Sparrow Takes Charge

Simon Mountjoy rolled up to a sitting position and looked out of the window beside the bed and down the hillside toward the animal pens on the subsistence farm nestled in the folds of the northern Colorado Rockies. Simon was a handsome, strapping Louisiana white and black slave mixed breed who had come to the Rockies to scratch out a small farm living after the war between the states. He had deserted the plantation to which he'd been sold, a handsome young man, to warm the bed of his master, sold from his home plantation, where his father was the master and his mother a house slave. Grasping for freedom, he joined the Union Army, and, despite the Union having won, he hadn't been welcome on either of the Louisiana plantations again. Like others before him--former slaves with no place to settle in the world they had known--he became a young man riding west to seek his fortunes there. Simon had made the move within two years of the end of the Civil War. Blacks and mixed races made up a large proportion of the cowboy population in the West at this time.

This wasn't his farm. His farm was twenty minutes away by horseback ride. This was where he laid his head on a pillow now most nights, all because of Sparrow--Kele by his Navajo name.

He reached over to the raw-wood nightstand, found his tobacco pouch, rolled a cigarette, and lit up. Chenoa, Navajo for Bird, Kele's mother, lay in the bed beside him, sighing in her sleep, looking content. Well she should. She had a belly on her now. Simon had fucked a baby inside her and the worry lines she'd had before he'd first come here and lain with her had smoothed out. She was a lovely woman who now felt fulfilled again.

She'd lost a man--the German farmer, Kurt Kline. Out here in the wilds of the northern Colorado Rockies that could have meant starvation and death for a widow--especially a native tribe woman, with a child, trying to make it in a white man's farming community. Women were at a premium here, but she was a Navajo and now stood between two worlds. The white settlers moving into the areas didn't want a Navajo woman on their family tree, and she had been abandoned by her own people for having gone with a white man.

Simon had done his bit. He'd taken the woman, made her life sustainable, helped her to fight for her land and place in the white community, lain with her, and gotten her with child. He'd signaled he would give her and her children the stability that Kurt Kline had not been able to do. Despite her beauty, it was a chore covering her and impregnating her and moving from taking care of his own small spread and helping to take care of hers as well. But it was worth the sacrifice. His goal had been more complex than giving Chenoa protection and stability.

As he stared out of the window down toward where the animal pens were located, he saw the reason why it had been worth the sacrifice. The eighteen-year-old youth, Chenoa's son, half German and half Navajo, came into view, moving gracefully, like a dancer, down to the animal pens to do the morning feeding. He had grown into a beautiful young man, strikingly attractive with his small, well-formed body; the long, straight black hair laced with blond highlights streaming down his back; and his incongruous pale blue eyes. He was small of stature, having fought for life from birth--hence the Navajo name, Kele, that had been given him, Sparrow, a little bird, when his parents despaired of his survival. But survive he had, and with the will he had, he determined to continue no matter what tragedy had struck the family with the loss of his father.

The loss of his father was, indeed, a loss of the plans Kele had had for himself. He had turned eighteen. His parents no doubt expected him to remain on the land, eking a living out of it even after they were gone. He'd had other plans, though. He had preferences that were a stigma in these parts--on top of the stigma of being a mixed breed of exotic looks. He had been planning to escape to Denver to try his luck there. He was sure there was more opportunity and reward in Denver than he received from men here in ranch country. His father's death had changed all of that.

As Simon watched the youth--a half-breed just as he was, and thus someone who had to take his pleasures where he could find them, Chenoa stirred, took his hand, and moved it to between her legs. She gave him the "Please, again," look and he moved his fingers inside her. Panting and giving little gasps, she arched her back and rocked on the fingers.

"Again," she begged. "Inside me again. Breed me again. You are so big, so manly." She was aware, thinking it had been her own doing, that she was lucky to have gotten another man to move between her legs--and not just any man, a beautiful hunk of a young man like Simon.

Simon laughed, running his hand over her distended belly. "I've already breeded you," he said. "You must pop this one out for me to seed you again."

"You can't wait for that to happen to be inside me again," she whimpered. "We both find much pleasure in the coupling for its own sake. You cannot tell me otherwise."

"No, we will not wait. But enough for now." He wouldn't reveal what a chore it was to get it up for a woman, even one as lovely as Chenoa was. He could, in fact, tell her "otherwise," but not because she wasn't desirable to most men--just not that desirable to men like him.

He looked out again to where Kele was feeding livestock. That was the coupling Simon felt was truly desirable.

Chenoa sighed contentedly, moving a hand to hold Simon's in place, his fingers moving inside her. "You could be inside me forever," she murmured.

"Not if we want to keep our two farms going," he answered.

Kurt had been a good man, but he wasn't the sensual god that his muscular, younger Simon was. Chenoa had gone with a non-Navajo before. She was a highly sexed woman. She didn't mind in the least going with a darker-skinned half-breed, who, like her son, had pale blue eyes. Simon was big, powerful, and satisfying where it counted most. His thick cock was jet black and she melted to have it inside her. She reached around with a hand and grasped his shaft, finding him in erection, and giving a little moan.

"Come on top of me, come inside me again," she murmured, assuming his renewed erection was for her.

But it wasn't to be. The renewed erection wasn't for her. He had more to give inside him, but he didn't want to give it all here. He had watched the perfectly formed, small Kele dance his way down to the animal pens.

Muttering, "Can't now. There are chores to be done," he pushed away from her, rose, pulled on his trousers and boots, and, bare-chested, suspenders hanging down to his side, left the bedroom, stopped in the kitchen long enough to swig a few mouthfuls of milk and pull off and devour a chunk of bread, and then he was out of the house, moving downhill, toward the animal pens, in search of his Navajo woman's eighteen-year-old son.

Kele, wearing only a loincloth and deerskin boots, as he did whenever he could on the isolated farm, turned his head, smiled enticingly at the approaching muscular, brown half-breed, and entered the shed attached to the pens. He knew what the man wanted, what he was coming for. The Navajo youth wanted it too. Simon was Kele's mother's man, at least for now, but they were not joined legally in any way. Kele had no feeling against laying with the man even while Simon covered his mother.

Entering the dimly lit shed, Simon saw the youth leaning back against a workbench, arms bent behind him, his hands palming the edge of the bench. His long, black hair streamed down his back. His slight, sensual smile was an invitation--an invitation that Simon didn't need. This was the deal. This was why he had covered and impregnated Kele's mother and had promised to provide and protect them. He did this to have an excuse to be near Kele. They had never said as much to each other, but both men understood this to be true and accepted it.

"I thought you'd never come," Kele said. "I thought you'd stay up at the house forever." The youth was covered by other men up and down the valley, but none as satisfyingly so as Simon.

In two strides Simon was in front of the youth, unbuttoning his fly, and flaring his trousers. He was still in erection. This erection wasn't for the woman lying in her bed up at the cabin. This erection was for his personal pleasure--his pleasure, having his way, with an eighteen-year-old youth.

"Ah, I see you have saved some for me," Kele murmured.

Placing his hands on the youth's shoulders, Simon pushed Kele down to his knees. The young man went down willingly, took the half-breed's jet-black cock in his hands, two hands required to control it--and then into his mouth. The man gave a low moan, as the youth expertly gave him head.

When Simon could take it no more, he reached down, grasped the small youth under his armpits, and raised him up to perch on the bench. He tore away the young man's loincloth. Wrapping an arm around Kele's back to hold him in place, arched back to the wall of the shed, Simon devoured the youth's lips, throat, and nipples with his mouth, while the fingers of his other hand found, penetrated, and worked open the young man's anal channel. Kele, no stranger to men's cocks even at eighteen, blossomed right open for him, which would be necessary because the half-breed was built large.

The youth arched his head back, exclaiming his pain-passion to the ceiling of the shed, as Simon put himself in position, mounted and penetrated the young man's ass, and began the dance of the fuck. The youth gasped, his mouth yawning, as the black shaft moved deeper inside him: in, out, in out. The two moved together as if they were masters at this, which, indeed they were.

The coupling with Chenoa had been slow and languid. With Kele it was frenzied. Simon thrust and Kele rocked back into him, taking him hard and deep. Their lips were locked together, the youth hooked the ankles of his deerskin boots on the man's muscular shoulders, and, while still grasping one of the man's biceps with one hand, digging his fingernails in, Kele's other hand went between them, found his own cock, and stroked himself off.

Tensing, jerking, and giving little cries, the two came almost together.

"Enough for now. Now to the needs of the animals," Simon said, pulling away from the youth perched on the bench. "Those at my spread need attention too. When we're done here, we'll go there. And we'll have a proper bed there to fuck in." And fuck in his bed they would. Simon was a virile, vigorous man, and Kele couldn't get enough of his cocking. The two half-breeds were divinely matched.

It was a lot of work taking care of two spreads in the unforgiving folds of the Rockies, no matter how small they were. And it was an added burden to keep a woman satisfied and pregnant when a man's preferences bent elsewhere. But the allure of the eighteen-year-old Kele was worth it. And Simon was determined to get as much pleasure out of the arrangement as he could.

For Kele's part, he had found the means of survival for himself and his mother--and his mother certainly seemed to be content with the arrangement without knowing all that it entailed. And it wasn't like Kele wasn't regularly being fucked by men--many different men, strangers, strangers with money to pay.

Kele, the Sparrow, was taking charge. He had meant to be using his talents down in Denver. Those plans had been dashed when his father died. But hope was renewed with the coming of Simon--and maintained as he came with and for Simon again and again.

* * * *

Simon was not Kele's first man, even at the youth's eighteen-year-old age. Kele was exotic and small and beautiful of body and visage. He came across as delicate and vulnerable, although that hid a spine of steel and a determination to survive and prosper. Not long after Kurt's accident with a loosely swung ax when he was inebriated that had killed him, Kele realized he wouldn't be going to Denver--that keeping the ranch going was now his responsibility, and that the family needed more of an income than he and his mother together could scrape together from their small plot of land.

The young man had already lost his virginity to men, and it had not been a traumatizing loss for him. He had decided early in life where his preferences were directed. While his father still lived, they would rely on itinerate workers, up from Mexico or west from the ravishes of the war between the states, to help them bring the hay in. It had been such a Mexican who had torn Kele's virginity from him on the same workbench in the shed and in the same position as Simon later was to have him--often. This had happened barely weeks after Kele had turned eighteen. But Kele had not minded. He was of the mind to go with men as soon as he reached his majority. He melted to a man with a good physique and a big cock, and the Mexican had both, as did Simon.

Making the most of this, twice a month after his father died, Kele rode the family horse down to the nearest town, Crystal City. The town was hardly big enough to be called a city, but it had three saloons, one of which was also a brothel. The brothel provided a couple of young women, but it was happy to pay Kele as well to lie on his back for men a couple of times a month. There were few women in the territory at this time and fewer young and comely enough to give rise to men's sexual desires. Kele's size, exoticness, and beauty brought him into the zone of desire by men who, lustful but lacking female companionship, had turned to satisfying themselves with other like-minded men.

In two overnights in Crystal City a month, lying on a bed for a succession of men covering and bouncing up and down on him, making the bed springs sing and the headboard do a rat-tat-a-tat on the wall to the amusement of the men at the bar below, Kele was able to make enough to keep the grim reaper away from the family's door. He didn't tell his mother where the money was coming from, and she didn't ask him.

But the young man could see that the isolation out at the ranch and lack of a man was making his mother despondent and was cloying at her physical and mental health. She was a sexual being. She and Kurt had spent considerable time in bed. Kele had needed to do more than just keep his mother and himself alive. He had needed to do something for his mother as well.

Simon Mountjoy became that someone. For one thing, Mountjoy was a magnificent specimen of a man, with the one flaw being that he was a half-breed--half white and half black. Many of the men moving into the West as cowboys were black, but not that many of them both preferred men and wanted to fuck younger men. And fewer would be content to fuck both mother and son. Kele, himself a half-breed, needed to find such a man.

Mountjoy paid the fee for Kele at the brothel and he made the bed springs sing and the headboard bounce off the back wall when he topped the half Navajo youth as no other man had, much to the amusement of the men in the bar below, several wishing it was them pounding the ass of the sweet little half-native piece with the arresting blue eyes. Most of them in the saloon were waiting their time with the female prostitutes but some had Kele in their sights and in their fantasies.

Simon was different from most of the men who covered Kele in that upstairs room. Most of them had come, dusty and dirty, off the trail and remained so--remaining mostly dressed, concentrating on quickly getting their rocks off--as they bent the youth over the bed and took their pleasure as fast and fully as possible. And that was fine with Kele. A dick was a dick, and one man's money was as good as the next one's. If one man was in a hurry, there would be time to take on another man.

This was not so with Simon. He paid for the deluxe treatment. He paid to bathe first and for Kele to do so as well--in the one tub together. They not only got clean there, but the Navajo youth also got fucked there, Simon pulling him over onto his lap and his cock as they faced each other in the high-sided cooper tub. As Kele leaned back and moaned, grasping the man's knees with his hands, Simon held the youth's slim waist in his beefy hands and raised the young male whore up and down on the oversized jet-black cock, sloshing water out of the tub, listening to the youth's panting and moaning, and, eventually, mingling his cum with that of Kele's in the bath water.

The youth had never experienced this manner of sex before, and he was won over to the man as more than a paying cock--as a lover--even before Simon continued with the melting sex, pleasuring the young man as much as he did himself. The Navajo youth was impressed. But that was not the end of it. After drying Kele off, Simon carried him across the hall to a bedroom and he made the springs of the bed sing and the headboard of the bed bounce off the wall through two more fuckings, first in a missionary, with the youth's ankles on his shoulders, Kele arching his back, his eyes wildly darting across the ceiling beams, clutching the man's biceps with his claws, and every fiber of his attention going to the thick cock churning deep in his channel. And then, after a short rest and a smoke by Simon, as Kele lay there, panting, gazing at the man in awe and pain-passion, Simon turned Kele on his belly, mounted him from above and behind, and recommenced the symphony of the song of the bed springs and backboard on the wall.

Afterward, as they were decompressing for the last time, the Navajo youth couldn't help revealing his awe and satiation. "Will you come here again?" he asked. "Do you live here or are you passing through?"

"I was not too much for you? You aren't disgusted with having to take this from a half-breed black?"

"No. I am a half-breed myself. You were the best man I've ever had. I would like to do this again."

"And you are the sweetest piece I have every laid," Simon said, returning the compliment. "You gave me all I wanted and demanded of you. I live not far from here," he continued. He gave the location of his spread. Kele noted that it wasn't far from where he and his mother lived. That gave him heart and started his mental wheels to spin.

"And, no, I doubt I will be able to come again. This was a special treat for me. I'd been saving for a year. I doubt I can ever do this again. But it was worth it. You are a beauty. I could screw you forever and believe myself in heaven."

Kele was a quick-witted youth. "And if there was a way to do this frequently and without cost?"

"You would go with me outside the saloon?" Simon asked.

"I would go with you anywhere and let you do whatever you want with me--but with one slight reservation if you can get up for it?"

"What's that?" Simon asked.

"Can you please a woman too? An attractive woman? A Navajo woman?"

"It is not my first choice, but no woman has complained once they were no longer afraid that I am half black--once they had seen it, felt it inside them, and experienced its mastering of them."

The youth laughed. "Not all women can see a big, black shaft of yours without showing fright?"

"Not all, no. Did it frighten you?"

"Yes, but I wanted it all the more."

Kele knew his mother to be a beautiful, passionate, needy woman. He had also seen the exuberance with which she had ridden his father's cock. There are few privacies in a small farm cabin. He couldn't see her being disappointed with a big, black one. She had willingly gone under a white man; there was no reason to think that she wouldn't just as willingly go under a half-black one. Kele had little doubt of how she would respond to Simon being inside her as he had been inside her son. He told the man what the deal could be. Simon bought it.

* * * *