Tristan

Tristan by Henry H. Hilliard

This work fully protected under The United States Copyright Laws 17 USC 101, 102(a), 302(a). All Rights Reserved. The author retains all rights. No reproductions are allowed without the author's consent.

If reading this story is not legal in your jurisdiction, stop it right now.

If you enjoy this story, please consider making a donation to Nifty to keep this platform alive.

Chapter 32

The long roads of Texas unfolded hypnotically before Tristan's windscreen as his mind wandered to all sorts of places. The events of the past week at North Fork Ranch were turned over in his mind. He had enjoyed himself--after a fashion. The work had been hard, but he had suspected that it would be so from reading Bubble Butte Ranch Hand--an improbable college vacation story set in Montana. And it had been fun to be with Holly and Grady, working in the open air of early summer. Of the boys' father, Tristan could form no clear opinion. He seemed rather reserved--although Hollis had asserted otherwise-- and Grandpa obviously still called the shots, although of the soundness of his mind Tristan was doubtful.

The running of such a vast ranch, and the no doubt complicated structure of its ownership, was bound to fraught with difficulties and family tensions. This unspoken weight, Tristan now realised, had been ever present during his stay. Clearly there was the issue of cotton versus cattle and the pressure of prices and water allocation--Hollis had told him that the aquifer was a finite resource. Then there was capitalization, the Departments of Agriculture and Labour's onerous requirements and all sorts of things that Tristan did not fully understand, but of which Hollis had a grasp with his Economics background and his practical bent, while Kimberly seemed to be a very competent accountant. Who would inherit it all?

Grandpa had been initially unpleasant, but somehow Tristan had earned his grudging respect. But why he should have had to do this made Tristan angry and he gripped the steering wheel of his truck harder at the memory. He had been invited as a guest after all!

Then there was Hollis and Grady. Tristan smiled to himself. Grady at sixteen was just a kid and it was warming to see how affectionate the two brothers were underneath their rough play. He'd remember that for a long time.

And of Kellogg itself? The trouble was, there was just nothing there and the vastness of the landscape was alienating. Perhaps if he'd been born there...

No, not quite nothing, for at that moment the Lubbock sofa and other assorted things were in the bed of his truck and the wild frapping of the tarpaulin indicted that Tristan should slow down and perhaps stop to retie it, which he decided he would do when he made San Angelo.

San Angelo was pleasant small city in the middle of West Texas ranching country. There was evidently an Air Force base nearby and signs pointed to a range of cultural institutions that were painfully lacking in tiny places like Kellogg. He did not go to museums and art galleries very much himself, he conceded, but he liked to know that they were there and it seemed to proclaim a more diverse population in than small towns where there was only farm and church.

Here the load was retied and Tristan set off again after a quick bite. Now his only thoughts were of Colton and the closer he got to Hill Country, the more urgent became his longing. To what end this emotion was directed, Tristan was as unsure of as ever.

He had made good time and it was still mid-afternoon when he rolled up the gravel road to the red-and-white farmhouse. Clarice was at home as it was the school vacation and she welcomed him with a big hug. Tristan realised he needed a hug to settle his turmoil. He then had to lie and say he wasn't hungry or thirsty and feigned patience until, a last, she revealed that Colton and his father were in the vines, naming the likely spot.

Tristan hurried away as fast as good manners would allow. The vines were in full leaf and grown quite high. Immature bunches of grapes hung down in the verdant tunnels and he found it was hot and still between the rows, with no breeze able to penetrate. He could not see the men, but the sound of digging drew him on. At last, down one row, she spotted Colton hard at work. He had taken off his shirt and was just wearing a ragged pair of denim shorts, his Stetson and his work boots. He was occupied driving a tall crowbar into a hole and the sound seemed to indicate that he had struck rock. He didn't see Tristan until he was quite close.

"Tris!"

"Hi!"

"Wasn't expecting y'all till later. Phone's on the charger," he said, straightening up.

Colton was streaming with perspiration and his back and shoulders were sunburnt. Muscles swollen with effort glistened in the green-yellow sunlight that filtered down between the vines. He looked hot in both senses.

It took but a moment for Tristan's wicked eyes to drift south. Down the left leg of Colton's tight, ragged shorts an immense log formed a bulge. It was lewdly obvious. Tristan was staring. "Hello, Tris?" said Colton good-humouredly.

"Oh sorry, its just you look so fuckin' sexy," said Tristan in a low voice. "Is that all you in those shorts?" he asked incredulously, although he knew the answer.

"Yeah," laughed Colton. "That's just what Dad said this mornin'. He's gone into town to buy some wire. Been barred up somethin' fierce all day. Haven't jacked since Saturday. He gave his erection a squeeze. Tristan moved closer and squeezed too. It was flesh made steel.

"Perhaps I shoulda worn underwear seein' Dad noticed," he pondered ruefully. He lifted the hem of the left leg just slightly and the moist tip of his member peeked out. "He's been missin' y'all."

Tristan felt he couldn't move.

Colton teased him further by undoing the brass top button of his cutoffs that sat low on his hips below his narrow waist. He fluffed a little of his newly grown pubic hair over the low riding waistband. Tristan knew the texture and the hue: dark gold, darker than the hair on Colton's head--the colour of amber. Colton stood back grinning with his legs apart, enjoying the affect he was having on Tristan, as if one of those spiders that can paralyse their prey. To Tristan's febrile brain, everything seemed to focus on the quarterback's groin: Colton's thumbs hooked into his waistband, the line of wiry blonde hair running south from his navel, the ripple of abdominal muscles, the Adonis cuts on his ripped torso, and Tristan's eyes.

"Wanna give it a kiss hello?"

"Shit, yeah. I've been thinkin' of it all week."

"Hasn't m'red-headed buddy been good enough for you?"

"Not the same," said Tristan as he knelt and lifted the same hem. The red and shiny head of Colton's cock was protruding from the folds of its foreskin. A pearl of Colt juice glistened from the gaping slit. Tristan licked it off and another burped up to replace it. He then kissed it with love.

"That's nice, Tris, but I'm gonna bust."

"I need you inside me."

"I ain't got no lube an' we're outside in case y'hadn't noticed."

Tristan stood and startled Colton by kissing him on the lips. "Just do it, stud."

Colton was galvanised into action but struggled to get his shorts down. He couldn't take them off because of his boots. "Y'better get it good an' wet, Tris," he panted.

"Fuck, It's just like a horse's penis," said Tristan in awe as, kneeling again, he hefted it in his hands. This equine comparison was made more apparent because of the angle it described, perhaps being too heavy to stand straight up.

"You've been too long with Holly an' forgotten what a real man-cock is like. Did he taste good, Tris? What was that white ass like when y'had y'tongue up there?"

"If you're so keen to know, taste him yourself."

"Huh! What'd he taste like? Tell me."

"He tasted like chicken," said Tristan.

"Start suckin', joker, but don't make me cum yet."

Tristan went to work, licking and spitting to slick the organ. He lathed Colton's balls when he though Colton was getting too worked up. It was nicely judged. After a pause he forced as much into his mouth as he could until he gagged.

"Enough!" commanded Colton with urgency. "Let me spit on your hole." Tristan bent over and held on to a post. Colton knelt on the turf. "And Holly likes his hole eaten out?"

"Yeah. It was a novelty," huffed Tristan. "I think he's been wanting someone to do it--SueEllen wouldn't be up for it, he said, and Parker wouldn't be either."

"Yeah I know. He tells me stuff." Colton started to lick and spit on Tristan's quivering hole. "Y'did the right thing on opening up our boy to new experiences."

"Oh, he opened up all right. Got a couple of fingers right inside and he went nuts."

Colton chuckled and slid one then two fingers into Tristan. "Not such a new experience for some." He bent his fingers and Tristan gave an involuntary jump.

"Time."

Colton lined up his prick with Tristan who was now on his hands and knees. It wouldn't go in. He tried again but still it wouldn't penetrate. "Try more spit," said Tristan in desperation. Still it wouldn't work. Tristan was placed on his back and Colton started all over again.

"Fuck, just do it, Colt!"

"I've got lube in my room..."

"I need it now!"

Colton then pressed harder and leveraged with his toes in the dirt. Tristan yelped but there was a breakthrough. "Right..." began Tristan in an instructional tone, but Colton gave a shudder.

"I'm cummin'!"

Only the head of his penis was inside Tristan's rectum, but Colton was busy ejaculating. It went on and on, each contraction seeming to wrack his body--a feeling that was transmitted to Tristan. He pulled free, but was still shooting. It went all over Tristan's buttocks.

After what seemed like minutes, but was probably only thirty seconds, the flow subsided. Colton still had a few dry spasms. When he opened his eyes and looked down, Tristan had cum too--his knuckles and chest marked with the evidence.

"Fuck! That was intense," said Colton. "Can't remember cummin' so much in ages. Sorry it was so quick. Next time I'll do you proper."

"Yeah," was all Tristan was able to gasp.

"Your ass is gunna be leakin' bad, Tris. Better clean up."

There wasn't much to clean up with. Tristan's clothes were filthy. He tried to use some vine leaves as tissues. They weren't designed for the job. Even so, he pulled on his clothes and Colton pulled up his shorts. The bulge was now less pronounced. He grabbed his tee-shirt and hat from a post. "Finish this tomorrer. Let's go up to the house."

They walked together. "Your feeling better about the Bonfire?"

"Yep. Good ol' Mom straightened me out. Made me a bit weary about dating--girls I mean."

"You'll be back in the saddle in no time," prophesised Tristan who was under no illusions.

He chucked. "Yeah, I guess so. Lucky I've got you though."

"Damn right!" said Tristan like a Texan. "I could have stayed at the Ranch."

"Not if y'wanted y'com-plex needs met, buddy. Unless young Grady could do you."

"He's going to be a real stud. I've asked him to come and stay. Knows all about you--from Holly, I suppose--and I think you're just the bad influence a sixteen year- old near-virgin might need."

"Hey! That's unfair. I give good advice at the Clinic."

Tristan had to conceded that this were true.

"Tris, I've got a surprise for y'all--well, two actually, but they're linked."

"Yeah?" replied Tristan, looking up at him.

"Yeah, but I wanna wait until Dad's back." His eyes twinkled. "I'm gonna grab a shower." He peeled off in the direction of the barn, where there was a shower room out the back. Tristan continued up to the house.

"Bless you, Tristan, what happened to your clothes?' said Clarice when he appeared at the kitchen door.

"Oh, I was helping Colt with...er...a difficult hole and..."

"Well, wait here while I get you a towel and then go over to the shower. Bring me those clothes and I'll see to them."

A towel was produced and Tristan made his way over in the direction of the barn.

"Your mum sent me," said Tristan.

Colton was covered in suds and had been masturbating, despite his huge orgasm just minutes before.

"Come an' help me an' then I'll try an' clean up your cummy ass."

Tristan was delighted by the offer and was soon running his hands freely over the quarterback. "You're leaner than a few weeks ago."

"Yeah, but I'll bulk up at the end of summer for football. I reckon my waist is only thirty-two inches now. Coach is right down on BMI indexes." Tristan put his arms around his waist. Colton smiled. "Bend over and I'll do y'butt."

It was a cleaner Tristan who re-emerged in the kitchen. Clarice had made him tea--Irish Breakfast--and had a plate of homemade biscuits (called `cookies', of course) on the table. "Did you have afternoon tea in England?"

"Yeah, mostly it was just a mug with a Garabaldi. My Gran, however, would put on a slap up tea, even if was just my cousin and I visiting. If she had her pals around, it was even grander."

"She must have been a lovely lady, Tris."

"Yeah she was." He fell to reminiscing and Clarice was content to listen. "Every afternoon, Mrs Pike, who was her cook, would make all these cakes and scones--do you know what they are?" Clarice nodded. "And with home-made jam--what you call `jelly' --and cream and little ribbon sandwiches like they do in fancy hotels. Nigel and I would stuff our faces. Of course Gran's family was in the tea trade and she had whole sets of antique cups and saucers from Imperial China. They were so fine you could see your finger through them.

"In the summer we'd have tea out on the back lawn that ran down to the River. She'd bring out the good stuff, silver and all, and Nigel and I weren't allowed to play football 'cause we might knock the whole thing over. No tea bags in her house!"

"That sounds like something in a movie."

"Yeah, it was, kind of. Seems a very long time ago now."

Colton returned and with him was Drake. They both grabbed something to eat then Colton said, "Come out to the barn for your surprise."

They all trailed out, Clarice included. "What do you think?" said Colton waving his arm.

Tristan followed the gesture--it was dimly lit--and there stood an old wagon. It was not very large and was partially enclosed at the rear--a kind of cupboard with a pair of wooden doors. The middle part was open on both sides but under a solid roof. The front portion was a wooden seat for the driver above the shafts for a single horse. It was old, but it had rubber tyres on its rather diminutive wheels.

"Why, it's very cute, but I...Is Tammy going to pull it? Or Dino?"

"Dino?" asked Drake.

"He's a tin dinosaur that Holly found. Stands in the front yard," explained Colton. Then, "It was a milk wagon, Tris. What do you call them in Britain?"

"Floats, but now they're electric." His mouth was open. "I think it's fantastic!" He grinned at the Stones. Tristan then had all its features pointed out to him. The paint was very faded but the name `Model Dairy Co.' was still legible. "Where did you get it?" he asked.

"Friend o' Dad's. Owed you a favour, didn't he?"

"Wouldn't put it that way, but asked if I'd like it. Said it was just cluttering up his shed."

"So, you know my old house was once a dairy and that they must have once had horse drawn floats just like this one because the stable is still there? I've got an old photo of them with a motor lorry. `Gilmore's Ideal Dairy' it was called. I'll show you later." They stood there admiring the curiosity. Then Tristan said, "What do you propose to do with it?"

Colton was startled out of his gaze and said, "Oh, this is the good part. We take it to the house and put it in the yard and we use it for cookouts."

"How?"

"Well, we fix it to the ground. We put the grill here." He indicated the open side. "We put the sink on the other side and a light up under the roof for night time. The back part can be for plates and tools and stuff like that. When we're not using it, we can roll down canvas blinds on either side--that was Mom's idea."

"I'll sew some canvas if you boys will do the wooden parts," said Colton's mother.

"But can we still connect gas and electricity to it?"

"Don't see why not if it's fixed down."

"But you said you wanted the whole works, Colt: pizza over, steam oven, dishwasher, stone tops, stainless steel--like at Dad's cabin."

"Nah. Don't need all that. Just the grill and the sink and a little beer fridge--our old one. I suppose you could put a microwave in the cupboard or somethin'."

"Well, that will be a big saving! I was expecting a costly outdoor kitchen like in show homes."

"This will be better. We'll make it ourselves. No one else will have one." Tristan had to agree.

They all walked around it several times, trying to imagine its transformation. Then Tristan climbed into the seat and whipped the imaginary horses as if it were a stagecoach being pursued by Indians. They laughed.

Drake said: "If you didn't want to cut a hole for the sink, you could get one of those porcelain ones that sit on the top--then you'd only need holes for the pipes."

"Aren't they expensive?"

"We could look on-line for a second hand one," suggested Colt.

"I don't like to spoil your surprise, but I can a problem: how do we get it home?"

"I've got a buddy--Angel--who's got a big ass truck. He's goin' up to Fort Worth in ten days time to collect a load. We could pay him to take it and make a little detour."

"That sounds great!"

"Yeah, but we'd have to be here to help him load it and then follow him to help him unload it. That would mean stayin' here longer, if that's all right."

"If that's all right with you," replied Tristan graciously.

"Course it is," said Drake

"Yeah, Tris, and I thought we could go campin' down at Big Bend National Park for a couple nights. That was the second surprise."

"That'd be great! Is it far?"

"Five or six hours--dependin' where we camp. It's huge."

Tristan turned to them all. "This is a fantastic present. It'll make a really cool barbecue set up. You really have got to come up to the house and stay--even before football starts. We'll have plenty of room. Won't we, Colt?"

"Yeah," urged Colton. "Come up after harvest."

Tristan thanked them again and went to shake their hands--he didn't know why--but then he found he was enfolded in a hug by each of Colton's parents and then Colton picked him up and swung him around before dropping him in a pile of hay. They were all laughing.

Walking back to the house Tristan said, "The wagon is a great birthday present."

"Why, when's your birthday?"

"It was ten days ago. I'm twenty."

"Oh fuck! I didn't know, Tris." Colton was distressed. His parents were similarly taken aback.

"That's all right. I didn't tell anybody, so you couldn't have known. It was the day Holly helped me with the television. I had a good day."

"Right!" said Clarice. "Good excuse for a sticky cake! I'll get my mixer out. Drake: Beer Butt chicken on the grill, I think. You like that, don't you, Tris?"

"I do, and you have to drink half the can of beer first. You know, I'm still not legal in Texas."

"Well, a little beer don't hurt none," opined Drake.

"I could drink legally if I lived in England," complained Colton.

"You don't seem to have suffered too much, son," said Drake. "Besides, they don't play proper football there."

Tristan knew he was being provoked, but took it on the chin and grinned.

"I feel real bad that I missed y'birthday, Tris," said Colton as he pulled his tee-shirt over his head.

"Please don't. We don't make a fuss about birthdays in my family. I only remember Dad's because it's the fifth of November."

"What's that?"

"You know, Guy Fawkes."

Colton didn't and Tristan had to give an impromptu little history lesson. Colton was amazed at terrorism, seventeenth century style.

"Did y'dad call?"

"No. He's away I think."

"And your mom?"

"Nope."

"Shit, Tris, that sucks."

"Nah," said Tristan in an offhand manner, trying to sound convincing. "Just the same as last year."

"Jump in next to me so we can talk." Tristan left his bed and got under the covers with Colton. "That's better. I've missed you. I need you to tell me what underwear to wear."

"I'll make that call in the morning." He wriggled to get comfortable. "And you haven't seen any old girlfriends since you've been down here?"

"Well, I seen 'em, but that's all. Here, read this." He handed over his phone. There were a dozen messages from three girls, one--Shawna Marie--being particularly persistent-- and all wanting to see Colton. "And this one." Colton opened his photos and Tristan saw a picture of a well-rounded bottom in a red thong. Colton swiped it and the same bottom was now completely naked with her shaved genitalia prominently on display. Tristan looked away. "See, they send these to me. That one was the sister of a girl I dated just once--or was it twice? She's asking me out."

"I see," said Tristan, now more fully into Colton's private life than he cared to be. "Do you ever send them sex pics?"

"Never! Too risky! If they got out I'd be off the team. Oh, phone sex with you is diff'rent."

"Thanks," said Tristan sarcastically. "You know, I shaved Holly."

"Yeah, you said."

"He looks kinda hot. He's with SueEllen tonight. He sent a text. Do you think it's odd that both Holly and Parker have gone out with undertakers' daughters?"

"You mean like an unconscious death wish?"

"Well, something like that. SueEllen actually works for the rodeo they have up there. I didn't meet her though. Holly has ridden rodeo, you know."

"Yeah? Well he's got one on me. He's more of a real cowboy."

"Maybe, but I still like to call you `Cowboy'."

"Anyone else..." said Colton in a mock threatening voice.

"Hey, I'm so glad to be here. Your parents are so nice--more like real parents. And Colt, I love the wagon and I'm really looking forward to Big Bend."

"Y'all not just sayin' that to please me?"

"No, I loved camping last time."

They lay there for some minutes.

"Colt, you're sure you're okay with the Bonfire stuff?"

"Like I said, Mom an' everythang."

"You should take some of your own medicine and see someone back at the Clinic."

"Maybe. It'll probably be too late by the time we get back. It was just such a shock, Tris. You know, one minute it's all fun and my main problem is just girlfriend stuff and the next minute there are two dead people. Real heavy."

"Yeah, it must have been."

"How's your dad, Colt? I haven't liked to ask."

"Mom says he's not travellin' too bad. His diet is a bit better. You saw how he avoided the cake tonight. I'd like him to see another specialist though. One in Austin or Dallas or somewhere."

"You know if money is a problem, Dad or me..."

"Yeah, I know. I'm not sure if his shitty plan covers the really top guys, but your dad has done more than enough. You know, we got that order for Shiraz from Globoco. It'll make a real difference to our finances, big order like that. Just hope that this year's vintage is a good one. We employ a top blender--guy goes around to all the smaller vineyards--Dad's palate is good, but not that good. I can't judge shit."

They fell silent again.

"I worked on the water troughs for the cattle and the silage pit at North Fork. They really depend on getting rain. It's almost marginal land out there. What jobs will we do here?"

"Well, there's netting of the vines that are fruiting first. That's a big job. It's harvest in late summer that's the really busy time. We employ a heap of dudes for that--women too."

"You must come back for that. Don't let me keep you working at the house. Same goes for Holly. His grandpa is a bit of a slave driver."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah, would only let him come when I said I'd pay him and he wouldn't have to work in Kellogg over the summer. Same goes for you."

"Thanks, but your money isn't limitless."

"I've got it figured."

"Last summer I worked at the Pool and the Bake Shop--the Pool was fun and the old ladies in the shop were suddenly invaded by chicks an' the Coyotes. Made sure they bought stuff every time."

"Was the girl in the photo one on them?"

"Yeah, she and her big sis. Blueberry muffin and cinnamon roll."

"I've seen the muffin, or was that their names?"

"Ha ha! That's what they always ordered."

"And the pool?"

"Well, I was in m'element." Colton turned and grinned. "Saved a little kid one afternoon." Then, "This thang with Holly..."

"There is no `thing'!"

"Well, y'had y'tongue up his shitter an' y'sucked his piece; don't know what y'call it. Will you be doin' it agin?"

"Why do you ask?"

"Jus' wanna know."

"Will you be seeing Blueberry Muffin?"

"Nah, she'd be big trouble."

"Well, your wide receiver is a hot ginger dude, but I think it was a one-time thing."

"See, it was a thang!"

"Look, Colt, Holly's not for me and, besides, he's straight. You know that."

"Yeah, I guess so." Colton put his arm around him. "Y'know, 'bout today, out in the vines, I didn't do y'right. Sorry about that."

"Don't be dumb, it was me who spoilt things. I was too randy for a prick up m'bum. That's all I'd been thinking about for ages."

"Tris do you mind that it's always me who's fuckin' you? Like, is it unfair of me? Do you want to fuck me?"

"Do you want me to fuck you?"

"No, I don't think I'd like that--I just wouldn't get off on it, I can tell. It wouldn't suit `my own particular idiom'," he said quoting The Holy Grail. He turned anxiously to Tristan. "But you get off on me doin' y'all, though, don't ya?"

"Yeah, I sure do. It seems right to me--even if not logical-- and I can't see myself with my cock up your butt. You're the man and I'm the woman. It's inescapable."

"Don't say that. You're not like a woman at all. You're logical and you have a beard--if that's what you call that scruff." He paused in thought. "Tongue n' a finger is diff'rent--just like with m'bro, Holly, right?"

"Yeah, that's different; that is me giving you pleasure, not me `taking' you."

"Well, that's sorta how I see it too. I just wanted to be clear about it. So, if you don't mind, I'd like to experience some o'that tongue that tasted m'teammate."

"You've got a sexy arse. On your hands and knees!"

The bedcovers were pushed aside and Colton assumed the position. It was a sexy arse. It was big--very big and meaty, but not the extent of being a girly `bubble'. It was entirely masculine and muscly and well-proportioned in relation to his big, powerful thighs and his strong back and shoulders--all appropriate to a college footballer. Tristan couldn't help himself but to give it a smack. The flesh didn't move. He did it again, with a resounding crack. There was a handprint left on the white flesh.

"That's hot, keep doin' it!"

Tristan smacked the other cheek--it was harder with the left hand. He dealt a few more until his hand stung and Colton said to stop. Tristan hoped they hadn't been heard upstairs.

"It's the same with chicks," observed Colton with his face in the mattress. "Y'see a great ass an' all you want to do is give it a slap."

Tristan admired it for a minute then lowered his head and kissed Colton's thighs, but it was awkward so he moved on to the buttock cheeks. These were a landscape of wiry blonde hair where his legs began, but with other areas that were as smooth as a baby's.

"On m'pucker, Tris."

Tristan spread the cheeks forcefully to expose Colton's most hidden recess (as so described in Tasting Pink at Brown) and extended his tongue. He tasted slightly salty and with the tang of soap.

"Cleaned down there real good in anticipation," said Colton encouragingly.

Tristan ran his chin stubble up and down like sandpaper. Colton seemed to enjoy that. Then he set to work with his tongue, periodically hawking spit into the chasm. "Push out!" he commanded.

Colton strained and his arse lips protruded slightly. Tristan licked them. "Fuck!" cried Colton. Tristan kept going and soon Colton's sphincter loosened slightly. Tristan stabbed at it with his tongue. This made Colton suddenly roll over. He pulled his own legs back giving Tristan unfettered access. To make sure of this, Colton seized Tristan's head and held it there. Tristan couldn't see or even breathe; all he could do was work his tongue until, gasping, Colton released his grip.

"Fuck, you're magic! Suck out a load, Tris."

Tristan set to work on his new task and soon a load of quarterback cum was decorating Colton's chest and abdomen.

"Add yours!"

Tristan's erection was straining and it took only a few strokes for him to ejaculate his more modest load on his friend's body. Tristan hadn't been sure that Colton would have allowed such an impertinence to be practiced upon himself, but somehow, under Colton's highly flexible set of mores, this was now permitted.

"Man, that was real dirty stuff, Tris," said Colton as he found his old cum rag and proceeded to swab himself down.

"Yeah, dirty pig play, it's called," said Tristan as he tried to wipe his face on his discarded tee-shirt.

"So, there ain't nothin' wrong with me liking m'butt licked?"

"No, of course not. Is there anything wrong with me liking to lick your arse?"

"I guess not, long as you like doin' it. Now, was it as good at Holly's?"

"Is that what this was all about? Competition between you two jocks?"

"No, course not, just sayin'..."

"Well, I'm not saying."

"Come on, Tris. Y'can't tell me that skinny ginger tush was better'n my A-grade quarterback butt?"

"You're definitely the bigger ass."

"You've got a smart mouth on you, boy! You might just end up alone in that middle bed." Tristan looked at his rigid face. "'ceptin' I'll need y'all to jack me in the mornin'." He broke out into a grin.

The next day was farm work. However, first the Lubbock couch was carefully unpacked from Tristan's truck, which stood in the full sun, and stored in the barn. It was admired by all, but perhaps was not quite to Clarice's more conventional taste, which had a tendency towards florals. Colton `tested it' by swinging over the seat back and then sprawling over the quilted vinyl. "Well, we just need eight more of these and we'll all be able to watch Netflix," joked Tristan. He then heaved Colton to his feet and they inspected the milk float once again.

"Should we paint it up?" asked Drake.

Tristan could imagine the colours and curlicues being reproduced by some clever sign writer for a price. "I don't think so, Drake. It kind of looks good in this distressed state and I don't want it to look like a snack concession at Disneyland. Do you know what I mean?"

He did and while the vehicle would be cleaned and repaired, it would not `gussied up'--as Colton put it.

The netting work in the vineyard was not hard and Tristan's extra pair of hands was welcome. Rolls of very fine bird netting were taken to the vines--the ones in fruit. The netting was too fine to inhibit the valuable sunlight, but if tied over and underneath, it would prevent bird strike. If it were put in place too early, the shoots would only grow through it, rendering it useless.

They spent some hours at this task and had done six rows by the time they stopped for lunch, after which they worked for another hour until Drake insisted that the boys now do something else to relax. It was quite different to work at North Fork Ranch.

The horses were saddled up and Colton led the way to a forest preserve that had attractive bridle paths cut through it. Then they came upon a made road that wound up through manicured lawns--it was a golf course and the sign set in an arrangement of boulders declared it to be Saddle Ranch' and Private'.

"We can't go in there," said Tristan.

"Yes, we can. The management are friends of mine. Football fans. I sometimes ride here. Come and have a look at some of these houses."

They clopped slowly up the immaculate road. Tristan felt they were out of place. As yet there were no houses visible, merely groomed vegetation. To one side, Tristan could see some slashes of bright green--clearly the golf course. They pressed on up the rising gradient until they came to a circular car park--which had few vehicles in it--and a small, rustic building. Colton dismounted and tied Tammy to a bollard. He went in and emerged a few minutes later with a man wearing a light suit under a Stetson. Tristan was introduced to `Carl' and then Carl resumed heartily shaking Colton's hand and talking football. Presently he waved them off and Colton and Tristan proceeded deeper into Saddle Ranch Estate.

"Carl runs the place," explained Colton. "They're trying to sell the lots. They built a few big houses themselves on the hilltop--eight million dollars they wanted for one--but now they're forced to sell small lots of just a few acres."

"Who lives here?"

"Retired oilmen, San Antonio lawyers, people who own IT companies. All rich dudes who like to pretend they're ranchers."

"But they're really just suburbanites?"

"Pretty much. They might own a few horses and stuff like that, but they're really just hobby farmers."

They came upon an artificial lake. On its shore was a luxurious stone pavilion with sun lounges set out on a glossy timber deck. It was immaculate, but empty.

"My father would just love this," said Tristan, grimly. "This is exactly his idea of how rich Americans live."

Further on, a small hill rose abruptly from the landscape. The road wound around it to the top. Even from below, Tristan could catch glimpses of luxurious mansions and, as they rose, he quickly picked out the eight million dollar one--it looked more like a village than merely one dwelling--and it was constructed of fieldstones like Carl's office.

It was a long way between dwellings, but the intervening distance gave Tristan opportunity to take in swimming pools, sweeping lawns, helipads, guesthouses and all the other amenities essential to the life of the rich.

Then they came to the clubhouse, which was equally magnificent.

"I've been in there--football thing--but we can't go in today," said Colton as they trotted past. It hardly looked lively--especially at this time of the day--and there were very few cars parked outside.

"Like I said, the company is havin' trouble selling lots. It's changed hands twice."

"It's not the kind of place I'd like to live," pontificated Tristan. "It's way too artificial, too sterile."

"Too neat?"

"Yeah, that too. I mean, just think, you'd only ever be mixing with other rich people."

"Well, rich folks is scared of other people an' they pay big money to keep 'em out."

"I don't like this aspect of America--gated communities, like Dad's cabin. It's hardly democratic, is it?"

"Well, don't rich people live aways from poor folks in Britain?"

Tristan had to concede this was true and that there were probably gated communities there as well.

"If you're free, I suppose you're free to be a prick. It means y'all free to do what you like with y'money and if that means turning y'back on y'fellow Americans, well that's okay too."

"But it's not okay."

"Maybe."

They rode on and eventually the road crossed the beautiful golf course and came back to the circular carpark. Colton hollered a farewell to Carl and the boys and their horses regained the main road again.

The next day, after the boys had helped Rich sterilize one of the stainless steel tanks with steam, they ventured into town. Colton's town was greatly more interesting than Hollis', for it had a greater range of business and tourist attractions.

One store was a printers and stationers with an interesting display of luxury items and gifts in the window. "Are they any good?" asked Tristan. Colton just shrugged. They entered and immediately Colton knew the proprietor and asked smoothly after her daughter. Tristan did not hear the answer for he was inspecting the wares. Colton called him over and he was introduced to Mrs Harburg.

"Do you bind books, Mrs Harburg?"

"Isn't his accent so darling, Colt?" She grinned at Tristan for a full minute. "Yes, we do. You're meaning a new book?"

"Yes, it's a thesis with images. It's about two hundred pages--including the pictures. I'd like about a dozen copies made."

"Well, sir, we could format it if you have it on a USB."

"Don't call him `sir', Mrs Harburg. It makes him think he's too important."

"All customers are important, Colton."

Tristan was indeed treated like a valued customer and types of paper and methods of binding were laid out before him.

"I want to give bound copies to Ben and Ivy and to Dad. We could all have a copy each. What do you think?"

"Nice idea, Tris. You're real generous. I guess Ben and Ivy worked pretty hard."

"Yeah, for inexperienced architects they sure did. I really didn't have any major problems with the build, come to think of it, despite some sleepless nights."

So they left Mrs Harburg with Tristan promising to bring the USB containing Ben and Ivy's Architecture thesis the following day.

Back on the street Colton literally collided with a guy who was about their age.

"Brady!" exclaimed Colton, picking him up like a rag doll and then theatrically dusting him down.

"You big asshole, Stone. What are you doin' here?"

"Summer break. What are you doing here? I thought you'd moved to Waco."

"Circumstances dictated a speedy return," Brady said in a humorous tone.

Tristan took him in. Brady was rather short and weedy. Standing next to Colton he appeared to be a runt. However he had a mop of unruly curly hair and laughing eyes. He had a little chin beard and a large gold earring in his left lobe. Clearly Brady was `a mouth' and force of personality seemed to make up for physical shortcomings.

Tristan was introduced and Brady said that he had taught Colton everything he knew about `wimmin'. Tristan found this hard to believe, but Colton didn't deny it outright.

"Yeah, he thought that big dick of his was just for pissin' till I told him that Mellieanne Schultz would like to share it."

"That's a lie, it were Dacey who wised me up to her."

"Well, what about Sheree Harburg and the Junior Prom?"

"Shut up, man, that's her mom's store," said Colton in an effort to hush him. Brady just laughed. "I suppose the reason you're back is because of some chick?"

"Yeah. I was livin' with m'boss's daughter and I had this other one--worked in a diner-- on the side. Then the shit hit the proverbial an' here I am."

"So, what are you gonna to do?"

"Well, I met up with Carlotta--you know, Rooster Bar Carlotta, the hot chick whose ol' man owns the U-haul?"

"You mean, y'all going through the boss's daughter again?"

"Hah! That's a good way of puttin' the situation, Stone. Sure beats job ads an' interviews. But tonight I was thinkin' about dirt-roadin'. You up for it?"

Colton turned to Tristan. "We go out in an ol' truck and drive up an' down the dirt roads between spreads."

"Then we get in the back of the truck an' talk shit an' get drunk," completed Brady.

"Fine with me. I was only going to listen to opera."

Brady looked confused and Colton stepped in. "He's making a joke, man. He's British and they tell jokes without laughing. I've got used to it."

The humour was a slow burn for Brady, but then he saw the joke and laughed, slapping Tristan on the back. They agreed to meet at a certain hour and Brady would supply the truck if Colton supplied the whiskey.

On the way back to the farm, Colton opened up. "Brady is a great guy, Tris. Of course he devious an' real smart--too smart for school. He seemed t'have an instinctive knowledge 'bout chicks, even in el'mentary school. You wouldn't think it to look at him, but chicks really fall for him--can get 'em to do anythang--sleep with him, give him money, give him their sisters..."

"He uses girls?"

"Yeah, a bit, I guess. But they do it willingly--he never uses violence or nothin'. It's just that he's very persuasive, I suppose."

"I don't know if I like that, Colt. I mean you're more a victim of girls than a manipulator of them..."

"Hey! I'm no victim. I like chicks and they like me!"

"Yeah, that's true--you like them too much. Does Brady actually like chicks, or are they just a means to an end?"

"Oh, he likes 'em all right."

So it was in the early summer evening after a substantial supper to soak up the alcohol, that they met Brady in town. His truck was indeed old and `beat-up'--worse than Hollis', but apparently it was ideal for dirt-roading. They set off, passing through the respectable part of town until the area became completely rural. Brady pulled off onto a road that he seemed familiar with.

Dirt-roading seemed fairly simple. One drove at excessive speed down the bumpy unsealed road, bouncing over corrugations and leaving a plume of dust in one's wake. Even at low speed, the feeling was one of reckless impetus due to the rough nature of the farm roads. At various intersections Brady spun the wheel and the old vehicle drifted into the next dirt road, and so they continued for miles.

The second part was the shit-talking. Brady could talk endlessly, seemingly without pause for breath. Apparently he dropped out of school before graduating and worked at a series of manual jobs. Obviously he was one of those souls who could confidently turn his hand to almost anything. He'd never been a burden on the state, although he had not amassed many worldly possessions. Nevertheless, he was relentlessly cheerful and optimistic.

Many of his stories concerned his female conquests. Colton looked a little bored--perhaps being all too familiar with them--and Tristan realised that Brady was trying to impress him.

"Remember Janet Hemphill? Redhead with bad skin but e-normous tits?"

"Yeah, she was a year below. Daddy worked in the sewerage plant."

"That's her. Well, she had been sent to the sick bay by the school nurse--what was her name?"

"Mrs Franks."

"Yeah, well she tells her to take some Tylenol and lie down till her headache goes. She doesn't know that Mr Jackson had kicked me outta class for back-chattin' an' I've gone to the sick bay to hide. Mrs Franks doesn't see me and fucks off for a coffee or somethin' and Janet Hemphill opens the door to find me on the bed. Seems she always had a soft spot for yours truly an' I found a way of curing her headache--she didn't need no Tylenol."

"And you weren't caught?" asked Tristan, as he hung on while they took a corner and feeling that a comment was required.

"Nope, locked the door and timed it just right before Mrs Franks came back. Janet gets dressed as goes out first to distract her and then I sneak out and apologise to Mr Jackson for bein' a dick. After all, he'd done me a favour."

There were more stories like this. Tristan found himself laughing, for Brady had the gift of telling a story well. Two things became apparent to him. Firstly, Brady's great triumphs were all of the juvenile kind. Were his best days already behind him? Secondly, it was perhaps Brady who had injected a bit of `mongrel' into Colton at an impressionable age. Colton had perhaps been rather a goody-two-shoes in elementary school. It was hard, but not impossible, for Tristan to imagine so. Of course, the influence of Colton's brothers, Matt and Dacey, could not be discounted, nor that of the other Coyotes. Colton was a naturally polite and charming young man. His physical appearance had probably always endeared him to others. However, a little bit of killer instinct--especially on the football field--and a certain confidence with girls, if not Brady's ruthlessness, was also a part of his character. Now Tristan could sense its origins.

Colton retold some of his own exploits. Then Brady wanted to know of his conquests at college. Colton was somewhat reticent and Tristan felt he should offer up a few crumbs to Brady, without exposing too much--for he sensed that Colton didn't want to.

"So what's it like rooming with a stud like Stone, Tristan?"

"It's been an experience. I've never met anyone like him before. I never knew what to expect when I opened our door."

"You'd expect my dirty clothes to be everywhere."

"Yes, that."

"Do you have a girlfriend, Tristan?"

There was a tension in he air.

"No, not at the moment. I'm always able to pick over Colton's discards--they're usually crying in the hallway. He turns them over quicker than he changes underwear--when he wears it.

"I'll bet," was all Brady said.

Tristan was cross with himself. He wondered what Colton would think. Why hadn't he simply told Brady that he was gay? At the same time it had avoided any awkwardness, but in a cowardly manner. He still recalled the vandalism to his own truck that night in town. Perhaps Colton didn't even want Brady to know that he was best friends with a faggot. No,' he thought, that was unfair on Colton--he wasn't like that at all.'

They stopped on a hilltop that afforded a summer evening's view over this portion of Hill Country. Colton unwrapped the bottle of Jack Daniels and they climbed into the truck bed where there was a mattress and blanket.

"None for me," said Tristan. "I'll be your D.D. We need to get back in one piece."

"That's mighty good of y'all, Tristan. I've already got a date with the judge up in Waco--on another matter. Best not to complicate thangs."

"Brady," continued Tristan. "I wasn't quite straight with you before. I'm gay, that's why I don't have a girlfriend--even one of Colt's rejects."

"Well, do you have a boyfriend?" said Brady, seemingly unfazed.

"No, I don't. Been on a couple of dates, but I haven't met any gay guys I like at University."

"Gotta put yourself out there, Tris, gay or straight, it's all the same. Even I've settled for second best on occasions."

"You? Second best?" interjected Colt. "Your best still lays under the porch an' scratched f'fleas."

"Don't knock the lower shelf, Colton Stone. Some of them bitches is great chicks, even if they don't come up to your high standards. We can't all be horse-hung college quarterbacks. Y'gotta work with what God gave you, don't you Tristan."

"I guess that's right. God's been kinder to Colton than he has to me."

The other two passed the bottle, discussing various girls they both knew.

"Who's the hottest one you've bedded this year, Stone?" asked Brady.

Colton was reluctant to answer, but perhaps the whiskey pushed him a little. "Black chick I met down in Florida on Spring Break. A ten." He glanced guilty to Tristan, but Brady did not seem to notice.

"Gotta pic?"

Colton hauled his phone out and flicked through his photos. "Here!"

"Wow! You weren't kiddin'. She looks like a supermodel."

"Was a supermodel. Océane Sapion. Born down in Guadeloupe.

"Fuck, Stone. You make me jealous."

"They were all jealous, Brady," said Tristan. "Colt just bowls up to her while she's doing a photo shoot on the beach."

"Well done, bro. Just gotta have the balls, as I always said."

Colton grinned guiltily, perhaps remembering some lesson from Brady in confidence-building in elementary school or junior high. "Cock and balls," he laughed. "Gotta have both."

"Well, you are cocky," put in Tristan. Colton gave him an amused look, but he did not deny the characterization.

"Let's have a look at that piece, Stone," said Brady, taking the bottle again. "Was the biggest in the locker room, Tristan."

"Well, it was the biggest in our dorm room."

"Some contest," snorted Colton.

"Mine's just average, Brady," confessed Tristan. Colton snorted again.

"Biggest in Charles C. Selecman House, Tris. Tell Brady the truth."

"I haven't measured them all."

"Get it out, Stone. I wanna see it."

"Fuck off, Brady!"

"Go on, Colt. Just like the circle jerks we used to have."

"We're not fifteen."

"He doesn't jack off in the dorm, Tristan?"

"Never seen him," lied Tristan. Now it was Brady who snorted in disbelief.

"There was this one girl," began Brady, "Ava Whitworth..."

"Avery."

"Avery, then. Well she blows our boy in the shed where they keep the lawnmower and he surprises her when he cums in her mouth--what was she expectin' to come out? Dairy Queen?--an' he cums so much it goes down the wrong way. Well, Ava...

"Avery."

"Well she's acoughin' and agasping so much an' making so much racket that her girlfriends outside think she's being murdered and come rushin' in, just as Colt's doin' up his jeans. The poor bitch is passed out and they slap her face an' get her Ventolin from her bag an' finally she comes round and then asks Colton to take her to the movies!"

"That's bullshit! There were no girlfriends outside. She had an asthma attack--don't reckon it was anything to do with her suckin' m'cock. I took her to Mrs Franks who gave her the Ventolin an' then thanks me for bein' such a gentleman for helping poor Avery who's asthmatic. I took her to the movies the following weekend--`Captain America' I think it was. Sucks me right there in the the-ater, an' this time there was no coughin'."

"Well, get it out. I wanna see what Avery Whitworth couldn't see in the dark."

Colton sighed and undid his Wranglers.

"No underwear, dude?"

"Nope. Jeans too tight."

"Get 'em right off, we want to see properly, don't we, Tristan?"

Colton sighed and toed off his boots and shimmied his jeans down his well-developed legs.

Brady reached over and pulled Colton's tee-shirt off. Colton, now naked, didn't object.

"Fuck, you're built, man!" said Brady in admiration. "Boy was as thin as a rake and twice as sexy when we were kids, Tristan."

"Yeah, well, football..." began Colton by way of apology.

"Football be damned. Football doesn't give you meat like that."

"That might just be the light," observed Tristan, "It's not really that big."

"Tell that to Avery Whitworth." He passed the bottle back to Colton and whistled.

"How big does it get?"

"Suck it n'see," Brady.

"You've used that line before."

Colton confessed that he had and Tristan was just trying to recall if he'd used it with him when Brady reached out and touched it. It twitched.

"Hey, Brady, what is y'all doing. Y'don't touch another Coyote's dick."

"Didn't read that in the constitution. Just sizin' up my competition."

"We ain't even in the same league. You've seen the photo. That's the kind of league I bat in."

"It's about the same size as a baseball bat," put in Tristan, who had never actually seen one.

"T'ain't much smaller," said Brady in an admiring tone.

"Well, what are you packing, Brade? Come on, show us and let Tristan judge the horse flesh."

Brady shucked his jeans. His boxers were truly awful: a design of fried eggs and bacon rashers. Colton and Tristan burst out laughing.

"My last girlfriend bought 'em. Used to cook me breakfast, see."

"Probably looked like a side of bacon, herself, Tris," laughed Colton.

"Fuck off, Stone!" said Brady, but he still continued to undress.

"Jesus, Brady, that looks like the Amazon. Don't you trim, man?"

"That's for faggots. Oh, sorry Tristan, it was just a figure of speech."

Brady's penis, to Tristan's relief, was normal--perhaps even a shade under par, although it was hard to tell how it would look when he was excited--or more excited-- thought Tristan.

"'bout the same as when we was fourteen," was all Colton said. He did however slap it with his own member. Brady was hardly fazed by this. Colton went to reach for his jeans, but Brady, who had pulled up the breakfast shorts, stayed his hand.

"Show us how much you can cum--if you can still shoot like you used to."

"Of course I can still shoot like I used to, but I'm not goin' t'show a sick fuck like you." He passed the bottle back.

Tristan thought he should step in. "Show us, Colt."

"You'd both have to do an Avery Whitworth on me, afore I'd perform some for y'all low downs."

"I'm not gay, so I don't suck dude's cocks," proclaimed Brady.

"Then you won't get to see Old Faithful, I guess," said Colton. "And didn't you blow Charlie Benona at camp?"

"Shit, Stone, I was twelve and I didn't suck him, only jacked him because he could make cum."

"Not what I heard."

"Tristan will do it."

"Who says?" said Tristan, enjoying the interplay. "Still a bit gay to even watch, if you ask me."

All the while, Brady was staring transfixed by Colton's cock, as if hypnotized by a cobra. Colton cast an amused glance to Tristan.

"I'll do it, if you do," said Tristan, by way of concession.

"No, it might turn me gay," said Brady.

"Fair enough," said Colton with finality and reached once more for his jeans.

"No, wait!" said Brady. "I'll do it if Tristan starts first. You're not to cum in my mouth, Stone."

"That's what Avery Whitworth should have said--not that I would have listened, mind."

Tristan was laughing now. Brady took an extra pull at the bottle for courage. "I don't even know how to do it."

"It's easy," said Tristan, "At least after one's first fifty. First one makes one's mouth into an `O'," he said, enjoying himself. "Practice: Omaha, Omaha. Ouagadougou. Kalamazoo. I blow a boy in Kalamazoo..."

"Shut the fuck up, Tristan," said Brady, who now didn't know whether to laugh or cry.

Tristan knelt down over the recumbent Colton. "Extend the tongue as if you're touching the terminals of a nine-volt battery." He licked Colton's penis head. "Then..."

Whatever the next step was, will forever be unknown for Colton shoved his prick rudely into Tristan's mouth, both silencing him and demonstrating a step of his own. Tristan knew how to suck and did so, once or twice taking Colton into his throat. He heard Brady gasp.

Eventually he pulled off as Colton was hardening. "Your turn, Brady."

Brady approached the task as if he were being led to the gallows, but did not refuse. "I'm not gay," he insisted. He bent down and performed an experimental lick.

"Tastes like chicken?" quipped Colton. Brady did not respond, but engulfed a portion of his cock and moved his shaggy head up and down uncertainly.

"More spit," commanded Colton from above. Brady obliged and proceeded thus for about five minutes. Eventually Colton pulled out of his mouth.

"This is how big I get, cocksucker," said Colton, pointing to his piece.

Brady wore the insult. "Shit, you are hung like a pony!"

Colton grasped his own shaft and stroked himself. The other two just watched. "Getting' close," gasped Colton. Then: "I'm at Manhattan Transfer." Tristan knew this archaic reference was for his amusement.

Colton's working muscles looked as amazing as ever. Tristan was used to the sight, but it was new to Brady. All of a sudden Colton arched his back from the old blanket and semen shot from his penis up to his chin. He shot and shot. There must have been seven or eight in all.

"Jesus fuck!" exclaimed Brady.

"Not m'biggest," said Colton who was now casting around for something to wipe it up. "Brady?"

"Fuck off, Stone. I'm not going to touch your cum."

"Your loss." He settled for his tee-shirt, while raising an eyebrow in Tristan's direction.

"That was interestin', but I'm not gay, Stone."

"Never said you was, cocksucker."

"Hey! That's not fair. Yours is the only cock I've ever sucked an' that was just an experiment."

"You definitely need more practice, Brade. Don't those chick's of yours cover their teeth? I think I might need hospitalization."

"I don't know how any chicks can open wide enough for that schlong." He took another pull from the Jack Daniels. "I couldn't touch this stuff last year," he began, looking at the label. "Had kidney stones. Hurt like a bitch. The good news was that one day I just passed the stone." The other two looked at him. "The bad news was that Tonya Schlotkin swallowed it." Tristan and Colton broke into fits of laughter.

Colton pulled his jeans on and the three of them lay down on the blanket in the back of the old truck. The stars had just come out in the deep purple vault of the Texas sky.

"This is the best part of dirt-roadin'," said Brady. "Chillin' with your bros and lookin' up at them stars. Makes us seem pretty insignificant, eh?" The others agreed. There was a silence for a long time. It was finally broken by Brady.

"There was this one chick who I met just after I moved up to Waco. She worked in Magnolia Market in a store that sold cotton reels and ribbon an' craft stuff..."

"A haberdashery," volunteered Tristan.

"Yeah. Met her while she was on her lunch hour. I was delivering stuff. You know, she was the sweetest, kindest prettiest girl--not knockout beautiful like your black babe, Colt, but just real pretty, with a nature to go with it. Kinda innocent, know what I mean?" The others assented. "Well, I asked her out--she lived with her mom--and we dated for a few months. Then I go an' fuck things up by seein' this other girl--didn't even like her--an' this girl finds out. Fuck, Colt, I broke her heart. She cried, but only a little bit. That was worse than if she went plum hysterical. An' she was real hurt--deep down an' right through. No guy had treated her like that before, see? She dumped me, of course, an' I deserved it, but fuck, I miss her every single day. I really, really screwed up."

"That's so sad, Brady," said Tristan who was almost near to tears. "Can't you go back and make it up? We all make mistakes."

"Nope. She's the kind who thinks everyone is nice--wouldn't think a bad thought about no one. Didn't have a mean bone. Life to her was all ribbons n' lace n' baby clothes. She thought I was the greatest guy on Earth, of course, an' couldn't see me for what I really was: an asshole. They're the kind that gets hurt bad, Tristan."

"You'll find another," said Colt.

"Oh I did. A great chick. Actually quite hot. Knocked her up though an' had to skedaddle."

"Shit, Brady, you got her pregnant and then pissed off."

"Yeah, kinda. She actually threw me out. She was the daughter of m'boss an' she found out that I'd been fuckin' her best friend at the diner. So lost m'job too."

"What will she do?" asked Colton.

"I'm pretty sure she'll get rid of it. She was supposed to be on the pill, but the stupid bitch was always forgettin' to take it. She knows where to find me if she wants to resume marital relations. Just hope she don't tell her paw."

"Your love life is as complicated as Colt's," said Tristan.

"Yeah, we're cut from the same cloth."

"No we're not," said Colton firmly. "Sorry dude, but I'm not like that, no offence."

"Yeah, you're a nice guy, Colt. You're not a rattlesnake like me. Chicks like you because you're nice--like their big brother or somethin' an' you look fuckin' awesome. Bet you satisfy them in the sack too. Chicks can be pretty demandin', Tris. They have ways of lettin' y'know--makin' y'pay-- if your not satisfyin' 'em when they want it. The same applies when you want it an' they don't. 'course it's beautiful when what she wants coincides with what you want. That's where talkin' is important. I talk a lot. Chicks like that. I listen too."

"Tristan talks a lot."

"I suppose I do. Colt's the strong silent type. Just yep' or nope' mostly."

"Hey, I can talk, especially when I'm getting' on to a chick. Smooth too an' I remember their names an' stuff about them. I can sing to 'em too."

"Y'always had a great singin' voice, Colt," said Brady, who was still flat on his back looking up at the stars. "Sing somethin'."

"Ain't got m'guit-ar."

"Acapella, then."

"Go on, Colt," urged Tristan.

"Any more whiskey?" Colton asked. There was a little and Colton wet his whistle.

He hummed a slow tune and gently slapped his leg to regulate the beat. Then he began in a quiet voice.

Down in the valley valley so low

Hang your head over hear the wind blow

Hear the wind blow dear hear the wind blow

Hang your head over hear the wind blow.

Roses love sunshine violets love dew

Angels in heaven know I love you

Know I love you dear know I love you

Angels in heaven know I love you.

If you don't love me love whom you please

Throw your arms 'round me give my heart ease

Give my heart ease love give my heart ease

Throw your arms round me give my heart ease.

"Sorry, forgot the rest. Must be the booze."

"That was real sweet, Colt," said Brady. "Kinda makes me want to shed a tear, what with what I said afore about that little girl."

"Let it out, man," said Colton, giving him a friendly slap.

"Nah, don't reckon I can cry. Too fucked up for that."

"You mean too fucked up on this Jack."

"Yeah, that too, but just fucked up. Know what I mean?"

"We're all fucked up, Brady," suggested Tristan, tying to make him feel better.

"No, I'm real fucked up. You guys are all right. Your fuck-ups ain't real fuck-ups. You're big time college boys, play football, have good families an' all that stuff. I'm pretty much on my own. High school dropout. Only got Grandpa."

"Shit man. If'n y'need someone, come and find me. Find Mom and Dad, Brade, if y'need help or even just someone to talk too. You know they like you."

"Yeah, they're real cool. Thanks, Colt." There was silence for a while. Tristan couldn't tell whether Brady was crying or not. Then in the dark he said, "Come on, dirt-roadin's over for tonight. Reckon you can drive back, Tris?"

"Yeah, I think so, if you direct me. Not too drunk to do that?"

"Nah, I know where I'm headin'," Brady replied, cryptically.

The next few days saw Tristan and Colton working on the farm. There were preparations to be made for the summer harvest and there was still the heard of black cattle to be tended to. Drake was a strong man, but Colton could do the work of two.

One afternoon the boys went in to town to meet up with Xavier and Beau, Colton's cousin. The went to a German beer garden and got a little drunk, Beau being served despite being under age. Tristan dropped the USB stick off with Mrs Harburg and gave her carte blanche to make the book on the house look good. It would take a few weeks to produce it and Tristan gave her his new mailing address.

Tristan remained disturbed by Brady and discussed his feelings with Colton while they were tying the vines--a seemingly endless task, although not a difficult one.

"Do you think he's suffering from depression, Colt? I mean his problems may be getting the better of him--especially that girl and the baby and goodness knows what his court case is about. I mean you know him better than me."

"Yeah, I got that vibe at the end. Did you catch what he said about where he was headin'?"

"Yeah. Is that a call for help? Is he a suicide risk?"

"You know, with anyone else I wouldn't be worried, but Brade is usually so upbeat and that didn't sound like the guy I know."

"What can we do?"

"You know, I'd really like to find that nice girl in Waco--the one who worked in the store--and somehow patch things up."

"That would be the fairytale ending, Colt, but it won't work like that. I mean, he's got another girl pregnant and he's serially unfaithful. That girl is unlikely to forgive all that. The really sad part is that Brady liked her so much."

"True, that. If Brady was a guy at the Clinic, I'd be worried. It's harder when it's someone you've known all your life." They went on working, but Tristan could tell he was turning over things in his mind. "I think I'll talk to Mom. She knows Brade well--heck, she taught him in Elementary School-- and she also knows his grandpaw,"

"What happened to his parents?"

"Divorced when he was little. Don't think he even knows where his father is. His mom died a few years back." Colton tied a few more tendrils. "Damn it! I'll go and talk to Mom right now." He marched off in the direction of the house. Tristan continued with his work, thinking that privacy might be a good idea.

When Tristan returned to the house and had washed up, Colton was still sitting at the kitchen table, coffee cup in hand, talking to his mother.

"Tristan, what did you think?"

"About Brady? I would say he was depressed. He was saying how shit his life was, but with more intensity than just for a throwaway line. He was blaming himself. Said that Colt and I were lucky to have other people. Then he said something like he knew where he'd be heading."

"And what did you take that to mean?"

"Well, he was drunk, but I thought he meant something awful--like the cemetery or the bottom of the river, you know, how desperate people talk."

"That's just what Colt said. That isn't the Brady I know."

"What can we do then? I mean, should we interfere?"

"I think we are duty bound to `interfere'. I'm going to talk to Brady and see if he will go and seek some professional help. I know he and his grandpa don't have much money to spare, but I think I can get the School's psychologist to see him, if he's willing, that is. I don't want to involve Mr Sullivan just yet."

"That sounds like a good plan. Colt?"

"Yeah, that sounds about right, Mom. Shit, if he topped himself or somethin' an' we hadn't tried to help him, I'd never forgive m'self."

"Yes, it's the least we can do and I hope it's not the most."

Clarice poured some coffee for Tristan and the conversation turned to lighter topics.

Colton was busy barking orders as he packed Tristan's truck for their expedition to Big Bend National Park. There was their little tent and some stout steel pegs and a hefty hammer for the anticipated rocky ground. Tristan hoped that the air mattress would be sufficient. There were three large jerry cans of fresh water. Colton informed him that the camping site had no showers but they would not have to dig a hole for their other ablutions. There were blankets, for it was cold in the desert at night even though it was scorching in the daylight hours. Tristan saw two `flashlights' (as the Americans called torches) being packed. Not trusting to his phone, a map was slid in next to them.

"Here, take the stove and frypan and put them next to the coolers." Tristan did as he was told. The stove was a little paraffin one and there was a bottle to spare.

"Matches?"

"Good point." Colton returned to the house to search for some.

"Can opener, sausages, hiking boots, guitar?"

"Check."

"Toothbrushes, soap, deodorant, aspirin, sunscreen, bandaids."

"We don't need deodorant. We can share a toothbrush."

"If you say so."

Colton just grinned and held up two toothbrushes and the tube of paste.

This packing took place on the afternoon before departure. Colton said that they had to make a start early in the morning so that they could arrive before all the campsites were taken up. "Chisos Basin is the best campground. It has toilets and a store and we can drive right in."

"Is it by the Rio Grande?"

"No, it's in the middle of the Park high up in the mountains where it's cooler and fewer mosquitoes."

"Sounds good."

"Yeah, only bears an' snakes an' mountain lions to worry about."

Tristan rolled his eyes.

Colton roused Tristan early--well before it was light. When Tristan opened his eyes, he saw that he was already dressed. "Come on, we'll try to make Ozona for breakfast." Tristan groggily looked at his phone. It was ten-to-five.

They headed west in the lightly loaded truck. Colton was driving while Tristan tried unsuccessfully to doze. The road was good and the countryside was green and attractive. After an hour Tristan was more fully awake and he began to chat with the driver, asking about Big Bend National Park and then discussing the various doings of their friends. "I hope your mum gets somewhere with Brady," said Tristan, for it had been playing on his mind.

"Mom's great at that sort of thing. I don't want anything to happen to the little guy." Colton then launched into anecdotes from Brady's life, as he knew it.

Tristan was starving and began to think of going to the toilet. "How far to Ozona?"

"'bout half an hour."

Tristan resigned himself and resumed looking out of the window. The sun was well up by now. It illuminated a landscape that was notably flatter and drier than Hill Country. It was now ranch land, more than cropping.

Tristan wolfed down fried catfish at the Moosehead Cafe and, after some coffee, was feeling more human. They filled up with gas and headed further west to Fort Stockton--a dreary town with squat buildings and only junk food to eat. From Fort Stockton they turned south. It was desert country now. While treeless, it wasn't without vegetation. Tufts of dwarf hardy shrubs grew in clumps in the gravelly soil of the plateau. It formed an interesting texture. The backdrop was invariably a range of low hills, often eroded by wind and water into fantastic shapes.

Colton began to talk of the desert animals as their curious adaptations to their harsh environment. "Will we see a roadrunner?" asked Tristan. "The only one so far was that concrete one at Fort Stockton."

By eleven they had reached the boundary of the vast park--half the size of Belgium Tristan read on his phone. As he had not been to Belgium, this was not very useful information.

They drove for nearly an hour into the park. It was an amazing landscape. The Chisos Mountains were like a great stone walls rising up from the sparse vegetation of the valley floors--more like sides of canyons. Their peaks were jagged and irregular. The sunlight and shadows played on their surface. Colton pointed out some patches of lingering spring wildflowers. To Tristan they looked like the purple heaths of Scotland, but they were not.

It was a winding road and Colton nodded to the line of recreational vehicles heading in the opposite direction. "That's good. Folks have to leave by noon and I guess they're heading back to work. Means it won't be crowded."

At last they arrived at the campground. It was not particularly large, considering the Park was so enormous, but it was clean and orderly. Tristan could see about twenty spots were occupied. Even as they slowly crawled along the road, he could see several sites were being packed up.

The ranger was on hand--the same one Colton had spoken too on the phone, apparently--and he gave them an envelope and told them to pick a site. They toured the loop roads and they found number fifty-six was slightly shaded and a little apart from the others. The site was claimed with a tear-off section of the envelope and they returned to the ranger with their payment in the rest.

Their truck was not as big as some of the enormous RVs and so there was room to park it and space for the tent. The site boasted a picnic table on a concrete pad, but was otherwise stony and largely bare of vegetation.

"What's that?" asked Tristan pointing to a wooden box.

"Bear box. Y'puts y'food in there to prevent the bears from entering the tent."

As the heat was great, the shade offered by some low shrubs was welcome. Tristan wondered what the etiquette was for sharing, for not all sites had tables.

The next thing Tristan did was to check out the toilets. They were clean, thank God.

"There's a sign pointing to a store and a restaurant at the Lodge up the track. We didn't need the stove."

"It ain't camping if y'all just eats out!"

"I suppose so," said Tristan, who was unfamiliar with the rules.

The tent was pitched and their equipment was organized. What they didn't need was left in the truck, with the exception of the food, which was put in the bear box. Colton had his head in the map and so Tristan strolled about the campground. Scattered all around were little tents like their own that formed colourful mounds against the muted browns and kakis of the natural environment--like so many igloos, if igloos were anything but white. Most of the larger RVs seemed to be owned by old people and were set up in the area where generators were permitted. Some of the visitors made unattractive spectacles in their lurid casual wear as they went about their sordid daily lives. One man in a singlet was bandaging his foot. Tristan turned away, but his jolly fat wife called out a cheerful greeting, the flabby flesh of her underarm wobbling as she waved to Tristan. Tristan felt he must respond, so simply called out, `Hello'.

There were some younger people. One couple were possibly on heir honeymoon. Music could be heard from another tent, but there was no sign of the occupants. As he circled back to their own spot, he saw a larger tent with three girls seated at their picnic table. They seemed to be about their age and Tristan returned their wave. He was quite sure that Colton would discover this wellspring of femininity without the need for Tristan to inform him. That's the way it always went.

"Ah there you are! Ready for a little hike?"

"Are these boots okay?"

"Yeah. Comfortable?"

"I think so, if we don't go to far at first."

"Well the first walk is to `The Window'--apparently the view is fantastic and the loop is only five miles. We take water, sunscreen and our hats."

"Right, captain," said Tristan saluting. Colton grinned at him.

They set off along the well-marked route that began near their camp. It was marvellous country and the absence of trees only made the wonders of the rock formations all the more apparent. The Window view was spectacular. Down a valley dotted with low scrub was an opening framed by two miniature Rocks of Gibraltar and beyond these the land fell away into a wide valley way below. The Rio Grande must be down there, they reasoned. On the return loop, the sun was just starting to sink and it was theatrically illuminating one butte, gilding the naked stone with gold. Tristan tried to take a picture with his phone, but the snap did not do the real spectacle justice.

"That's why virtual travel will never replace actually going somewhere," he concluded. Colt agreed.

There were no roadrunners sighted, but there were hawks in the air and Colton could converse intelligently on the plant life. The adaptations allowing plants to conserve precious moisture were so clever, that Tristan teased him about `creation science'.

Back at the camp it was time to cook dinner--beans and sausages--and to break out one of the bottles of Stone's Shiraz that had been thoughtfully packed. Perhaps the tin mugs were not quite the right vessels, but Tristan was too tired to care.

It was a long twilight and the real spectacle of the day now revealed itself. It lay in the heavens above, not on the earth below. The darkness of Big Bend National Park was almost total, save for a few weak flashlights and camping lamps. Tristan felt he'd never been enveloped by such blackness. But then, it wasn't black because above them the stars put on a spectacular display in the thin, clear air. They were even bigger and brighter than they had been at Colton's place, perhaps in part because there was only a crescent moon to compete with them.

All around the campsite Tristan could hear murmuring; clearly the visitors were experiencing the same awe that he was. He felt like applauding. Instead he reached out with his hand to see if he could touch them. Then he laughed quietly.

"Do you think there are other people out there--other beings--who are looking up from their worlds just like we are?"

"No, I don't," replied Colton in the dark.

"You don't think that, in the billions of galaxies there are, and all the solar systems around the stars in them, that there isn't single planet like our own with the right preconditions for life?"

"Tris, what's the chance of shufflin' a deck of cards and them coming out in the correct order--suits included?"

"I don't know. A million-to-one?"

"No, it's one with sixty-eight zeros after it-to-one. That's more than the atoms in the entire universe."

"Shit!"

"Yeah. Our human minds are so clever that we can go on flights of fancy and think of things that are bigger than the whole universe--like in math-- but the reality is a different matter. I think the chances of extra-terrestrial life are just too small."

Tristan was silent while he tried to digest this.

"So, that still doesn't mean that God favoured us by making us the only world with Life?"

"No, it just happened."

Tristan was quiet again. He wasn't sure if Colton's last answer squared with the deck of cards. It was cold and he pulled on a jumper.

"Come on," said Colton at last, "time for bed. I'll make you see stars."

"Too tired after that hike. I have to save my strength for tomorrow." There was a pause. "Although I could be persuaded."

As on their previous camping trip, the sleeping bags had been zippered together. Tristan shivered. "In the raw, dude." He shucked his jumper, shorts and tee-shirt.

"Fuck, it's cold!"

"Too cold to go down on me?"

"There's not much room in this sleeping bag."

"I'll slide half way out and you can stay between m'legs--where you belong."

"Any more shit-talk like that and I'll put my cold feet on your piece."

"Come on, Tris, taste my sweaty balls. You can go lower if you like. A whole morning in the truck and then the hike. I hope you like your Colty ripe."

Tristan didn't complain and soon, with the efficacy of the travel-sized lube, Colton was deep inside Tristan who was now glowing with perspiration and outside the sleeping bag riding him cowboy-style. He hoped that their noise was not heard across the hushed campground.

Tristan felt great. "Jesus, you're a good fuck, Mr Stone," he gasped. Colton had cum, but had not pulled out and was still hard inside Tristan's bowels. "How long can you stay hard inside me, Colt?" he whispered.

"You like me in there?" Tristan nodded in the dark. "Then as long as you want, buddy."

"Just till I fall asleep. Turn like this."

They got comfortable, still conjoined, with Colton spooned behind Tristan and which his arm thrown around his torso. "This is pretty gay," said Colton with a chuckle.

"I guess that's why it's called camping." Colton snorted. "You might have to put your straight hat on tomorrow. I spotted three girls in a tent over there."

"Oh you mean Amanda, Elysia and her cousin Kristy--spelt with a `K'?"

"I don't know their..."

"I made their acquaintance while you were walking around. Elysia and Amanda go to Baylor and Kristy has come down from Lancing to visit."

"You work fast."

"They seem nice girls--for Baptists."

"Does thinking about them keep you hard?"

"Maybe. What about if they tied me down in their tent and forced me to have sex with them?"

"Would forcing be required?"

"No, just in my fantasy it is. They might be forcin' me to undergo a perverted adult baptism."

"I think they usually wear a sort of smock for modesty."

"They might be a breakaway sect, because I'm pretty sure we're all nekkid."

"You're a sick fuck."

"I am? You're the one who wants m'cock up your shitter all night."

"That's different."

"How?"

"I can't remember. I mean, I'm too tired to remember."

And with that Tristan was out like a light. Colton kept his promise and his jock cock was still inserted deep into Tristan, although it had lost some of its rigor, it had to be admitted. He thought about fucking Tristan while he slept--he was fairly sure he could cum again. Then he chuckled at what was said about the girls. He tried to find a place for Tristan in that fantasy, but it was too complicated and he quickly fell asleep himself.

When Tristan awoke, for the second time Colton was already dressed and up and about. He had lit the little primus stove and was preparing bacon and eggs. Tristan scrambled to get out of the sleeping bag and cast about for his clothes that had been shed so quickly the night before. He winced. His anus hurt. Still, he smiled to himself at the memory.

It was cool, but he could tell the cloudless day would rapidly heat up. "Smells great!" he said as he scrambled out through the flap.

"Sure tastes better in the open air, don't it?"

Tristan had to agree and held his tin plate out impatiently. "What are we doing today?"

"I thought we'd do another trail--this time up to the top."

"Yeah, sounds great, although I'm a little sore. I don't know what I did last night."

"Sorry about that, Tris, I guess I was a little rough." He leaned a little closer as he slid the contents of the pan onto Tristan's plate and said in a low voice, "I had to really stretch you, but you craved it deep, didn't you?"

"Shut up!" replied Tristan, turning red. Colton was now grinning at him with a piece of bacon dangling from his mouth.

This exchange was stopped short by the sight of the three girls passing by. They were in their hiking gear and did not strictly have to pass campsite fifty-six to get to the heads of any of the trails. Their progress was slow and they seemed busily engaged with each other and particularly not looking in the boys' direction at all.

Colton looked at Tristan first and then removed the bacon. "Howdy!" he called in a cheerful voice.

The girls were surprised and covered in confusion, but managed to return the greeting.

"Going for a hike?"

"Yeah," said the blonde one. "Going on the Window Trail."

"That's great, we went there yesterday. The view was fantastic, wasn't, it Tris?" Tristan thought he should assent, so mumbled and nodded. "Today we're taking the Emory Peak Trail, if we can find the start."

"Oh," she replied. "Well, we could show you, Colton." She looked at the other two. "We'd like to hike Emory too. Perhaps we could all go together?"

"Oh, we wouldn't want you to miss The Window."

"No, no," said the brunette, "That's a short walk. We can do it later." The other two nodded vigorously. "We'd love to do he Emory Peak walk--especially after reading all about it."

"Oh, what did they say?"

The shorter girl with the buttons on her shirt carelessly undone spoke up: "Said that it's `strenuous' and about seven miles, with some exposed rock to climb over for a bit, but the view's fantastic."

"That's what I read too," said Colton, smiling. "I like it strenuous, don't I, Tris? You like it a bit strenuous too. Girls, this is Tristan. Tristan, this is Kristy-with-a-K, Amanda and Elysia. Kristy is Elysia's cousin and goes to Michigan State. Elysia is studying Physical Education and Amanda is studying World Religions at Baylor That's right isn't it?"

"Yeah," said Amanda. "You've got a good memory, Colton. I know you're a footballer. Do you play football too, Tristan?

"Er, no," said Tristan blushing again and, not for the first time, annoyed by the forwardness of Americans. "History and stuff."

"What stuff?"

"Oh, Ancient Greek and English Lit last semester."

"He'd real smart, girls--a genius."

"Fuck off, Colt."

The girls had settled on the picnic bench. "You're accent is sure cute," observed Elysia. "Where you from?"

"He's from Britain, obviously," said Amanda crossly.

"Well he sounds just like Pierce Brosnan."

"I think he's Irish."

"I think he looks like Queen Victoria's husband--you know in that series," ventured Kristy.

"Tom Hughes?" said Elysia.

"I don't look like Tom Hughes!" said Tristan firmly, while still blushing.

"Tom Hughes blushes just like that," said Kristy.

"I don't..."

"Well, girls, if you point the way and give us a few minutes to grab some water an' stuff, we'll meet you at the trail head."

The girls looked unnecessarily at each other and Elysia spoke for them. "Yeah, that would be great. We'll have a fantastic hike."

They trudged off in the opposite direction to whence they had come. Colton, grinning, turned to Tristan. "That's okay, isn't it? I mean, they're pretty nice girls and it might be fun."

"I suppose you're going to sleep with them?"

"What, all three? No, Tris, I'm not going to sleep with any of them. It's just fun. They're obviously interested. Kristy has the hots for you."

"She does not," said Tristan, blushing, "Don't talk such shit."

"You do look a bit like Tom Hughes."

"Do I?" asked Tristan, genuinely puzzled. "You play the pianoforte very well, Viktoria," he said in halting English and with a slight lisp.

Colton roared with laughter. "That's good. Y'all a funny guy, Tris." He was busy filling their water bottles and putting energy snacks in a backpack. "I think this walk is a bit tough, so I'll carry the pack, if that's all right.'

"Are you frightened I'll drop it over the edge?"

"Somethin' like that."

So the quarterback and Queen Victoria's consort set out and quickly caught up with the girls on the main loop road. They greeted each other cheerily and headed down the winding road to where the Emory Peak Trail diverged.

The first part of the trail was not too bad. The trail was formed, but in no way paved and the surface was just dirt and rock. Initially they could work in a group and so the conversation flowed. Somehow the topic turned to accents and Tristan was asked to perform. The Texas accent came easily and he simply imitated Colton and Hollis.

"Don't talk none like that!" complained Colton, but he found little support from the others who joined in the imitation.

"And a true southern one?" asked Amanda. Tristan modified the Texan accent to Parker's more mellifluous drawl. He then admitted failure when he tried to imitate Alexinia's Alabama one.

"Well, what about people from Michigan?" asked Kristy. Tristan thought about the harsh cawing sound of old actors like Lauren Baccall--who was not from the Middle West at all--and of Karen Black of zombie film fame who was.

"Where in tarnation is dat damn tar arn? That tar needs fixed."

"I don' tark like dat," protested Kristy, hotly. Tristan just smiled to himself. He then channelled Katherine Hepburn by way of Cate Blanchette, making the word cow' have four syllables and coffee' several more. As there was no one from Boston, none were offended.

"Anyway," said Amanda, with finality, "You're the one with the accent, Tristan."

"Yeah, me and the Queen."

"You don't speak like the Queen."

"Recently, my husband and I were greatly impressed by the courage and resilience shown everywhere by the people of Awstralya."

"Hey, that's very good!" exclaimed Colt.

"Watched a lot of Christmas Messages."

They swapped jokes for a while longer. The landscape opened up, with magnificent views and strange rocky hilltops all about. However the trail soon became narrower and they had to walk in single file. Some people came the other way.

"How far to the top?" asked Colton.

"About half an hour more. The last bit is a climb," said the man.

They pressed on, almost climbing now, rather than walking. A misstep or lapse in concentration could have seen any one of them plunge to their death. Then the track petered out and they were confronted with a wall of rock.

"The summit is just over there," said Colton, pointing, and taking charge in a way that seemed natural. "I'll climb first. Amanda, you're the most experienced, so you come up next.

"Experienced? What is that supposed to mean?" she joked.

"You said you've hiked the Appalachian Trail," Colton answered seriously. "I'll pull you up and the others can assist from below. Then Elysia and then Kristy. Tris, you'll help them down here and then you'll have to get up by yourself until I can pull you up. Is that okay?"

They fell into line under the quarterback's game play. Colton spent a moment studying the rock face. It wasn't vertical climb, but more a steep clamber. Suddenly Colton was off, his powerful legs in action as he found toeholds for leverage. The others watched from below, trying to memorize his actions. He stopped where the slope levelled off. "Come on, Amanda!" he called.

Tristan helped her up the first few feet, at one point her ample tracksuit clad bottom was in his face. Tristan tried no to think about this. Eventually she made her own way until Colton could grip her hand and practically lifted her up the last part with his great strength.

Elysia came next. As a PE student, she was fit and athletic and probably didn't need Colton's assistance at the last, but she gripped his hand, nonetheless.

Kristy had the most trouble getting started. Tristan placed her feet in the right position and climbed a little way ahead of her to assist her. Then Colton took over and she was up. Tristan had the benefit of watching the others and made it to Colton's outstretched arm. He briefly thought of Cary Grant and Eva Marie Saint.

They all congratulated themselves and, when rested, they walked the short distance to the pile of rocks that marked the summit of Mt Emory. Needless to say the view was stupendous, right over into Chihuahua State. Tristan did not particularly like looking down and was glad to step back. Colton, however sat with his legs over the edge. The girls screeched and Tristan wanted to do the same, but held it in and averted his eyes.

At last, when they had taken as many pictures as they wanted on their phones and when they had exhausted extolling the view and grew tired of congratulating themselves on `doing it', they made their way, one at a time, back down the rock face. Here they rested and broke out their snacks and drinks. They had been nearly three hours and it would be the same going back.

"So you boys are roommates?" asked Amanda. Colton said they were and had been in a dorm for freshman athletes. She looked at Tristan, but said nothing.

"Do you have girlfriends?" asked Elysia. Colton replied that they didn't, adding that football made that difficult.

Tristan felt he could not let that lie pass and found himself saying, "Colton has had quite a few dates, even with football. He's our quarterback."

"Oh yes, Colton Stone," said Elysia with realization. "Baylor lost against you. I suppose I shouldn't be even talking to the enemy."

"Elysia!" rebuked Kristy, "Colton--and Tristan--are too nice to be called `enemies'."

"Well, rivals, then."

"I suppose you girls all have boyfriends waiting for you back home or somewhere," said Colton gallantly.

"My parents are rather strict--well, my father is," explained Amanda. "He's a minister. It makes it hard to have a boyfriend. Do you know what this is?" She held out her hand.

"Your left hand?"

"No, on it."

"A silver ring?"

"It's a purity ring, isn't it?" put in Tristan. "I've read about them."

"Doesn't mean much," said Elysia.

"Shut the fuck up," responded Amanda. "To my daddy it does."

"Can he get his money back?" snapped Elysia.

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"Well, I think it's a fine thing to save yourself for marriage--or at least for someone you really like," said Colton.

"Careful, Colt," said Tristan. "Lightening strikes up here could be very dangerous."

"I just said it's a fine thing. I know I have sinned sometimes."

"You're funny, Tristan," said Kristy. "I mean, clever funny, not funny funny. And you don't have a girlfriend?"

"No."

"If you're ever in Lancing..."

"Lancing is a shit hole," said Elysia.

"Don't they have a good music festival?" said Tristan who felt bad for her.

"Yeah, alternative and punk stuff."

"That's shit too," said Elysia.

"Suppose it is," said Kristy, defeated.

Tristan searched his mind for another topic. "Colton's got wine back at camp. His parents have a vineyard. Will you have a drink with us tonight?"

"Are we allowed to drink here?' asked Kristy, forlornly.

"Knowing America, probably not," said Tristan. "And you're underage. Will you come?"

"Sure," said Kristy. "You're nice, Tristan." The others agreed to meet for a drink and dinner. Colton hadn't said anything.

They started on the long walk back. Colton fell in along side Tristan when the track widened. "I didn't ask them to our campsite because I thought I'd have trouble getting rid of them, Tris," he whispered.

"Oh. Don't you want to sleep with Amanda?"

"Not really. Do you want Kristy? She likes you, you know."

Tristan felt there might be some truth in this. "Shit, what should I do?"

"Just play it cool, dude."

"Oh," said Tristan. It wasn't very clear advice.

Colton took off his shirt and tried to wash himself down with some of their water. It was getting cold and he shivered. Tristan decided to forego washing, perhaps because he was less anxious to please the girls than Colton, but he did change his clothes, putting on some clean boxer shorts--a pair of Colton's.

The girls returned noisily and a fire was made in the grill, mainly for warmth. Their food was pooled and an interesting mixture of tinned tuna, white beans and bacon was concocted. They drank packet soup from their tin mugs.

As promised, the wine was broached and for the rest of the evening it was sipped from their rinsed-out mugs. The girls said they didn't like red wine, but this did not seem to inhibit them from consuming three bottles.

They talked about their respective universities and their friends there. The purity ring was obviously not working, because Amanda became increasingly familiar with Colton, feeling his muscles and sliding her hand dangerously in the vicinity of the hem of his hiking shorts. Colton, on his part, was being amusing to the group as a whole and not returning her advances, although at one point, when he leaned over to get the bottle, he slipped and Amanda must have got a mouthful of Colton's cock and balls. Tristan didn't think this was deliberate, but he did concede it might be unconscious.

Kristy's approach was to constantly complain that she was cold. She asked Tristan to put his arm around her `to stop her shivering'. "I'll get you a blanked from the tent," said Tristan. He did not see the look on her face. Later Tristan found that she had spread the blanket over both of them and her hand was busy investigating Tristan's lap while her upper portion was engaged in describing Spring Break on Mackinac Island with her friends.

The stars came out and this occupied their attention for some time. Colton fetched his guitar from the truck. He played a couple of Cody Williams tunes. Elysia took the instrument and she played--she was quite good too-- and they sang along to some country Christian songs with childishly simple choruses.

Tristan disentangled himself from Kristy and took his torch to find the toilet. It was dark and he stumbled, but he was back in the space of ten minutes.

When he returned there was no music. Instead, there were raised voices. He turned into their section of the loop road.

"You're drunk, Amanda, get off me." It was Colton's voice. He couldn't make out the reply. He turned the corner and by the light of the fire he could see Elysia trying to pull Amanda upright. Amanda was inaccurately attempting to French kiss Colton, who was almost flat on the stony ground. The light was poor, but her tracksuit waist was gaping and her hand was gripping Colton's wrist. Colton's hand was inside the tracksuit and he was struggling to pull it free. The button on his own shorts was undone and Tristan could see the ruched green-and-red material of his boxers.

Eventually Elysia won and Amanda was disentangled from the quarterback. She was apologising to Colton, and Amanda was now crying. Tristan didn't know what to do, so he moved over to his old seat next to Kristy.

"I don't want to go back with them, Tristan, can I stay in your tent tonight?" Believing that it would lend weight to her argument, she leaned in and kissed Tristan on the lips. By some involuntary reflex, Tristan kissed back--but just a little. He tried to remember what Colton said about playing it cool--although at this moment Colton should have been taking his own advice, for it was still chaotic on the other side of the fire. He looked into the expectant face of Kristy, lit by the orange fames. He then tried to imagine what Prince Albert would have done.

"I am thinking that it is best if you go to your room, Viktoria."

Please look for the next chapter. Henry would love to receive feedback and will endeavour to reply. Please email h.h.hilliard@hotmail.com and put Tristan in the subject line.