A High Country Tale Ch. 02: Three Dog Night

Chapter 14 (v.1)

Three Dog Night

Jeremiah was a most venerable bullfrog. A wily and esteemed Catesbian greenback. The jagged white scar stretching diagonally down his back confirmed the over large specimen for who he was. Voy backed the gig away and after a moment of silent reverence, turned in search of other sources to satisfy Winnie. The shallow marshy bywater had proven a particularly fertile venue for which to hunt the current object of his very pregnant wife's gastronomic desires. Other Rana legs would have to grace the skillet, Voy decided, because he and the old frog had an understanding.

Two years before, the bullfrog had serendipitously leapt a path of intersection between Voy's bare leg and a pissed off copperhead. The angry snake launched a strike which would have likely caused irreparable, if not fatal, damage had the venomous fangs connected.

By sheer dumb luck, Jeremiah had somehow absorbed the bite and the venom instead. Voy managed to wield his machete and decapitate the writhing serpent but the huge frog had dropped and lain limp, quivering in certain death throes. The compassionate fisherman and river dweller had scooped the stricken amphibian up and placed him on a flat rock in a protected corner on the off chance that he didn't die. He had heard the lore about river frogs' resistance to poisonous excretions so dangerous to warm-blooded animals and thought to offer the critter a chance.

Months later, on a pre-dusk trout line run, the man happened upon the most humongous emerald bullfrog he had ever seen basking in the last tippling sunbeams of an Indian summer day on the exact rock he had left him that fortuitous morning. Though grown significantly larger, a jagged scar adorned his dorsum, proving to Voy that Nature did, indeed, work mysterious wonders. Human and bullfrog had communed together for a while over the shared incident from that time before. They exchanged formal introductions under the new, less volatile circumstances, and the name 'Jeremiah' had lived on. Subsequent crossed paths had validated their eccentric oddity and now the two carried on in their private understanding.

Jeremiah's legs would remain intact for the bullfrog's continued jumping pleasure...and needs. Who could say when serendipity might strike again?

Voy's knee-high heavy rubber boots, a hunting accoutrement since meeting the big frog, picked their way through the bog in the hunt for the complementary half of the salt-water taffy duo now preferred by his pretty young wife in the gestational journey to delivery of the couple's third child. His cut-off jeans rode up on slim hips and crotch as he stalked, putting inadvertent pressure on the baby delivery device that was a presently under-serviced organ.

The thick piece responded of its own volition and Voy accepted the pleasurable feeling of his phattening cohort without either much choice, or effort, at quelling the effect. The gooey pre-cum escaping and dribbling down his bare leg evidenced the man's unslaked need for attention. Advanced stages of pregnancy did little to spawn amorous exploits, as Voy well knew. He was also aware that the big body part would receive some proper relief in the coming hours after he finished the present labor-of-love in the quest to satisfy his baby-mama's needs. Winnie's, as it were...

Torchy Lane, his sancha-in-chief, was returning to Rome today after an extended absence on a quest of her own at the international transgender talent competition in Berlin, Germany. She came victoriously back wearing the crown of first runner-up in the overall competition to show for her own efforts. Voy would be picking up the beauty queen at the Atlanta airport in a welcome home that would service multiple purposes. Not the least of which would be the highly anticipated multi-orgasmic emancipation in that newly crowned, un-impregnable bitch's Hershey Highway. The savoring of the thought served as succor to his and his nine-inch buddy's hormonal state of fervor...

A half dozen plump pairs of frog legs later found Voy traipsing the riverbank path toward the home he and Winnie had made almost eight years before. Come to think of it, he reflected, the same year that his big brother, Cal, had first brought Dr. Jake home with him. The two had arrived as a new couple, open and vulnerable, for his and Winifred's wedding. A ceremony officially denied the two soulmates. The fact that matching sets of external plumbing rooted the reasoning baffled the hunky man.

Voy pondered the irony as he entered the solid old brick house. The hunter now cleaned the catch and cranked on the slow-cooker already prepared with the stew-makings for his adored baby-mama's discriminating taste buds. Kissing the sleepy wife and children nesting together in the big poster bed, the tall man showered to shed the smelly grime in preparation for a short drive to Hartsfield International.

The boys had magnanimously celebrated the well-planned nuptials, he remembered, carried out in the First AME Church of Rome sanctuary. With nothing but joy in their hearts for Cal's little brother, the two had avoided asserting the elephant in the room which was their quite unignorable jungle fever gay relationship bursting the seams of small town America's volatile societal psyche... right there for the whole of Rome, Georgia, to see. And judge.

While the esteemed Broadhearst family had doubled down on their joy at recognizing two additions rather than one into their family, the social fabric of the community had openly wrestled with the divisive scenario. The boys had not purposely embroiled the community in a heated public debate then bubbling the nation's conscience, yet the arrival of the unusual up-and-coming couple for a marriage celebration denied to themselves had set off a cannon-shot of controversy still lingering to the present time. The patriarchal professor and his wife had opened their arms wide to both new couples; acceptance and consternation bookended their stance in demonstrable fashion.

Voy and Winnie had tied the proverbial knot and jumped the broom just as generations of young lovers had done before them. The Limerence-smitten gay couple had hailed the union in time-honored custom without any inkling of jealousy or chagrin, not wishing to diminish the beauty of the youngest Broadhearst son's Big Day. Winnie and Voy both got this. Nevertheless, the fact remained of this real-time personification begging the existential question under tumultuous debate throughout the social order. And being argued before judicial America. The ranges of response in Rome crisscrossed the local spectrum in parallel portrayal of the broader nation.

As he reminisced on the shock of the boys' wedding gift, Voy smiled at the memory of incredulous attendees' wide-eyed looks when the brand new Lincoln Navigator had pulled to the curb outside the church as the newlyweds exited the chapel. Bedecked in the silver and lavender wedding colors, tailgate open, the sound-system rang out Beyonce's 'Put a Ring on it' while Siri broadcast the South Beach Fontainebleau Hotel wedding suite as its initial destination. The plane tickets to Barbados and secluded wedding bungalow with all the trimmings, added by the doting parents, had fulfilled a dream honeymoon which Winnie still founded her conception of the perfect wedding model upon.

Still, the naysayers had created reasons to denigrate Cal and Jake as blights on proper society. Voy wondered at the sick bitterness abiding in those hearts as he drove toward the planned rendezvous. His mindset could not wrap around the cynical notion hallowed by such people. The very ones who professed and proclaimed their Christian devotion, yet stubbornly clung to a perceived right of denying sanctuary to those not adhering with their own narrow version of a much-translated holy book. The irony of the issue playing out in the world's citadel of secular freedom, so astutely devised by the Founders, did not elude the country man.

Thinking of his own situation, Voy thanked his lucky stars to have married such a worldly and loving woman as Winnie. A woman who not only accepted Torchy Lane but actually welcomed the benefits of her existence, even blessing the transgendered woman regarding her husband's libidinous needs. The girls realized they provided and derived different advantages in the relaxed arrangement. And, TL had been instrumental in attending to Winnie's necessities during this pregnancy in her capacity as a medical professional. The fact of no worries for extramarital side pregnancies merely added to the gravid woman's ease of mind. Yes, Voy counted himself as doubly blessed for such rare indulgence. As did his middle-leg cohort.

Reaching the international arrival gate, Voy lifted his mouth in a broad smile upon viewing the hubbub surrounding the deplaning corridor doorway. A sexily adorned Atlanta Falcon cheerleader was presently wowing passers-by and flight-greeters by her arrival... The dark-haired beauty waved red and gold pom-poms in time to the musical accompaniment broadcasting from the girl's speaker-app phone device. Her dance routine brought his dick to attention--- as intended, no doubt. Finishing with a back-flip flourish to a full leg split on the concourse, similarly affected male travelers applauded the foxy vixen, little suspecting that the woman working the crowd was his own Torchy Lane.

Ahhh, yes, ironies abounded, the black stud reflected, as he pulled the woman into his arms. Most present thought he was a Falcon team member by his size and athletic physique, so the scenario satisfied many persons' fantasies without a single qualm. The levity grasped solely by the reuniting lovers was a private hoot.

Just as they came up for a breath, a hand on Voy's shoulder pulled him around to the beaming visage of his big brother, Cal. Jake flashed a grin from a few feet away and the four greeted like long-lost war pals in the coincidental encounter. Cal and Jake had come to meet their best friends, Luke and Jeremy, in from the high country of Colorado for a week. The four bosom buddies, best men in each other's recent SSM highland ceremonies several months past, were consummating a pre-planned get together.

The friends of Cal's stood to the side, marveling at the impromptu dance show just experienced. After the six introduced to each other, all made their way to baggage claim for collection of the travelers' things. The small entourage created a kerfuffle amongst many on the way through the airport complex, deeming the three hunky men-of-color to be professional athletes whose names they couldn't quite assign.

Convoying to Rome, the three couples stopped for afternoon dinner at La Scala Bistro. Jeremy and Luke had enjoyed the unexpected spontaneous welcome, Voy and Torchy providing a big city vibe to the small municipality by their bohemian style. The stories of the Berlin beauty contest supplied side-splitting anecdotal fodder. Multitudes of transgendered beauty contestants from around the world made for an hilarious range of entanglements. On top of a Telluride Hallowe'en Bash story mixed together with the Austin antics of the four men, the restaurant flavor became imbued by ribaldry uncommon for the regular clientele. The atmosphere loosened into a Chaucerian merriment and table-to-table communications opened up. The typically quiet bistro filled with the tourist-laden post-holiday crowds strolling outside as the atmosphere infected the streets. The establishment's wine stocks were stretched.

Following the fifth shared bottle of vintage pinot noir, Torchy Lane was practically performing on the tables for the eatery patrons and by the time Jeremy was divulging the raucous ending to an Austin Juneteenth celebration, the entire restaurant populace, from management to staff to patrons, were leaning in for the next re-enactment of the comical stories like an E.F. Hutton commercial...

One elder gentleman fell out of his seat trying to hear Luke tell one episode from Telluride involving an English Lady and her chauffeur, while a young long-tressed woman leaned a smidgeon too far over her table's candle, inciting a minor disturbance while squelching the hair-on-fire consequence.

Two hours later, the manager approached them as the six were settling with their wait staff. He informed Cal, the host of the dinner, that there would be no charge for their dinner party. It seemed that the owner had been eating a couple of tables over and seen the camaraderie plus the boosted business brought by the enlivening group. Upon his instruction, the manager let the six know that the eatery couldn't have hired better entertainment or PR so the early evening was on the house if Cal's guests were OK with that... Torchy's streak continued.

"Well, Jake, you do remember that the third week in February is the annual 'Telluride Gay Ski Week Festival', right?" Luke was remonstrating with his friend about joining him and Jeremy soon on the mountain. "And you two need to meet Ambergai and Bryce," he continued. Luke's friends Gai, as well as Adolpho and Bryce, were holding down the log home during JK's and his visit downland. Luke was excited to introduce them all. The Ski Week Festival would be perfect if Cal and he could pull away.

"Cal is inaugurating a new location in Seattle around then," Jake replied, "so if you and I can extend our sabbaticals, then it may be golden." He could talk just about anyone into anything, so I knew Cal and the Brack Admin office would be pushovers.

We were lounging on the veranda sharing a joint after saying 'so long' to TL and Voy a bit earlier. Jeremy was picking Cal's brain on something business-oriented upstairs and the cute kids, Viv and Boy, had departed with Sophie back to their riverside home to spend the night in a slumber party with their mom, Winnie. I planned on getting a feel for country living from my homeboys' perspective for the week here in Georgia and so far we had been pleasantly surprised. Who would've thought that Rome, Georgia, home-based someone the likes of the transgendered lady, I thought.

The evening was misty but mild, a tropical system pushing warmth from the Gulf over us in contrast to the major winter weather hitting the northeast. We had discarded coats and heavy clothes upon unpacking. Jeremy and I were happy to get comfortable in next to nothing here the middle of January. Following Cal and Jake's example, basic baggie shorts were the norm by our observations. What a difference from the constant heavy clothing we wore outside in the upland reaches.

As we traded tokes, I heard a screen door slam close by and noted Jake turn toward the neighboring farmhouse a hundred yards to the east. As I followed his gaze, there appeared an ebony Chippendale-of-a-man from around the corner. He was easily assessed for the well-built feature as the man wore only cross-trainers. His huge uncut dick was lolling back and forth with each step and he had slung a piece of clothing over one shoulder. He grinned upon spotting us and headed over.

"That is Doy Al, one of Cal's little brothers," informed Jake, "and he looks like he's just been talkin' with old Farmer Brown." Curious observation, I thought.

Six foot and at least five inches in height, the term 'little' was not an adjective first in my mind for describing the approaching nudist, especially in light of the piece wobbling in front of him. The thing looked 'just-used' and seemed to be still saying so by the pearl presently budding from the tip. I was now beginning to put ideas to pictures as Jake's descriptions of the Broadhearst brotherhood came a 'little' more into focus. Voy had proven every bit as drop-dead gorgeous as Cal, and I felt a familiar warming in my groin in passing the blunt over while assessing this member.

"Doy can be kind of aloof when you first meet him, but he and I got past that pretty well after a bit. You'll like him, Luke." Jake's descriptive terms were befuddling. Aloof? The ripped Doy reached us and inadvertently--- I think--- flicked his handsome dick upon stopping within a foot of our seated faces. At that, the goo dribbled from the partially cowled tip and I almost lurched forward to tongue it in mid-air. The thought seemed to be read by the young man.

"Jake dude, I see you done multiplied, now, white boy," he eyed me while voicing the idea so regularly noted when we were together. While the Broadhearst brood were cloned in their looks, Jake and I were similarly brown haired with ringlet curls, mine darker than his auburn ones. The two of us both sported leanly tanned frames, kept in shape by regular exercise.

Our hungness was recognized readily amongst other Anglo males, but in the company of our black husbands, we were smaller by inches in both length and girth. 'Hung for a white boy' was the typical adage we heard from them... and definitely OK by us both. Tan lines were kept intact most of the year, so tight white buns provided the easy targets known to turn our mens' eyes. We played the fact to the fullest. Doy went on, "So's, wassup, Doc?" As he motioned for the blunt.

Bending a few inches closer to reach for it, the boy stood back up straight and sucked in a toke as he made sure the thickness sidled close enough for a Tallulah Bankhead inspection. "Doy, this is my best friend, Luke Cevennes; Luke, meet Doy Broadhearst," Jake grinned knowingly at the proximity-baiting by the horndog brother, "He and his husband are in town from Colorado for some Georgia hospitality this week."

It was all I could do to keep from kneeing the deck and swallowing the thing whole. "It's nice to meet you, Doy. Anyone tell you that you're the spittin' image of your big Bro?" I smiled in attempted distraction by wit.

Doy smirked through the in-taken breath and reached up to the wet piece of clothing over his shoulder. It looked to be an undershirt and it crossed my mind to wonder where might be the plainly missing shorts surely going with it...or the drawers. He used the cloth to deliberately wipe over the now thickening piece within inches of my face and Jake wisecracked, "Luke, this is the shy brother, so don't worry if he seems that way at first."

To which Doy grinned over at him, dropping the cloth to the ground. He exhaled the toke directly into my face and handed Jake the roach. The dick waggled and rose some more. Pointing at me. "Don't seems like I be the shy one right at the moment, Dr. J, not with this here big'un trying--- real hard--- to say 'hello', and yo' boy just ignorin' him like this." With that, the boy rotated his slim black hips and the schlong smacked my cheek.

That was plenty enough of a hint, so I overcame my wariness by forced reaction. Opening my lips, I glanced at Jake and mouthed the turgid beast so visibly attempting familiarization. Jake rose, now, and passed the young stud a power hit. Purposely sucking face very slowly in the passing, he used his fingers to check out Doy's and my connection. He fondled the filling shaft as it slid in and out of my mouth and Doy reached down to free my own straining dick. Within just a moment, we were all comfortably as nude as Doy, only shoes obscuring any anatomy. For now, I wasn't worrying about feet.

My hands came up and cupped the hardness of the round sable cakes backing the crotch I was nuzzling and I fed off the suckling sounds from above me as I acquainted with Jake's bro-in-law. The two seemed already at ease with each other, their hands wandering freely. I concentrated on the blooming cobra, comparing it favorably with my Jeremy's package. It was more upwardly curved, I noted. The thing strained mightily all of a sudden, letting loose a fast creamy load right down my ready throat as Jake tried catching the overflow. He no doubt was aware of the prolific nature of Broadhearst men and also knew how sharing I could be.