Hot Valley (11 page)

“We don't have to fight,” he said. “You can take one of the horses, as far as I'm concerned. They're not mine, and I don't care what happens to them. But if you do take one, you can do me a favor and take me as well.”

“You want to ride with me?”

“I want to get out of here.”

“Why would I want to saddle myself with a boy like you?” I said, liking the idea very much indeed.

“You want the horse?”

“Yes, I want the horse. But do I want you?”

He looked down again and smiled. “Looks like you do from where I'm standing.” He laughed and licked his lips.

“So—do I have a ride?”

“I've never ridden a black stallion before,” he said, his hand straying back to his chest and finding one of his nipples, which he unconsciously played with till it was stiff.

“You better have a good seat if you're going to ride this,” I said, squeezing my cock.

In answer, he turned around and dropped his pants. “How does this look? Good enough for you?” He bent forward slightly, and parted his ass cheeks with his hands. Through the dark hair, I could see his pink hole. My head swam, and all the frustration of the last months blinded me. God knows, Jack, I was aware of the dangers. But now, all my fears had been realized: I was an outcast, struggling to stay alive. And, you see, I needed that horse.

I leaped forward, fell to my knees, and dived in. My tongue found his asshole and started licking. He gave one loud “God damn!” and then surrendered to the experience. His ass tasted of sweat, but it was clean and sweet as I lapped at it. My cock was like an iron bar inside my pants, and it was desperate for release. Unwilling to relinquish his ass, I started struggling with my belt and buttons, and ended up losing my balance and rolling over in the straw of the stable floor.

“Shit!”

I looked up and saw the boy gazing down at me. His pants were around his ankles, and his cock, which was small and thick, stuck up at a jaunty angle from his furry belly.

“Need a hand?”

He didn't wait for a reply, but knelt beside me and continued to open my trousers. I put my hands behind my head and let him get on with the job. When my dick was finally free, it sprang out of my pants as if it was on a spring.

His eyes goggled, and his mouth fell open. “Gee… I've never seen one that big before… I don't know if I can… Well…” He started toying with it, stroking the underside with his fingertips, tracing up to the tip, where my foreskin was starting to pull back. Finally he grasped it, and moved
his hand up and down. With each stroke, more of the head was exposed. He appeared to be transfixed. I reached around with one hand and found his cock. He was still rock hard, so I guessed that any misgivings he had about my size were not enough to scare him off. We stayed that way, playing with each other, for a while, as the sun illuminated the dusty straw and the horses occasionally snuffled and stamped in their stalls.

“What's your name, boy?” I said.

“Edward.”

“Well, Eddie, you want this up your ass?”

“Yeah…”

“Then you'd better get it nice and wet.”

I wanted to see his cute little face looking up at me while my dick plowed into his mouth.

He lay down beside me, his head near my stomach, so I could play with his curly hair while he made a few tentative licks and kisses on my cock. It had been a long time since I was touched there, and I could have wept with relief. Finally he opened his mouth wide and took the head. I rubbed the back of his neck and encouraged him gently downward. When he'd got the measure of me, and was working his lips up and down my shaft with increasing pace, I moved my hand over his shoulders and down his back until I could play with his ass. I kneaded the white, elastic flesh of each cheek, and then, by poking and prodding, I found his hole. Wetting my finger with spit, I pushed it into him to the first knuckle, then the second. He didn't stop sucking, but started moaning. He was ready.

He rolled off me and, lying beside me, kicked off his boots and pants. Now he was completely naked, while I was fully clothed, with my pants open and my shirt pushed up. The contrast—his nakedness and my clothes, his white skin and my black—made me even more eager to fuck him.

I thought I would have to break him in gently, but this jockey knew exactly what to do. Springing up, he placed a knee on either side of my hips and, holding my prick, guided it to the target. He ass was wet and open, my dick was lubricated with his saliva and the juice that was flowing out of the tip. All I had to do was brace my hips slightly upward, and I entered him. He bit his lip and closed his eyes, still holding on to me. Then, relinquishing his grip, he started to lower himself. He took it slowly, and I didn't thrust, unwilling to hurt him—but, when he reached the thickest central part of my shaft, he stopped.

“It hurts,” he said.

“Take your time, Eddie.”

His thigh muscles were tensed; I stroked them, and they felt like steel. His cock had gone soft and was nestling in his bush like an acorn. With one finger, I stroked the hairy passage between his ass and his balls, then the tight skin of his ball sack. His cock stirred back to life, and as it grew he moved himself gently around my cock, getting used to the feel of it inside him. Then, as his dick began to swell and climb, his ass suddenly relaxed and he sat all the way down.

“Are you inside me?”

“Every inch, boy.”

“Oh, fuck.”

In response, I gently thrust. His cock danced further upward until it was rigid against his bush. He reached around and felt the lips of his ass stretched around me, and squeezed my balls. He started to move, meeting my thrusts, and gradually the motion became faster, bigger, harder. My dick was getting even bigger inside him, and his ass took everything I could give him. He settled into a rhythm and, supporting himself with one hand braced against my leg, started to jerk himself off.

I put my hands behind my head again, tensed my stomach muscles, and shoved my dick as far inside him as I could. He responded by thrusting his ass up and down like a pump;
all I had to do was stay still and let him do the work. Finally, he screwed his eyes up and started squirting all over the muscles of my stomach. His ass clamped around me as he came, and we remained locked together as he emptied himself of every drop.

To my surprise, he neither went soft nor made any attempt to dismount. He leaned forward and kissed me full on the mouth, then, pulling me up and forward, rolled over onto his back. Somehow, I kept my cock inside him. He pointed his legs at the roof and said, “Fuck me. Hard.”

And so I did. I nailed him to that stable floor. Sweat was pouring off me, dripping from my forehead and the end of my nose onto his face. We kissed, eating each other's mouths, bruising our lips. His spunk was now smeared from my stomach onto his body; we were glued together. The scent of sweat and sperm and horse shit filled my nostrils. I braced myself on my arms, lifted myself a little so I could look into his eyes, and fucked him harder than I had fucked anyone before. He pushed his prick forward, so I could see that he was still stiff. His face, neck, and chest were flushed a bright pink, the same color as the head of his dick. When I started to come inside him, he moaned and squirmed, but stayed staring straight into my eyes.

We lay like that for a while, until our breathing had slowed and the position became too uncomfortable to sustain. I pulled out of him and immediately plugged the hole with two fingers. With one arm around his shoulders, lifting him so he was resting partly on my lap, I kept fucking him that way until he brought himself to another climax.

 

We cleaned up with straw, dressed ourselves, and then, without much discussion, saddled the horses and rode quietly away from the stables. When we had covered a couple of miles and reached open country far from any habitation, we slowed to a walk and he told me his story.

He had been orphaned at the age of six, when his mother died in childbirth. His father, who had traveled west to seek out a new home, had been killed in an outbreak of cholera just after Eddie was born. He and his infant sister were looked after by a succession of relatives, none of whom really wanted them, until the girl was sent into service in Boston and Eddie, at the age of 15, was left to fend for himself. He'd worked his way around the local farms, finally finding the position as stable boy, groom, and man-of-all-work where I found him. His employers, a tight-fisted couple whom he described as wretched Puritans, had fled the area at the first news of Confederate incursions out of Virginia, imagining that they would have their throats cut by Rebel soldiers within days. He had not heard from them in weeks, and kept the farm going as best he could. When I found him, he had been on the verge of selling the horses and joining the army.

We sold the third horse, a sorry-looking gray mare that looked far from roadworthy, to a traveler we met on the road. He got the horse; we got razors, soap, blankets, matches, and a couple of water bottles. I know who got the better bargain.

Thus equipped, we turned south, and rode all day until we pitched camp just above Shelburne Falls. We lit a fire, made beds in an abandoned hut, and settled in for the evening. Eddie prepared our dinner, and we slept together, rolled in blankets, as warm as two bears in a cave. As he breathed gently in my arms, I allowed myself to believe that I had found the friend I had so long searched for, and that the open road, the woods and mountains, would give us the freedom to live and love in peace.

SIX DAYS OUT FROM THE FARM, EDDIE AND I PASSED THROUGH New York State, working our way into Pennsylvania, avoiding towns wherever possible, except to buy or steal food. The advantages of having a white companion were soon apparent to me; Eddie was welcomed in every community, bought food at a fair price, and was frequently offered accommodation. Provided I stayed in the background, or in darkness, we were comfortable and well fed. In addition, I fucked him every day and in every way, in houses, huts, and forests, on his back, on his front, on his side, in beds, over tables, and, on one occasion, in a hammock, which we brought down with an almighty rip and crash. I had never fucked one man in so many ways for such a long time, and I was grateful for the experience. I began to dream of a future for me and Eddie, much as I had dreamed of a future with you, Jack—but, of course, no such future is possible. Well, I was reckless for once, I took pleasure where I could, and that was enough.

The trouble began when we reached Allentown. We followed our usual routine, camping out the first night on the outskirts of town—there were plenty of abandoned barns and farm buildings to give us shelter—and then obtaining provisions for the journey. Eddie washed himself, put on a clean shirt, and rode into town, while I gutted and cooked a couple of rabbits that I'd trapped the night before. The cleaned skins were packed away ready for trade, the meat was cooking on green sticks over the fire, and the carcass was boiling up in our little cooking pot with a few wild herbs. When Eddie returned, hopefully with bread and fruit, we'd have a fine meal. I'd learned to love our self-sufficient life on the road, and imagined the road stretching on forever.

Eddie returned with his bag full of provisions, and his eyes full of trouble. When I asked him about the town, and about our prospects for work and housing, he was evasive and sullen. Normally he was full of news about the people he had met and the things he had seen; he loved our traveling life as much as I did, and relished each new encounter. But today he ate in silence, staring at the trees, the ground, his feet—at anything but me. I washed the pots and plates in the stream, wrapped the leftover meat in some fresh leaves secured with wooden picks, and packed up the camp. Eddie watched me, scowling.

“What's the matter, kid?” I said. “Got a sore ass?” He loved this kind of taunting, and it usually escalated into a quick, hot fuck on the bare ground.

“No.”

Not today, obviously.

“So what's up? Cat got your tongue?”

“Nothing.”

“Nothing means something. Come on, you better tell me what's on your mind. You've been like a bear with a sore head since you got back from town.”

“Just thinking.”

“Someone's said something to you, right?”

“Maybe.”

“Someone seen us riding in?”

“Maybe.”

I had been waiting for this moment, dreading it, ever since we set out together. I sat beside him on a fallen log and went to put my arm around his shoulders. He froze. Something was wrong. Usually my touch was enough to have him fawning on me like a puppy dog. I rubbed the back of his neck, as I'd done so many times before when he was sucking my cock, and felt him relax slightly.

“We can't go on together like this, Aaron.”

“Why not?”

“It's too dangerous.”

“Says who?”

He lost his temper, like a child. “Everyone knows it's dangerous! Traveling on the road, in the middle of a war, we've got no protection, we don't even know where we're going…”

“Someone's threatened you.”

“Don't be ridiculous,” he huffed, convincing me that I was right, “nobody frightens me. I'm just trying to talk some sense into you.”

“Who's got to you, Eddie?”

“I told you, nobody.”

“What did they say? That you ain't got not business riding around with a nigger?” I said the words in an approximation of a Yankee accent. “That you should stick with your own kind and they don't take kindly to seeing no mixin' of the bloods?” I was gripping his neck hard now, my fingers pressing white patches into the sunburned skin.