In the morning, I was pulled out of the cell for my trip to Ft Lauderdale. Billy gave me a slap on the back, telling me to get along up there. His new friend gave me a quick smile. I boarded the County Detention bus with a group of male juveniles. The County was good business for the Program. After an hour’s drive we entered a military-looking compound, in a rural area east of the Everglades. Hot and dusty, I thought to myself: ‘I’m in the Army now.’ We piled off the bus as several angry young adults ran up to us and started screaming in our faces. So it started. I was not immune to their threats and did my share of push-ups for not moving fast enough. At least with my military-brat background knew, I could survive this treatment. It lasted all day. As we were processed, there were always an excess number of screaming disciplinarians, making our lives miserable. The first stop was to shave all our hair off. Then we were issued military-style uniforms, tees and fatigues. Everything was regulation. They told us we had arrived too late for school and would spend the day in physical training. Our only break was for lunch, but even then, the discipline instructors kept us from relaxing; speaking to anyone brought immediate push-ups. The only bright spot was when I saw Tommy across the dining hall. He saw me but motioned not to say anything. There was no time. They kept us busy and moving every minute. We were told that for fifteen minutes before lights out, we were allowed to do what we wanted, as long as it was praying to God. Even the time to go to the bathroom was regulated. If you weren’t done in two minutes, they blew a whistle, and you had to get up and finish anyway. Most newcomers had trouble with commodes without walls. Privacy was a privilege we did without. When they finally released us for our final fifteen minutes, a new group of angry young counselors appeared. They were all Christian missionaries. They talked to us while we kept our heads bowed in silent prayer. It was a relief to have someone to talk with, but the price was being required to pray for our souls together. I especially hated how they placed their hands on me while I prayed.
Finally, after lights out, I could meditate on my situation. It didn’t look good. My only advantage was I had lived with military discipline before and knew I could deal with the harassment. I concluded that the degradation and ego-busting was meant to prepare us to adopt their values and deal with a drug-free life. I had to admit that pot had gotten me into big trouble. I just wasn’t ready to agree that pot was the whole problem. It wasn’t hard to fall asleep. I knew my dreams were better than real life.
Each day followed the same routine: up for physical exercise at six, showers and clean-up before breakfast, classes until lunch and again until three, recreation until dinner, studying in classrooms until 9:30, and then wash-up and prayers until lights out at ten. We marched everywhere and were punished for speaking. In a few days I realized that the disciplinarians were other inmates but at a higher level. The reward for completing this initial phase was the power to inflict the abuse on new inmates. Names were never used, so I had no idea who my fellow sufferers were. Even though we never spoke, a silent language of looks permitted me to become familiar with them. We suffered mutual indignities together. We were not allowed to ask for a bathroom break. Anyone who couldn’t wait for the prescribed time was considered sick and sent to the infirmary. My one experience there kept me away forever; the universal prescription for any aliment was an enema. I learned to regulate my bladder and bowels. The only time we were allowed to speak was during prayers and only with our assigned religious counselor. Even in class there was no speaking. Each class had assigned workbooks, done in silence, no questions asked. Once I completed the entire set of workbooks, the teacher merely started me again on the same set. Punishment was quickly meted out for any offense to the many rules. It mainly consisted of push-ups, but repeated insubordination resulted in corporal punishment, mainly public whipping. It was never explained when we would get through this brutal level. We noticed that our overseers could speak and laugh with one another, but when their superiors were around, they were as mute as we were. Physical exercise was strictly calisthenics, never any games or competitions. The only moment of respite was after lights-out, when my thoughts could be my own. All the years of swim training helped me deal with the tedium and isolation. I felt I was underwater, out of contact with everyone. Like a long distance race, each day was a lap to be completed. The finish never seemed closer.
Several boys cracked under the pressure. After they were hauled away, we were informed that they were placed in the State Mental Institution as hopelessly psychotic – the cause: drug psychosis. At times I wondered if this whole experience wasn’t a continuation of my Halloween hallucinations. The day-to-day tedium wore against my imagination; I knew it was reality, not fantasy. I saw Tommy occasionally, but he barely acknowledged me. All we could do was stare at each other for a second or so. Even this contact would be punished if noticed. I realized he was having a harder time than I. The next time I saw him, I smiled and winked at him. Instantly I was shoved down on my stomach and did fifty push ups. In the corner of my eye, I saw him smile. It was worth it.
Once a week, every inmate was counseled on his progress. They called it drug withdrawal and detoxification. We were only allowed to nod yes or no to their set questions. Then we had to sign a form, affirming we had been drug-free, attended school, been fed three meals a day, and received counseling sessions. Although the court was responsible for me, no one from court or the juvenile justice system ever came to observe. I was isolated and systematically robbed of my individuality. At night, I imagined what the Vietnam POWs had experienced. I was grateful that there was only mild torture here but otherwise felt it was not much different.
New kids arrived every few days, and kids who had been there longer than I were transferred out. I thought they’d soon appear as overseers, but they must be in a different program before being allowed back to our lowly group. I calculated from the rate that kids left for no reason to be an average of six weeks to complete this phase. One day, I was pulled out of class, told to strip off my white tee-shirt and fatigues, and issued a blue shirt and khaki trousers. A group of five of us was assembled in an empty classroom. After an hour’s wait, one of the senior staff, a tall, white man in a polo shirt, walked in and gave us a long talk on our progress. He congratulated us on having survived the tough detox phase. He admitted we had been kept in the dark for so long in order to prepare us for the rigors of the next phases. He talked a lot about the evils of drugs, assuming we all agreed with him that the proper goal in life was to be a productive member of society. It was a strange to be actually getting counseling. He said we were next scheduled for drug education and reprogramming. Several times he praised us for having finished detox, calling those left behind ‘scum and slime.’ He said our blue shirts were symbols of our new status. Someone raised his hand for a question, but an overseer jumped up from the back of the class and yelled “No questions’ in his ear. The senior staff member calmly waited for the overseer to be seated again before continuing. He didn’t elaborate on the details of the new program. After his talk, we all signed our weekly progress reports with the normal notation, except on the bottom it was stated we had completed drug detoxification. As we got up to leave, I gave a high-five to the tall black kid behind me. We both were on the floor doing a hundred push ups. We hadn’t progressed that much.
The next program was similar to the first phase, except instead of doing calisthenics in the morning and afternoon, we worked in the dining hall serving meals. Instead of school, we attended drug lectures, which were on film. We had a new set of overseers, but the rules had not changed. After each film, we were quizzed on the subject matter. I noticed a Cubano kid keep his pencil after a test. That night, we were all awakened by our overseers screaming at us. ‘The Program sucks’ had been scribbled on a bathroom wall. We spent the whole night on our hands and knees, scrubbing the entire bathroom. Everyone was searched for the offending pencil, but he had wisely gotten rid of it after his crime. Each of us was taken separately into the staff room and questioned about the incident, told that all of us would be punished worse than the one guilty person. We were asked over and over to tell anything we knew. Finally, polo shirt spoke with us, noting that the entire group was to be held back an extra week for this vandalism. I knew that I wasn’t the only one who knew something and hadn’t told. Since we didn’t know how long this phase was to last, it was hard to feel we had lost anything. The abstraction of an extra week meant nothing when you are living day-to-day. My only regret was that I couldn’t show visible support to the Cubano. One night after lights out, I lay there feeling frustrated and unable to sleep. I knew the staff only checked on us every fifteen minutes or more. I slid out of my bunk and crawled under two other bunks to the Cubano’s. I shook him awake, putting my finger to his lips to keep him quiet.
“I saw you take the pencil and want you to know I totally support you,” I whispered.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered back.
“No. The Program is sorry and does suck,” I answered.
It was so good to see him smile. By the time I had crawled back into my bunk, my heart was pounding. I had beaten the thought police for once.
At first I had thought about Jack every night after lights out. Not in a horny way, though that’s how I often found him in my dreams. The repressed atmosphere of the Program somehow invaded my dreams. I could never reach a climax in what was the beginning of a wet dream. The place had put a curse on me. Before I fell asleep, I missed him terribly. I knew he’d never forget me. Time was flying by. School would be out for summer. Had Robby and he put on the performance of ‘Sonnets?’ What about the band. I was sure they had gone on without me. Why had Mike Sr. and Jay abandoned me? Did the Stones host my Dad’s marriage to Susan. I looked for Jace in my heart to give me the answers but he too was blocked in this cursed place. These nightly pity parties were the beginnings of my determination to escape. My only reluctance was if Mike Sr. had been working on my release. Any attempted escape would throw a big monkey wrench into those proceedings. The longer I went without hearing from anyone made me more and more desperate. Plotting my escape was a sop to this desperation and the repressed atmosphere the Program engendered. There was no contact with the outside world, either by letter or phone. No visits were allowed. I had entered the Twilight Zone.
My first change of luck was when Tommy showed up in my cell block. He must’ve blown a counselor or something to be transferred. I didn’t ask. The first night there he sneaked into my bunk. A raging hard-on told him how happy I was to see him. He quickly went to work on it until I rolled away, afraid we’d be caught. He whispered that he had rolled up his dirty clothes to make it look like his bunk was still occupied. He stayed until early morning when he sneaked back. In the slightest whispers I explained that we had to plot our escape. He sniffed that he hated the Program and would do anything to escape.
Bad luck returned when my Cubano friend was caught for the graffiti in the bathroom. The senior staffer had actually hired a handwriting expert who easily identified the culprit. He was led away in disgrace, giving me a furtive look. Unfortunately that one glance was noted by staff. I was an unindicted co-conspirator. Big Motherfucker was always watching. The secret to Tommy’s ruse to make our bunks look occupied was always to have the head turned away from the light, so the guard only saw a supposed body while checking during the night. We ran several reconnaissance missions, sneaking out of the unit to scout out possible escape routes. We timed the guards’ rounds, noting when the routine inmate counts were done. We discovered that a flat-out run to the fence in the front yard was nixed due to two Rottweilers guarding the area. They only way out was at the back, which faced open Everglades swamp.
“Ain’t no way,” Tommy whined, “There’s alligators out there. I ain’t gonna git et.”
“We’ll jist stay to the high ground. There ain’t no alligators out of the water,” though I was reminded of Stu’s fear after seeing a baby one. We found an empty shed where we stockpiled two blankets and a tarp for camping out.
“I ‘spose ya gots ta go right ta see yer boyfriend once we escape,” Tommy complained.
“No way. That’s the first place they’ll look to catch us.”
“Us? Ya means we’s gonna be partners,” he looked excessively optimistic.
“Partners in crime, not in bed.”
“Oh. Well, I could hope.”
I squeezed his hand, which made him look at me with bedroom eyes. Oh, god, what was I creating? After that we were almost giddy in the hope we were soon to be leaving this hell on Earth.
The night we finally made our break, it was totally dark. Now that it was mid-summer, it was monsoon season in South Florida, . The storms rolled in at sunset and cloud-cover shut out natural moon and star light. We sneaked to the back fence, using the blankets to climb over the barbed wire. No alarms went off as we fell over the fence and gathered our supplies. After about five yards the ground fell off into the swampy Everglades. We slogged through the water for about five minutes before coming to a hummock of dry ground. At least we left no trail to follow. Once the Program staff found our empty bunks with the dummies made from dirty clothes, I hoped they’d assume we weren’t crazy enough to go into the swamp. Tommy was petrified of the snakes and especially the ‘gators that we couldn’t see in the dark.
“We gots to git further from the camp, so we don’t git caught,” I insisted.
Tommy grabbed me and held on, saying nothing. He was in full panic mode.
“Com’n here,” I pulled him into a hug.
His ramped up sex drive overcame his panic, but he wanted more, right there 50 yards from the camp.
“We gots to move further into the swamp,” I insisted, pulling him to his feet. “We’ll stay on dry ground as long as possible.”
We slowly made our way along a hammock. I encouraged him by holding his hand. Tommy was way too young for me to really be interested in him. I figured he’d done favors for other inmates to stay safe, but that kind of sex was sick. I knew he thought I was just being loyal to Jack. Really, I wasn’t about to start a new boyfriend relationship. We walked a good ways until we finally had no dry ground to follow. In our meandering, I hoped we were moving away from the Program camp, but it was hard to tell in the dark.
When Tommy saw that there was only water ahead, he panicked again, hugging me around the waist and refusing to move.
“Okay. We’ll stop here and wait for first light so we can get a better sense of direction.”
We spread out the blankets and made ourselves comfortable. Our excitement over escaping had calmed down. I feigned sleep, which kept Tommy from continuing to fondle me. In disgust he moved away. I heard him jerking off. When he was finished, he snuggled in next to me and went instantly to sleep. Ah, hormones. I was soon asleep myself. The dark enveloped us.
First light had me awake and alert. Knowing where East was helped me plan an escape route. I needed to get to a phone, so I could call Jay. I couldn’t call anyone else without making them complicit in my new crime of escapee; they would be harboring a fugitive. Mike Sr., as a lawyer, was immune, but he would make me turn myself in. Jay as his assistant also had immunity. I felt he would at least be willing to tell me what was going on. For three months I had been out of contact. I could make further plans after I learned how much trouble I was really in. All this over one sip of beer. But I knew that was just grounds for them to investigate all the crap we had been into since I joined Robby’s pot gang. Did they really have it in for me and the others, or was I just being paranoid. That set off the Sabbath song in my head.
Tommy woke up as I sang,
‘I need someone to show me the things in life that I can’t find
I can’t see the things that make true happiness, I must be blind
Make a joke and I will sigh and you will laugh and I will cry
Happiness I cannot feel and love to me is so unreal’
ANTHONY IOMMI, WILLIAM WARD, TERENCE BUTLER, JOHN OSBOURNE
“What are you doing?” he stared at me.
“Sabbath, man. I needs inspiration, and I gots Paranoid,” I laughed at him.
I hummed the bass line intro, “Dah dah… dah, dah.. dah dah.. dah dah.. dah dah dot.”
Tommy jumped up and we thrashed around, finally knocking each other down. Actually, I knocked him down and fell on top of him, laughing.
“We did it,” he proclaimed. “We beat those fuckers and escaped.”
The euphoria lasted about ten seconds, when we heard the baying of blood hounds.
“The fuckers have the dogs out looking for us,” Tommy shouted.
“Hush. We gots to move. Now.”
We picked up the blankets and dashed into the swampy water. Fears were washed away by the baying of the hounds. Moving due west, the sound of the dogs seemed to lessen. We found another hammock and ran as far as it went before splashing back into the murky water.
“Tommy, you live in Lauderdale. Where is that State Route that crosses the Everglades. Is it north or south of us?
“It’s gots to be south. But we cain’t go there. It’s Alligator Alley.” His fears had returned with the dogs falling behind.
“You gots ta stop bein’ so afraid. ‘Gators only attack when their young’uns is threatened,” I espoused Mr. Watt’s theory.
“How ya know that?” he challenged me.
“I camped out here and my boyfriend’s dad told us.”
“Jack’s dad?” he asked.
“How many boyfriends ya had?”
“Four, I guess,” I included Joey but excluded Doug Weston.
“Why ya won’t love me then?”
“I love ya, Tommy, but yer jist too young .”
“Ya gots some rule?”
“Naw. I can’t stop feelin’ like yer my little brother. Brothers don’t fuck.”
He threw himself at me. I let him sob awhile until that was done. Fourteen-year-olds can be so emotional.
“Ya done?” I asked.
“Yeah,” he sniffed. “But I’m gonna stop runnin’.’”
“Wot? We gots ta git away from them dogs.”
“Not me. I jist wanna be with you, in that special way.”
I picked him up and French-kissed him deep and long. He was putty in my arms.
“Com’n. They’s gonna catch us both if’n ya stop now.”
He looked at me, totally confused. I guess that was my fault. At least he didn’t give up. How easy to deceive with the lies we weave .
We turned south and ran for at least two hours, stopping only to drink the murky water. At one point, the baying dogs seemed closer. Suddenly they stopped baying and were yelping and whining and eventually silent. Tommy’s paranoia convinced him that a big ‘gator had eaten them. Finally we saw the edge of a suburban town recently built into the Everglades. We slogged right into someone’s back yard, dripping and dirty. We would have to find a ride out of this tract town because we were sure to be noticed. Following the residential streets, we soon were on a main drag. I saw a 7-11. Oh, thank heaven. I ran up to the pay phone and dialed the operator for a collect call to Jay, saying I was Max deBowser. He accepted the call instantly.
“Hi, Jay. Still love me?”
“I escaped. I’m somewhere west of Ft Lauderdale.”
“Jesus. Why’d you do that? We were told you were in rehab.”
“That’s their cover, but it was really a youth prison. There was no rehab ‘cept we were locked up all the time. No drugs there.”
Tommy poked me. “How come ya talks different on the phone?”
“Hush,” I told him.
“Who’s that,” Jay asked.
“That’s Tommy, my fellow escapee. He’s 14.”
“Jesus, Tim. I can’t be aiding and abetting.”
“Just be my lawyer and tell me what my chances of being cleared are.”
“I just work for your lawyer. You’re a juvenile. They have you until they decide you’re safe from bad influences or you turn 18.”
“That’s what they say. I have no rights and they’ll do what they want to me.”
“There’s no rehab?”
“Just beatings, whippings, and if you don’t cooperate, they send you to the mental hospital as incurably psychotic.”
“That’s what I say.”
“I’ll talk to Mike. We can investigate all that you’re saying.”
“Great. I can’t go back. I’ll be charged with escape. Tell me what’s happened with everyone.”
“Well, the band’s defunct. Michael and Robby started fighting. Jack’s been sent to school in Switzerland. The girls are all grounded. Hippie’s getting married. The band’s all over, Tim.”
“Fuck. Why’s Jack gone.”
“His parents were afraid the police would go after him. I hear he’s miserable, too.”
“He’s fine. The Watts are great foster parents.”
“How about you?”
“Work’s fine. Not much fun now that you’re gone. I know you were just flirting but I won’t deny I didn’t like it.”
“So you are gay?”
“Just say I had a strong weakness for a certain 16-year-old.”
“I love you too, Jay.”
“What can I do for you?”
“Tell Mike to get off his ass and clear me of these trumped-up charges. No one’s ever contacted me, you guys or my folks. I guess it’s not Jack’s fault if he’s in Europe. Fuck.”
“I’ll call again. I’ll keep using Max’s name for collect calls. But it doesn’t seem like there’s any hope for me now.”
“Don’t give up. The authorities were lying to us. Mike won’t put up with that.”
“Thanks, Jay.” I hung up and sat down hard on the curb.
Tommy sat with me. “Everything’s fucked?”
“Totally. Jack’s in Europe to escape the law. The band’s done. My lawyer’s clueless. My folks won’t help.
“Is Jay one of yer 4 boyfriends.”
“Naw. He’s 23. I just flirt with him.”
“If you can love a 23-year-old, why not me. I’m just 2 years younger. I really love you, Tim.”
Shit. I realized I didn’t know what the date was. I went into 7-11 and looked at the Miami Herald. It was August already. I’d been gone over three months.
I looked at Tommy. “I missed my birthday. I’m 17 now.”
“Fuck. You’ll never love me.”
“Stop it,” and I kissed him quickly. His mouth was open to me, but I didn’t go there.
“Get outta heah, you boys. Ain’t no faggots at my store,” the clerk came running outside.
We ran off, laughing. I kinda liked being abused.
“Where the hell is we?” I asked, reverting back to my good ol’ boy persona. “You know, Tommy. Yer from roundabouts here.”
“Sure. We’re on State Route 84. Goes all the way back ta the Beach.”
“Where’s it go to the west?”
“Ends in Tampa, but we sure ain’t going that way. It’s Alligator Alley.”
“Why you so dead set against ‘gators?”
“Because they’s always tellin’ ’bout people who go out Alligator Alley and never git heard from agin.”
“Another urban legend.”
Then I thought that could work to our advantage. If the locals in this tract reported our presence, the authorities might conclude that the ‘gators got us after we hadn’t turned up in a while.
“Let’s git our butts out o’ these parts and live it up with the ‘gators,” I announced.
“Oh, no,” whined Tommy. “Yer jist doin’ that ta harass me.”
“Ya ain’t got no ass ta harass,” I joked.
He looked at me seriously before breaking out into a shit eating grin.
“We’ll be Tom and Huck, living large in the wilderness. ‘Course I’m Tom.”
“Heck. I gots ta be Huck the Hick?”
“Naw. You’s Huck the Slick.”
We set out on State Route 84 after snagging some fresh clothes off clothes lines behind several tract houses. We fit right in.
After walking a mile or so, a pickup stopped and asked where we were going.
“Just up the road a piece,” I answered. “Me and my brother out lookin’ fer adventures.”
“Ya sure ain’t ready for an alligator adventure. This ain’t Disney World. This here’s the Alligator Alley.”
Tom moved closer to me with that concerned look on his face.
“Ain’t no alligator et me yet,” I flashed false bravado.
“Let me give you boys a ride up to the Sawgrass campground. Y’all smoke weed?”
“Shur ‘nuff,” we both answered.
“Well, spark it up, Sparky,” as he handed me a joint.
Soon we were goofin’ and gawfawin’ in his beat up pickup. I started singing,
‘One toke over the line, Sweet Jesus,
One toke over the line..’
Songwriters: BREWER, MICHAEL / SHIPLEY, TOM
One Toke Over The Line lyrics © Universal Music Publishing Group
“Man, you gots a sweet voice,” our new friend said.
Tom tried to do the alto part, ‘Oh, sail away..’ but his voice cracked which made us totally break up. I hadn’t been high in over three months. I almost started crying, I was so happy. My more mature self kept the tears from falling.
“You boys don’t git high much, do ya?” he remarked.
“Not lately. We don’t git out much.”
“Folks are assholes, right?”
“Ain’t they all,” Tom answered.
“What’s y’alls names?”
“I’s Tom,” He responded without thinking.
“I’m goin’ by Huck.”
He burst out laughing again. “You boys are crack ups. Ya ain’t runaways are ya?’
“Naw. It’s summer’s end and the crops are in. Our folks jist ‘bout kicked our asses out the door ‘til school starts.”
“Lookin’ fer adventure. My word. Well, here’s to ya,” and he pulled out a pint of Jack, took a swig and handed it to me.
We made faces at it.
“How old you boys, anyways?”
“14,” Tom said.
“16,” I lied for the first time about my age.
“My, my. Well, soon y’all’ll have a hankerin’ for Jack. Not yet, maybe.” He was smiling like it was Sunday and Christmas, all rolled up in the same day. I was really high. Not a Robby maintaining high but a total body high. I couldn’t move. It felt so cool.
Tom fell asleep against my shoulder as I sat in the middle singing with my new best friend.
His name was Vic. He was camping out at Sawgrass Campground, off Route 27 toward Orlando. He took us there. It was like a little city with little houses, except the people weren’t little – tall, long-haired dudes with their brown-eyed mama. Vic showed us where to wash up and when we joined him, about fifteen hippies had gathered around for a sing along. They asked me what I wanted to play, handing me a beat up acoustic guitar.
“Well, let’s do the song we did together,” I motioned to Vic and we did a replay for ‘One Toke Over the Line.’ I told Vic to pinch Tom when his part, ‘sail away’, came up and to harmonize with him if he was off-key. We both winked.
“Com’n, Tom. Git up here, too. And don’t fuck up the ‘sails away.’”
He grinned as we sat in the middle of their circle. Sure enough, he was off, so Vic pinched him and he hit the right note, with a little help from his friends.
Everyone knew the song and everyone was a little bit off. I blamed Tom, but who knows who’s fault it was.
I played a medley of Dead songs, ending with ‘Truckin,’
“Well, time for us to go,” I ended, getting up and pulling half-asleep Tom to his feet.
They refused to let us leave before stuffing us with beans and rice. It tasted great. Who knew?
When Vic realized I was determined to leave, he pulled me aside.
“You boys is runaways, right?”
“Naw. I jist gotta git Tommy from crushing on me so much. We gots ta be on the road to adventures so as he stops makin’ me his hero. T’ain’t normal. The first time I run away from an alligator, he’ll be crushed. I can have my life back.”
“He’s like yer right hand, right?”
“Part o’ me misses him right now ‘cause we’s neva apart. Ya understand?”
“Yer a pretty cool dude. Come back after yer alligator adventure and let us know.”
“Hell, we’s goin’ to Disney World, after that.”
We laughed and went back to the circle.
“Wake up, stoner boy,” as I shook Tom, “We gots ta go.”
“Ah shucks,” he murmured.
Several people said not to go, offering a couch. We ended at Vic’s beat-up Airstream. I lay Tom on the couch, while Vic got a blanket. He put his arm around me and asked if I wanted to sleep in his bed.
“”S’cool,” I said. “But Tom will come and git in, too. Ruin the party.”
He shook his head. “What a trip.”
We got up early and sneaked out at dawn, not leaving a note.
“Where to today, Jose?” Tom grinned.
“Off to Alligator Alley. Off to meet the Wizard, the Wonderful Gator of Oz.”
Tom sulked, “Why you pushin’ gators on me? You know I hates ‘gators.”
“Y’all don’ts jist hate gators. You’s afraid of gators, and snakes, an’ spiders, an’ everythin’.”
“I ain’t afraids.”
I reached over, kissed him lightly on the cheek and licked his lips. His hips started humping right there.
“Stop,” I whispered. “Yer makin’ a spectacle.”
He panted, “A what–a-call?”
“A spectacular hard-on,” As I winked at his bulge.
“That’s my spectacle?” he laughed.
We went on like that until we had run out of puns and rhymes. And his hard-on was gone.
Once we got past the campground, we walked until I saw a good-sized hummock veering off Highway 27.
“Check it out. Let’s look fer a hideout away from the road.”
“Why not jist stay in the campground where there’s food and comfort? They’s jist back the road a piece.”
“Those Program assholes will eventually come a’lookin’ for us. We needs a camp to run to when we hears ‘em a’comin.’”
“Can we jist go back to the hippies. I liked ‘em.”
“Later. Let’s go set up our hideaway. ‘Don’tcha wanna a place we can be alone together.” I winked at him.
I swear his hard-on burst, then and there, messin’ his jeans. He tried to hug me, but I pushed him away.
“Doncha git that jizz on me.”
We laughed. I kissed him on the cheek again, with a quick lip lick.
As we walked along the hammock, we whistled ‘Off to Work We Go’ together.
I called him Dopey. He called me Doc. At its far end, the hammock spread out like fingers into the swamp.
“We’ll set up here,” I decided.
“Yessir, Captain Huck,” Tom answered. He spread out our blankets. Laying down in the middle with his arms stretched out to me, I leaned over for another kiss and lick.
“Later. We gots to make camp ‘fore the thunderclouds rolls in.”
“Ah. Yer no fun. What about what y’all said about us gettin’ it on, once we had our privacy.”
I could see his dick straining to get out of his stolen jeans. I knew what was gonna made him cream.
“You know I loves ya.”
Pop, spunge, spurt. He was automatic. I licked the front of the jeans while he kept climaxing, rubbing his butt as he rolled back his eyes and moaned at each spurt. It was getting harder to deny this boy, all of 14 and ready to grow up.
“Now, git up and act like ya wants ta make a camp here,” I ordered.
He looked bewildered but did move. We collected palm fronds and tree branches, enough to build a lean-to, where we spread out the blankets.
“Firewood next,” I ordered.
“What’s we needs that for. Hot as hell out here,” he complained.
I started bringing in dry wood and breaking it into logs. He followed me around.
“We ain’t gots no matches, y’know,” He continued to whine.
“All in good time, boy.”
We build up a decent pile and placed a circle of stones in front of the lean-to. I found a couple of coconuts, which I cracked open.
“Have a drink. Looks like ya needs one,” as I handed him the split shell.
“I’ll bet ya taste sweeter,” looking wickedly at me as he wiped his lips. “Ya owe me a pair of orgasms. Let me collect now.”
I grabbed his stiff dick and it went off like the noon whistle.
“That ain’t no fair. I gits no time ta enjoy it,” he complained.
I pulled him close and made him comfortable.
“This is love. Not that,” As I pointed to his messy jeans and kissed him not so long as to get him horny again.
He jumped up, pulled off his jeans and dragged them bare-ass into the swamp. He wiggled his ass at me.
“Ya tryin’ ta be ‘gator bait,” I mocked him.
Startled, he jumped back up the bank where he squeezed the water out of his jeans and hung them from a branch.
Bare ass and hanging, he didn’t look like he was only 14.
“When’s yer birthday, Tom,” I asked.
“Not ‘til October thereabouts.”
Well, maybe I best treats ya like yer 15 now,” I smiled at him.
His dick was instantly hard as he scooted under the shelter.
“If ya ain’t gonna fuck me, kin I fuck you?” he asked mischievously, wagging his stiffy at me.
“And I thoughts ya was all innocent,” as I slapped his ass.
“I’ve wanted to ever since I seen ya take it up the ass from that jock, the first night ya was in juvie.”
“I bet you creamed yer pants, right then and there.”
“Damn right. Especially when ya turned the tables on that prevert.”
“Yeah, the good ol’ days of juvie, before the Program.”
“Yeah, we thought we had it bad then, but little did we know.”
I kissed him, long, hard and deep. His reaction was immediate.
“Ah shit, here I goes agin,” as his body stiffened.
I took all five inches of him into my mouth. At least he had decent pubes. He kept squirting. Done, he clung to me as he panted and moaned. To my discredit, I was measuring him for a good fit up my ass. I rationalized that he was already 15 and me still 16. Like Jace and I used to be. That thought killed my hard-on.
“What’s wrong. I had it up the butt before, if’n ya ain’t gonna let me do ya. I can go agin.’”
“I bet. All night long, too.”
“Ah, yer a tease.”
“Who was wigglin’ his ass in ‘gator beach?”
“Just windin’ up yer clock so I kin strike eleven.”
“That’s fer later,” he giggled.
We just sat there hugging.
“I love ya, Tim.”
“Its Huck. Huckleberry Flynn.”
“Naw, ‘in like Flynn.’” As I wiggled a finger into his tight, pink ass. His legs started spasming as he rolled side to side.”
“Ya like that, huh?”
“Oh, yeah,” he mumbled, reaching across my lap to check my dick. With a disappointed look on his face, “I ain’t fuckin’ no limp dick.” He pushed me away.
I pulled him back. “Ya gots ta play the love card if’n ya expect any action from me.”
He looked me in the eye. “Cain’t we jist get down an’ dirty? Jist let me fuck ya anyways.”
I laughed and turned away from him to unbuckle and push down my jeans. My XXL hose flopped out.
Tom looked at the size of it in wonder. “Holy shit. Ya ain’t never gonna git that thing inta me.”
“It has its ways,” as I twitched it and made him jump.
“Ya better fuck me sooner ‘n later then,” as I rolled on my stomach.
He was on me faster than flies on shit. This time he kept control like he knew what he was doing. I started moaning and fucking him back. He reached under, grabbed my tits and hung on as I gave him a ride. Soon as he started sounding like he would cum, I rolled him off and started rubbing my rock hard dick against his pink hole.
“No. No. No,” he complained, afraid of the size. Yet his butt hole was pulsating in anticipation. I rolled him back on top, pulled my knees up, and let him sink into me again. Every time he got close, I reversed the positions and teased his hole with my tip. He couldn’t help himself from trying to suck me in. I always rolled over to let him back into me before pushing too far into him. It went on like this for at least thirty minutes. We had moved out from beneath the lean-to and were rolling on the grassy hammock. Dirt, leaves and sticks were stuck to us as we kept changing positions. I worried that all the time of no sex in the Program would make my load too much for him to handle. I visualized it coming out his mouth, nose and ears. I pulled out just in time to cum all over his back. It flew into his face as he was turned to watch me. He pushed me backwards, entered me and shot multiple times up my ass, finally collapsing. I dragged him into the swamp, and we washed off. He clung to me exhausted. Looking over his shoulder, I saw the strangest thing. Four round protuberances swimming right at us, twenty yards away.
“Gator,’ I yelled, barely waking him up. Holding him, I ran for the bank. He was looking backwards and saw the ‘gator.
“Holy shit,” he squealed, reminding me he wasn’t 15 yet. Once up the bank, we stopped, feeling safe. The ‘gator came right up the bank. I pulled Tom up the nearest tree and shoved him out of the ‘gator’s reach.
“He’s gonna git us. He’s gonna git us,” he kept squealing.
“Hush. He ain’t gonna climb this here tree.”
Tom clung to me, shaking and out of his mind from fear. I definitely wasn’t his hero, bare ass, up a tree, waiting for the beast to give up on making us dinner. The ‘gator finally got bored and wandered back into the swamp. We climbed down.
“I ain’t stayin’ here. That thing kin come out of the swamp anytime and git us,” he whined.
“We’ll build us a door to the shelter so as he cain’t git in,” I tried to reason with him.
“No way. I won’t sleep a wink ‘cause of worrin’.”
I put my arms around him as he kept shaking. After a bit, he seemed calmer.
“Alright,” I gave in, “we’ll go back to the hippie campground fer tonight. But just to git some tools ta make the lean-to safe from ‘gator attacks. I’ll tell ‘em we lost our first battle with the ‘gators but we’s not givin’ up.”
Tom eyes got big. “We gots to come back ta this here hell hole?”
“Ya didn’t feel that way when we was rolling around on the ground.”
“I’d plumb fergot there was ‘gators here. I’s scared, Huck.”
I kissed the top of his head. “Let’s jist git back ta the hippies and git us weapons and tools.”
At least our clothes were dry. Soon we were out on Route 27 and quickly got back to the campground.
“Howdie, boys. Y’all stayin’ awhile?” an older hippie asked.
“We had our first Alligator Alley Adventure. It didn’t go all that great.”
“Ya met a ‘gator.”
“He almost et us,” Tom added.
“Well, that’s what ‘gators do.”
“He was humongous – 18 feet I bet,” Tom was unconsciously exaggerating.
“Well, not quite,” I corrected.
The hippie laughed.
“Y’all be stayin’ wid us, now?”
“Yeah, is Vic ‘round?” I asked.
“Well, he works in town but I bet he’ll be back about now. Y’all stayin’ wid him?”
“We ain’t givin’ up on our ‘gator adventure. I’s hopin’ he’d lend us a knife or ax.”
“Ya gots guts, boys. I’ll give ya that.”
“Hell, a ‘gators jist an animal. Cain’t blame it fer bein’ hungry.”
Tom looked worried again. He was standing pretty close to me, like a shadow. We went and sat on the steps to Vic’s Airstream. Some of the younger hippies came over and asked us about our adventure. Tom got worked up about how we were attacked. He spun out the tale like a true troubadour. Vic soon showed up.
“Where’d y’all go this mornin’?” he asked.
“We had a ‘gator adventure and we was the losers,” Tom explained.
“I tolds ya. Whatcha all expect?”
“We ain’t givin’ up. Kin ya lend us a knife and a hatchet fer protection?” Tom asked.
“I think we can handle that. Y’all shur ya wants to be back out there?”
“Well, maybe tomorra if’n we kin sleep here agin.”
Vic winked at me while Tom recounted our encounter with ‘Gatorsaurus. It got better with every retelling.
Soon it was afternoon thunderstorm time. Vic let us into the trailer and sparked us up. Tom’s next recounting of our ‘gator encounter was even more vivid and the beast more lurid, flashy green and ‘at least a hundred teeth.’ He even described its fetid breath. We were in stitches from laughing. Suddenly my mood dropped me into a funk. I wasn’t used to smoking now, and previously it had always been fun. Now I started thinking about all the people I’d lost in life, always moving as a kid, the Scott fallout, Jace and Max now dead, Jack gone, the band kaput. I picked up Vic’s beat up acoustic guitar and started playing the blues – Grateful Dead. Vic gave me a quick look, seeing the tears just on my eyelashes, then looked away as I brushed them off. ‘I Will Get By:’
‘Dawn is breaking everywhere
Light a candle, curse the glare
Draw the curtains I don’t care ’cause
It’s all right
I will get by
I will get by
I will get by
I will survive
It’s a lesson to me…
And try to keep a little grace
It’s a lesson to me…
Try to give a little love..
My dog has been dead for years
It’s even worse than it appears
But it’s all right…
We will get by
We will get by
We will get by
We will survive’
Writer(s): Robert Hunter, Jerry Garcia
Copyright: Ice Nine Publishing Co. Inc.
“Why ya so sad, boy?” Vic asked. “And why’d ya change the words about yer dog bein’ dead?”
“Cops killed my dog, an’ it jist makes me so sad. Had to sing ta let it all out.”
Vic looked at me sharply, “Ya said cops killed yer dog?”
“Yeah. Well, ‘twas my fault. Max was protecting my friends and the cops shot ‘im.”
“Max?” Vic looked quickly at me. “The dog killed at the Skynyrd show last Spring?”
“I knew ya was too good a musician to not be a pro. You’s in False Gods, huh?”
I just hung my head. Tom looked confused. We weren’t supposed to let anyone know who we really were. I’d blown our cover.
“Whateva happened after that show. Y’all blew away Skynyrd but no one’s heard a ya since.”
“No way we blew away Skynyrd. They came out and played with us after the shooting ‘cause everyone was runnin’ away. We gots ta play ‘Free Bird’ with ‘em and everyone come back. We be jammin’ with ‘em. That’s all.”
“Who cares, yer a hella musician, even I kin see that.
“Ain’t doin’ me no good now.
I picked up the guitar and started playing ‘A Friend of the Devil.’
‘Got two reasons why I cry away each lonely night,
The first one’s named Sweet Anne Marie, and she’s my hearts delight.
The second one is prison, babe, the sheriff’s on my trail,
And if he catches up with me, I’ll spend my life in jail.’
Writer(s): Jerry Garcia, Robert C. Hunter, John C. Dawson
Copyright: Ice Nine Publishing Co. Inc.
Vic’s face lit up, “Ya boys are on the run, ain’tcha?”
“Cain’t say, puts y’all in harm’s way. We’ll leave before there’s any trouble.”
“No way. Jist makes us fellow pardners in crime. Y’all kin stay here. No one’ll eva turn ya in.”
I just shook my head and started playing ‘Truckin’.
‘One of these days you know you better get goin’
Out of the door and down on the streets all alone…
Got a tip they’re gonna kick the door in again
I’d like to get some sleep before I travel,
But if you got a warrant, I guess you’re gonna come in….
You’re sick of hangin’ around and you’d like to travel;
Get tired of travelin’ and you want to settle down.
I guess they can’t revoke your soul for tryin’,
Get out of the door and light out and look all around.’
Writer(s): Bob Weir, Philip Lesh, Robert Hunter, Jerry Garcia
Copyright: Ice Nine Publishing Co. Inc.
“Sure wish ya was stayin.’ But I’s understand why yer movin’ on.”
I saw that the rain had passed.
“Well, not tonight. Looks like the weather’s cleared an’ we kin have ‘nother singalong. It’ll be a hoot,” I brightened up and smiled.
“Ya gots friends here, so don’t ya worry ‘bout cops.”
“Best not to tell what ya figured out. Less people know, the safer y’all is.”
“Sure. But I kin tell my kids someday I knew a real rock star.”
“Fer right now, keep it under yer hat. So as, when the cops come a lookin’ fer us, just tell the truth ‘cause we’ll be long gone. They always know when yer lyin’.”
‘Oh Lord, won’t you buy me a night on the town?
I’m counting on you, Lord, please don’t let me down.
Prove that you love me and buy the next round,
Oh Lord, won’t you buy me a night on the town?’
Songwriters: LEVERT, GERALD EDWARD / GIBSON, ANDY
Mercedes Benz lyrics © Universal Music Publishing Group
Everyone sang the last verse. Tom hugged me around the stomach and everyone was swaying to the slow dirge. The singing went on, with Tom leaning against me, sound asleep.
Afterward I talked with Vic, as I carried Tom back to the trailer.
“He’s still crushin’ on ya, ain’t he?”
“Yup,” I nodded. “I thought that he”d get the message I was jist as chicken shit as ‘im runnin’ bare ass from the ‘gator and climbin’ a tree.”
“Did it work?”
“Naw. He thinks I’m gonna wrastle that ‘gator now, as I’m gittin’ a knife from y’all. The quest goes on.”
“I hopes not. Just so’s you tell them cops where we went an’ how we neva came back.”
“Sounds like a legend.”
“Call it wot ya may, we gots to be movin’ on, not that the hospitality hasn’t bin A number 1.”
I leaned over and he hugged Tom and me. Again he asked if I’d sleep with him, but I told him Tom would throw a fit, so we left it as a mutual admiration society thing. He had to be at least 23 or more.
“Kin ya drive me to 7-11 in the morning?” I remembered I should call Jay.
Of course Tom woke up horny and tried to molest me on the couch we shared.
“Jist wait ‘til we’s back at camp,” I fended him off.
“Stop teasin’ me,” he complained.
“It ain’t a tease when ya knows we’ll be doin’ it soon as we’s alone,” I argued. I gave him a squeeze and was rewarded with spunk all over my hand. He went back to sleep instantly.
Vic and I drove into town where I called Jay again.
“Hey, Max,” he answered and we giggled together. “You still hiding out.”
“We gots a safe place,” I answered, falling back into my Huck accent.
“Sounds like you fit right in.”
“Any word from Mike?”
“He raised hell with the County Youth Authority. They had to release the paperwork on all the kids who have filed complaints against The Program. He threatened a class action suit.”
“Wot’s that. I’s in senior class now, if’n we straighten out the last few months. That makes me like high class?””
“Not school class, but a group of victims of a crime.”
“How’s that gonna help?”
“If we proves… shit, I means prove… Now I’s talkin’ like a hick.”
“Ya kin take the boy outa the country but not the country outa the boy,” I laughed.
“Anyway, if he can prove you were abused, then they can’t contend they took you into custody to protect you.”
“Great. Kin I come home now?”
“Not ‘til we proves the abuse and gets a judge’s order.”
“Shit. Well, wot’s happenin’ with my dad. Did he and Susan git hitched?”
“Yeah, the Stones threw a big party.”
“I bets no one misses me t’all?”
“Not true. Ur dad told ever’one y’all was doin’ good in rehab.”
“Like he even knows.”
“Well, we all will git it straightened out. Jist be patient.”
“Love ya, Jay.”
Vic had been slouched against the side of the 7-11. When he heard me say I loved Jay, he said, “I knew y’all was gay. They even said it in the papers.”
“Don’t be all thinkin’ ‘bout that. Jay’s ur age. Ya wanna an introduction. He’s way cuter than my scrawny ass.”
“Well, umm, I don’t..” he hemmed and hawed. “Maybe..”
“No problem, but ur gonna havta wait ‘til they’s cleared my ass from the bogus charges.”
“I’ll jist crush on yer ass ‘til then.”
“Ur so romantic, ya horn dawg,” and we both laughed.
Popularity had yet to breed contempt. I wished I could stop turning everyone gay.
“Wot?” Vic asked.
“I’s such a slut.”
He hit me with a bro’ punch to the shoulder.
Once we got back, Vic cooked a real breakfast of eggs ‘n grits. The coffee got Tom and me wired and ready to go take on the ‘gators. Or, maybe Tom couldn’t see past our next session of ‘private’ time. Vic gave us a Bowie knife, a hatchet, matches and rope, to which he added a couple of joints.
“Y’all be careful and come back,” he cautioned.
“Y’all’s the best,” I said, as I gave him a bro’ pat on the back. Tom gave him a quick hug, grinning at me.
Soon we were back on the road again, heading out to the first camp. Hi Ho , Hi Ho. When we got there, the blankets had to be hung out to dry from the previous evening’s thunderstorm. I moved the lean-to’s frame so it was adjacent to the tall tree we used to escape from the ‘gator. We used the hatchet and rope to construct a more permanent four-sided shelter, with a flip-up door that made us feel secure inside. By being attached to the tree, not only was it more sturdy, but we could easily climb into the branches if need be. We ate coconut for lunch, drinking the juice to refresh us from all the work. Additional palm fronds were gathered and the shelter was fairly rain-proof. It was late afternoon by the time we finished. The blankets were finally dry. We created a little nest to be comfortable in our new camp. As the skies darkened with the approach of the thunderclouds, we waited inside the shelter to test the rain-proof ability of our design.
“How’s it ya knows so much about campin’?” Tom asked.
“All them years as a military brat in Alaska. We was always goin’ a’hikin’ and a’campin’.”
I told him about the time we’d got caught in the rain after Victor tumbled a thousand feet down a steep slope tryin’ to catch his hat in the wind. We all camped at the bottom as his ankle was sprained. It rained so hard that one tent was soaked. We all huddled together in the other tent, sleeping two to a sleeping bag.
“Y’all getting’ it on, huh?” Tom jumped to the assumption that we all were gay.
“Naw, we was younger’n you is now. Never thought ‘bout that. Jist tryin’ to stay dry.”
“I never bin anywheres but Florida,” he whined.
“Ain’t ya havin’ fun now. Not bad here in the Sunshine State.”
“We’s the OJ State.”
“Hell no, he’s a lame football player.”
“Tell me ‘bout the band, Huck,” he ordered. “Bet ya dids lots o’ drugs.”
“Mostly pot. Our drummer was a dealer.”
We lay there while I told him stories about the band’s glory days. It hadn’t been a year but it seemed so long ago, just history now.
“Ya done so much,” he sighed. I could see the tears forming in his eyes.
“Wot’s this?” I asked, brushing away the tears.
“We’s doomed. Y’all done so much. I’s just some hick. We ain’t got nothin’ in common.”
“Com’n, Tom. We’s makin’ our history tagether, right now. The Alligator Alley Adventure.”
“Ya ain’t bored wid me?” his eyes sparkled from the tears and wonder.
“Yer so cute,” as I kissed his eyes shut, pulling him into a full body hug. “Cain’t we just get through these days and see how it turns out. Neva give up today what might not last tomorra.”
“Y’ve bin sayin’ I’s too young fer us to be real boyfriends. I guess you’s right.”
“How’s ‘bout we stay brothers, brothers on the run.”
“How s’bout brothers with benefits?” Tom couldn’t help his hormones.
“I ain’t askin’ s’xactly wot that is, but I kin guess. Ur ol’ sperm factory cain’t stop the volcano yer dick keeps eruptin’.”
We just laughed. Then we fell asleep together.
“I’s hungry,” Tom whined that evening. “Let’s head over ta the campground fer some rice ‘n beans.”
“No way. We needs to fend fer ourselves. Wanna learn how to caitch fish?”
“How’s we gonna do it with no line, hooks or bait?”
“Just watch,” as I stepped into the swamp. “And watch out fer that old pesky ‘gator.”
Tom shivered, even though it was close to 90 degrees. I stood still, carefully watching the water. Soon a catfish lazily swam near my legs. Swinging an arm without moving my legs, I scooped it up and it flew up on the bank.
“Git it,” I ordered Tom, who fell on it before it could flip back into the swamp. I got one more, which was enough for that night’s dinner.
“How’d ya lern that?” he asked.
“Jist watchin’ Grizzlies swat salmon outta the Kenai River in Alaska.”
“Ain’t cha sumthin’?” he beamed at me. I showed Tom how to gut and cut the heads off the two catfish. Next I stripped out the bones. We built a fire and roasted the fish like they were ‘smores. I stripped off the tough skin and had Tom try the tender filet that was left. Without butter, spices and cornmeal, I thought the fish was tasteless, but Tom was ravenous. To him it was miraculous. We were living off the land. He burped and lay his head in my lap.
“Tell me ‘nother band story,” he demanded.
I recounted the whole Samhein/Halloween exploit, explaining that the two kids identified me as an abuser, which was one reason I ended up in juvie.
“Wot’s the name o’ that flower?”
“Belladonna. Dontcha go messin’ with it. It’ll fuck you up.”
“I bet that Robby guy’s ur drug dealer. I gots ta meet ‘im.”
“Oh, he’d love you, have ya wrapped ‘round his little finger.”
“’Til he’s done wid ya. That boy don’ care ‘bout nothin’ but hisself.”
“Got a mean streak a mile wide.”
“Sounds like y’all hates each other.
“Oh, we be best friends ‘til he tried ta rape Jack. I kicked his ass from here ta Sunday.”
“Ew. Ya likes ta fight, dontcha?”
“Ya knew that the first day ya saw me.”
“Yeah. Ya beat the crap outta three guys widout throwing a punch.”
“Yeah. I likes ta fight. Where’s that ‘Gatorsaurus ?”
We laughed, but then Tom jumped up and locked our new door.
“We be right comfy here now,” as he threw himself at me.
“All that fightin’ talk made cha horny, huh?”
“Like a bitch in heat,” he winked at me.
I stuck a hand down the back of his jeans and fingered his tight little hole. It was pulsating from the stimulation. I popped his buttons and his dick was as stiff as a board, just not as long. I took him in my mouth and sucked it in rhythm with my finger going further and further up his ass.
“Stop, stop, stop,” he moaned. I kept at him. He instantly came, shooting again and again down my throat.
“It’s always too quick,” he complained.
“Jist wait. Ya gots plenty more where that come from,” as I dribbled excess cum onto his belly.
He swiped a handful and undoing my jeans lathered up my semi-hard-on. He started jerking me hard.
“Yer pretty good at that,” I complimented him.
He blushed. “I gits lots o’ practice.”
“Yer a automatic jizz machine. “
He kept working on my dick. After a while he leaned over and took me into his mouth, careful not to go down too far. I enjoyed torturing him by not cumming. He didn’t care as long as he had my attention. I pushed his head all the way down, my tip deep down his throat. I held him down as he gagged.
“Breathe thru yer nose, pussy,” I mocked him.
Following my instructions, he soon relaxed and was taking me all the way down, then getting his breath as I pulled back out. He kept pulling me down his throat. Suddenly I lost my control and I was spurting deep inside him, holding his head down so he took it all. His gagging excited me more. I kept cumming, fifteen, twenty times. He was sputtering, with cum flying out his nose and mouth and tears out his eyes. Afterward he looked so sad. I kissed both his eyes. He turned away from me. Then crying out, he turned back and hugged me so tightly I finally had to hug him back. He relaxed.
“Why’s it so hard. I loves ya. I want ya. Ain’t it enuff?”
I kept kissing his eyes, while he passively let me hold him. I was harder than ever. I Frenched him deeply and long. He sat on my lap, positioning his ass on top of my straining dick. We kept kissing as he lowered himself onto my dick, his ass spasming with rapid contractions. My gut wanted to push fully into him. He was bouncing on the tip of my dick when he came again, short bursts that splattered onto my face and chest while his ass clenched over and over. Finally he was done. His butt relaxed. I just slid into him, all the way to my pubes, his body flexible as rubber. I came instantly, firing three then another burst into the depths of his anal canal.
“Oh, that feels so good,” he moaned.
I slide out as he rotated into my arms and fell asleep. I lay back, holding him tight.
It was dark when we awoke, Tom moving to a more comfortable position bringing me out of my dreams.
“Ya was so mean,” he looked at me with a half-smile.
“Brothers often are,” I answered.
“Are we lovers?”
I kissed him and fell back asleep. He placed an arm over my chest and snuggled into my near shoulder. It was getting light when I woke again. I felt I was being watched. Looking up through our palm frond roof, I saw a big yellow cat sitting on a tree limb, staring intently at us. I smiled at it, causing its tail to wag back and forth. I nudged Tom, nodding at the cat when he opened his eyes. He gasped. The panther jumped away.
“That there a lion?” he asked, still half asleep.
“Naw. Just a panther.”
“What was it doin’?”
“Watchin’ over us.”
“Nice.” He went back to sleep.