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Message-ID: <58315asstr$1228479004@assm.asstr-mirror.org>
From: Dream Spinner <authorsix@hotmail.com>
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Subject: {ASSM} ST: "The Brewsters Celebrate Mardi Gras - Part 2/2" (t/t, m/m)
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Date: Fri, 05 Dec 2008 07:10:04 -0500
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Caution/Welcome.  This is a story involving four brothers between the ages
of thirteen and seventeen, their forty-five-year-old father and a fortysome
married gay couple, their gay twenty-one-year-old nephew and his boyfriend,
sundry hot and spicy Cajun and dark and sexy Creole boys, some Voodoo and a
lot of sex in the Big Easy during Mardi Gras.  It is posted at free gay
adult story sites for adult entertainment only.  Permission is not given to
copy electronically nor in any other form for the purpose of redistribution
or posting at sites other than those just described.  This is the
forty-ninth story in the Brewster Adventures special events and myths
series.  Chronologically it follows the forty-eighth story in the series,
"The Brewsters Celebrate Boy Scout Day", but like the other stories in this
series it is a stand alone story that can be read totally on its own. 
Comments, Mardi Gras beads and all expense paid invites to future Mardi
Gras celebrations can be sent to the author J.O.  Dickingson at
authorsix@hotmail.com THE BREWSTERS CELEBRATE MARDI GRAS - PART 2/2

   While their brothers and father were getting it on at the masked ball,
Bobby and Benny were getting it on back at the French row house on
Iberville Street.  Bobby was laying flat on his back with his legs spread
and his knees pulled back against his smooth, rounded chest and his ass
propped up on a pile of pillows.  Benny, stark naked like his brother, was
kneeling between his outspread legs, his elbows on either side of his
brother, and his stiff dick, just an eighth of an inch short of six inches,
shoved up his kid brother's hot, moist asshole.  Over the years the two
brothers had fucked each other in every position imaginable, and Benny
being an expert on all matters sexual, had searched the Internet and knew
positions that even the wisest gurus from India had not thought of.  Of
them all, they preferred the one they were in, face to face, so, as Benny
put it, they could gaze into each other's eyes at that ultimate moment when
they orgasmed and became one.  Besides being a horny little bugger,
fifteen-year-old Benny was a bit of romantic.  The two boys having thick,
dark-brown hair which both had grown out in the same style and streaked
with the same copper highlights, the same hazel eyes and their father's
dark, handsome looks, it was like they were looking into a mirror except
with thirteen-year-old Bobby at four-foot-ten and ninety-five pounds, Benny
was two years older and six inches taller and twenty pounds heavier, and at
fifteen had started to grow fine peach fuzz on his upper lip.  While Benny
was screwing his kid brother, his father was screwing also,
enthusiastically working his hips to and fro, driving his cock in and out
of Philippe's hot, moist chute as he sucked hungrily on Henri's cock.  He
had not felt this hot in a long time and despite being a married man with
seven children he felt no guilt making out with the two men.  He would
never cheat on his wife with another woman, but what he was doing with the
two men was something he could never do with his wife.  Besides, it was not
as if they were complete strangers.  They had been exceptional hosts and in
the short time he'd known them he knew they were an honest, trustworthy
couple.  Of course being friends with his younger brother that came as no
surprise to him, nor that they had full-heartedly included him in their
weekend festivities.  He knew this was a particularly special weekend, and
that they'd so openly and willingly accommodated him and his sons spoke
highly of their friendship with his brother and of their openness and
generosity.  Speaking of his sons, as he slid his lips up Henri's cock and
swallowed his dick-flavoured saliva, he noticed out of the corner of his
eye the blond boys and their partners that he'd noticed earlier now engaged
in a hot foursome across the dark, shadowy room.  The one blond was
whomping the ass of one of the older boys while the other blond, who had to
be a twin, was getting his ass screwed by the other dark-haired boy while
he, and the other boy being screwed, were gyrating against each other. 
They had stripped naked except for the leather bands around the blond boys'
arms and the masks they continued to wear, the masks of the two
blond-haired boys he suddenly realized being identical to those his sons
had purchased in the French Quarter when they'd arrived on Friday.  Of
course there were hundreds, perhaps even thousands, of such masks sold in
the city that weekend, though that they were being worn by two lithesome
young boys with gorgeous, blond hair cascading down their backs almost to
their waist just like his sons made the possibility that it was a
coincidence highly unlikely.  That he was watching his two teenage sons
getting off with two young men, likely the nephew of the man he fucking,
was particularly erotic.  Of course he'd known for a year now that his two
oldest sons were gay, and he had himself messed around with them and their
younger brothers this past year, but seeing them there, naked and writhing
and gasping with two other youths, the one with his cock buried up his
partner's ass and the other with a cock buried up his, hit home to him the
raw sexuality and gayness of his two boys.  While many men would have found
such a sight at least a shock, and for most repugnant and even horrifying,
Barry found it arousing.  He had no qualms about his bisexuality, and he
was delighted to see his sons so openly and enthusiastically accepting and
engaging in that which brought them such great pleasure.  He closed his
eyes and concentrated on his own pleasure, the pleasure throbbing through
his own blood-engorged cock and causing his dickhead to itch madly, the
pleasure of having his long, thick cock surrounded by hot, moist, pulsating
assflesh, the pleasure of having a hard, throbbing cock pulsating in his
mouth, and the pleasure that comes from knowing the pleasure he was feeling
was being felt by his two partners.  He sucked eagerly on the
blood-engorged knob in his mouth, delighting in its flavour and trembling
as he felt the first dollop of pre-cum ooze out of the piss-slit.  He
grasped Philippe's hips more tightly as he began to plow his ass, his
aching cock demanding satisfaction that he knew was only seconds away. 
Philippe and Henri were close to their own climaxes, and from Barry's
increased intensity they knew he had to be about to pop also.  Philippe
could not believe the size of the monster cock reaming out his ass,
stretching his anus wider than it had ever been stretched before and
probing his rectum deeper than anything had ever done, even the longest
dildo he'd ever had shoved up his ass.  As he sighed with the awesome
pleasure so did Henri as Barry worked his lips up and down his cock and
sucked on his tumescent organ and as he felt the tension building in his
groin.  James's brother had proven to be as hot and skilled a cocksucker as
James himself, which he hadn't ever doubted.  The three men shot
simultaneously, Barry sending a hot enema of thick cum up Philippe's
rectum, Henri sending a flood of hot, creamy cum down Barry's throat, and
Philippe blasting out a load of cum to spatter the tiled floor beneath him.
They shuddered and gasped with the pleasure of their ejaculations, and the
pleasure of having made another man cum.  Never had Philippe felt such a
hot blast up his rectum and he was sure he could feel Barry's sperm
swimming even further up his chute.  Henri was sure he'd never blasted so
hard either and he quivered as Barry drank his hot, creamy cum eagerly and
continued to work his lips up and down his now numb shaft, sucking the hot
marrow out of his throbbing bone.  Barry had inhaled deeply as he felt his
first spurt erupt from his cock, and as he swallowed the flood of cum
spurting out of Henri's bone the overwhelming pleasure, his and that of his
two partners, caused him to momentarily forget his sons and to think only
of the awesome pleasure he was experiencing.  Across the room the hot,
sweating foursomes were cumming also, Brent and Marcel trembling with
delight as their hairy nuts constricted and they're hot, thick cum spurted
out of their burning pee-slits and up the hot, tightly gripping ass they
had been fucking.  Squirt after squirt erupted out of their throbbing,
burning dicks and spurted up into the dank depths of their two partners. 
Andre and Brett quivered with delight as they felt the hot flood of a man
juice spurt up their rectums and the thick, hard bones buried deep up their
assholes quiver and throb out their juices.  They quivered too with delight
as they ejaculated themselves, their stiff, aching cocks penned between
their bodies throbbing out their juices, they're thick, white cum spurting
up out of the swollen, blood-engorged knobs like geysers.  Their cum shot
up over their smooth, muscular chests, Brett's and Andre's, and flowed back
down over their burning, hard teats and on down over their six-pac abs and
over their swollen cocks, clotting in their thick hairs and flowing on down
over their tightly drawn-up balls and down their thighs.  Despite having
cum the previous night, they were young and healthy and had an endless
supply of hot jism.  Wrapping their arms about each other and kissing, they
were hot and sticky, and so happily gay.  Back at the neat little house in
the French Quarter, Benny and Bobby were gasping and twisting with their
orgasms also.  Benny smiled down at Bobby as he lunged forward and his cock
began spurting out his cum, filling his kid brother's rectum with his ooze.
He never ceased to delight in the awesome feeling of popping a nut, nor of
seeing the look of sheer delight in his kid brother's eyes as he felt his
rectum being filled.  Spurt after spurt erupted out of the
fifteen-year-old's hot, flushed body and he delighted in the burning of his
dickhead and the powerful release of his seed.  Bobby threw his head back
and cried out with ecstasy as he felt his rectum being flooded with his
brother's stuff, and he trembled as his own powerful, dry orgasm hit him,
his little cocklet throbbing and aching with such painful pleasure, his
little nuts constricted to the size of peas.  "Oh Marie, Marie, Marie," he
sighed deliriously as his entire body shook and he opened and closed his
peehole, his stiff, throbbing dicklet feeling like it was on fire and his
rectum filling with his brother's juice.  After another filling breakfast,
they began Lundi Gras, Fat Monday, with a visit to the Mardi Gras museum.
At noon King and Queen Zulu and King and Queen Argus arrived at the museum
and led a mini parade with a regal jazz and brass band and Casa Samba from
the exhibition hall to LaSalle's Landing where they boarded a boat and
crossed the river.  While Barry headed off to the Hilton nearby for another
meeting with the entrepreneur from France, his sons and their two hosts
strolled along the Riverwalk.  Upon Barry's exuberant return, a contract to
begin a franchise of WeCare Pet Supplies stores in France in his hand, the
rest of the afternoon was spent eating po'boys and lazily wandering
downtown enjoying the street festival of live music, mimes, jugglers, stilt
walkers, and Dwaino the Clown along with thousands of other revellers.  It
was like living in another world.  King and Queen Zulu returned by boat at
five and six o'clock marked the arrival of Rex with all the royal fanfare
and formality befitting the King of Carnival, followed by a colourful
display of fireworks over the Mississippi at six-thirty.  Wandering up to
Jackson Square, they were entertained by street performers of all ages, all
with their caps, cups or instrument cases in front of them for donations. A
pair of young Creole trombone players in black slacks and white shirts with
bow ties and their hair done in corn rows who looked to be close to the
twins age and twins themselves caught their attention, and especially that
of the twins, not just because of their superb skill on the trombone, but
because of their handsome dark looks.  "Not bad," Brent said
appreciatively, tossing a dollar into the trombone case on the street. 
"Not bad?  Just not bad?" said one of the players indignantly in a
high-pitched voice, his eyes widening.  "You think you can do better?" he
asked with a sly grin, sensing a challenge and being an expert at hustling
the crowd.  "Well, actually I'm more of a trumpet player." "Oh yeah?" he
said with a broader grin.  Reaching behind them, he pulled out a trumpet
case and opened it up.  "Let's see what you can do, white boy," he
challenged.  With the encouragement of his father and his brothers, Brent
took the instrument and adjusting the taps, he played one of the jazz
pieces he'd learned in the Crestview Heights High School Band.  Already in
the mood of Carnival, he swung and swayed with the music, and several
passerbys tossed coins into the open case.  When he was done, the boy who
had challenged him played another selection, clearly trying to outdo
Brent's performance, again with people stopping and tossing coins into his
case.  Brent needless to say followed with another selection, putting even
more into it.  As they began to gather a crowd and more coins began to be
tossed, the other boy joined in to form a threesome.  Nearby a pair of
fourteen-year-old black boys with their coarse, shoulder-long hair held
back with brightly coloured head bands and wearing tattered, sleeveless
white T-shirts and shiny nylon shorts and taps on their tennis shoes had
caught the attention of Benny and Bobby, for the same reasons the two
trombone players had caught the attention of their older brothers.  The two
boys looked like twins, right down to the thin wisps of hair on their upper
lips, and they were good.  Bobby, normally hyper and especially so with all
the junk candy he'd been eating and soda pop he'd been drinking, could not
help but dance along as he watched.  Caught up in the mood of the day, he
and Benny ended up putting on a hip hop performance which caught the
attention of the crowd passing by, and like with Brent, some because of
their skill and others because of the young boys' good looks.  Benny's cap
having fallen off during their performance, several tossed coins in it
assuming he was a busker.  "Not bad.  Not bad at all," the trombone player
said to Brent with a wide grin as they finished their next tune.  "For a
honkey." "Not bad?  Just not bad?" Brent said, widening his eyes in mock
affront, causing the other boy to laugh.  He handed back the trumpet.  "Why
don't you stay and play a while?  We'll split what we make.  I'm thinking
between the three of us we could make a nice pile of coin." The three had
gathered an appreciative audience, and like with Bobby and Benny, not all
of them were music lovers.  Brent looked at his father hopefully.  Having a
jam session in the French Quarter would be wicked, and with two hot, black
boys, and of course with the possibility of doing more than just play music
afterward, it would be an experience of a life time.  "I don't know," Barry
replied, knowing it would disappoint his son, but this was the Big Easy,
and it was Lundi Gras.  Not everyone was a tourist or out for a good time
and he knew the French Quarter was not the safest place at the best of
times.  Still, it had been an awesome day and he was in high spirits what
with the successful conclusion of his business in New Orleans and still
riding a high from the hot time he'd had the night before.  "Can we stay
too, just for a while, Dad, please?" Bobby asked, looking up at his father
with his large, hazel eyes and a look he knew his father was a sucker for.
"We'll all stick together, promise," Brent said.  "We'll watch out for each
other, and we'll go straight home afterward." "I'm sorry boys, it's just
not safe," Barry replied regretfully.  "Your father's right," a
gravely-voiced man said behind him.  "It's not safe down here at night, and
there's a lot of strangers in town who aren't here to enjoy the Mardi
Gras." They turned to see a large, beefy man wearing the uniform of the New
Orleans City Police.  "Uncle Elie," said one of the seventeen-year-old
trombone players, breaking into a smile, which seemed to come naturally and
frequently.  The two high-fived.  "This pair in particular I would not
trust as far as I could throw them," the man said with a broad grin
himself. "Nor those two scalawags," he added, nodding to the two tap
dancers.  "You're wise not to let your boys wander on their own,
particularly this weekend," he continued, looking at Barry and turning
serious again.  "Along with the good, Mardi Gras attracts more than the
usual number of pickpockets and petty thieves, and," he said, glancing at
the four Brewster brothers, "some people let down their inhibitions, if you
know what I mean.  You're not from New Orleans are you?" "No.  We're
guests," Barry said, glancing at Philippe and Henri.  "Philippe Dumont and
Henri Duhamell," the men introduced, shaking hands.  "Where are you
gentlemen living?" "980 Iberville Street.  Just below Burgundy." "That's
not far from us," said the trombone player.  "We're on South Robertson,
near the Superdome.  We could see they got home safe.  Or they could sleep
over with us, and Domingue and Leon can join us," he added, nodding to the
two younger black boys, "and we could see them home in the daylight." "Now
that's real New Orleans hospitality, but don't you think you should check
with your momma and poppa first before you start inviting people home
overnight?" their uncle asked with a smile.  "They wouldn't mind.  Sides,
it's Mardi Gras." "I'm sure they wouldn't, but we'd best check," he
replied, taking out his phone.  "If that sounds all right to you," he said,
looking back at Barry.  To the boys' delight, Barry nodded.  And so it was
arranged.  The Brewster brothers would go with the two trombone players,
who were twins, Jean-Paul and Jean-Claude Fontenot, and their cousins,
leaving the evening free for Barry.  That fit perfectly, his two hosts
having already decided to take him to the Phoenix in the historic Fauborg
Marigny neighbourhood on the outskirts of the French Quarter to celebrate
the successful conclusion of his negotiations.  The Phoenix, one of the
largest bars in New Orleans, had been serving the gay leather/Levi and SM
community of New Orleans for twenty years and was well known by the
international gay crowd.  Comfortable they were leaving the boys in safe
hands, they headed directly for the bar and after a few drinks and pleasant
conversation Barry, Philippe and Henri headed upstairs to the Eagle's Nest
which catered to the cruise crowd and was known for its music, videos, pool
table, and anything goes atmosphere, encouraged by dark corners and a
twisted staff.  They were not there for the music, videos nor to play pool.
By then the Fontenots had enough busking for the night, and with the
anticipation of some fun with the four very hot brothers they'd met that
night, they'd begun heading for their home.  With the narrow, dark streets
and unfamiliar street names and the jostling, sometimes frightening crowd
of merrymakers, the four brothers were secretly very glad they had guides
who knew where they were heading.  "Is 1020 St.  Ann Street anywhere near
here?" Bobby asked.  "Not far.  Two blocks over and five blocks north, why
you asking that?" asked one of the older twins, Jean-Claude.  "I thought we
could maybe just stop there for a minute." "What the heck for?" asked
Benny. "That's where Marie Laveau lived, remember?" "Oh yeah.  So?" "So I
thought maybe, you know, we might see her." "Who is Marie Laveau?" asked
Brent.  "The Voodoo queen of New Orleans," Bobby replied.  "You said she
lived there, like in past tense," Brett pointed out.  "Yeah." "So why would
you think you might see here there?" "Her ghost is still there." "Her
ghost?" "She's dead." "And you want to see her?" "Yeah." "Why?" Bobby
shrugged.  "Com'on, Bobby, what's up?" "I just thought, well, you know, we
might see her, and, well, I could ask if she got the things I left for
her." "What things?  And left for her where?" Brent asked, wrinkling up his
nose.  Sometimes his kid brother was very weird.  Well, most times
actually. "Just some stuff I left at her grave." "At her grave?" the twins
chorused together.  "Yeah." "And what did you ask for in return?" Benny
asked.  "Ah, never mind.  I think I got a good idea." "Jeez, Bobby, you
don't really believe all that Voodoo mumbo jumbo crap, do you?" Brett
asked. "Voodoo isn't mumbo jumbo crap," Jean-Claude and Jean-Paul said
together, and from the sharp tone of their voice, it didn't take a genius
to know they were offended.  "Hey, I'm sorry," Brett said quickly, not
wanting them to be angry.  "It's just hard to believe all that stuff you
see on TV about witches and putting curses on people and zombies and stuff,
you know?" "Yeah, well, I find it hard to believe some of your Christian
crap like ministers putting their hands on a cripple and him throwing away
his crutches and walking, or Jesus coming back from the dead and talking to
his disciples and stuff too," responded Jean-Claude coldly.  "Besides,
Voodoo isn't at all like what you see on TV and it's a hell of a lot more
than just spells and curses.  It is a religion," added Jean-Paul.  "Fuckin'
right," agreed his brother.  "Hey, I was just going on what you see on
those old horror movies.  I'm sorry.  If you want to stop at that St.  Ann
place, that's fine," Brett apologized.  "It's not too far out of the way,
is it?" "Not really." The walk to the address was in silence and the joking
and comradery that had characterized their earlier conversation was
noticeably missing.  Brett was sorry he'd made the comment, especially from
what he knew about his twin brother's religion and from some of the wild
otherworldly experiences they'd had, but what he did know made him start to
worry just what sorts of guys these were that they'd met up with.  He did
not want to suddenly find himself surrounded by some rotting, zombies who
wanted him to become one of them.  The house and yard they stopped at
didn't look that much different from all the other houses and yards in the
French Quarter.  They stood there in silence staring at the dark grounds
and unlit building.  "There, did you see that," Bobby said suddenly. 
"What? Where?" "There, by those bushes.  It looked sort of silvery, and,
well shimmery." "Like a ghost," observed Benny.  "Yeah!  Did you see it
too?" "No, I didn't see anything." There was a sudden noise in the vicinity
Bobby had indicated, sort of a low moan.  The branches of the bush seemed
to sway.  "Did you hear that?" Domingue whispered.  "Yeah." "Look, there's
something moving over there," Jean-Paul whispered as the boys crouched
down. "Looks like mist or something." "Or Marie Laveau's ghost." "Or her
followers." "It's like they're moving in a circle." "Where?" "I don't see
it anymore.  But I saw something." "Whatever or whoever or whatever, I
think they're gone." "You satisfied?" Benny asked, his voice quavering as
he looked at his kid brother.  "Yeah." "I thought you were going to ask her
about the stuff you left?" Brent asked.  "Yeah, well, I didn't want to
bother her," Bobby bluffed.  "She had to have found it." The boys turned on
North Rampart and headed for the Fontenots.  As they walked, Jean-Paul and
Jean-Claude talked about what they knew of Marie Laveau, and of other tales
they'd heard about local vampires and ghosts.  "My gramma said New Orleans
is one of the most haunted cities in the world," observed Leon.  "Figures,
with all the pirates and killings and everything, and the people not really
being able to bury the dead in the ground and stuff." The Brewsters
recalled the comments by their guide that because most of New Orleans was
below sea level they could not bury the dead so they'd built the large
mausoleums and above ground tombs instead.  All eight of them thought about
the house and yard at 1020 St.  Ann Street, each of them convinced now
they'd seen a ghost or at least a swirling mist in the bushes.  Something
flew overhead, a bat or owl or something, causing them to duck and to peer
about nervously.  At the next block, a cat jumped out of the bushes
surrounding one of the rundown properties, scaring the life out of the
eight of them, the boys having done a good job of frightening themselves
with their stories and imaginations.  The night suddenly took on strange
and eerie shadows everywhere.  They walked faster, next to a run.  It was
only sixteen blocks from where they were to their destination and they
covered the distance in minutes though to them it seemed like hours.  Their
parents had gone out for the evening but their mother had left them out
snacks and a note as to where they'd gone.  Turning on every light in the
house, they pretended they hadn't been frightened and made a point of
telling the others so.  When the phone rang every one of them jumped and
those who'd tried to cover their fright by stretching or reaching to
scratch themselves weren't fooling anyone.  It was the boys' mother phoning
to make sure they'd gotten home and telling them they'd likely be later
than they'd anticipated.  Gathering around in a circle in the twin's
bedroom, not just because that was where the boys usually entertained their
guests but also they all felt safer sitting close together in the confines
of the small room, the two older boys explained that the word Creole
referred to the first generation born in New Orleans from immigrants from
France, Spain or Haiti and their descendants.  In their case their
great-something grandmother was an important Voodoo priestess, a mambo,
descended from slaves brought from Nigeria to Haiti and her son had married
a native Indian woman.  In 1804 when the whites were kicked out of Haiti
they were brought by their masters to New Orleans where her son had his
first child, who became a mambo like her grandmother.  "So, you said Voodoo
is a religion?" Brett ventured, hoping to make amends.  "That's right."
"That your religion?" "Yeah." "So, do you believe in God?" asked Brent. 
"Sure.  We believe in one God, Bondye.  He is very much like the God of
Christians and of Judaism and Islam," Jean-Paul explained.  "There is much
similarity between Roman Catholicism and Voodoo actually.  Many early
slaves were baptised as Catholics, and since Voodoo was outlawed, many
disguised their worship by merging their gods and practices with Catholic
saints and beliefs.  There are many Creoles who attend Catholic church but
practice Voodoo privately and in their homes." "We also believe in
spiritual beings to whom we pray," added Jean-Claude.  "Just like
Christians believe in saints and angels, we believe in the lwa, spirits of
family members and of major forces of the universe that affect all aspects
of our life, like our health and love and sex and stuff.  The lwa can give
messages and cause good or bad things to happen to a person.  We also
believe in the twins, who are contradictory forces like good and evil or
happiness and sadness who will help a person if a person honours them, and
in the dead, the souls of family ancestors who have not yet been honoured
and become lwa." The Brewster brothers immediately thought back to their
celebration of the Day of the Dead in Mexico.  Given their experiences
there and Brent's Wiccan beliefs, they could easily accept the beliefs of
the Fontenots.  "The lwa determine our lives and our fate which is why it
is important to pray to them and honour them.  There are times, like during
religious festivals or when a mambo is doing work, they can even mount
people," Jean-Claude continued.  "Mount people?" Benny asked, his ears
perking up, Jean-Claude having immediately caught back his and his
brothers' full attention.  "Mounting is what we call it when a lwa takes
over a person's body," he explained.  The Brewster brothers had imagined a
totally different picture.  "Exactly where a person goes when their body is
possessed even the priests don't know for sure.  Possession can be good or
bad, good like when a family spirit takes over your body to help you fight
an illness, or bad like in black magic voodoo, which is the Voodoo you see
on TV with zombies and having wild sexual orgies." "Well, I don't want
nothing to do with zombies, but wild sexual orgies would be okay," observed
Bobby to everyone's amusement.  "The biggest part of Voodoo is healing
people using herbs and by praying to the spirits, and by creating
protections and potions and by casting spells," Jean-Paul said.  "In black
magic Voodoo, mambo and houngan, the male priests, do the same but to harm
people instead of heal them." "So leaving stuff with Marie Laveau and
asking her to help me was good Voodoo, not black?" Bobby asked hesitantly,
worried he'd done something wrong.  "I don't know.  She was rumoured to
help her friends, but to curse her enemies," replied Jean-Paul.  "It would
depend on what sort of help you were asking her for." "I was asking her to
help me start squirting," Bobby replied with a flush of embarrassment. 
"You know," he said, jerking his hips when the Fontenots looked at him
blankly.  To his relief none of them laughed at him or made fun of his
idea, not even his brothers.  "Oh, well, in that case since you were asking
for yourself, I suppose it would probably be Rada Voodoo, good Voodoo, as
opposed to Petro Voodoo or black magic." "What you need is a Legba, a
virility doll," Domingue advised.  "What is that?" "It's a Voodoo doll with
a humongous pecker," he replied with a grin and they all giggled.  "Really.
You should make one." "You know how?" "Do I know how?  Do I know how to tap
dance?" Domingue asked.  "Guess he doesn't," observed Jean-Paul with a
shrug, resulting in giggles and a playful poke in the arm from Domingue. 
"First we gotta get two dead branches." "There looked like there was a dead
bush in Marie Laveau's yard." "I ain't going back there no how!" observed
Leon, a sentiment they all agreed with.  "I think there's some dry branches
in Mister Lefarbre's yard." "You go get two, and I'll get Momma's Spanish
moss," said Jean-Paul.  Gathering up their materials, Domingue instructed
Bobby in the making of the Legba, tying the two dead sticks together in a
cross with some black yarn and then wrapping it with the moss, which
Jean-Paul explained their mother kept for making crafts which she sold at
the French market.  Cutting his briefs, which everyone thought appropriate,
into two inch-wide strips he wrapped them about the figure, adding in and
tying into place the end he'd broken off one of the branches that even had
a knoblike knot at the end and wrapping strips of cloth about it also, all
the while giggling about the doll's "woodie" while suffering the comments
from his brother's that the doll's woodie was larger than their kid
brother's.  Domingue cut off snippets of Bobby's hair and he glued it to
the top of the doll and added two large button eyes and sewed a puckered
mouth with red thread.  "That's great.  It looks just like Bobby," observed
Brent.  "Especially the eyes," said Benny with a twinkle in his.  "That's
just how they pop out when he's having an orgasm!" "And how he twists up
his mouth just like that too," added Brett.  Bobby rewarded their comments
with playful punches in the arm as he made a face.  "Except I still think
the doll's woodie is bigger than Bobby's," observed Brent, resulting in
another face and punch.  "Now we gotta dress him.  It's best if we can use
something personal of yours." Bobby thought for a moment.  "We could use my
sock." "Ewwww." "Hey, they're clean.  My feet don't stink like Brent's!"
"If we used one of Brent's socks, we'd have enough material for a dozen
Legbas!" observed Benny and they all giggled.  "Oh yeah, well you know what
they say about guys with big feet," retorted Brent.  "Don't get too close
to them on the dance floor?" asked Benny, resulting in another playful
punch and another face.  "Actually it'll probably take a whole sock just to
cover the woodie we made for the Legba," Domingue observed, causing them
all to giggle again.  "Actually, getting a woodie isn't the problem,"
observed Bobby.  "Shouldn't we be giving him some balls or something so he
can cum?" Domingue thought for a moment and then reaching into his pocket
pulled out a couple peanuts from the throws from the previous day's
parades. "Hey, just Bobby's size," Benny giggled.  "Hey, I got just the
thing," Jean-Paul said.  Fishing around in his drawer he pulled out a
cologne sample bottle one of the stores had been handing out.  Attaching
the peanuts to the plunger and working a straw through the cloth strips
wrapping the woodie and attaching it to the opening of the sample bottle,
they fastened it upside down to the back of the doll with more strips of
Bobby's underwear.  They decided instead of trousers and shirt, they'd make
him a loin cloth out of the top of one of Bobby's socks.  "Now comes the
most important part.  You have to ask Papa Legba to animate the image you
made." "Who is Papa Legba?" "He is the gatekeeper between this world and
the world of spirits, and the origin of life." "We should ask help from
Papa Ghede too.  He is the lwa of death and resurrection and the Lord of
Eroticism," added Leon.  "Okay.  So how do I do that?" "Repeat after me,"
Domingue said, picking up the incense candle in the pile of things he'd had
his cousins collect and lighting it.  "Open the door, Papa Legba, your
children await, open the door Papa Legba, when we return we will thank the
lwa.  Breathe your life into the image we have made, Papa Legba, so it may
fulfill its purpose.  Work your magic, Papa Ghede, so the one who this
image is made of will have his wish.  Work your magic, Papa Legba and Papa
Ghede, and we will thank you." "So, how does this work?" asked Bobby when
they finished.  "It's image magic.  The idea behind Voodoo dolls is that
what you do to the doll will happen to the real person." "Hey, that's
sortta like that time we was playing Barbie and Ken dolls with Betty
Rosland when we was little, and we punched a hole between Barbie's legs and
glued a straw between Ken's and showed her how babies were made and tried
to get her to try it with us." "How young were you?" Domingue asked with
amusement.  "She was six, same age as Bobby, so Benny was eight and Brent
and I had to be ten." "That was back before we found out guys were a lot
more willing and a lot more fun to mess around with." "Did it work?" asked
Leon with a giggle.  "No," Benny said with a sigh.  "And when her mom found
out what we'd done to the dolls she got real mad." "She really didn't like
it when Benny said we was just making them anatomically correct either,"
Brent said with a grin.  "Well, your Legba is anatomically correct,"
Domingue said with a grin.  "So now what you gotta do is concentrate on it
and on you and do to it do what you want to happen to you.  Like if you rub
its nuts it should feel like someone is rubbing yours, and if you push in
the cologne plunger and make it squirt, the same should happen to you."
"Fucking awesome!  When can we try it?" Bobby asked eagerly.  The boys
glanced at each other.  The talk of sex and woodies and cumming had gotten
their minds off Marie Laveau and the fright they'd had and back to the
thoughts and feelings they'd had back in Jackson Square when they'd first
met.  "Did I understand right that you've messed around with guys?"
Jean-Paul asked cautiously.  "We sure have," Brett responded for the four,
"but never with four Creole boys." "Well, I guess that makes us equal,"
Jean-Paul said with a grin.  "We've never messed around with four honkey
brothers." "Hey it's working already.  I have a feeling someone's gonna be
rubbing my nuts real soon," Bobby pronounced as he rubbed the peanuts on
his Legba, and they all laughed.  While the boys were talking and making
Bobby's Voodoo doll, Barry Brewster had succumbed to the magic of his two
hosts and the sexually charged atmosphere of the Eagle's Nest.  Its
reputation of being a bar where anything goes was well deserved, especially
during Mardi Gras.  After a few more beers and finding himself surrounded
by uninhibited kissing, necking, and mutual jerking and open and unabashed
cruising, Barry found himself totally naked and flat on his back on a table
near the back of the bar, his legs raised and drawn up to his chest in the
same position as Bobby had taken the night before.  Pulling his ass so it
was on the edge of the table, Henri stood behind him and spreading apart
his ass cheeks, buried his stiff, lubed cock up his hot, moist rectum. 
Standing beside the table, Philippe presented his stiff cock and as Barry
eagerly slipped his mouth over the knob Philippe twisted around and bent
over to slip his lips around Barry's towering cock, which was not a
difficult feat considering the length of the monster.  Most of the bar's
patrons totally ignored them as if what they were doing was a common
occurrence, which it often was, and the rest watched as they raised their
glasses and continued their conversations as if the threesome was the
dinner show.  The three men had come to know each other very well over the
past four days.  Barry could understand how Philippe and Henri had become
his brother's close friends and why he'd been so insistent that he take a
weekend break in New Orleans and stay with them.  He owed James big time
and wasn't sure how he was ever going to be able to repay him for this
weekend.  Philippe and Henri had meanwhile realized why James had been so
emphatic about them entertaining his brother and had come to better
understand and appreciate what life was like for a bisexual man with
children.  That the man they were having sex with was just as comfortable
getting screwed as he was screwing his wife, and that he had four boys who
were evidently aware and unconcerned about their father's orientation just
as he was accepting of theirs was particularly amazing.  In a world where
there was so much discrimination, intolerance and fear of those who were
different, it was refreshing to find a man and his sons who were so content
and comfortable with whom they were.  Barry was very content with whom he
was as he lay there on the table sucking on the cock of the man whom he'd
fucked the day before while the cock that he'd sucked off the day before
was now buried up his ass.  No matter how much a man loved a woman or how
open a couple was about their sexual needs, no man and woman could have the
understanding and appreciation that two men could.  While a woman could
relate to what it felt like to have one's ass penetrated, she could never
fully understand what it felt like to penetrate another person.  No matter
how much a woman tried, she could not fully understand what it felt like
for a man to have a penis or to climax, or appreciate how it felt to
ejaculate.  Only another man could really understand those things.  As
Henri pumped his cock in and out of his ass, Henri knew what it was like to
have his ass screwed by a man, and Barry knew what it was like to have his
cock up a man's dank chute.  As he lay there on his back sucking Philippe's
cock, he knew exactly what it felt like to have one's cock sucked, just as
Philippe knew what it was like to suck another man's cock.  Only a person
who also had a cock could really appreciate the taste and smell of penis or
what it felt like to have a mouth engulfing it.  Only a person who had a
cock could appreciate how it felt to have a cock rammed up your ass, or the
difference between having your cock buried up a pussy or another man's
rectum.  His sons could certainly attest to that, as could their hosts. 
Having admitted that they'd all messed around with guys before, the eight
had gotten down to doing what they'd all hoped they'd be doing when they'd
first met in the French Quarter.  Being horny, comfortable getting it on
with other guys in the presence of other guys, and being well hung and
unashamed of what dangled between their legs, they had eagerly and
unabashedly chucked their clothes and zeroed in on each other's crotch. 
Though not as well endowed as Brent and Brett, Jean-Paul and Jean-Claude
were better hung than the average teenager, or the average man for that
matter.  Their nuts were deep black and fuller and rounder than the
Brewster twins, resembling large plums, and Brett and Brent attacked them
hungrily, sucking on the orbs in their wrinkled sacs and running their
tongues over them.  The two Creole brothers swung around to similarly suck
on the large, pendulous eggs of the two older Brewsters, the four
seventeen-year-old boys ending up in a daisy chain with Brent sucking
Jean-Paul's sac, Jean-Paul sucking Brett, Brett sucking Jean-Claude, and
Jean-Claude completing the circle and sucking Brent.  Feeling the hot
breaths and wet tongues of their two hosts on their balls, Brent and Brett
began to swell and the two black boys slipped their lips about their
growing pink sausages and delighted in feeling them grow hard between their
lips.  Jean-Paul and Jean-Claude were rapidly swelling also and Brent and
Brett ran their tongues up the shafts of the two black sausages and swirled
them around the boys' exposed, bulbous knobs.  The two boys were identical
right down to their huge plum-like balls and rock-hard, cut cocks, now six
and three-quarter inches long and throbbing with desire.  As Brent and
Brett sucked on the purplish-black knobs and slipped their lips down the
thick, dark shafts, they inhaled deeply, relishing the unique taste of the
Creole sausages and the sharp, musky fragrance of the black boys' crotches.
Jean-Paul and Jean-Claude were pleasantly surprised at the size of the
monstrous seven-and-a-half inch Brewster wieners, and they pealed back
their skins and ran their hot, wet tongues along the rims of their knobs
and along the sensitive skin below their knobs and inhaled the erotic
chestnut fragrance of their pendulous balls.  Meanwhile Benny and Domingue
had begun by kissing and caressing each other, Domingue finding the peach
fuzz on Benny's upper lip particularly erotic as they kissed, and Benny
delighting in the feel of the silky hairs on Domingue's upper lip as the
black boy brushed his lips against his nipples.  He was even more delighted
as his lips skipped on down over his flat stomach to his crotch.  The two
boys readily formed a sixty-nine, the fourteen-year-old and
fifteen-year-old being of similar personality and having been attracted to
each other.  Although he was closer to Bobby's height and weight, at five
and three-quarter inches Domingue's dick was almost as long as Benny's. 
The two boys were skilled cock suckers and horny and soon had the other
hard and squirming with pleasure.  Closing his eyes, Domingue slipped his
lips down to Benny's curly, dark brown hairs as Benny slipped his down to
Domingue's curly black ones and the two sucked deeply on the swollen flesh
in their mouths as they began to slip their lips back up the rigid shafts.
While Benny and Domingue had been kissing and caressing, their brothers had
done likewise, delighting in each other's warm, moist lips as their mouths
pressed together and they wrapped their arms about each other and caressed
each other's firm backs and compact butts.  Bobby loved kissing, especially
on the lips, and found Leon's breath sweetened by the caramel corn and the
cinnamon from the King Cake that had been left out for them delicious, and
the feathery touch of the soft hairs on the corners of his mouth erotic. 
He instantly popped a boner.  Leon also enjoyed kissing and found Bobby's
fresh breath and soft boy lips just as delightful and his cock wagged its
appreciation.  As the two young boys kissed, they reached behind each other
and slipping an index finger along each other's crack, they fingered each
other's butthole, both boys also clearly enjoying fucking ass.  Glancing
over at their brothers, the two boys glanced back at each other, the same
thought causing their lips to curl.  As Benny and Domingue lay there on
their sides sucking each other's dick, Leon snuggled up behind Benny in the
same direction as his twin brother and pulling apart his asscheeks he began
to rim him.  Following suit, Bobby similarly lay down behind Domingue and
pulling apart his smooth, black cheeks, the horny thirteen-year-old stuck
out his tongue and ran it up along Domingue's sweaty crack to his black
pucker.  Licking the Creole boy's dank asshole and worming his tongue
inside and knowing his twin was doing the same to his older brother soon
had Bobby stiff.  Working up a mouth of spittle, he blew it into the
fourteen-year-old's hole, causing him to squirm, and working up a second
and drooling it over his stiff, aching pecker, he reversed positions so he
was laying in the same direction as Domingue.  Grasping his hips and
placing the tip of his young, slender cock against the black boy's
spit-slick hole, Bobby slowly pushed forward, and was delighted to feel the
Creole boy open up to him.  Ever so slowly he pushed forward until his
smooth pubes were pressed against Domingue's smooth cheeks.  Similarly on
the other side of the two now madly sucking pair, Leon had lubed his stiff
pecker and Benny's asshole with his spittle and had twisted around and was
now sinking his long, black cock up Benny's smooth, pink ass.  Back at the
Eagle's Nest, the boys' father was on his back and squirming with ecstasy,
a hard, hot cock pumping in and out of his burning asshole, sinking deep up
his rectum and drawing back out to his tightly clenched pucker, a hot,
moist mouth hungrily sucking on his monstrous nine-inch cock, and he
himself eagerly sucking on a hot, throbbing prick as he slipped his lips up
and down its length, deep-throating it with as much skill and ease and
enjoyment as the horniest, most perverted fag as had ever sucked cock in
the gay cruise bar.  Barry inhaled and exhaled deeply through his nose as
Henri pumped his cock in and out of his ass, probing his rectum as far as
his stiff cock could reach and sending burning thrills of stimulation
through his sphincter and up his stiff cock each time the knob brushed his
prostate.  The room was filled with the manly fragrance of beer and smoke
and grass, and of sweat and cock and balls.  He was perspiring profusely in
the humid Louisiana night, his body flushed with arousal as he felt himself
approaching his climax, the temperature of the room increased by several
degrees by the crowd of hot, leather-clad men filling it.  As it became
evident the three men were about to climax, the noise lulled as the men in
the bar watched in anticipation, all of them aroused, many with their cocks
sticking out of their trousers and being stroked by their partner or by
themselves.  Henri's breathing was laboured as he rode Barry rhythmically
and forcefully, causing the bar table to rock as he thrust his hips to and
fro, driving his aching cock in and out of the man's hot, moist rectum. 
Panting and snorting, he raised Barry's ass higher in the air and clamoured
up on the table, his cock still buried up Barry's ass.  Kneeling there on
the table with Barry raised up on his shoulders, he rammed his hips to and
fro, openly and unabashedly snorting with his pleasure as was Barry.  His
lips parted and his eyes glazed, he finally threw his head back and lunged
forward and withdrew rapidly and lunged again in a series of rabbit thrusts
as he felt his cum surge up the core of his swollen cock and gush up
Barry's rectum.  Feeling the hot, thick enema spurting up his asshole,
Barry sucked Philippe's cock all the more furiously and seconds later
Philippe threw his head back as he began to spurt his thick cum down
Barry's throat.  Laying there on his upper back with hot, thick cum
spurting up his ass and down his throat, Barry trembled as his own cum
began to gush up the core of his swollen cock.  Feeling the telltale
tremor, Philippe drew his lips off the nine-inch monster while at the same
time pulling his prick out of Barry's mouth, and as Barry began spurting
Philippe aimed the long, thick cock at Barry's mouth only inches away from
his lips and Barry shot his load into his own mouth.  Spurt after thick
spurt shot into his mouth and leaning in closer Philippe milked the
remainder of his thick cum from his balls and added it to Barry's creamy
load and Barry eagerly and hungrily swallowed both his and Philippe's cum
as Henri finished filling his ass.  Barry's four sons were ready to climax
also, as were their four hosts.  Their breathing was laboured and their
bodies hot and flushed with lust and from their strenuous workout, sweat
glistening on their smooth, naked chests and dampening their armpits.  The
four seventeen-year-old boys caressed and squeezed each other's smooth
backsides as they bobbed their heads up and down each other's stiff cock
and squirmed with their approaching climaxes.  Brent and Brett peered out
from half-closed slits, their deep blue eyes glistening with arousal, their
long, silky blond hair plastered to their foreheads with sweat and swept
over the crotches of the two black boys whose cocks they were sucking, the
silky golden tufts in their underarms matted together with perspiration. 
The two seventeen-year-old Creole boys were similarly panting with their
arousal as they stared out from heavy-lidded eyes, their thick, black lips
just as skilled at blowing the air from their lungs into trombone
mouthpieces as sucking the air out of a much different bone.  Sweat
dampened their curly black armpit hairs and beaded on their foreheads,
their corn rows still neatly and tightly curled as they slipped their lips
up and down the throbbing, thick shafts of the Brewster twins.  The balls
of all four boys were swollen and drawn up beneath their throbbing cocks
and with each bob of the head they were brought closer to shooting.  Beside
them Benny and Domingue were madly sucking on each other's cock also, their
arms tightly wrapped about each other and caressing and squeezing each
other's firm butt, their smooth chests pressed tight against flat stomachs,
black on white.  Behind them Leon and Bobby thrust their hips to and fro,
driving their hot, throbbing, young cocks in and out of tightly clasping
assholes, thrusting their aching flesh in and out of the hot, moist rectal
chambers and delighting in the pleasure they were feeling and in the
pleasure they knew they were bringing the boys they were fucking.  Their
bodies were flushed and they were all sweating too, Bobby's smooth armpits
damp with perspiration as he pumped his hips to and fro, and sweat
trickling down Domingue's side from his curly black pit hairs as he felt
Bobby's smooth pubes pressing against his butt.  Domingue's and Leon's
long, coarse hair bounced about their shoulders, their sweat bands having
fallen off in their lust.  The air, heavy with the fragrance of teenage
sweat and young balls and teenage cock, was sucked deep into the lungs of
the eight boys as each came, and the erotic fragrance of fresh, teenage cum
was added to the already thick, humid air.  Benny, Brett and Brent shivered
as their orgasms hit them, their hot, thick boy cum gushing up their
swollen cocks and into the mouths of the eagerly awaiting Creole boys. 
Their thick, black lips clamped down even tighter on the throbbing, gushing
fountains and the three black boys hungrily drank the creamy offering of
the three white boys.  At the same time Domingue, Jean-Claude and Jean-Paul
shot off their loads and the three Brewster brothers were rewarded with the
first taste of teenage Creole cum, thick, slimy and tasting of raw oysters,
their unique fragrance filling their nostrils and their lungs as spurt
after spurt erupted from their throbbing, black sausages.  The three
Brewsters eagerly swallowed the delicious, erotic cream as they pumped out
their own copious load.  Leon shot off also, grasping Benny tightly as he
thrust his throbbing, black cock up the fifteen-year-old's asshole, filling
his rectum with his thick, slimy load, the fourteen-year-old having just a
copious load as the older boys.  Bobby came also, the thirteen-year-old
trembling with his dry orgasm as his nuts contracted and wave after wave of
pleasure pulsated through his groin and caused his cock to throb and burn
just as pleasantly as the cocks of the other boys, and Domingue trembled
with the knowledge the young white boy was climaxing.  Despite having an
almost sleepless night, the Fontenots not arriving home until the wee hours
of the morning, the boys were all up early and after a hearty breakfast of
grits, sausages, and shrimp omelette, the boys joined their father, who in
the absence of his sons, also had a sleepless night.  Along with their
hosts, Philippe and Henri and the four Fontenot boys, they found themselves
back downtown for a morning of parades, beginning with several marching
clubs and local jazz bands in their uniforms followed by the Zulu Krewe
Parade at eight-thirty, which in turn was followed by the Rex Krewe, the
Elks-Ori Krewe, and the Crescent City Krewe parades.  The streets were
crowded with people wearing their feather masks, draped in beads, and
dressed up in a variety of costumes.  Munching on caramel corn, peanuts,
potato chips, cookies and miniature moon pies that had been thrown from the
floats, the Brewsters headed over to the French Quarter.  Arranging to meet
up with the boys at Jackson Square later, Barry was taken over to Bourbon
Street for a gay tradition, the sixteenth annual official gay Mardi Gras
bead toss lead by King Cake Queen Teryl-Lynn Foxx.  Bourbon Street was well
known to be the centre attraction for the gay crowd and its exceptional
lewd antics on Mardi Gras and to a large part was avoided by families and
those with children, and those who did blunder into the area were quickly
steered away.  The Fontenot boys of course knew that and they knew the back
streets and shortcuts to the heart of the action, and they had no intention
of waiting in Jackson Square.  The eight boys and Barry were soon swept up
with the crowd and caught up in the ribald revelry and excitement, and they
eagerly and willingly responded to the calls of "show me something, mister"
and the "you show and we throw" signs on the balconies urging those milling
in the street to "show me your whatever" and "show your dick." Barry and
his sons were shocked by the open nudity, and the boys in particular were
amazed at the signs actually spelling out the words dick and cock.  They
were even more amazed at the number of people responding, and were agog at
the sight of men and women flashing their naked butts and at the sight of
naked boobs and flashed dicks and balls wherever they looked.  Needless to
say Barry was very popular and a big attraction given his good looks and
his size even when soft, as were the four attractive and hung Creole boys
and their exceptionally handsome white friends, who seemed to know where
the youth-friendly hangouts were and how to avoid the city police
patrolling the street and the more prudish revellers who would restrict the
festivities to adults only.  All of them were soon draped in beads of every
imaginable colour and their pockets were stuffed with doubloons and plastic
toys.  Rejoining again at Jackson Square, the Brewster brothers and the
Fontenots promised to keep in touch, and heading back to their hosts' home
on Iberville Street, the Brewsters packed their bags, Bobby taking special
care in packing his Legba after giving its nuts a quick rub and the plunger
a couple squirts, undaunted by the failure of the doll the night before and
always the optimist.  Having managed to get a public flight back home, they
settled down in their seats and dropped off to sleep almost immediately
after their exhausting weekend.  From the smiles on their faces, and the
bulges in their trousers, they were clearly reliving every moment of the
past five days as their balls recharged and Bobby came another day closer
to having his first wet orgasm. 
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