A High Country Tale Ch. 02: Three Dog Night

Sure enough, the excess was split between Jake and Doy's lip connection and his asshole, so I pretty much guessed what might be coming next. The moment of speculation didn't last long. Doy turned Jake around and bent him over the deck chair. He spat on the proffered hole for added slipperiness, then glanced my way as he was plugging the chute and let me know what he thought of my introduction.

"Boy--- Luke, is it?--- you done right good for a starter-off. I'm a gonna hafta get into a little bit o' my brolaw's asspussy now, should you wanna get that roach lit up again. Bet you and me might have something to talk over while I's busy."

So, we switched gears and I sucked face between hits while Jake enjoyed some fatness hardening right inside of him. Doy told me about how much a whore Jake had proven himself over the last three months. "We can NOT seem t'be able to keep this bitch happy 'nuf, dude. Ever time one of us turn around, he be backin' up on one o'us just like this here." Slapping the pretty white globes, he set a rhythm, and sank his muscly tongue all into my mouth to make plain I needn't reply...just think on it.

His hand kept busy sizing up my hard piece and his mumbles into my mouth confused me as to whether he was complimenting Jake's ass or my 'big-for-a-whiteboy' cock. Either way, within minutes, the trio of endowments produced more loads of sperm to slime the deck and the boinked orifice. Jake stroked himself in time to the top boy dicking, spewing stuff all over my leg, too. The two of us knew each other that well, so it was all good.

Temporarily sated, we stayed still for a few moments. Doy promised us both of the coming feast the other brothers were going to be having on the twosome of white asses now populating the homestead. "Luke, boi, you gonna be a damn good rival ho' for Jake Man." I was reminded by Jake of the double set of twins in the family and actually took compliment by the 'ho' comparison.

While we pulled it together, Cal called from an upper window, "Damn, you boys done goin' for broke already—we'll be right down. Bitches." Two upstairs Cheshire cat grins bounded down the stairway.

"Don't the amenities in our city parks just keep improving with each passing year, now, young man?" The slim white-haired elderly woman oozed cougar sultriness as she approached the delectably clothed buns so handsomely depicted through the walking shorts attempting to disguise the hard roundness Luke awakened beside each and every morning of his adult life. The errant fly ball had tagged him in the ass just moments before as he tied a bouquet of Happy Birthday helium balloons to the picnic table. Surprising the Austinite, Jeremy had jumped and twirled in surprise at the goosing, landing like a lynx, on the balls of his feet, facing the direction of the intrusion.

Luke watched, amused, as the interaction played out across the outdoor pavilion, aware of the effect his husband engendered in so many of the people he encountered. The muscle shirt covering the torso above the hard butt complemented the figure by its form-fitting style. Cat-like agility inherent to his kinesics frosted the cake in a way that fed the fancy of any person remotely in touch with their sensual side. Indeed, the unpretentious acrobatics displayed in this meeting presented JKell's erogeneity to its fullest.

The elegant older woman did not miss the litheness and obviously wasn't shy in expressing her round-about regard for it. "Why, thank you, young Sir, for saving this damsel-in-distress in her hour of need," she flirted. Sounds of excited chagrin erupted behind her on the softball field from where she had come. Frenzied appeals hounded the woman who had slowed down from the chase-mode to ogle the studly features. Her retrieval of the long fly ball off the bat of the rapidly advancing hitter now rounding first base was thwarting the ballgame's continuity. The crowd of retiree players and spectators contrastingly encouraged and discouraged the sidetracked left fielder. 'What game?' seemed to be her dreamy perspective by Jeremy's unintended involvement.

My man jogged the ball to the woman, junk noticeably bouncing underneath the drawerless shorts he sported. The focus of the woman further deviated from the ballgame. He underhanded the errant missile to her when he was within a few feet but the lady allowed the toss to hit and drop from her glove in further mock distress, obviously hoping for more athleticism by the beguiling beefcake. Not disappointing her, he leaned down and retrieved it once again. Raising up with a knowing grin, he placed the ball into the awkwardly extended glove.

"It appears your game has been saved by my backstop, ma'am," Jeremy jested, referring to the interference afforded by his hard butt, "I hope the deflection isn't graded a natural hazard by the ump, or else you may just be allowing an inside-the-park homer over there." He pointed toward the fast advancing base-runner. The crowd was vociferous in its divided insistence for action.

Seeing the woman's hesitation, Jeremy abruptly grabbed the ball back from the glove and in a roundhouse wind-up, he hoisted it toward home plate. As everyone followed its course, the heave line-drived in a perfectly targeted strike, smacking into the waiting catcher's mitt just as the runner entered a slide into the final base. A pause in the noise expressed the crowd's disbelief in the precise throw, then, a collective cry arose as the ump signaled, "He's OUT!"

"Why, you truly are just the very embodiment of chivalry, young Sir," the lady emphasized the second syllable of the four-course word as she scrutinized the man-of-color in more detail. She exuded flawless southern charm by her inflection and deportment. Jeremy, always impressed by good manners, fairly bowed to the woman. Toward the distant applauding crowd, he evinced just the right mix of charisma and hand-tipping cockiness to maintain his reputation.

As he did this, another sock to the derriere impacted him. An unseen projectile launched from the approaching form that was Calumet. The taller and slightly darker stud had seen enough of the previous encounter to conclude the need for some neutralizing of his closest friend's bravado. The basketball piñata had been readily available. It was as precise as the home plate strike. Jeremy jumped once again and turned to address yet another butt striker.

Acknowledging his best man with a smirk brought the two into the aristocratic woman's view together. She double-took at the doppelganger appearing out of nowhere. "My, my, this must be a Doublemint commercial." Back and forth went her eyes in absorbing the two men. She was clearly a discriminating woman in her taste for tall, dark and handsome, by her expression.

Luke snickered again as he drew closer. "Honey, you have just got to stop interrupting people like this. Just look at how the game and the party are being derailed by your big ole' self?" Approaching the fascinated woman, he extended a hand, "Good afternoon, ma'am, I am Luke, and this is my better half, Jeremy. And, over there is our best friend, Cal."

She remastered her patrician wits and accepted the proffered hand, "Very nice to meet you, Luke. I must say, you certainly have exquisite taste in men." She shook both of their hands. "I am Evelyn and seem to be in the middle of mixing up several different circumstances all at once." She looked over her shoulder at the deserted game, finally apprehending her need to get back. "I would love to stay and chat but really must get over to my game before I am ejected, or whatever penalty one accrues under such instances." She retracted her hand gracefully, smiled all around and begged to redeem herself after the game ended, if we would allow her the chance.

With that, she turned and trotted away. Cal ribbed Jeremy about his recurring theme of drawing attention as we continued our preparations for the birthday celebration in the hours ahead. Several trips of delivered goods and decorations sat haphazardly around the open pavilion, evidencing the progress unfolding for the eighth birthday party of Cal's mercurial nephew, Boy. Others were pulling in to the adjacent parking area as we laughed at the antics just witnessed and several more of the Broadhearst family contingent added to the cacophony of efforts for the upcoming fun.

Sophie arrived, trunk and backseat filled with freshly prepared hors d'oeuvres, hot dishes, iced sides, more balloons and accessories. Additional brothers drove up, all carrying something for the shindig. Over the ensuing hour, the pavilion transformed into a spectacle of birthday revelry with forty or so family members and friends aiding in the groundworks. The plan was for Winnie and Voy to arrive with Viv, and the Birthday Boy, once all was readied, in a ploy to surprise the youngster at the park where the kids commonly played throughout the year.

Situated along the Etowah River, not too distant from the Broadhearst home, Etowah Park provided playgrounds, hiking trails, sports fields and greenspaces, besides outdoor cooking and activities facilities perfect for such events. He would little suspect what was unfolding as mom, dad and sis brought him to an outing recurrent for them. The big get-together allowed not only an opportunity for the birthday, but also for the family to gather, and a welcoming venue for Luke and Jeremy to their hometown. The sunny January afternoon promised to augment the festivities.

Festooning crepe streamers, gobs of bunched helium balloons, a big draping banner proclaiming the eighth birthday, a horseshoe pit and volleyball net readied, as well as several other game set-ups with musical accoutrements in the background finally found everyone prepped and in wait for the little guest of honor. Sure enough, the minivan showed up in response to Sophie's text and the party was on.

Viv led her big brother out of the car, basketball under his arm. Wide eyes demonstrated success at catching the youngster unawares. The exuberant kid raced from one spot and group to the next in excitement as he deduced his center-of-attention status. Ending up viewing all from the height of Uncle Cal's shoulders, the celebration was officially kicked off by Loy and Roy's appearance with a colorful three layer, candle-blazing cake and totally off-key rendition of the generations-old salute recently freed from copyright constraint, 'Happy Birthday to him'. The Boy basked.

Three hours later, Boyden Alfrederic sat at a picnic table stuffing his bare little belly with a third piece of cake. Gifts, games and indulgence had swamped him during that time. The boy quietly contemplated some new expectations now facing him by attainment of the eight-year mark in Life, as described by his daddy, Voy. Uncommon thoughtful behavior arose from the man-to-man talk of the previous evening. He had been counseled of the need to look out for his little sis, Vivian. By the new baby's appearance, more responsibility would necessarily fall upon him, the older brother. Importance of a new mission had been driven home by comparison of his position to favorite uncle Cal's at the same age. Overnight, Boy's imagination had dreamt of chivalric daring-do in fending off imagined threats and dangers. Momentarily left alone at the big party, the little big man now conjured some very mature notions.

Just then, a cold gust of air blustered through the tree-studded park. His tiny nipples stood up at the stimulus and he shivered. Winnie came up behind him, thrusting a warm sweatshirt over his torso. The bemusement was interrupted. "Boyden," intoning his formal name and pulling sleeves into place, "the cold spell is settin' in and we need to batten down everything—can you look around for me and gather up things that might blow away, honey child?" The tyke swallowed the last bite of scrumptious sweetness and responded by doing just that. His first assignment. As everyone scurried about, Boy scanned to the edge of the pavilion for carrying out the grownup task.

As the little guy busied himself, focus was disturbed when he heard, then saw, the first of a procession of trucks curving through the distant entranceway. A pole protruding up from the lead truck's bed boasted a huge red flag crossed by a large blue 'X' emblazoned with small white stars. The boy was perplexed and registered a bad feeling about it.

A man and woman stood in the bed with hands on the pole; the man zeroed in and pointed toward the pavilion crowd. Behind the vanguard vehicle came a couple dozen more similarly swathed ones. The line entered, announcing themselves with a dissonance of horn-blaring. One specially-equipped vehicle played a tinny rendition of "Way Down South in Dixie". The many people enjoying the park looked up to visualize the noisy entourage. In the distant reaches, from the sports parks and trails, alarm bells were registering this uglier edge of the 21st century. A rejuvenated throw-back mentality had arisen over the American South as the political climate skirted further away from the robust middle America known over the previous progressive decades.

The Broadhearst family quickly grasped the potential danger. They began a virtual wagon-circling effort, as did other groups using the park. Cold northerly winds heralded the change in aura. Roiling thunderheads appeared from nowhere, harsh new sounds replacing the previous friendly atmosphere. A chill enveloped the area and people bundled on warmer clothing, staring toward the parade of acrimonious honkers. Others battened down multiple different levels of 'hatches' deemed suddenly prudent. All six Broadhearst brothers, other cousins, several of the women and Jeremy plus Luke and Jake, all protectively cordoned the on-comers from the partiers.

Little Boyden Alfrederic was overlooked in the clamor. On the fringe and around a corner from the party area, the boy was closest to the raucous truckers. He stood open-mouthed as the troupe drew up to his position. "Hey, boys, look here at the little monkey," the front man of the group hearkened back at his cronies. "Looks like he be stragglin' through our park here and needin' some discipline for bein' where he ain't wanted, huh?" His piercing voice cut through the wind now whisking debris all around. A collective grumble arose as the following trucks pulled up to the curb where Boy stood, hypnotized by the ascendant hate-filled tone.

A bare-chested Calumet broke from his shock at the bluster, recognizing the youngster's vulnerable position. He galloped to the spot in a flash, scooped up the nephew and backed away toward the pavilion as more rancorous rhetoric cut through him.

"Well, now, lookee here, a big ole' man-monkey done swooped in to save the french-fry, ain't it so?" The man chortled in condescension as he sized up his perceived advantage in the encounter. Several other discordant voices cackled adjuncts to their leader's insults and the horns all blew again, in unison, as the multiple Dixie flags whipped spitefully in the blitzing wind. "Ain't he just a sight, naked and showing ever-thin' to anyone who's fool 'nuf to be a-lookin' at his big ape self?" Cal was taken aback by the deluge of vituperation. He and Boy retreated wordlessly backward, confounded in the face of such unexpected hatefulness.

The line of brothers and others hastened forward now. To a man, still in shorts and shirtless from the volleyball game. The women-folk, to a person, all thinly fit and toned, wore fashionable sports gear. They projected a collective glow of good health and were unafraid to show it. This sight set the flag wavers into a further tizzy. An epithet-ridden maelstrom cold-cocked the family and friends in a bewildering verbal assault.

Calumet was, again, the first to regain his senses. Putting the boy into his pregnant mother's arms, he then turned to address the 'murder of crows'. "Etowah is a public park, sir, and this is a private, peaceful family gathering. I am unsure as to what we might all owe such insulting behavior, but we would appreciate it greatly if you would exhibit your antagonism elsewhere. We want no problems here." The eldest son of the late Professor Broadhearst projected an articulate intellectualism toward the group that couldn't be missed. His self-control held the family in check.

"So's, we Sons-of-Liberty just gonna hafta pack up an' leave cuz' you bunch o' pic-a-ninnies tellin' us to?" The reply was backed up by continued catcalling. Jeremy and Luke noted the ominous appearance of several uncovered long guns and pistols. The ante was raised in the confrontation. "All's we's doin' is an exhibition of our first--- and second--- amendment rights rightchere in a public venue, now, mandingo-man, and I don' reckon we gonna be kowtowed by the likes o' you and your kind, ya' thinkin?" The level of baseness was as callous as the display. The entire party group drew closer in a protective ring at the sight of the firearm effrontery. One jack-ass hoisted a shotgun up and under his arm, pointing it loosely in the family's direction. Hackles arose throughout the alarmed group. Insinuations and invectives were now quickly ratcheting up to physical threat level. They recognized that all bets were off in the face of such an escalation.

Shoulder-to-broad-shoulder now, the bravery of the harassed group was plain. The scraggly bleach-blond woman in the first truck now shrieked her own thoughts at the tall protective wall of ripped brothers. "So, you bunch a' naked heathens and sharia-law lovers think you's bein' all high an' mighty, protectin' all the offsprings an' wenches from the God-fearin' folk o' Rome, do ya?" Her shrillness sent further chills through the crowd. More park-goers were now gathering up to the rear of the surrounded family. Unsure now whether they were being assailed from multiple flanks, an entire ring of adults joined arms around the children and older members. The skies darkened.

"Looks like ya'll hooters are jus' about to be taught a overdue lesson by the good folk of this here community," growled the front man in the truck. He smugly surmised that a race-based clash was shaping up, per palpable intent, and was going to maximize his perceived supremacy. Several more of the truckers now raised their own weapons toward the unarmed park-goers.

Suddenly, a white-haired woman of aristocratic bearing slipped around the edge of the Broadhearst brothers, patting Cal's arm as she passed. "Well, I never thought I would see the day when the likes of you, Odell Rush, or you, Theresa Buckner, would exhibit the absolute idiocy to incite a riot right here in your own hometown, but it is apparent that this woman couldn't be more mistaken, now, could I?" She hiked up her resolute shoulders, cocked her lightning-bolting eyes at the ragged ruffians in Dixie outfits and planted her feet in a stance evincing immense gravitas. "You two miscreants need to turn your cowardly tails right around and head back under the rocks from which you have sprung."

The lady was enraged, but her resolutely mannered delivery cut quietly through the listeners over even the shrieks of the wind. When the several pointing gun-toters didn't lower their weapons post-haste, multiple more elderly white ball-players and exercise addicts emerged to amass in front of the beleaguered family-of-color. "Odell, you and Theresa and you, back there, Hiram Belchnor, all of your crowd need to be thinking of what this imbecilic commotion may be provoking here and now. There are police officers and a SWAT team alerted and approaching Etowah Park as I speak. Your options are already slim, young man, and all of you are readily identifiable to law enforcement. Are you actually considering the scenario you seem to be doing? Menacing unarmed, upstanding, innocent citizenry, of all hues and ethnicities, in some misguided Klan-like foray sure to end badly for all of you?"