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The following story is for adults and contains graphic descriptions of sexual contact between adolescent and adult males and the power imbalance of these relationships. Like so many of my stories, this is a voyage and return.

If you are a minor, then it is illegal for you to read this story. If you find the subject objectionable, then read no further. All the characters, events and settings are the product of my overactive imagination. I hope you like it and feel free to respond.

Fourteen runs through five progressions, with frequent interludes. If you would like to comment, contact me at eliot.moore.writer@ or eliotmoore@tutanota (if you want increased privacy).

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Cordell 8

“Pops just up and decided we were going to leave El Paso.” Cordell jumps up two steps and balances on a tread. The ladder leads up to the Barn loft where Cordell and Inez usually made love when he was thirteen. “I hate most things about living here.”

“You don’t have to shovel wet, heavy snow in the spring. I like that there are amazing sunsets.” Fourteen comments. He leans against the cracked plaster wall. Cordell lifts his leg to the next tread. He looks like a sailor on the ratlines checking for the farther shore.

“You’ve not seen the Monsoon Season, with thunder, lightening and rain in the middle of the scorching summer months” Cordell snorts. His heroic pose stretches the fabric of his crotch. Fourteen crosses his legs, which helps achieve the same effect. “The heat is (fucking) crazy, and you know the Three Amegos won’t put up with air-conditioning. (Shit) our old trailer had that. I don’t like 100 degree temperatures past Labor Day. And I absolutely despise some of the critters living in these parts: rattle snakes, coyotes, javelina pigs, and of course, the scorpions.” Cordell grins evil at Fourteen.

“Scorpions?” Fourteen cocks his head skeptically.

“These critters are what nightmares are made of.” Cordell assures him.

“I worried about snakes, you know when I’m running. The night you and I spent on the cliff. Keon an Vondell didn’t say anything about scorpions.”

“Pretty rare at the moment, but Roman says they do well in sub-zero temperatures.” Cordell leans toward Fourteen, and then sways back to the ladder. He looks to the top, wanting to lead the boy up to the makeshift mattress. Fourteen is all sparkling eyes when he looks back. “Scorpion season runs from March to October.”

“Oh,” Fourteen understands. “So like pretty soon.”

“Pretty soon.” Cordell echoes significantly. “Hey,” he starts, as if the thought just came to him. “Come on up here.” Cordell climbs the ladder. Fourteen follows his flexing ass. The roof is so low and dusty, they have to crawl. Cordell lies on the padding down the middle. Fourteen sits by his hip. “Kiss me.”

It is practiced-quick. Not the lingering-luxury of a make out session. Cordell finds Fourteen’s hand so he can feel the shiver run up the boy. The electricity between them is good. Cordell’s fingers dry hump Fourteen’s.

“One day, pops just phoned (the bitch) Dacota and told her to pack what she could in the Blazer. Dragged me out of class, and we drove to Flagstaff. Roman met us there, we followed him out to this ass crack. The night we moved into the Barn here, Marco and Asher showed up with this thing called a black-light.”

“I’ve seen those.” Fourteen pulls his hand away and leans in for a longer kiss. His fingers trail across Cordell’s waist. He pulls the hand back frightened by his boldness.

“They informed me we were going on a scorpion hunt.” The back of Cordell’s hand caresses Fourteen’s thigh. “I was ten! Still tired from the drive through New Mexico and Arizona. You’ve seen it, the trail out here. Pops never told us why we had to come. So I was wasted by the drive. I was seriously not thinking through the magnitude of this whole hunting expedition.”

“I don’t think it became real until they walked back to the other houses and outside Malcolm’s courtyard. They shined the black light in every nook and cranny to hunt for scorpions. These little critters are best found under a black light in the dark of night. Did I mention, the Barn pops expected us to live in? Asher and Marco weren’t content to take us to the bush. No. They were planning to find scorpions in my own new house.”

“So you lived farther south by the border. You must have seen lots of scorpions there.”

“Oh sure.” Cordell agrees. “I’ve killed a few in El Paso. After my first scorpion hunt, I lay in bed, in the dark, right here in this loft, staring at the ceiling. I’m not sure what pops was thinking, but I was very much aware that if scorpions were scurrying around the corners of this old adobe, they most definitely wanted in my bed at some point.”

“So you ever sleep with a scorpion?” Fourteen grins. He has to look around this loft Cordell began in.

“Dakota told me, “Scorpions don’t crawl upstairs. You only have to worry about them on the main level”. The Montreal’s put the legs of their bed posts in glass jars because scorpions can’t climb up glass for some reason. I suppose that’s why I never thought about it when we lived in the trailer. I think Dakota did that too.”

Inez was nicer than Asher and Marco. She told Cordell, “Scorpions don’t like the sunshine, or the heat. They live under rocks. You’ll be fine. Just always, always wear shoes when you’re outside.” Despite that, Cordell always keep a pair of flip flops near his bed at night in case he need to go to the bathroom. Wouldn’t want to step on one of those critters.


Excitement at the Pueblo, Cordell thinks. Spring Easter Egg Hunts armed with black lights. For a while, after his mother Dakota left him with the job of taking care of pops, Cordell participated in scorpion hunts on a nightly basis. Cordell carried a propane lighter and a French’s mustard bottle full of gas. He burned them to a crisp; done and done,

“Man, scorpions, I just never thought about them, haven’t seen any.” Fourteen shifts so his bum is on his ankle. He twists around, peering in the darker corners of Cordell’s hideaway.

“Some folks don’t look out for scorpions, or don’t want to see them, but that doesn’t mean they’re not there ready to sting you.”

Fourteen nods his head, turns away from the dark corners. Levi would know his mood. Levi would stoke Fourteen’s fire, and with a few mutual gestures, they would fall to sex easily. This is a virginal moment for them both. He knows why they are here. Cordell may not be so aware of his motives, but Fourteen feels the older teen’s desire. This is like the virginal encounter in North Platte with Cameron, or the drunken rut with Scott Beck in Albuquerque. Fourteen wants both, and cannot decide what to do next.

Cordell pulls himself up enough to cup Fourteen’s neck. He pulls the horny boy towards him. Soft words, husky and urgent, Cordell ignites the fire between them. It is the wrestle-tangle of mutual exploration and the opening grind of crotches nosing their way to something more.

Too much fabric, Cordell knows the boy wants his touch. They break apart, Fourteen riding his hips. Cordell brushes Fourteen’s crotch as the boy strips to the waist in two fluid movements. He lets the boy’s sure fingers skin his own T-shirt off. Fourteen’s fingers love his body, search out the hair around his nipples, his chest and at his belt line.

Fourteen rides Cordell, biting his lip. He is riding the hard prick unselfconsciously. “You’re a wonder, Fourteen.” There is the million dollar smile, Cordell’s reward. Fourteen arches his back, opening-inviting something more from Cordell. Cordell wants Fourteen to know how screwing hot his young body is. “You’ve gotta come to San Diego with me!” Fourteen grins again, fingers curling into Cordell’s belt. “I never imagined this before,” Fourteen falls on his lips again. They break apart long enough for Cordell to add, “You’re my first.”

Fourteen wants so much to be Cordell’s first kiss, first everything. He feels the confidence in Cordell’s hands. Fingers squeeze his waist, his ass. Cordell kisses him with confidence. Fourteen feels the teenager’s experience. Were there girls? He wonders. Asked and answered, Cordell must have had girls in San Diego. Be my first boy! He wants to babble frantically.

“I want you so much. Your so good.” Music to Fourteen’s tired heart. He forgets himself and slides down Cordell’s body. Skin-friction, those darn puzzle pieces fit together so well. Cordell’s waist band is like sandpaper-stubble against his bare chest. Fourteen’s belly hugs a bulging package. Fourteen kisses downward. Nipples, damp intoxication of well-washed male pits and grooves. The hardness of Faulkner is so heady. For this now Fourteen is drunk-high like he was in Albuquerque. He took Scott Beck so Scott would take him. Cordell is what he has been looking for since Oliver Dean’s Rebel Without a Cause allure and John Cannon’s fuck or kill appeal.

The kid devours his ready prick without asking. It is hot, the boy is hot. Amazing what he does with fingers and tongue. What he knows to do with his teeth. There are moments when Cordell thinks his foreskin will be pulled off. Fourteen gently taps the head of Cordell’s prick against his tongue while making smoldering eye contact with him. Then, tongue wide and relaxed, the Pretty Boy laps his prick from his nuts to the tip as if Cordell’s prick was a yummy melting ice-cream cone. Cordell jizzes onto a soft cheek while Fourteen is treating his prick like a cob of corn.

He is that good, this kid. Cordell guessed he would be. He has watched this fifteen-year old Pretty-Boy on the clay court playing basketball and wandering about the Pueblo. Once you know something, it”s in your body. Once you have had sex you just walk different, you have a different swagger. It is difficult to take knowledge away. There is a story here that Cordell is only half interested in learning.

Fourteen buries his face in Cordell’s stomach. His eyes are squeezed shut. When he gathers the courage to look up at Cordell, he finds the older boy is lying arms behind his head, eyes lost in the rough plywood Malcolm used for his first home. The silence is sort of crushing.


“Your beautiful, Kay.”

Fourteen buries his face in the wonder that is Cordell Faulkner. This is what Levi promised him. Maybe a partner to share his life with. Thanks, Levi.

The Barn is about his age. Cordell realized that when he first fucked Inez at thirteen. It is not worth thinking about. Fourteen is nuzzling his chest again. The boy’s desire is so strong. He never hides it.

“That was unbelievable, Kay.”

“My name is Jeremy.” It is soft. Jeremy’s eyes are liquid with his passion, but he is fifteen. Guys do not gush.

“That’s right. I keep forgetting.” Cordell laughs. The laughter breaks the drama of the moment and helps relieve the stress. “Okay Jerry, get up here man.” The kiss is passionate. They did not mind that drying semin spiced the contact. Fourteen is really hard, Cordell needs to do something about that. “Lie back, Jerry.”

When Cordell starts opening the old pair of jeans, Fourteen helps him eagerly. The pants come right off. Fourteen might be ready for a fuck, Cordell swallows the boy’s cut prick instead. “Nugggaho,” Fourteen groans out.

“You liked that?” Cordell asks. He sits beside Fourteen under the cramped roof. The boy’s hand gropes for Conrad’s spent prick, anxious to pet it.

Cordell wraps both hands around Fourteen’s prick, one above the other, then moves the top hand toward the spongy head and the other hand down toward the tight nuts. Fourteen is bacon on the pan for him. Gently tug up on his prick with one hand and down on the nuts with the other. Hold for a moment to let him register the feeling that his boner is getting even bigger, then release and repeat. Fourteen is putty-passion in his hands.

“Argh,” Fourteen lifts off the padding.

Cordell does not really know what desire is supposed to feel like. Everytime Cordell has sex, he finds it stressful. The need to bust a nut is there but the resulting mix of release and lingering tension is largely unpleasant. Cordell supposes it is something like coming down from a good high.

Pretty Boy has edged so close he cums violently in a jizz-fountain leaping up to the roof. Cordell watches the jets as he holds the boy’s prick vertical. “You like that?” He asks again, pumping the hard prick, watching the after shots bubble up and down the drum-tight shaft.

Cordell suspects that there is something wrong with him. He really does not like intimacy. Even with Inez, he is unable to be intimate. He feels the familiar spasm in his gut. Cordell lies back to think. Is this nausea passion? Cordell wonders if the nausea he feels is his way of experiencing a sexual thrill. How would he know?

“I’m glad you are here.” Cordell assures Fourteen. “You’re definitely worth coming back to this shit hole to find.” Fourteen is so grateful, so content. Cordell cocks his head curious. Sex is one of those things where the way it was supposed to work and the way it actually worked for Cordell didn’t connect very well.

In San Diego, Cordell learned all the stuff about love and affection, but that just seemed like making shit up. He understands making shit up. Cordell also understands how people talk about it, so he can talk about it that way, just to fit in. “You’re so beautiful, Jerry.”

Cordell takes Fourteen missionary-style in the Barn their sixth time together. It took Fourteen that long to work through his bumbling steps of seduction. Cordell let him lead, having little knowledge of seduction himself. When he was thirteen, Inez just told him what they were going to do, they stripped and fucked. Seduction is so pointlessly time consuming, Cordell decides as he lets Pretty Boy fumble closer to proposing intercourse. Fourteen is a Pretty package, very fuckable. The seventeen-year old likes his tangerine humour. They know how to make each other laugh. Cordell appreciates that.

The bed-pad has been dragged off the loft and into Filene’s, the Pueblo’s shopping district. Neither teen is sentimental about first-time-places. The cramped-stuffy loft is uncomfortable. Pretty Boy is all that for Cordell. Very physical-friendly, eager with his mouth and hands. The boy straddles his chest while facing his feet. From behind, Cordell thinks idly. Faces kiss, arms enfold, but from the back is best. His back is a sensual recurve of muscle and freckles. Tangles of hair brush an exposed neck. Cordell’s fingers can ride the flexing shoulder blades. He could cat-claw the pale flesh stretched over Fourteen’s rib cage, force the compressed butt cheeks off his stomach, expose the boy’s waiting cleft. From behind, but for now, it is nice to watch the constant flex-life in all those exposed muscles. Cordell’s nails score slim hips, get a fresh rise out of the boy.

Fourteen’s sweat is the only lube they have. The boy places one hand between Cordell’s legs then drapes his fingers over Cordell’s nuts. Cordell’s fingertips sink into Fourteen’s bare hip when the stroke comes lightly up and over his nuts and prick, then all the way to his fuzzy belly. Fourteen repeats with his other hand, and continues to alternate for a tantalizing massage. When Fourteen has Cordell edged to jizz, he twists gracefully to the left and falls beside Cordell. There is nothing pussy about the way Fourteen guides his partner’s Pretty-Boy-spit lubricated prick into his butt.

Cordell bites his thumb when someone takes him spit-dry, sober. He knows his nerves send pleasure and pain and there is some fractal line barely blurring the difference. Getting fucked is an accommodation. Cordell’s hand possesses Pretty Boy’s muscular shoulder as his prick colonizes fresh territory. Unconscious grace, this kid; Pretty Boy lifts on his splayed knees to greet Cordell, ease the entrance. Soft sigh and a silent yes that lingers in a long, flinch-free exhale. Not Jerry’s first time, Cordell confirms.

Cordell is all that for Fourteen. The easygoing, hard-body cowboy gets him. His hard-body cock is bareback deep, promising a hands free ejaculation. Fourteen’s swaying cock can feel it. The first penetration hurts like Patrick. They should be lubed, but that says cebeci escort I’m experienced, and Fourteen wants this first-time-special cherry with Cordell. This has to be a memory-free now for them both. Let the mutual sweat lubricate their love making.

Cordell feels the nausea-need building. This animal screwing is a junk-food, binge-worthy now. Smell the KFC-richness, sensual overload craving, deal with the toxic after regret. Pretty Boy’s moist butt just opens to him like a willing mouth. The velvet cavity is one enveloping tongue sucking his prick. I’ll do him slow. Johnny Sparks liked to watch them do him slow. Cordell falls into a languid rhythm that seems to say, Fuck it! This is the Pueblo and we have all day. It moves his prick by inches, keeps the dry friction down, massages them both. Gentle bump and grind, like Cordell is considerate-careful with the virgin boy.

Skewered like this, Cordell would be cursing steady just to get his partner to nutt. Conrad would praise the girth and length, all that shit. Maybe cursing a fuck you at the man taking him. Cordell’s hands roam across the boy’s back. “You are so (screwing) beautiful, you know that?” The words seem to set Fourteen off. It is kind of cool, this slow fuck. Cordell’s prick feels the clench of Fourteen’s orgasm. The jolts set him off, so he paints the hidden tongue with his jizz. Lets Pretty Boy taste his sour manhood. It is kind of cool, simultaneous orgasms like in the movies. “You like that?” Cordell whispers.

Shit this boy, Cordell waits for the inevitable toxic after regret. He feels Pretty Boy’s anal grip possessing his prick. Jerry is a cock-whore. This is so like Inez Montreal. Fourteen’s damp body is telling him to bring it on. Cordell dies a little each time he orgasms. This time, he ignores the I needed that, can’t handle it nausea and goes back to screwing the kid’s butt. Cum whore is there on Cordell’s lips, “You are golden.” Is what comes out.

“Oh fuck, Cordell.” Soft fuckable lips respond (both ends). Pretty Boy’s head falls forward like his is looking at the slow dribble from his half hard prick. Fourteen adjusts his knees, bracing better. Cordell forgets the lube problem. He wants to push Fourteen off his knees, pound the stuffing out of Pretty Boy’s soft globes. All the effort earns is a look tossed over Fourteen’s tense shoulder. The kid must be limp-spent, dangle-darting forward at each time Cordell drives into him. Or maybe Pretty Boy is hard again. You never get bottoms, Cordell knows. Like girls, like Inez, plow them harder and they jizz harder. Cordell loses track of time because, shit this boy is all that. “Oh fuck,” Fourteen breaks into his mood.

Cordell pulls out, leaving an open hole in Fourteen. A hard cock tap dances on his lower back and he hardly feels the shower that follows. It is not a mutual orgasm. Fourteen is feeling the tingle-contractions and Cordell ending his musky-masturbation on his back. “Pretty Boy, so hot.” Cordell manages. “Pretty Boy, Pretty Boy,” and the cum and sweat get massaged up and down Fourteen’s back. Fourteen cums himself. He is cock-vomiting a load onto the padding, salt stinging his eyes, while Cordell anoints him with his cowboy cum.

“Yippy caye, mother fucker,” Fourteen laughs.

“Yippy caye,” Cordell laughs back. “Oh fuck, Jerry. That was so good.”

“What happened to you? Why did you run away from home? Was it bad there?”

Cordell is on his side, watching Fourteen manipulate his circumcised prick. Fourteen is looking up at the shelves bracketing their fuck-pad. He is looking very young and fuckable to Cordell. The nausea-regret is on him, so he wants to talk.

“I did not run away.”

Fourteen rolls on his side and bites his lip. His hand reaches out to fondle Cordell’s heavy weight. He could draw his palm up to his nose just to savour the mingled messages between them. He could suck Cordell’s cock, maybe bull ride him next. This cock is mine, he decides smugly.

“So, tell me about it.” Cordell lets Pretty Boy play. Fourteen should dress the part. The baggy old jeans and frumpy T-shirts are wrong for him. When they hit San Diego, when he has cleared his debt with Elvis Parker, made things right with Johnnie Sparks and the whole gang, they will hit the streets together. Pretty Boy dazzles naked with his wasp-waist, climber’s shoulders, fuckable butt, wrap-around legs. The boy screams clean. Very low mileage, Cordell decides. “Did your parents kick you out because you are gay?”

Making love was everything Fourteen wanted it to be. He sees the admiration in Cordell’s eyes. It is there now as his friend, his boyfriend, lingers on his thigh. Before doesn’t matter between us, Cordell. It is just now, and I know we can work out what comes after. He could bring the boy who promises to rescue him back to Chillicothe. Somehow, they would make it work.

They should not talk. Fourteen should press Cordell’s beautiful penis against surprising parts of his body. He could hold it against that inner thigh Cordell was admiring. It would tease Cordel like crazy. He should touch the tip of Cordell’s cock against his breast, and rub Cordell’s frenulum against his nipple; or bring the side of Cordell’s shaft against the outside of one of his cheeks, then put it up to his lips and cover it with wet kisses. Taste it, taste his boyfriend.

“I was riding home on my bike. Pretty late, no traffic. I stopped to help these guys. They kidnapped me.”

“That was in the news, pops got that from Malcolm.”

“It’s true. I was kidnapped.” Fourteen meets Cordell’s eyes anxiously. “Nothing happened, I mean.” Lies, he is telling lies. He is practicing this reassuring story for his mom and dad. Cordell’s cock is sort of hard, getting respectable again. Fourteen continues.

“I mean, they thought I was worth a ransom maybe. Okay, I won’t lie. I thought they might be planning to rape me. I never gave them a chance.” Fourteen keeps working it out in his mind. “They grabbed be in the middle of the night, drove for hours. Finally, they decided to stop and rest. Just by the highway. A rest stop, bathrooms, place to run around.”

“Okay,” Cordell encourages. The story he has heard is about some old man Malcolm King knows.

Fourteen takes a deep breath, decides this is not the moment to suck Cordell’s cock into his mouth. He needs to tell-make this story. He kisses the salty, boy-dipped foreskin as a promise. “So they are sleeping in their old car at this rest stop. I get the door open, super quiet. Patrick is beside me. John is behind the wheel, zonked out. There is so much traffic on the road, they don’t hear me go.” Fourteen bites his lip, remembering.

“Good for you,” Cordell comments. Pretty Boy loves his prick, that is obvious. “Don’t stop.” He wants the story. Surprisingly, he wants the little cunt too. Jerry grows on you. 

“So, I’m outside the men’s car. Other cars there, I remember this man and his son. But, there is also this big green RV: Luxor Winnebago. It is parked just up the lot, curtains drawn. I’m wondering where to go, worrying these guys are going to wake up.”

Fourteen shrugs, sucks Cordell’s cock into his mouth for a taste. The Luxor Winnebago is so there in his mind. Funny how I miss it. “I ran over to the RV. The door was not locked. I stepped in, real quiet, ready to ask for help.” Fourteen pauses to nibble on the retracted foreskin, suddenly wishing his own foreskin was still in place, knowing Levi had made his cock more perfect in some way, so he said.

“Okay,” Cordell prompts him to continue.

Fourteen sucks a hairy ball into his mouth before continuing. “Levi was sleeping. I looked out the window. Watched John stamp around the park for a bit. He checked the bathroom. He walked out to the road to see where I went. He might have thought about Levi’s RV, but I think he was too afraid to see if I was in there.”


“Yeah, wow! I mean, it could have got scary if they had found me. If I had not got out before they woke. John was pretty tough, you know?” Fourteen looks at Cordell’s face and blushes.

“So why didn’t you go home? That was months ago, am I right?”

Why didn’t I go home? Fourteen would rather bull ride his cowboy bareback than answer that question. Shit, what would Levi say? No condom! Well, Cordell has never done this, I think that’s what he said.

Fourteen frowns before going on. He resumes very slowly, and quickens as the story comes together in his mind. “Levi would have taken me, I’m sure. He was dying though, very sick. His mind was getting confused. Dementia from his brain tumour. First thing, he told me his story. How he was a veteran from the Vietnam War. How he was driving to see all his dead buddies, the live ones too. He was so nice and I felt so sorry for him. Nobody to take care of him,” Fourteen’s tears are very real. “So I decided he needed my help. I drove him to Malcolm’s.”

“Long way,” Cordell suggests.

“He was a nice old man. Well, you know how old men get. Malcolm is a grumpy old bastard, set in his ways.” Fourteen smiles at the memory of Levi. “Levi was fussy. He was funny. He taught me stuff. He taught me to like me.” Fourteen blushes again.

“Told me about his wives and girlfriends.” He adds quickly. So dishonest, but Levi would understand. “He did not talk about his war. He hated war, did not want that for me. He got me started cooking. Helped me figure out things.” Fourteen smiles at Cordell.

“I should have gone home, made mom and dad mad.” Fourteen adds that with sincerity and guilt. “Levi just needed me. Maybe we needed each other.” Fourteen looks solemnly at Cordell. “He probably saved my life; from those guys. I guess I owed him.”

“He never tried to … you know?” Cordell probes. Pretty Boy blushes tangerine.

“Oh, that sort of thing? No way! Levi was like Malcolm-old!” The laugh is weak. Fourteen cannot lie about it, but he hopes his lingering look at Cordell’s face conveys the right message. Only you Cordell, you are my first. This now, our after, there is no before. When did he get this way? Fourteen wonders. It is heart-felt, this attraction. This is Shane-strong. Jeremy Gates has to be this way for Cordell. He cannot share his strange before with a boy this cool.

“You’re (fucking) beautiful, Jerry. I’m so glad we met. You are probably going to save my life.” The little cunt is so grateful that he goes right back to nuzzling Cordell’s tender prick. “That’s so good Jerry, just keep doing that.”

You have to reciprocate a bit. When Fourteen gets on his knees, Cordell agrees to sixty-nine. Oh, there’s more to this story. Pretty Boy’s body tells it all. It does not matter. The kid is something fresh and Cordell is having fun. They are actually good together. They laugh and spark. Cordell needs that too. Pretty Boy jizzes across Cordell’s chest hairs while Cordell tries stretching his sack with gentle teeth. Then Fourteen takes Cordell’s mucky load like he wants it. More to the story, Cordell thinks.

Fourteen is spent, heart singing-content. Cordell is dozing beside him on the floor, his allowance spent on the candy that is Fourteen’s sweaty body. Fourteen napped beside him for a timeless hour, equally spent.

Keon might have found them there entwined. Heavy-heart and worried, wanting Jem’s company, he might have backed away from adult things and push Vondell before him, no explanations given. “Give Jem some space,” is all Keon will tell his little brother. That was the lazy afternoon excuse papa gave Keon and baby Vondell when he would press some bills in Keon’s palm, closed the bedroom door on mama. Take a long walk to the store grandpa Malcolm used to run.

“Take your time.” And momma giggles. Jem is in that world and Keon only peeks in when Jem shows him how to make his body wake up, get past feels so good, to that gonna-piss-yourself release that his friend Jem brings him to.

“You’re thinking with the wrong head!” Mama snaps at papa. Franklin King puffs up at that, but maybe grins. Older boys on the street diss each other over some bitch or other. They face off like some National Geographic Special. Lock horns, and you can see the big-ass goat-testicals swinging free from between hairy goat shanks. Man can lose his mind, Keon decides, needing that rocket launch. Jem is a friend. A brother has to have his friend’s back no matter what fool thing he gets himself caught up in.

Fourteen is happy-drained, muscle-tired, heart singing-content when he wakes up to Keon’s, “Give Jem some space.” Sex with Levi was pocket-perfect in an RV shaped before his time. 1948, 1968, 1998, it was all Levi-old. Still, it was new for Fourteen. The feelings were new and Levi understood his feelings better than anyone. Fourteen leaned on that. He knows he did. The Barn is old to Fourteen too. It seems like Cordell is another kindred spirit. Their two young bodies are perfect together.

The Barn floor is Ruby-Leigh swept clean, but the Arizona dust lingers. The old adobe and lime whitewash coats the stench-perfume of adolescent sex. Cordell has cock-pulled Fourteen’s pungency free and everything is mingled with the cum-essence of their repeated sex. This is the final puzzle-piece connection for Fourteen. Young men perfect together, filling the right spaces. Their after just has to work.

Hairy ass, it blends into the back of Cordell’s thighs, continues down to a thick covering on the calves. Dark hairs congregate below Cordell’s tailbone, a bluff of hairs sheltering the hairy cleft. Above the hairs is Cordell’s tattoo.

Fourteen studies it, admires it. He likes the geometric, pink simplicity. Cordell has a cute triangle no bigger than Fourteen’s thumb. It artfully shades from pink to a black point. The black wedge-tip guides Fourteen’s eyes to the seductive cleft between Cordell’s muscular glutei. A tiny black triangle ecoes the larger one, centered on the inverted base. It has a small dot that creates an arrow head inviting Fourteen’s eyes down, always down. It makes me want to fuck him, Fourteen smiles softly to himself. Very sexy, he concludes. The inverted triangle has two chevrons neatly tattooed. At one side is a J at the other is an S. When he knows Cordell better, he will ask him about it.

Fourteen sighs. They have not shared everything it seems. Cordell is seventeen, he lived in the big city. Fourteen admits Cordell is far too hot to have been shy-single all that time. Cordell is not shy at all, very confident in fact. Secrets, Fourteen had his Levi Fisher, his LF so to speak. Fourteen has his circumcised reminder instead of a sexy tattoo. That was Cordell’s before. He has Cordell now. That is all that matters. Honesty matters, and that will come Fourteen promises himself.

Samuel Faulkner has tattoos, many tattoos. Fourteen used to imagine the ones he could not see. Shawn Mendes has tattoos. Drake has tattoos. Cordell has tattoos. The inverted pink to grey triangle is repeated on his neck below his left ear. Fourteen can kiss it softly when they make out together. Cordell has a tough looking QR code across his right shoulder blade. Fourteen thinks it looks edgy. He thinks he likes tech tattoos.

Fourteen traces a finger around the three-inch square design. This is another look-me-up mystery about his new boyfriend, like the initials JS. His playful finger wakes Cordell.

“Hey you.”

“Hey you,” Fourteen whispers back.

“What time is it?”

“Don’t have a watch.” Fourteen smiles. He brushes back Cordell’s silken hair so he can see the tattoo on his neck. “Does it matter?”

“I’m hungry.”

“I’ll make you something.”

“I want a (fucking) Wopper and some fries. I want a shrimp diablo taco! I want your prick!” Cordell rewards Fourteen’s grin by twisting over Fourteen. Pressing him back on the floor and swallowing his penis. It just makes Fourteen laugh.

“Don’t talk about it! You just make me miss it more.” He strokes Cordell’s strong back. “Anyway, you get to go to Phenix with Roman and Asher. You stuff your face, I bet. Never bring anything back for me.”

This brings Cordell off his cock and back onto the pad. The glorious length of him lies face down, head resting on his arms. “I know it’s not fair. I promise, I will get you away from here. We are going to walk the beach together.”

When? Fourteen wants to ask. “I know,” he replies. He wants to lie across Cordell’s back, let his cock nestle along the warm inviting crack. He props himself up so he can trace his boyfriend’s contours çeşme escort from a fuzzy thigh, along the shiver-making butt cheek, over the triangle don’t-yield sign, then up the John-hard back, to the QR code tattoo. “So, lover boy, if I scanned this code, where would you send me?”

It cannot be Facebook or Snapchat. It has to be something exotic-erotic, something Cordell-cool. Fourteen kisses the black pattern as if it is a unique birthmark. His lips feel the life of the young man.

“It will cost three thousand dollars to take that off.”

Fourteen stops kissing Cordell’s shoulder. “I like it. I mean, people get animals, flowers, faces on their bodies. I don’t like them that much. Celtic patterns are really cool, very tough.” Fourteen kisses the QR code again to reassure Cordell. “I like the tech stuff too.”

“That’s all it is. It doesn’t mean anything. None of the tattoos mean anything to me. The guys and girls I hang with have them, so I do too.” Cordell rolls to look at Fourteen’s smooth, blemish-free body. “I get what you mean about faces and animals. Tech tattoos are hot. I’ve seen some rad ones.”

Fourteen cannot keep his hands off Cordell, so they kiss. “When are we going to get out of this place?”

“Soon, I promise, very soon. I’m working on it, trust me. It can’t be too soon for me either.” Cordell is fervent-furious in his reply. He tugs at Fourteen’s shoulder, urging him down onto the pad again. Pretty Boy is good for him, citrus-fresh, clean in the filthiest way possible. Fourteen can stir him, calm the after-fuck jitters. Cordell settles between young thighs, pressing them outward with his knees. “Right here, here, and here.” His hand presses into Fourteen’s flesh. When we hit San Diego, I’ll get you matching tattoos with mine.”

“Your initials?”

“Oh yes, Jerry.” Cordell gazes at the unmarked flesh. The fucking perfection of tailbone, sensuous back, and broad shoulders, this boy has. “My initials, because you belong to me.”

“I thought you were hungry.” Such a cute rasp to Pretty Boy’s voice, so inviting.

“I’m hungry all right,” Cordell laughs. “Always hungry for you (bitch).”

“This has to end. We cannot keep this up any longer.” Ruby-Leigh lets her wrath-gaze work its way around the assembled adults. This is a town hall and the alcalde inutil needs to stop dithering around. She is standing by the kitchen window like a sentinel. Keon and Vondell returned from their wanderings just now, Vondell stepped back into their stuffy room, but not before watching Keon kick a chair over. She watched Keon pick up the chair, then hurl it at the nearest wall. So like his daddy when something ticked him off. Not really Keon’s style, she knows. Her eldest son storms off again. Keon will turn his anger on some Arizona cliff face, break his fool neck for sure. “I want the boy gone.”

It is just the adults. By rights, Inez should be here now. Ruby-Leigh figures that itchy-bitch is off doing the nasty with the Morman; maybe the Morman and Cordell. Ruby-Leigh sets her eye on placid Angela. Like mother, like daughter she reflects acidly.

Malcolm stirs in his favorite chair, rubs his stump like he does when he is agitated. “It is not that simple.”

Angela does not see the problem. “Kay,” she begins, then sees all the eyes roll. “Okay then, Jeremy.” The syllables are emphasized, “Is a good boy. I like him.” She likes Fourteen around the Pueblo, approves of Inez and Fourteen sleeping together. How does she explain this to the Kings? The friendly boy is part of the family. Sure, he is el joven, but Roman was young when she met him. She floats the idea of building the fourth house. She thinks the three men would be enthusiastic about it. It would be time to try a cliff dwelling.

“For Asher?” Roman considers.

“No,,, for el pequeno gallo, cabeza del buscador!” She loves Roman, but he is so thick sometimes.

“On the ledge, but that is so far away.” The wheels are spinning and Roman begins making plans. He looks toward Samuel, who has been very silent.

Malcolm is conflicted. He has been at the Pueblo for almost twenty years and loves the peaceful isolation. He knows he will lose his family soon enough. Fourteen’s arrival has sparked Keon’s adolescent restlessness more than Asher ever did. He knows he has to send Fourteen home, no matter what it might cost him. “I think,” he begins heavily, “That we have to let him go. It is going to cost us. I just know it will.”

Ruby-Leigh glances out into the courtyard once more, then moves over to her father-in-law. It is a quiet word between them. “If you finally sell the property in Boston, we can use the money to relocate.” This is so sensitive. Malcolm is caught in an impossible situation. “We will stay in Phenix, Flagstaff if you want. Very close, so you won’t be alone. The Morman, Jeremy, is a good boy. Maybe it will be alright. If not, you come with us.” Malcolm is getting too old to stay out here in the desert.

“Maybe so.” Is all Malcolm can say. It is wrong, what he has been doing to the boy. They are all fools to think they can keep going indefinitely.

“Cliff house, casa del acantilado.” Angela tries again.

“Posiblemente,” Roman agrees. Roman understands the danger represented by Fourteen, but Angela will have her way. Like letting Asher take the truck to Phenix. Roman loves the freedom of the Pueblo, the simplicity and challenge of living off the grid. He looks at his partner Samuel. The arrangement has been good, but if the Montreal family has to leave, they will leave. He settles back contented, There is always something down the road.

“I can see your points, all of you.” Samuel Faulkner breaks his silence. “I’m just not certain, yet.”

One thing Samuel is certain of, he is deathly afraid the cartel will catch up with him. Los Zetas is patient. They will never stop looking for him. He made a mistake and his people will make him pay for it. It was just an impulse, a stupid impulse. The van was supposed to go to Dallas. All he had to do was make the run to Dallas, hitch a ride home. Instead he started off for Los Angeles with a van load of cocaine.

Around Deming, he panicked. He was a dead man, a lingering painfully dead man. So around Deming, Samuel phoned Dakota and told her to run. Dakota and Cordell were family, there was that to consider, but the reality was, Dakota knew Angela and Roman. She had been to the Pueblo. She could lead Los Zetas to him. Samuel needed them with him.

The bitch left him anyway. Dakota Faulkner might be dead. Samuel did not feel much about that one way or another. He hoped they killed her before they talked to her. If the silly bitch was still out there, Los Zetas was still coming for him.

“The boy should settle in, maybe. Maybe we build the cliff house for him. He is bright, really gets into what we do around here. The kid is what, fifteen? He is old enough to make his own decisions. Someone comes looking for him or he wanders off. If the law comes looking like Earnie did, we just say we didn’t know any better.”

Ruby-Leigh has a sour-prune face. Samuel had managed to take everyone’s side on the issue without helping solve the problem. Samuel cocks his head innocently at her.

The boy goes out, the law comes in and I’m screwed, Samuel admits glumly. That is a certainty. Samuel wants Fourteen dead. The little prick should have killed himself on the cliff. Samuel is disgusted with Cordell for rescuing the boy. He put the idea in Fourteen’s head intentionally. He knew the cocky brat would try the cliff, break his neck, solve Samuel’s problem. Truth is, Samuel is working up the courage to simply kill Fourteen himself.

“I say we think about the new build. Make something special for the boy, or Asher, or Inez. Give it some more time.” Samuel needs more time. Seven years of carefully dribbling cocaine into Phenix so Marco Montreal can deal it on has been working for Samuel. He cannot walk away from what is left, cannot take it with him when he runs again. I need more time, he frets.

“We don’t have the time.” Malcolm concludes. Ruby-Leigh nods agreement, thoughts on her future. Angela and Roman shrug the problem off, lo que sera sera.

Samuel has left the round house to Cordell and Fourteen. Fourteen is unconsciously sharing Levi Fisher’s vast store of knowledge with Cordell on the bed. He might be kneading dough with Angela. Stroke down Cordell’s length with one hand to make the skin taut and expose more nerve endings. Then wrap the other hand around the head of his boyfriend’s penis and slide it up and down. Use a drop of Inez’ handloation to make sure he does not chafe Cordell’s sensitive skin. It is all in the fingers.

Fourteen wants it to be like with Levi. Brush past the old man and feel the back of his hand press into your flank. Just that subtle message and you know the need is mutual. Fourteen could slide a bare toe under Levi’s thigh and the man would know his boy thought it was time to put the paper down. Cordell just opened his pants, so Fourteen knew what he needed.

“Oh shit, I’m close.” This is a warning for his Pretty Boy to wrap his mobile lips around his prick, tongue jizz out. Fourteen is always so innocent-eager. Cordell has never had a partner so anxious to help him feel good. He cares about Cordell, so Cordell tries his enthusiastic-best to care for Fourteen. It is more than just the utility of this kid’s infatuation. Cordell decides Fourteen can be a partner like Inez. “I’m close.” He warns, again.

Rotten little bastard, evilly doctoring his swollen-dripping prick (ready to wad). Fourteen grins his evil tangerine smirk and takes his hands away. He stands up to shift position, wipes his hands on the taut fabric of his black pants. The old Levi’s are gone after a small protest from his Pretty Boy. Fourteen likes the feel of Cordell’s jeans hugging his hips. Cordell likes the look of Fourteen’s too tight slacks. Sans underwear, the black slacks have shrunk spandex tight, slim-fit, ankle-flood trendy. Jerry is going to be a statement tripping down the street. 

Fourteen’s cock swells over to a pocket. He is leaking through the fabric. The old pants that fit so well in Michigan are a walking masterbation. Cordell’s lust-appreciation is gratifying, so he will wear the tight pants. He stopped trying to tug the T-shirt down. “You’re so tight.” Cordell assures him. It makes Fourteen dizzy. It is like he is naked for his boyfriend all the time.

Fourteen sits down again, feels the crotch compression on his package. He blows a steady stream of moist air across Cordell’s hard shaft. Then his hands go back to work. He needs to let Cordell finish in his mouth. Then he might finish in his pants. That turns his boyfriend on. Cordell will tease him with a massage through the fabric while they kiss.

It is an agony like dry humping Cameron in North Platte, or touching hips with Keon as they lie awake together. Cordell loves him like that. Fourteen so hot and bothered that he cums in his pants while his boyfriend squeezes an ass cheek and Fourteen humps a hip. Cordell’s tongue lashes his mouth and then another flood stains the old pants. Levi taught me to love that in Madison.

The fresh cum stain-crust will not matter much. Fourteen has promised Keon a climb, so he will switch back to the faded Levi’s. The sexy feel of his spent cock cradled in the confines of his boyfriend’s cast off clothes. Maybe after climbing, Fourteen will let the tight pants reclaim his package, confine his naked cock. They can kiss and grind and cum beneath the cold Arizona stars before they part. More starch in his crotch, or Conrad will reward him with a blowjob.

“Fuck, boy (fuck-boy), I’m so effing close to busting a nut here.”

Count the times Levi edged me like this, Fourteen grins evilly at the distended cock. His flat palm light-touch spirals Conrad’s tender-tip outwards. The little mouth leaves smears of precum across Fourteen’s lifeline. Dr. Evil Fisher knew this tightrope walk better than anyone. He kept me hard for both of us.

“It’s the monsoon coming ‘Dell. It’s the long frustrating, cock-quiet drought when what you want is a hard cum,” Fourteen can see the after ropes of foaming semin spurting from Cordell’s dark cock. Fuck, I think I’m going to cum myself. Orgasm hands-free while my boyfriend spurts, oh fuck, just the thought of it!

His boyfriend gargle-groans, “fuck … nut … now!”

Cordell cums hard like Scott Beck, like John Cannon would if his cock had been in Fourteen’s mouth and not his burning ass. Fourteen takes what he can in his mouth. He searches out the rest across the man-hair hardness of his boyfriend’s body. At moments like this, he is Levi’s Boy and not Cordell’s virgin.

Fourteen really wants the reward of Cordell’s mouth on his own cock. He wants the salty-jet exchange of after-kisses . He is used to being handled though. Cordell Faulkner echoes Levi’s control. Cordell reminds Fourteen of Scott Beck’s cuffs. There will be no blow job this afternoon.

Cordell grabs his chest, pulls him down on top, then rolls him underneath. That’s where you belong, his cowboy seems to say. They bruise lips together. The bobcat-boy and the desert coyote almost fighting. It is the dry-hump manhandling need while Cordell nips his buds through the tight T-shirt.

“Gonna screw your ass (pussy) boy.” Cordell grates. Fourteen can almost hear that dangerous subtext in the flat inflections. It is true, what Cordell said, you have to black light the corners or you miss the scuttling. “Give it to me, Jerry. Give it to me (Pretty) Boy. I feel it,” Fourteen’s heart is in his throat, like Cordell’s long tongue. Fantastic twisted shapes to follow with the eyes. The Faulkner’s slanted ceiling is one impossible knot to untangle. Fourteen is huffing.

“You feel it, Jerry?”

Oh, Fourteen feels it. His boyfriend’s monsoon breath breaking the long Pueblo drought of waiting. Long desert runs and nothing but old men and a boy he should not touch. The days pass like the pages of an endless story that went stale and tasteless. A story that teases you into thinking life will never get back to this.

Oh, Fourteen feels it now. The cowboy’s open crotch, man-strong cock teasing him. The heavy weight of Cordell on his chest as his boyfriend’s hand tries milking his skin-tight cock through the skin-tight pants.

“Do it, Jerry. I can feel you want it. You want to screw, don’t you. Jizz for me, let it come. This,” and Cordell squeezes Fourteen’s package, “is all you need. Oh, you are so beautiful baby. They love you, Pretty Boy, don’t they? They love you, my Pretty Boy.”

Cordell assaults Fourteen’s open mouth again, breathing “Pretty Boy” over and over again. Fourteen is clinging to Cordell’s zipper. He can feel his boyfriend’s moist cock on the back of his hand. His other hand is pushing Cordell’s chest, shifting to Cordell’s neck to pull his mouth closer.

Zipper in his hand

Can’t breath from kissing so hard

Moist breath

Tree branch woven into chicken wire

Soft cotton sandpapering his cock

“Show me you can do it.”

Leg pulled back by a heel on his calf

Cock burning

Clench a fist, punch the hard chest

Because … because

“Do it for me, baby.”

Lip gets nipped, exchange of inhalation

“Pretty Boy, Pretty Boy” soft-seductive dangerous

Tug the zipper, feel the crush, the pressure

It’s going to be wet spots everywhere, and all Fourteen can think about is his boyfriend’s rough hand on his cock. The orgasm is hard-throbbing. A flow of heat that rivers between his flesh and the wick-dry fabric. I’m putty in this boy’s hands, Fourteen celebrates the Levi Fisher echoes.

“Good boy, Pretty Boy.” His boyfriend growls. Fourteen is marked by his need for Cordell. He is cum-tattooed. “So good, you’re really special.” Fourteen smiles weakly at the words. His boyfriend’s strong fingers are still trying to milk the cum from his cock. He will cum again for Cordell, if that is what he wants. Fourteen reaches both hands up to grab his boyfriend’s head. He burns a kiss across Cordell’s lips.

Cordell needs his space after sex. Sex drains him somehow. After sex like this, Fourteen usually leaves his boyfriend to his mood, gives him time with Inez. Cordell does chores with Asher, Fourteen helps Angela. They give each other space. Boyfriends need space.

Fourteen has a rock climb on his mind, but he is nestled in his boyfriend’s arms. “I think I figured cim cif yapan escort out the ride. We are going to take pop’s Blazer.”

“It runs?”

“Sure, pop always has it ready for an emergency. I just need to get the key.” His Pretty Boy sits up a little. The small movement against Cordell’s side feels good. There is less nausea with Jerry.

“You’re going to steal it?”

“Taking that electric box on wheels or Roman’s old rust bucket truck would be theft. I think pops can let me have that old Blazer for all I have done for him.

“Let’s go!”

“Not so fast.” Cordell decides Fourteen deserves a little more attention. He works the black pants open. His fingers slip down the back of the boy’s pants. His fuck-you finger find Fourteen’s open pussy. Fourteen plans to rock climb, but maybe first Cordell will make Pretty Boy’s cock can climb another time. Digging into his Pretty Boy makes him think of Inez: pussy and multiple orgasms. “We need money.”

Yeah, Fourteen is distracted. “We need money?”

“Oh man, you don’t know the half of it, Jerry.”

The black pants are really tight. Cordell decides to push Fourteen’s waistband down. His Pretty Boy’s cock is moist. Show me how you jizz, Pretty Boy, fuck my other hand while I finger fuck your pussy.

“San Diego is not going to be cheap.”

Fourteen wants to remind this strong intoxication that he has to get home. First thing he has to phone home, let them know, tell them how sorry he is. Police, then a flight home, or maybe mom and dad say sit tight, we’re coming to get you. He cannot tell his first boyfriend that. Fourteen cannot say he is leaving, not yet. There is so much to work out still. “Okay,” That trembles out, because he is not being honest and Cordell just keeps distracting him.

“We need some cash. Kinda lots of cash.”

“I have money!” Fourteen slips out of Cordell’s grasp. Excited, he pulls up his pants and tucks his hard self away. “Come on, I’ll show you!”

Cordell has the Blazer covered, Fourteen can share Levi’s money. It has been just sitting there in the black bag’s side pocket for months now. The teens are almost running to the King’s boy-shed.

“Ha! Look at this!” Fourteen digs out Kale Euller’s American passport and fake identity cards. “I’m older than you are. Read it and weep, I’m eighteen and you are just seventeen.”

“Yeah dude, these are fake. You said so, Jerry.”


Cordell looks the passport over. The false-genuine documents have utility. They are a nice bonus. Being Eighteen will be very useful in San Diego. He hands it all back.

“So you said you had money?”

“Oh yeah!” Fourteen grins. “That’s why I brought you here.” The cash envelope lies in the pocket where Fourteen returns the passport. The documents are just a rotten souvenir of his time with Levi. They are maybe just a wistful reminder of how much he meant to the old man. We might have gone West, Far East together. It is a regret he has to shake off. “Here it is.”

“Five hundred.” Cordell is deflated.

“No, there must be more than two thousand there.” Cordell fans the bills for Fourteen. “Oh, I’m stupid. We hid the rest.”


“Keon,” Fourteen waves his hand, dismissing that detail. “Okay, we have to take a walk. I’ll explain everything when you see.”

The two boys walk into the desert, Conrad following Fourteen past the pool to a tumble of rocks against the rise of the floodplain. Fourteen will not talk about the stash as they walk. His mind is on seeing his parents and the problem of saying goodbye to Cordell. Rather, his mind is consumed with plans to entice his boyfriend to Chillicothe with him. The complications seem insurmountable.

They walk beside the ridge in silence, questions about their future together being thought, answers never clear. “So, is the Blazer easy to drive?” The safe question fills the long silence of the walk.

“I don’t know dude. I was ten when we got here. You figure pops taught me how to drive? Pops never goes anywhere.”

“So what, You want me to drive?” Fourteen laughs. “I can use a stick.” He volunteers. Fourteen is remembering Bull Shoals and the Jeep Levi taught him to drive.

“I know you are good with a stick, but can you drive a car?” That gets them laughing hard.

A dead Mesquite marks Keon’s hiding place. Is there where Fourteen remembered. Fourteen points to the pale rock fitted in the hole.

The deep cleft is still a well of darkness. Fourteen stoops down, moves the rock aside, and reaches as far back as he can for the Ziplock bag. Then he turns around,

“It’s not here. The money is not here. Nothing is here!”

“Let me see.”

It is so human to deny reality. You check a drawer three times hoping that your eyes deceived you. Fourteen steps away from the hiding spot and walks toward the Mesquite holding his head in his arms. Behind him, Conrad reaches his arm into the tight space.

“Yeah, I found something.”

Relief, the warm glow of breath restored. Then, panic because Fourteen has just remembered Icicles No. 5 Sapphire Spiral Glass Dildo (7 inch). This is not the artifact he planned to share with his boyfriend.

“Is this it?”

Cordell has pulled out a scuffed green Tupperware container about the size Fourteen needs to find. “No, I don’t think so.” Perhaps it is, perhaps Keon has replaced the plastic bag. Cordell lifts the lid and Boyish-Bronx things fall out. Cordell turns the container upside down as if magically more will appear. Keon’s treasures drop to the rocky ground. “It is not here.” Fourteen repeated bewildered.


“He promised me he would keep my secret.” Fourteen confesses this to his boyfriend like a knot Cordell can unravel for him.

“And you had money?”

“Thousands,” Fourteen explains. “I mean, new hundred dollar bills like the ones I showed you.”

“So we go find Keon.” Cordell decides.

Keon King, Cordell muses. You get too old-man-sleepy at the Pueblo. Cordell knows the Pueblo gossip. Franklin King, the badass, druggie from the hood. Bust caps, flash the signs, all that bullshit Cordell is running from. Who would guess skinny Keon had the gangster in him?

“You were going to play on the cliffs. Where would we find him?”

“Follow me.”

This is betrayal and it hurts. “Tell me something true.” Keon demanded. So Fourteen told him Jem. Maybe the closest thing to his heart. In all this shitty-mud-shack, eco-shit, back end of nowhere-shit Pueblo-shit, Keon was a true thing. Keon was safe like Shane, and Fourteen kept things safe between them. He runs blind with hurt-hot-tears clouding his judgement.

Keon is there spring-fresh, balanced on the tag-cliff slope with Vondell. Fourteen is climbing toward him up the first easy steps. “Where is it? What did you do with my bag, Keon?” The anger is there in his cracked voice, hurts so bad, Fourteen could levitate up to the boy like some Chinese Kung Fu magic movie.

The ready smile drops off Keon’s lips. He feared this moment each time Jem slipped off with Cordell Faulkner. Got to deal with it now, Keon sighs. He thinks of moma in the Bronx hiding a little cash on the sly, because your daddy Franklin is such a fool. Mostly the Kings were flush, but then Franklin blew it all on shit. Jem’s not thinking straight. Cordell is bending him out of shape. Ruby-Leigh has the right of it, something nasty there. Keon fears the final break.

Fourteen has his rage on, so Keon scampers up the slope, pretty sure Vondell will not be a part of this. “Chill, Jem.” He soothes, “It’s all safe.”

“You gave it to Malcolm!” Fourteen is following him up the slope, playing the game.

“I didn’t!” Keon shouts back. Jem trusted him. They do that thing in the bunk together. Jem has no business calling it into question. “It’s safe!” He shouts again.

Best to make a transverse to the left, or Fourteen will have him trapped. Cordell and Vondell are shouting stuff at both of them. The boys scampering across the chess-board cliff have eyes and ears on each other. If I can just stay above him till he settles down.

Keon traps himself without an easy hand hold. Fourteen breaks right and climbs above him. Keon bites his lip. Jem has the Snakes-and-Ladders advantage on him now. He looks down, but that is Cordell’s territory now. Fourteen has him in check and every move is a capture. Keon turns his back to the cliff and leans back, waiting.

Fourteen slithers down beside him, like it is just the friend-game. Keon gives him a glance, looks down at Cordell, then up into the sky. “Where is it? I need it, Keon.” Jem is so angry, but Keon cannot give way.

“You don’t need it. What do you need with a gun?” He glares his heart-hurt at Fourteen. His friend is wearing the stupid black pants and tight shirt again. That is Cordell-pimp foolishness. This is not Jem.

“I don’t need the Beretta. I need the money.” Fourteen grinds out.

“So you can leave!”

“You know I have to leave.”

Leaving is Jem”s ambition, Keon knows-hates this. Jem does the thing for him and promises leaving won’t be leaving if they are friends. “You’re leaving with Cordell!” Fourteen makes Keon so mad. He shoves the older boy on the shoulder.

“My money, my business.” Fourteen shoves him back. The lighter boy tumbles off the cliff face. “Keon!” Fourteen screams in panic. He is sliding down the slope as if he can beat the boy to the bottom, catch him in his arms. Vondell is screaming too.

Keon rolls twice and springs up to his feet. Cordell has him by his shirt before he can dance away. “Where is the fucking cash, you little nigger.” Cordell is shaking Keon rag-doll-silly. “The money!” He snarls and sinks a fist into the boy for emphasis.

The first punch makes Keon want to wretch. He takes a hit to the face before he catches his breath. Then he tries to twist away from Cordell.

Fourteen is between them, pushing his boyfriend back. “Stop it, Cordell. It’s okay, its okay!” Cordell throws up his hands in disgust. Fourteen gestures with his open palms as if to calm his boyfriend down. He turns to Keon. “Keon … “ he begins.

“Fuck off, Jem, just fuck off!” Keon screams through his hurt. Then a sharp rock glances off Fourteen’s shoulder unnoticed. Another pebble takes him just above his eye. “Stop throwing rocks at Jem, Vondell.” Keon turns his rage on his little brother. Vondell just scampers away from Cordell, whips a stone at him, then sends another at Fourteen. “Stop it, just stop it!” Keon sobs.

Fourteen is just standing tired, between his boyfriend and Keon. He does not notice the trickle of blood dripping onto his shirt. “Keon,” he tries again. “You know I want to go.”

Vondell has finally stopped his barrage. Keon focuses on Jem. “I just wanna be part of your storms.” Keon reminds Jem fiercely. It is all he can think to say.

“Keon, it’s not that simple.”

“You came with all your frosting, your craziness … I just wanna be part of your … But you’re always ditching me and you lie.”

“I know,” Fourteen nods broken. “I’m way to good at desolating.” Fourteen remembers his line, softly.

Keon wipes the snot and tears away. He turns away from Fourteen and takes a few steps. Fourteen finds himself following the boy, wanting him to stop, to come back to him. He next step falters when Keon swings back on him. “And I’m dancing because you’re sly. You’re always defiling me when you lie. Because you think you have to be sly.” Keon is so angry at Fourteen. “When times get spry, you lie and lie. Because you think you’re sly.”

Keon glares at Cordell. He hates Faulkner’s guts. Fourteen is just watching him, waiting. “Your bleeding.” Keon comments quietly.

“I know.” Fourteen whispers. They are both bleeding inside. Keon’s rap makes no sense, but it brings more tears. “You promised me that you would bring it to me if I ever needed it.” Fourten ends soft-bewildered.

“And I will.” Keon turns away. “When you need it, I will.”

Body of Work

If you are here on the midway then you have come to the carnival seeking entertainment, company and of course excitement. There are a dazzling array of rides suited your every mood. There are gentle rides that conjure up soft memories of youth and rides that lift you from the dreariness of your grind and send you flying ageless through the night. There are also the side shows…

If you are here then you are in the house of mirrors captivated by the reflections around you. They are all curved in some way. Every mirror is imperfect and every mirror draws your attention to something new. The mirrors magnify or diminish parts of what we think is real. Sometimes you like what you see and sometimes you don”t. Sometimes you believe what you see and sometimes you can”t be sure what has been distorted. The distortions are intentional and we flatter ourselves into believing the mirrors only stand arrayed like this in such places as the midway. Before you go back to the mirrors of your life step closer to this one.

Eliot Moore, 2007

Here is a summary of the wide variety of other stories I have published.

Dark Thoughts Rising: This story was posted to Nifty in April 2017. Keegan Bressler (14) and his best friends Rey and Davon rape Keegan’s stepbrother Rowan Pense (12) during the course of a drunken party. The three boys embark on a desperate struggle to keep the shattered and confused Rowan from revealing their crime. As events unfold, Keegan and Davon fail to fight their inner demons. Rowan begins his own journey, hiding the truth from his closest friend, Hayden, until he reaches the breaking point.


Awakenings: This ghost story was posted to Nifty in November 2016. Middle aged divorcee Jake begins renovating a 1900’s Craftsman home in an old neighbourhood. He becomes entangled with Will, the 18-year old ghost of a Great War veteran and Chris, a 15-year old homeless addict on a desperate quest. As Jake’s failed life is rejuvenated by his love affair with Will, he slowly pieces together the hundred-year-old connection that has brought the three of them together.


For Your Eyes Only: This novella was posted to Nifty in November 2010. Simon meets Glyn and his younger brother James one August evening during a neighbourhood game. Simon and Glyn become fast friends but it is Simon”s secret game with James Fleming that helps Simon accept his hidden self.


A Fragile Light: This story was posted to Nifty December, 2009. Graham (28) goes to the Christmas Eve service to be with his husband John. He is alienated from his deeply religious family and detached from the warmth of the service. He identifies a kindred spirit teenage Theo and learns they have more in common than he thought as Theo is joined by Jesse. Graham leaves strengthened by the encounter.


Janus: This story was posted to Nifty July 2009. Michael (18) is coaxed into attending a summer party by his older sister. He is college bound and uncertain about the choices he has made. At the party, his encounters with Lauren (19) and Scott (20) help him discover himself and make a decision about his future.

http://www.dabeagle/stories/eliotmoore/janus/janusdh.htm and


Hound: This story was first posted to Nifty the summer of 2008. The first draft was completed in 2005 and in truth I sat on it a long time before I decided to post it. Six-year-old Ethan Yates is abducted off the streets by a pedophile ring. Cast into a nightmare world he struggles to hold on to his identity. Isolated and confused, he clings to fourteen-year-old Peter. As the years pass their mutual need develops into an indestructible bond.


Turbulence: This novel was first posted on Nifty between February and June of 2007. Fourteen year old Daniel Murrell finds the hazing at Riverview High School as freshie a serious challenge. He negotiates it with the help and hindrance of his friends. After a long year of discovery, he comes to terms with his fty//gay/highschool/turbulence/ (first edition) and

http://www.dabeagle/storymainpages/turbulence.html (second edition)

Recovery: This story was first posted to Nifty in January 2007. Sixteen year old Greg Cox reluctantly joined his father in a small rural village in Saskatchewan. There his life becomes entwined with fourteen year old Seth Patterson. As he is slowly drawn closer to Seth he struggles with the memories and guilt associated with the loss of his mother, brother and sister while coming to terms with his gle/storymainpages/recovery.html

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