himself in the mirror over the cabinet.

Colton gave it a stinging slap. "No bigger than usual," he said. Tristan laughed.

"Fuck you make me hot with that fat butt plug up y'shitter! Does it hurt?"

"Would that make a difference?"

"Maybe not. Bit of pain is a real turn on--especially in someone else."

"I might just have to think of something to do to you."

Colton manhandled Tristan onto the bed with its dreadful covering and made him present his arse. "You're such a good dude, stretching yourself for Colty."

Tristan just grunted as Colton proceeded to ease the plug out, pausing at the most extreme point and making Tristan sweat and stifle a sob. At last Colton had had enough and it was cast aside where it made a rubbery sound as it bounced on the old carpet.

"Gapin' real nice. Like some Colty tongue luvvin'?" Tristan did and Colton buried his face right in there and set to work with his strong jock tongue--if such a thing can be imagined.

"I'm getting too close, Colt. Stop!"

"Wanna make it last?"

"Yeah, let me work on you with the vibrator."

It took some minutes to unpack it. The directions were sensibly ignored and they set to work straight away. Tristan found that Colton enjoyed its urgent agitations wherever he applied it. The camo briefs came off before they ripped and Tristan pressed the throbbing appliance on Colton's perineum.

"Ooh! That's mighty fine," moaned Colton. He was leaking like a Cabinet meeting and Tristan prevented him from touching his cock, but gave it the occasional lick, which he claimed was to prevent the bed spread being ruined.

Colton used it on Tristan, but then quickly wanted it back on himself. Tristan turned up and pressed harder. It made Colton cum and it was a big load that painted his chest with white stripes.

"Now I want you to fuck me and take your time and make me cum."

"No problem."

Colton managed an almighty fucking without resort to mechanical means. Tristan came in an `anal orgasm' that almost turned his insides out. Colton was not yet satisfied and fucked him in a variety of positions until came deep in Tristan's stretched back passage--possibly even in his descending colon--and the load was secured in situ with the plug.

"That good?"

Tristan didn't answer but simply threw his arms around the neck of his hunky lover like a giddy schoolgirl and kissed him. Colton kissed back.

They fell asleep on the awful bed, Tristan clasped in the quarterback's throwing arm. He awoke an hour later and looked up at the conical ceiling, feeling rather like Pocahontas. He shook John Smith and said: "Colt, we'd better go; your parents will be wondering."

It was mid-afternoon when the truck pulled up at the farmhouse. There were a number of vehicles about. "Dad hires quite a few pickers. This is the late crop," said Colton.

Inside, the travellers were met by Clarice, Colton's mother. She smiled and hugged them--a little harder than usual.

"Looks busy out there," said Colton, tossing his head in the direction of the yard.

"Yeah, Colty, we're flat out. How was your trip?"

"Great!" replied Colton and Tristan echoed his sentiments.

"Come into the kitchen," said Clarice and there was an edge to her voice that was noticeable.

They sat at the kitchen table and coffee and cakes appeared as if by magic. This was truly the heart of the happy home, thought Tristan. The boys started to say something about their adventures, but Clarice wasn't listening. She was fidgeting with the Bakelite cruet that always sat in the middle of the table with its plastic cloth.

"Colt, your father hasn't been well," she said, cutting across the previous conversation.

"What's wrong?" asked Colton, half standing. His mother motioned for him to sit down.

"Your Dad had a hypo turn--that's hypoglycemia Tristan."

"What happened?"

"Well, he was out in the vat shed and had been working too hard for the last few days..."

"I shoulda been here!" cried Colton.

"I shouldn't have made you come with me," put in Tristan.

"No, boys, it was his own fault. He wasn't eating properly or monitoring his levels. He was down below 70. He should have known that."

"Can I see him?" said Colton, half rising again.

"He's in hospital. He had a dizzy spell and fell and banged his head. He'll be all right. Brady found him and Beau got some glucose into him--although he was very shaky and his heart was racing."

"Shit, Mom!"

"Colt honey, he's okay now, in fact I'm bringing him home this afternoon. They've stabilized him and put one of those butterfly clips on his head wound."

"But what about the harvest?"

"That's all okay. Brady and Beau have it all in hand. We've got a thirty itinerants and it would be a big help if you and Tristan could take out the sandwiches and coffee while I'm at the hospital--he's at the County Hospital, Tris."

"What do the doctors say? Will he be all right, Mom?"

Clarice, who was now standing, bent down and kissed the top of Colton's blonde head. "Of course, honey. He'll be back on deck tomorrow--just you see--and I'll make sure he takes better care of himself."

"He seems to be gettin' worse, Mom," said Colton in distress. "We've gotta get him to see a specialist an' these hospital bills..."

"Well, you talk to him tonight; I think he might have something to say about that."

Then she was gone in the truck, leaving Colton and Tristan to feed the workers.

Afterwards, Colton and Tristan were quickly pressed into service. The harvest was like a giant machine--mostly a well-oiled one. Colton and Beau knew what to do and even Brady had picked for the Stones before. There were several large families of Mexicans who were living out of their trailer homes, which were parked in a paddock. They were good workers and had returned year after year. There were a number of other seasonal labourers too, but no attractive Dutch backpackers that Tristan could see.

It was towards the end of the season now and the later wine grapes were being harvested and, separately, so too the sultanas and the raisins on the Gordo vines. Tristan's job was to hose out the rectangular slatted baskets or `lugs' that the fruit for drying had been collected in. Stacks of baskets kept coming in from the vines on the trailer. The sultanas then were dipped in their baskets into a solution of potassium carbonate in a concrete tank. The raisins were dipped in diluted caustic soda. They were then taken to the drying racks and flung out, stems and all, onto wire mesh beds under a tin roof to dry naturally. It was there that Tristan had to hose out the plastic baskets ready for the tractor to take back out to the pickers. It seemed a never-ending production line.

The wine grapes arrived in large bins and were sent to another shed where they disappeared into the stainless steel crusher. Someone else had to shovel out the stalks and other detritus.

The dipping man was a Mexican boy of about 14. Nevertheless, he had been coming to the Stones farm with his family for a number of years--his English was not good and so Tristan did not find out exactly. He was cheerful and well nourished and thus unlike the grape and pea pickers in Steinbeck's novels that Tristan had read. The more dextrous women were kept at the vines. It was hot work, but Tristan thought that the Stone's were probably good employers, and there were breaks for food and drink and two Portaloos (as they were called at home) had been set up near the barn.

They had been working for a couple of hours when Tristan saw Clarice drive up in the truck. Drake emerged from the passenger seat and waved in his direction but headed into the house. He looked well enough, but Tristan couldn't be sure. Just then the tractor arrived and Tristan realized he still had a dozen baskets yet to hose.

Work finished late and Tristan found he was tired, hungry and sunburnt. He showered with the others in the back of the barn and when he reached the house he found beer and snacks laid out on the screened porch.

"Hi Drake, welcome home. How are you?" began Tristan when he found Colton's father already set up there.

Drake Stone shrugged off his illness and congratulated Tristan on his afternoon's work. Tristan demurred like a proper Englishman and said they he had the least responsible job of all, but Rich would hear none of it and went on to outline the many mundane tasks that harvest entailed.

Colton, who had hugged his father and kissed him on the cheek, eventually came around to the subject that was uppermost on his mind.

"Dad, how 'bout goin' t'see a new doctor--a diabetes specialist--an endocrinologist?"

"Well..." began Drake.

"If you could just see someone good--not just the shitty doctors on your plan..."

"If it's a matter of money, then Dad or I would love to help, if you'd let us," put in Tristan. "I was thinking, if Dad could somehow get you on the Globoco payroll, you could be on their plan."

"Hold on fellas," said Drake, holding up his hand like a traffic policeman. "Colt, I've been thinking along those lines. Tristan, that's real generous of y'all, but your family has helped us enough: taking Colt to England..."

"I paid my own fare."

"Well, getting Brady a job and paying for Mr Sleigh..."

"He's been paid back," said Tristan.

"...an' getting me the contract with Globoco n' all."

"Well, it's no skin off Globoco's nose."

The others burst into laugher. "What?"

"No skin off my nose'! It's ass' in Texas," said Colton.

"No, it's skin off m'teeth," said Brady.

"No it's not," said Beau. Tristan's right.

"Teeth don't make sense," said Drake.

"Well, Globoco could surely afford to help a supplier of fine wines..." continued Tristan.

"Wait up, Tris," said Rich. He opened a beer with the qualification that Clarice was not to see. "It's like this. I can't have a fairy godmother like you or your dad dropping down to help every time somethin's wrong. Not that I'm not powerful grateful. I am. Very. But we--that is folks like me-- gotta be able to help ourselves--even if it means changin' things in Austin or even Washin'ton. We've got to mobilize."

"Jesus, Dad, have you become a communist?"

"Nope, I'm still a small capitalist, but I've joined a group who are puttin' pressure on our legislators t'allow Texas to have a marketplace for healthcare exchange--so folks can move from one fund to another an' find ones that offers schedules C and D items--pharmaceuticals an' stuff."

"And?" asked Colton who felt there was more.

"And I've found a new fund that is a not-for-profit and has a better range of specialists lined up--even if I have to go to San Antonio."

"But your pre-existing condition, Dad?"

"They're ain't allowed to refuse folks under the new Federal law, but they can still make it difficult. Even this fund will make me wait 10 more months before I can claim, so I'll just have to keep outta hospital."

"But in the meantime?" asked Tristan who was really concerned.

"In the meantime I will pay for the specialist in San Antonio out of my own pocket. The old fund will pay for yesterday's stay."

"What do you think the specialist will say, Uncle Drake?" asked Beau.

"Dunno. Probably too old for stem cell treatment, but there're better monitors and insulin delivery systems 'vailable now. Could be referred to a top dietician or somethin'."

"Well, that's good, Dad, isn't it?"

"Yeah, real good."

"I just don't understand why healthcare is related to the job you have or don't have in this country," complained Tristan.

"Well it just is," said Drake.

"It should me none of their fuckin' business who your employer is and certainly none of your employer's business what you do about your health." Tristan was working himself up into a right lather.

"Maybe"

"I mean, your employer doesn't supply your house or your car or tell you were to send your kids to school."

"In some towns they do," said Brady.

"Well, I thought this country was all about freedom of the individual! And another thing, how does a fund get off on saying you can only see Dr Smith and not Dr Jones. How fucked is that?"

"Pretty fucked," said Drake. "Maybe you'd like to join Healthcare for All Texans?"

"Put my name down. I'm serious!"

"Well, there's a deputation goin' to Austin on Thursday. Guess who we're goin' t'try an' see?"

"Senator Rusk," said Colton.

This name meant little to Beau and Brady. "Damn straight!" said Drake. "Pity I've got the harvest. A sock filled with manure or maybe just a swift kick to the balls would do me a power o'good." They all laughed.

There was a barbecue that night, with Colton saying he had missed American food. Tristan glanced at him and received a look that suggested that Colt was not completely serious--although the meat culture of Texas was deeply engrained. Everybody kept glancing at Drake to see that he was eating correctly and monitoring his blood sugar.

"Will y'all stop alookin' at me!" he complained at one point.

Finally it was time for the boys to `hit the hay' and they found themselves in the three beds in Colton's old room.

They were each occupied with their phones but were still conversational. They talked about the day's work and what the next day would entail. They discussed Rich Stone's becoming a health reform agitator.

"When Dad sets his mind to somethin'..." said Colton.

"What about you, Brady?" asked Tristan.

Brady knew what he meant. "I was thinkin' of goin' out west and startin' over. Maybe meet up with Dace. Still might. But now I'm thinkin' of stayin' here for a bit. You're dad's offered me full-time work, Colt n' I can stay here or get m'own place, like."

"Well, that's fine with me, man--not that you have to get approval from me for what you n'Dad decide, but I can't think of anyone better."

"You mean you can't be bothered to think?"

"Shut the fuck up, Dude, I'm tryin' to pay y'all a com-pli-ment. You an' Dad get on great and you're a top worker. Y'all a godsend when he's not well."

"Yeah, thanks, bro, I figure it like this: I can stay here and save some dough. If I get a girlfriend..."

"When, not if."

"Well, maybe I can afford a place if we get serious--not that I'm lookin' to settle down or nothin' mind, just sayin'."

"You haven't got a girlfriend and you're already picking out curtains," laughed Tristan, but not unkindly.

"Well, it's just that with me stuff usually happens--bein' able to plan for the future is a kinda novelty."

"Hey do you want to hear about the two chicks we picked up in Cornwall--that's a county in the west of England. Tristan ain't a virgin no more."

"Shut up!" said Tristan, tuning red. "He made me fuck this girl..."

And so the story was related, perhaps with a little embroidery from Colton for dramatic purposes. Brady was kneading his `piece' beneath the bedclothes.

"An' y' think y'might like to have straight sex again?" asked he asked, curious.

"Nah. It was okay, but just sort of mechanical. I suppose it is something I can cross off my bucket list--but I think it was Colt who wrote it there."

"I jus' wanted to broaden y'horizons, Tris, just like y'always doin' for me."

"It's not the same thing."

"Are we jackin' off or what?" complained Colton.

The three of them did, each after their own fashion and then it was lights out.

The next day was one of hard work. They rose early and were out in the vines by six-thirty. The heat of the day was not upon them yet and they set to work as with the day before. Tristan was given a turn at dipping the grapes and even drove the tractor slowly when the regular driver was on a break.

In the shed, Drake was busy using special instruments to test for sugar and acid. For tannin he tasted the grapes. "I'm leaving a percentage of stalks on to increase the tannin level slightly," explained Drake. "We are using a new mechanical basket press which is gentle and gives us lower tannin levels anyway, but a little tannin is important in reds."

"Why don't you use mechanical harvesters?" asked Tristan who was now on a break.

"We're too small and the machines is costly, but mostly because my pickers can select what is good to pick and they'll leave the rest. Machines break the skins an' cause oxidation. Of course, it's cheaper and if we were aimin' to produce bulk wine, we'd go mechanical. Go out there an' watch how they do it."

The long day came to and end and Clarice had prepared a big dinner.

"Come on Dad," said Colton. "It's a guys' night out. We're all going to Roemer's," he said, naming the bar where Tristan's truck had been vandalised.

"I'm an ole fart, you don't want me there, besides, your mom won't 'llow it."

"Won't I?" said Clarice. "I insist you go. I can watch Poldark in peace."

"Thanks, Mom. I'll keep the babes away from him."

"Not on my account."

Thus it was that Drake joined his son and his nephew Beau and Tristan and Brady. The bar in the town was not very busy on a weeknight. Nevertheless, Colton knew nearly everybody there and Drake found he was talking football and farming to Carson, a feed merchant whom he had known for years. Colt kept asking his father if his `levels' were all right and Drake kept replying, good-naturedly that they were and told his son not to worry so much and to enjoy himself.

One girl there suddenly became several after she had apparently called for reinforcements on her phone. This seemed to cause or coincide more confusion and perhaps the music had been turned up. Tristan felt he was losing track of time as the alcohol took effect. He was talking to Drake when Colton came up to them. He was rather drunk.

"See that girl over there?" They looked and a darkhaired girl across the room saw them and gave a little wave. "That's Erica," he added. "Lives in a trailer over in Comfort. Guess what Dad?"

"She has a Trace Adkins tattoo?"

"No Daddy, she said she'd like to have sex with you an' me!"

They looked again and she licked her lips in a slightly disgusting manner while looking directly at them and then turned to her girlfriends and laughed until she started to choke on her beer.

"Perhaps not, son," said Drake in understatement.

"Yeah, I know, but it mighta been hot--I mean you and me tag teamin' on Erica. That's if y' can still get up of course."

"Hear how he talks to me, Tris? I'm sure you don't disrespect y'daddy like my own son does."

"Not even on the same planet as you two," said Tristan in awe of their relaxed relationship. "Just the thought of having sex with my dad would mean a lifetime of analysis."

"Gotta admit, it would be a hot fantasy," persisted Colton, as he left to get them more beers.

"Boy's right," said Drake in a low voice. "I'd better stop thinkin' about it or I'm liable to do somethin' rash." He grinned at Trisan--Tristan had never seen him grin before. "I guess the tree ain't never far from the fallen apple, eh, Tris?"

"Jesus, there's two Colts!" he said theatrically and Drake laughed.

Colt came back and Tristan, reluctantly changed the subject--but he could see by their eyes that father and son were still enthralled by it. "Drake, I think you should go to that protest in Austin tomorrow. I'll come with you."

"I ain't never been on a protest--that's for college educated folks."

"Bull-shit!" said Colton, drawing out the word. He then put his arm around his father in a drunkenly affectionate gesture. "You're smarter than a whole wagon load of college dudes. A heap o'them is only bricks with eyes."

"Thanks, son," said Drake sarcastically.

"Y'know what I mean, Daddy. Go to that demo!"

"Can't. Too much work to do."

"What time is it?"

"Noon"

"Well, you can set things up before ten. Brady, Beau n' me will see it right. Tris will will drive you. Go Daddy! This will be somethin' for the country."

"We could be back in the afternoon, I suppose," contributed Tristan.

It took a long while for Drake to work through things in his mind, but finally he said, "Okay, but that leaves out double teamin' y'friend, Colt."

"Well I reckon Erica might have to settle for Tristan n' me."

"No thank, you!" said Tristan primly.

"Did he tell you what happened in Cornwall, Daddy?"

"Shut the fuck up, Colt!"

Colt was drunk and giggled foolishly.

Eventually it was time to leave--the morrow was a harvest day. Someone came and collected Beau, and Tristan drove the drunken Colt, and the slightly more sober Drake and Brady home--although he possibly shouldn't have.

They tried to enter the house quietly, but were unsuccessful and Clarice's bedroom light snapped on as they could see beneath the door. Drake headed in that direction and the boys went down the corridor to the back bedroom.

"No, in you own bed, Colt," said Tristan and he and Brady tried to manoeuvre his heavy form. Colton struggled and was being generally difficult. They got his clothes off. He was all arms and legs.

"He wants to sleep with you, Tris," said Brady. "Go ahead, I won't say nothin'."

Tristan sighed. "Thanks, Brade." He got into bed. Colt was already snoring. "Good night."

Brady was the last left standing and switched off the light. "Night, Tris."

Tristan was awoken by a shaking. It was Brady standing there in a pair of awful boxers.

"Why have you got menorahs on your underwear, Brade?" asked Tristan yawning and trying to free himself from Colton's embrace.

"What?"

"Those candlesticks? They're for a Jewish holiday."

"Oh. Never knew. Guess I need someone to buy my shorts. Colt says you buy his."

"It's a hobby, I guess," said Tristan guiltily. "What time is it?"

It was late for their early start and Colton had to be roused and given water and black coffee and it took a little time and some Tylenol before he was running at full speed.

Drake was already up and in the crushing shed. He was busy giving instructions to Clarice and Beau. By 8:00 the whole organization was humming and Tristan, who was on the dipping, thought that he and Rich could certainly been spared for a few hours.

Drake had changed his clothes and had his barley sugar. Tristan had cleaned himself up and had the truck waiting and pointing down the road.

Drake did not say much at first. He was taciturn by nature. He made a few comments about the harvest, which was obviously preying o his mind.

"I guess you don't get many holidays," said Tristan.

"Nope. Can't remember the last one. I'd like to take Clarice away."

"You are welcome to my Dad's cabin."

"Thanks, Tris, but I'm thinkin' of someplace completely different from here."

"San Francisco? Big city, but not too big."

"Maybe."

"Or San Diego? Beach and warm."

"Possibly."

"New York?"

"Can't see us there."

They were quiet after that. Tristan turned on the radio and found a country station.

"What do y'think will happen to Colt?" Drake asked out of the blue.

"You mean, football?"

"Not, jus' that..."

Tristan knew what he meant. "Well, he surprised me when he said he doesn't want football as a career."

"He'd be a good chance for the NFL."

"But?"

"But, Clarice and me reckon he's destined for somethin' better--not that I don't love football; I do, but he's startin' to hint that it's not his whole world. Prob'ly a good thang too."

"When we were in London, he met the father of my best friend. He just happened to be a professor in the field that Colt's interested in--wrote one of his textbooks."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. I think he's just another person pointing Colt in new directions--directions he never knew about when he could only think of Sport and Sport's Medicine."

"So what sort of jobs are we talkin' about?"

"I don't exactly know."

"But you've got more idea that a dumb fuck like me."

"Please don't say that. Colt gets his brains from you and Clarice."

"Huh! His mom, maybe."

"Drake, he could go on and do more study--you know--even getting a doctorate."

"But not like a medical doctor?"

"Most of them aren't really doctors--they don't have a PhD. Courtesy title."

"No kiddin"?

"Yeah. I can see Colt doing research for a university or getting taken up by a corporation that deals with genetics or something--maybe even cattle breeding. He could work in wildlife management. He could teach at an institution. Of course he might go back to sports injuries and stuff--I don't really know. Probably he doesn't either."

"That's where y'all been good for m'boy."

"Thanks, I know I've helped a little--accidentally--but it's really down to him."

"Bout last night..."

"What?" asked Tristan, taking his eyes of the road for a second to turn to Drake.

"Bout that girl an' what that boy o'mine said."

"Ha! He' always sayin' stuff like that. Thinks of nothing but sex."

"I know. Couple of weeks ago I fessed up to some stuff--before Clarice an' I was o-fficially hitched like. Think I shocked m'boy."

"Well, we tend to look at the world from the narrow perspective of our own brief lives."

"Know what you mean. Nobody imagines their folks ever bein' young."

"Yeah."

"Jus' the same, it was excitin' for a moment to 'magine I was young agin. I reckon I woulda bin up for what Colt suggested."

"Double-teaming on a girl."

"Yeah, if she was down for it. Not now mind. Respectable married fellah, but we all want to be young agin--even if it's just for a fleetin' moment when we's liquored-up."

They were silent for a few miles.

"What he said...you know, when you was in Cornwall. Hope he didn't make you do nothin' y'didn't want to."

"Oh no, he's not like that. He can be persuasive--he get's excited--but he'd never..."

"Well, wanna tell me what happened?"

Tristan looked at him wide eyed. "Well it's embarrassing. Look, there were these two girls. They were they girls who helped with the three arseholes on the train. They were staying next door to us and we went out with them. We got a bit drunk and the girls--or was it Colt?--suggested we have a `foursome' back in their room. They were fun girls and obviously not the shy type. I hope that hasn't shocked you?"

"Can hardly say I am shocked. Probably not my boy's first rodeo either. But I thought you were gay?"

"I am gay, but Colt and the girls could be pretty persuasive. Can you imagine that?"

"Surely can."

"Well, lets just say I was persuaded, but I don't think I will be persuaded too often in the future, Drake."

Drake let out a low whistle. "That boy! You sure you wanna be friends with him?"

"More than anything. Even that was fun. He made it so."

"Perhaps it's best in his mom don't know none of this."

"Like I was going to tell her?" said Tristan with a laugh.

"We all need our secrets. Just don't let him do anything too stupid."

"I don't really see how I can stop him. We might have to wait until he's your age."

"Maybe not even then."

Soon they were in the suburbs of Austin and left the highway and made for South Congress Avenue. This long road passed through the indifferent region on the west side of the Colorado River until the dome of the legislative building could be seen as a terminal feature. They crossed the river into the business district and swiftly had to find a parking spot. The Capitol was set in a large paved forecourt flanked by emerald rectangles of well-manicured lawns.

It was just twelve o'clock and it was not hard to find their group. Tristan's heart sank, for it was not much more than a knot of people and hardly filled the large public square. The protesters were a diverse lot, but tending towards the middle-aged and elderly--perhaps working-age people could not get time off in the middle of the week, he reasoned, or perhaps they were just not concerned with heath care reform.

A nice lady called Tristan Honey' and handed him a sign on a stick. It read, Big Pharma is Killing Us'. Tristan felt a little guilty, as he had been an enthusiastic customer of big pharma' just a year ago. He looked at Drake's sign: Health Care is a Right, not a Privilege'.

"Hardly snappy," complained Drake. He swapped it for one that read: `I have a Pre-existing Condition'. "Least it's honest."

There were similar signs, some in Spanish and some off the topic. The anti-gun ones Tristan thought might prove provocative. He was relieved to see more people turning up and after a bout twenty minutes of standing around he detected an urgent murmur in the crowd. A student, whose tombstone shaped sign read: Tax Cuts Killed Me' directed Tristan's attention to an even smaller protest not far away. Then a man in a grim reaper costume holding a sign that read: GOP Healthcare Plan' said, "They're here to stop us reaching the steps." Tristan wondered what would happen.

It was mumsy-aged lady in a wheel chair who seemed to be in-charge. With the use of a megaphone she rallied her small crowd. When she had everybody's attention she thanked them for coming and announced that their intention was to march to the steps and demand to see Senator Rusk, who for some reason was located in the State Capitol that day. Someone else took over and screeched out their log of demands to the group at large. She received polite applause, but Tristan was glad when the megaphone was passed over to yet another speaker--a young African-American man who claimed he was an emergency doctor.

At last they were off and moved sedately in the direction of the Capitol. From out of nowhere, it seemed to Tristan, a large contingent of riot police emerged. They lined the route with their plastic shields forming a wall.

Undeterred, Tristan's group, which had swelled in numbers since he had first arrived, began chanting as they walked. The quality of the chants varied and clumsy ones were not picked up. Tristan was amused by this. He saw Drake chewing on his sugary sweets and they exchanged smiles; he seemed to be enjoying it all. Tristan, from time to time, addressed a few remarks to the people immediately around him and concentrated on holding his sign up properly.

All of a sudden the crowd halted, those at the back being slow to realise that the vanguard had stopped. Tristan could see that they were still some way from their goal and noticed that it had become noisier. He and Drake decided to push through to the front until they were in sight of their leader, the woman in the wheelchair.

It quickly became apparent that their progress was impeded by a line of protesters from the other side who were now waving American flags and holding aloft signs that variously called for a repeal of Obamacare, and the maintenance of the Second Amendment. Some were insisting that they were preventing America falling to communism. An odd one railed against vaccination.

The police moved in closer, separating the opposing font lines.

"We go around!" cried the woman in the chair, like Henry IV.

A stout woman in a nurse's uniform directed the march onto the lawn only then to be confronted by the police. `Keep off the grass!" called a police officer through a loudhailer.

"What?" cried Drake, incredulous, turning to Tristan.

Then it came again: "It is an offence to walk on the grass. You will move off the grass immediately!"

A retreat was now impossible, even if the doughty party had been so minded, because the opposing protesters had now command of the paved forecourt. They were now jeering and Tristan felt enraged, but was mindful of the armed nature of everyone in Texas and cautioned himself.

The nurse again urged them on, but the women in the chair immediately sank into the soft grass and stuck fast--Tristan instantly thought of Agincourt. The police kept shouting their warning to keep off the grass. Tristan now wanted to laugh. Then the police started to beat their shields with their truncheons. It was intimidating and Tristan quickly stopped smiling.

"Come on, people!" cried a rallying voice.

Tristan turned. It was Drake who had screamed out the injunction.

The crowd mobilized and pressed further onto the turf. Their opponents jeered and called out insults. The police, in the metallic voice of their handheld speakers, warned them that they were breaking the law and would be arrested.

Still they pressed on, only a few pausing in a cluster around the woman in the wheelchair, trying to lift the vehicle from the soft soil. They attempted to out flank their opponents who were now protected by a second line of officers. Their long group forged onto the grassy sward and relentlessly directed themselves towards the distant steps, despite being confronted by the wall of police. Tristan wondered who would give way first and he found that he was holding his breath.

The police warnings reached a terrible crescendo and then there was a crack and a plume of smoke. Teargas.

"Yo, Tris!" said Drake, urgently. "We gotta get outa here!"

Tristan gathered his wits and saw that retreat was indeed the best policy, however it would not be simple. The police had also broken into a run and had penetrated the protesters' lines and were now manhandling individuals in their group. The Grim Reaper was on the ground with a police officer kneeling on him. Another was saying that his cardboard scythe was a weapon. The woman in the chair was already in handcuffs. To Tristan's horror, two burley policemen were heading in their direction. The one who made a grab for Drake suddenly seemed to trip and fall to the ground, which had become slippery, and Tristan couldn't be sure that Drake hadn't tripped him--he had been a footballer after all. However, Drake was free from his grasp. His companion was heading for Tristan with his nightstick raised. Tristan hurled his sign and the fellow became another victim of big pharma.

Drake and Tristan ran, pell-mell, dodging through the stragglers in their own march. They didn't stop running until they had reached West 9th Street. There were no police in sight.

"Well, that was fun!" said Drake, panting.

"Fuck! We could have ended up in the back of a police van."

"Or tear gassed."

"I'm not sure about democracy in America."

"Perhaps they'll try it one day," said Drake, bent with hands on his knees.

They'd been driving for a while before Drake said, "I think we'd better stop at Johnson City for something; t'eat. I don't want m'levels t'drop."

Tristan had not known that this unremarkable small town had been founded by LBJ's family. They stopped at a cafe in the main street that had been fitted into an old building. The food was distressingly Texan, but Tristan settled for an oversized sandwich and a pickle. Drake picked carefully and rejected the offer of fries. He gave Tristan a look--a naughty boy who was at last behaving himself. Tristan thought it was odd that he was sitting here, not with Colt, but with Colt's father. Still, it felt comfortable.

A television in the cafe was switched on. Senator Rusk was being interviewed on the steps. He characterised the protestors as being rioters' and in the pay of Get Up'. He emphasised how he stood for `law and order'.

Drake and Tristan `bust up' laughing.

The long late summer days saw the harvest drawing to a close. Drake seemed pleased with the grape crop and the weather had behaved itself--with cloudy nights and no threat of overnight frosts. Already some of the pickers had departed for the fall cucumbers and peppers on the lower Rio Grande.

The boys were getting ready for bed, having returned from Roemer's Bar pleasantly drunk. "Look," said Brady, "If you two wanna sleep together, I've already said I won't say nothin'. I feel kinda bad crampin' y'style."

"Your not crampin' nothin', Brade," said Colton as he pulled his jeans off.

"Not stupid, Colt. You two are fuckin', don't deny it."

Colton just stood there, naked except for pair of plaid boxers. He scratched his nipple--the one with the thick ring in it. "Well, I surely enjoy Tris getting' me off, don't I Tris?"

"Uh huh," replied Tristan, feeling suddenly tense.

"I ain't never pegged you as a liar, Colt. Y'all fuckin', right?"

"I don't see y'got the right to ask that question, dude."

"I ain't sayin' I had the right, but I asked the question."

"Tris?"

"Yeah, he fucks me, Brade. I like it," said Tristan defiantly as he plugged his phone into its charger.

"Well, like I said, if you two wanna..."

"Do you wanna watch two guys fuckin', Brade? Is that what this is all about?"

"Maybe."

"Well, that should be up to Tristan."

"Don't make me decide, Colt, but you did convince me to have sex with a girl; it couldn't be any weirder than that."

"Hear that, Brade? To Tristan having sex with a girl is goin' agin' his nature."

"Well, can you say the same about havin' sex with guys?"

"Yeah I can--except with one guy. My best friend who likes it."

"I don't understand. Y'all not turning gay?"

"You can't `turn gay', dude; it's in y'nature whether you is attracted to the opposite sex or the same sex or both."

"So, are you just usin' Tristan? Like as a hole?"

"Tris?"

"No, he's not just using me to dump a load--at least no more than I like him using me. That can be really hot, you see."

"You mean, it's like `friends with benefits'?"

"That's a cheesy expression, Brade," said Tristan thinking immediately of Welfare Queen, a story of a relationship between two losers receiving Supplemental Security Income in Florida. "Colt likes to get off and I like him using me to get off--I get off on that."

"A little confusin' but I think I get it."

"If you do, Brade, explain it to me-- slowly," said Colt with a laugh.

"So y'all gonna give it to him up his shitter?"

"I thought you were supposed to have a way with women?"

"He's a dude."

"Do you want it, Tris? Do you want to give this pervert a thrill?"

"I could say, `My ass is itchin' for it'--that's what was said in this story I was just reading." Colton rolled his eyes and gave a sigh, but Brady wanted to know what he meant. "Well, this guy called Grayson is an aggie student at UC Davis. Where is that?"

"Near Sacramento," said Colt as he settled onto the bed, anticipating a shaggy dog story.

"Anyhow, he comes back from the nearby Air Force base where his father is top brass and working on secret stuff and he finds he has an uncontrollable urge to have sex--like all the time."

"Sounds familiar," said Brady, all ears and now lying on his stomach with his head in his hands.

"Well, this is a bit different; Grayson is not only randy but has this uncontrollable itch in his rectum--it is very debilitating--and he can't concentrate on his studies or his football--he's a linebacker for the Aggies. All day long he's was trying to find something--anything-- to relieve it--so he's sticking stuff up his arse-- dildos, hair brushes, cactus plants..."

"Didn't he go to the doctor?" asked Brady.

"Don't encourage him."

"He did and they couldn't do a thing. Never saw anything like it! Even the Mayo Clinic couldn't find what was causing the rash and the pruritis. Then the CIA kidnap him because it seems that what he's got is a reaction to some secret nerve agent they were developing at the base--it was during the Cold War.

"Anyway, Grayson escapes from the CIA with the help of a female agent to whom he throws a good fuck and he hides out in his old dorm with his teammate Biff, the quarterback. They have to keep it on the low down and that means sharing Biff's bed."

"Cut to the chase," said Colton impatiently.

`Well, Biff has an idea for helping his buddy. He fucks him up the ass, and for the first time in six months Grayson's itch is satisfied on Biff's enormous cock and he can graduate and the Aggies go on to win the Pear Bowl or whatever it is called."

"Wow! What a story!" exclaimed Brady.

"Complete shit!" said Colton tersely.

"Well, even when his dad, the Major, presents Gray with an antidote that they had been working on at the secret lab at the Air Force base, he refuses to take it and Grayson and the quarterback keep on fucking all the way through college and eventually set up house together in The Castro."

"I gotta read this story. What's it called?"

"Gray's Allergy."

"Don't take any notice, Brade. His brain has tuned to mush from jerkin' off reading that shit."

"No, Colt. I gotta get into some proper liter'ture. I mean the only books I've read is Harry Potter an' Catcher in the Rye at School. Tristan studies Ainglish."

Once again Colton made a noise that could be written as `hurumph'.

"Where were we?" asked Tristan.

"I was goin' t'sodomize y'all and make y'cum, but now I'm not so sure."

"I'll nip to the bathroom and clean myself out."

When Tristan returned, he found that Colton had been explaining what he was going to do in great detail--like a plan for battle. Hitherto, he had always assumed that Colton had reacted spontaneously, but now he realised that might not be so and was a little disappointed.

"How are we going to do this?" asked Tristan.

"Well, Brade has already shown how lousy he is sucking cock--all teeth like Shelby McCall. Cocksucker doesn't even deserve the title."

"Yeah, she blew me an' Stratton Beiderbecke at the Homecoming Picnic after we done ply her with cheap vodka. She goes crazy an' day'amn near circumcises Bix's wiener with her retainer."

"Yeah, but she could still give you lessons, Brade, eh Tris?"

"Not everyone has a Certificate in Siphonology."

"Tristan's gonna get me all hot an' hard with his talented mouth."

"Then he's gonna spread his cheeks an' I'll eat him out..."

"Could we eat each other?"

"Might could. An' then I'm goin' in deep--real deep--the exact scenario I ain't quite got down in m'playbook. I'll be showin' you how to throw a proper man's fuck, Brade, so pay attention."

"You're pretty damn sure of yourself, stud."

"Yep!"

"What can I do?"

"Watch real careful or you can join in--but I warn you, only I get to fuck that ass. Ain't that right, buddy?"

"Is that rule number one? It's so long ago I can't remember."

"Sassy boy! I might just have to make you remember. Make yourself useful, Brade; take m'boxers off."

Brady stepped up and slid the garment down over the big curve in Colton's gym-toned butt until it formed a pool of plaid cotton around his ankles. Colton's python in need of siphoning was far from flaccid.

"Fuck y'all hung!" exclaimed Brady, not for the first time.

"Price of admission to this show is a kiss, Brade--down there."

"I'm not kissin' y'dick, Stone."

"Y'done it before. Didn't kill ya. I really liked it." He winked at Tristan, but Brady, battling with inner conflict, did not see. "Just a little peck."

Brady, clearly getting worked up about what might follow, grumbled (but not excessively) and knelt down and placed a swift, chased kiss on the side of Colton's `piece'. "Thanks..." began Colton but Brady interrupted.

"I ain't finished." There was a second kiss, more lingering.

"That's y'ration." He snatched his cock away, nearly putting an eye out. "Tris, show him how to kiss jock junk."

Tristan bounded from the bed to the floor and knelt before Colton as he had done countless times in private.

"That's it!" sighed Colton as Tristan mouthed it reverently, with little fluttering movements on the tip that was partly concealed in the folds of foreskin.

"Fuck! How does he do that?" gasped Brady, for now Tristan had gone to deep throating Colton whilst holding his balls.

"Practice--wish the team practiced as hard. 'blige me by doin' m'nips, Brade."

Colton `got himself going' with some porn on his phone as the other two worked on him.

"Lesbians?" asked Brady from behind him as he tweaked and pulled on his nipples.

"Nah, two Mafia guys bangin' a chick on the Warren Commission." He held the phone so Brady could see.

"Wow, those 'sixties cars are so cool."

"Show time!" called Colton at last. Tristan was positioned on his knees, arse raised. Colton hawked up a gout of saliva and spat it with might what be easily mistaken as being contempt directly onto Tristan's anal orifice and spread it roughly with his fingers. He then squatted and pressed hard with his tongue.

"Y'lickin' a dude's ass, dude."

"Fuckin' tastes great and look at him squirm." Indeed Tristan was rolling about and Colton had to restrain him with both his strong hands.

A finger slipped in. "Okay, Tris?"

"Open me up, Cowboy."

"He's a 'llowed to call me `Cowboy'."

Colton inserted a finger from the other hand as well. He used them to dilate Tristan's rosy sphincter. "Look, Brade. This is called his `gape' in the stories he reads. What was that one--the fag in Jersey City?"

"Holland Tunnel."

"Like me to open you up, Brade? Could do for you what I done for Tris. Says it gets him real hot."

"Fuck no! Too adventurous for me."

Presently, Colton applied lube to all areas of possible friction and slid his cock inside Tristan in one fluid movement.

"How's it feel?" asked Brady, cock in hand and with an intent look on his face.

"Fuckin' great. Pert tight--but ain't as tight as a year ago, eh Tris.?"

Tristan's face was contorted in pain. "Perhaps your fucking dick has shrunk."

"Y'all know that ain't a fact."

"You've fucked a chick up the ass, Brade?" asked Colton, turning to the masturbating Brady. Tristan wanted him to concentrate and did not like him making asides.

"Yeah. It was tight."

"Well, fucking a dude is like that--or should say fuckin' Tris is--except guys have a slightly longer rectum an' you can go real deep an' they is stronger so you can be rougher. You like it a bit rough, don't you Tris?"

"Fuckin' shut the fuck up and fuckin' fuck me."

Colton grinned and did some short movements and then some long ones. Brady watched his arse muscles flex with each stroke. Colton was a powerful unit.

"Does it feel as good as a titty fuck, Colt? I love to get my piece between the big tits of a willing babe."

"Even better: an unwilling one. Yeah, feels better'n that."

"Sorry...I...don't...have...big...tits...for you, Colt," grunted Tristan who was now being pounded. "Perhaps...could take...oestrogen."

"Now, how many chicks can make you laugh when you're fuckin' 'em?"

"Zirconia Kohlwasser could. Full of gas--musta bin all the beans her daddy grew--kept fartin' with every thrust. Hadn't laughed so much since the hogs ate sister Sue."

"Shut the fuck up! Pull out Colt."

"Aww, Tris, I was just enjoyin' that!" A slurping noise, a pop and a fart indicated that he had withdrawn.

"It's obvious you can't multitask. Climb on an' I'll eat your `jock ass'."

Tristan was now lying on the bed on his back, with his head on the pillow. Colton straddled him, sitting on his chest and facing him and with his arms behind him as support.

"Watch this, Brade," Tristan said, "I can eat his hole and jack his cock."

"Now who's flapping their gums?"

Colton's arse was large, muscular and dusted with wiry blonde hair. He angled it towards Tristan who craned his neck and lewdly extended his tongue.

Colton sighed as Tristan's face disappeared below his balls.

Then Tristan reached around Colton's left thigh to grasp his slicked and bobbing cock and stroked it as Colton wriggled to get the good of it all.

"Help out, Brade," said Tristan, his voice muffled at that moment by pounds of quarterback gluteus maximus-- or `glutei maximi' he would have more properly put it had he been able to concentrate and draw on the benefit of his good education at a boarding school in Sussex. "Spread his fucking cheeks."

Brady stepped forward with a certain alacrity and used his hands to spread his friend's buttocks, Colton urging him on.

It was a hot scene and one augmented by Tristan's slurping, the slapping of flesh as Colton was jacked, and the moans and exhortations of Colton in the throes of pleasure.

"How does he taste?" Brady asked at one point.

Tristan took a break. "Like the locker room mop," said Tristan, gulping for air. Brady had no opportunity to ask if this were good or bad, for Colton balanced on one hand and used the free one to press his skull back into his arse crack.

Brady badly wanted to jack his own cock, but his hands were fully occupied and he tried to rub it on the bed and only any part of Colton within reach--which was mainly the top of his head.

"Enough!' commanded the quarterback at last. "I want that ass again, Roomy," he added in a growl.

Colton and Brady rearranged on the bed whilst Tristan remained supine but with his legs raised.

"Look at that hole," said Colton with a proprietorial air and giving Tristan's anus some firm taps with two fingers. "This is gonna feel so good"

Tristan knew that he meant for himself. "It's yours, stud," he said he said, recalling the cheesy line from Chess Club Jock.

"Need more lube?"

"No, I want to really feel it, stud," he said quoting once more.

Colton was hard as steel and slid smoothly in, balls deep.

"Fuck!" exclaimed Brady in awe.

"Good for you, Tris?"

"Fuck me, Cowboy."

Colton went to work as Brady watched and stroked his own piece. He drew closer and used his spare hand to massage various parts of Colton and Tristan. "This is so gay!" he said to himself.

"Getting' a bit dry down there, Brade,' said Colton after a spell. He looked down at where he was conjoined with Tristan. "Spit's the best."

Brady got between them and spat on Colton's cock. He withdrew it completely and it bobbed in mid-air. "Brade." Brady barely hesitated and put the whole slimy organ of the starting quarterback into his mouth and sucked as if his life depended on it. "Nice! Now do Tris, so I can finish him proper." Brady licked and spat on Tristan's enflamed and gaping hole.

"Fuck! How low can I go?" he muttered to himself, once again. Nevertheless he stayed in the dangerous vicinity of Colton's thrusting and licked his cock whenever he could.

"How about it?" asked Colton as he gave a particularly brutal thrust into Tristan. Tristan knew what he meant and nodded in between moans."

"Give him some cock, Brade."

Brady jumped at the chance and climbed onto the sweaty tangle of limbs and torsos and angled his hard cock down sufficiently for Tristan to take it into his mouth, just like in porn videos.

Brady was in heaven and did not even flinch when Colton smacked his exposed arse, which was pointing right at him. He did however when Colton leaned in and ran his tongue down his crack. He turned in shock and saw Colton grinning at him.

Eventually Colton got to the business end of matters. He came in Tristan's arse. It would slowly leak out all night. Colton then reached for Tristan's rigid member. It required but a couple of skilled strokes before Tristan ejaculated onto his chest.

Brady was now beating his own meat furiously. "On his face, Brade." With a grunt Brady spilt right on Tristan's lips and left cheek.

Then Colton moved up on the bed and could be seen furiously masturbating--for his penis had remained hard. Brady looked wide-eyed. It took ten minutes, but Colton came again, in huge volume, all over Tristan's face and cruelly stinging him in the eyes.

"Fuckin' hell!" exclaimed Brady.

"Go clean yourself up, Tris, you look like a slut."

Tristan slapped his balls causing Colton to wince and laugh but he did make a beeline for the bathroom, hoping that the rest of the Stone household was asleep.

When he returned Brady and Colton were in their respective beds. Tristan made for his own. "No, in here, Tris!" said Colton in a hurt voice.

"Sleeping in my own tonight," said Tristan. "Goodnight, Brady." There was no friendly dismissal for Colton.

The light was put out and darkness and silence reigned for about a quarter of an hour. Then there was a quiet rustle and some movement. Colton inveigled his hulking, naked body into Tristan's bed, making it sag.

"Oh Brady!" said Tristan, "This is so unexpected. I don't know what Colton will say."

From the other bed he heard Brady snort with laughter. Colton did not say anything, but simply put his muscular arm around Tristan and formed the big spoon.

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.