THAT VALLEY

Bisexual pedophilia and incest.


FILE I


       “Aaron, listen.  You have to.  I know you’re a kid, I’m a kid, too, and I know you’re out there and I know you can sneak away and I’ll be talking to the fog.  You know what could happen to me and the other three if it wasn’t foggy?  What would I tell the sergeant, that I was out to get you?  He’d laugh me straight into a camp.  We end up there, too, you know, and not just one or two and now and then.  So at least listen.  There is a way and I want you to at least think about it and talk about it with your sister and the others.  It’s nothing easy, in fact you may decide my superiors are the better choice, but at least I want you and them to make the choice.  
       
       “Okay, you’re musicians, but don’t think you my friends and I are going to be able to get you through the mountains based on those talents.  They’ll help, yes, but if the ten of you are going to make it, you’re going to have to travel a road you never dreamed of, and forget avalanches, bears, and marauding patrols.  This may be worse, but, on the other hand, it’s as sure as anything’s going to be in Germany for the next twenty years, so at least listen.  Throw a stone so I don’t get a case of laryngitis for nothing.”
       
       Half a minute went by and there was a thud from the interior of the cemetery.  Heinz tried not to smile, the very act in his milieu now taken as the rictus of wolf lips.
       
       “Thanks.  I’m not moving and I’m not with anybody, and I’m not asking any questions about where your sister and the other students are.  The fog’s getting thicker so I can talk louder, but you might move a little toward my voice so you can hear everything.
       “I don’t know quite where to start, because, while I know a little about this road, being, you know, at the coltish stage of development, but only the first few kilometers, and that, with luck, is just enough to help.  I’m no expert, here’s probably no such thing, but I do know the first mile – that-s almost two kilometers – leads south and leads east.
       “Like any group that yells and hollers a lot, the Nazi Party is full of brazen hypocrites who pass out pink armbands and sleep with pink boys.  Not all of them, some are dangerous through and through, with a soft spot only for entrails, but enough to form a network, and they’re all high enough to have telephones, and of sufficient comradeship in certain alternative areas to share what we can call, for now, and for lack of a better phrase, good fortune.  
       “What’s happening in our country now is often seen as a mechanical necessity.  A huge number hate it, but the English won’t let refugee ships through the Suez Canal and, according to lore, there simply is no place else.  It’s a shame, more ghastly than is comprehensible, but paroxysms of history abide little sanity, so there’s really not much use in saying it’s other than it is, because it is extremely dangerous, and you, Nammi and the others have to move.  You have this one night to talk it over and make your decision.
       
       “If you’re at the barn on Mr. Werner’s farm at sunrise, Josep, Reyn, Max, and I will spend a day there with you, then lead you to the next house in the direction of the border.  And remember what I said about this road.  You will earn your passage into Switzerland with a series of acts with young adult German males, possibly with a few young females mixed into the bargain.  Oddly enough, there will be no physical pain, the club, if you want to call it that, feels there’s enough of that at the academic and dueling-club levels.  In fact, just the opposite.  You will, for the most part, be well fed and comfortably housed, provided with papers, clothes, and a thousand dollars each in U.S. funds to tide you over when you get to Geneva.  
       
       “The other side of the coin is psychological.  Yes, you will be used gently, even affectionately, and yes the club members are the pick of the pick of young male beauty, many just a few years older than I am.  But, you will be used repeatedly with as many as four or five men for each of you each day and night.  You will have to lie next to Nammi many nights, young men with both of you, and you – I hope you’re sitting down – will have to be the first to be a man with her, and not in private.
       
       “So you’ve got a lot to think about, the ten of you.  Nammi, at ten is the youngest of you, but none of you are over fourteen.  There are two other brother/sister pairs, not counting Dix and Shelly, because she’s older than he is, and there are certain sensibilities, in fact, more niceties and decorum than you might imagine.  Try to remember, we are not a monster class; we are a highly disciplined and accomplished nation that came through the Industrial Revolution without poverty, and we are vastly threatened by Russia.  It’s not just party rhetoric that we are defending our fatherland, that we face ruination and enslavement by the eastern hoards, be they peasants or philosophers, and of a dozen major backgrounds.  Try to see it just a little, once in awhile, from our point of view; that half the trauma that’s occurring is based on the fact that our farting and remarkably unappealing leader – I think the whole thing boils down to the fact that he, Hess, Himmler and the others are such an ugly and disagreeable pack of mutts there’s no other place for them in Germany – is hated by Churchill because, though gassed and maimed in the last war, he only rose to the rank of corporal.  In the end, he had about as many stripes as teeth.  If out chief ass kicker was a drawing room type of fellow, policies and agenda, identical, we’d be fighting Stalin along side England.  As I said, little sanity however diligently one might look 
       
       “All this is to say you have a lot to live for.  I know you’re armed and could plan something along that line.  If you were among the throngs, yes, you would not have much hope, but a small group of you, fluent in English, delivered to an outraged world, will not only survive but they’ll probably make a two hour movie of you, not the true story, but perhaps they can use music to cover over the seamier sides.
       
       “Aaron, it’s early yet, I don’t have to return to camp for two hours.  What I’m going to do is talk about Josep, Reyn, Max and myself.  I’m not going to take any shortcuts and leave anything pertinent out of the stories.  I’m telling them to give you perspective, in hopes of not hearing a series of muffled shots during the night.  To let you know that, in the first place, what happens happens to million of young girls and boys all over the world, though it’s sanctioned and sanctified nowhere on earth, in other words, to let you know that it’s survivable, and, in the second place, that what happens in the next week will not make the slightest difference, any more than if we fed you beef or pork, well, hold the pork, sorry, beef, chicken, or fish on your journey.  You won’t walk sideways down the street, you won’t lurk under bridges, you won’t be stoned and branded.  And, not to get ahead, you will learn simple, detached, physical things that one day in the future will guarantee your keeping any romantic partner you want.  In other words, the skills of the trade without the stigma of the trade.
       
       “Aaron, many German boys learn while they summer in the mountains and run from their various camps and retreats to spend time amongst the shepherds.  Traditionally, older boys are mum on what happens, only allowing that something does; serious, not frivolous, and fondly remembered, if not shared.  We are simply told that no boy has ever been hurt in the least, and that we can trust, implicitly, and then the whispering is over until we’re mature enough to continue it, if we wish.
       
       “Let me say here at the beginning, or as close as I can get, anyway, that I’m talking about a particular valley knows as That Valley.  What happens in the rest of the country when city boys go out in the summer, I don’t know.  Probably either more or less than one might think.  That Valley is, as far as I can tell, whispered about at parties, and, my guess would be, in church.  We’re chosen for it, something you guys and dolls should appreciate, through a subtle nod and maybe even secret handshakes – I’m too young to know the adult side of it.  In my case and Josep’s, we think it was two of our uncles who arranged things, based on what happened in September of 1938.  In summary, not only were the boys vetted and filtered, so were the shepherds, and, if I can editorialize a little as we – I hope it’s still we – go along, when it came to picking the older teens and young men to tend the cattle and sheep in That Valley, the system worked rather well.  And let me say again here, near the beginning, that however scared I was on that first long climb, I came to love what happened, oddly enough, for its innocence, naturalness, and plain, outright physical beauty to eye as well as from the loins.  I’m not going into advertising in the unlikely event I live through this mess, and I’m not trying to sell you anything now.  I’m doing my best, and my three barracks mates will do theirs, to get you out and get you safe, at a cost that you may even one day see as not only an investment, but the best one possible under the circumstances.
       
       “That Valley is one-hundred kilometers south-east of Strasbourg, France, and  sixty from the Swiss border. The threat of the foreign whip makes men monsters, so it’s huge luck that we’re here in the south, now, because playing our little game for five-hundred kilometers would not be survivable for any of the fourteen of us, however copiously we gave of our strength and energy.  
       “I suppose it goes without saying that the rules in That Valley were all but nonexistent, and, in fact, it’s that very counterpoint to the usual Teutonic way that causes the whispering among the adults, with tiny leftovers shared with boys of eleven, my age, plus a few months, that’s when I made my visit, but what you might not suspect is that the regulations so open and inclusive that it was not just myself who was dry-mouthed and practically quaking in my boots on my first climb to the hills, but Nell, my nine year old sister.  Her mouth was dry, too, she said so.
       
       “Yes, we were hand in hand, and yes, Nell, well, you know, looks like the classic pictures of Heidi, straw hair in braids, gamin face you could take for a boy’s if she wore a cap, huge blue eyes, and, yes, she was wearing a simple linen shift, and in hiking boots.  I was in my boot,  tunic and leather shorts.  And yes, the story of the climb was not drawn out.  We heard Gustav’s herd – cows – twenty minutes after leaving the road, and met him ten minutes later.  
       
       
       “Well, you’re a fine pair,” the nineteen year old said as the nervous young couple approached, knapsacks on their backs.  The shepherd (and medical student) yodeled in welcome – ya-la-ri / ya-la-ra / ya-la-ri-ri-ri-ra –  and pulled bread that was actually warm from his rucksack, following it with both butter and cheese, which established the tall Nordic athlete’s credentials as civilized with the new arrivals.  Both Heinz and Nell were nonplussed at seeing their names molded into the crust of the golden loaf.  Gustav laughed at their wide-eyed surprise.  “And you thought there was nothing to tales of sylphs and sprites.  How remarkable.”
       
       The children grinned nervously.  “Not a bit of it, and you know it,” the London medical student said, “just a whisper here and a note there.  Very little chance involved, and no magic.  In fact, we’re together primarily because we all speak English, which may actually be a bit of magic.”
       
       “Well, you seem very nice,” Nell von Schlegel said, “and your cows seem happy.”
       “So ye be knowing about cows then, lassie,” Gustav said in an accurate brogue.
       “Well, I know they have to have company,” the girl said, her milky, early-summer skin flushing. “I mean, the girls at school talk, and the dragons go ever so far out of their way to keep us from the boys, so there must be something to it.”
       “Well, yes and no,” Gustav responded.  “In fact there’s so little to it, that in itself is one of the reasons children like you are sent to valleys like this.  Yes, for a fact, it can get in your head, the conflicts between teachings and feelings, but you’re the wrong age for that, what with algebra looming in you futures.  You don’t have time to worry and fret over this confusion and that enigma.  And that’s not to say it’s as simple dismissing it with ‘let’s have it over and done with, and eat,’ either.  That’s a bull’s approach, but you two look smarter than five hundred, each, of them, so it’s not just huff-huff and off the mountain.”
       “Good,” brother and sister said in unison, showing considerable relief.
       “Does that mean we can talk and ask questions?” the somewhat more precocious girl asked, her brother nodding at her side as they sat on the grass and gnawed on the hot, moist bread.
       “The more the merrier,” their guide said, “and, since this is my first time as a shepherd and you’re my first flock, I have a list to ask you.”
       “That would be an easier way to start,” Heinz allowed, his shadow nodding her agreement.
       
       “Well,” the Nordic beauty mused, “to begin with, it’s all downhill from here back to your camp and your family.  No questions are ever asked of children here, and no tales are ever told beyond those required to have kept That Valley functioning for eight hundred years through war and peace.  There are no fences, no chains, no doors, and no locks.  Even in a storm you can pass safely down to the road with naught but the sniffles for your adventure.  I hope that might answer some of you questions.”
       
       Hansel and Gretel nodded, visibly relaxing and settling back on their elbows, then moving apart and looking expectantly at their handsome guide, coaxing him to lie between them.
       
       “The big question is,” Gustav said, “and I know the answer already, or you wouldn’t be here, is how the two of you get along in the normal course of things.  How close you are.  How much you share and how much you fight, how much you help, and so on.  But I’d like to hear from you own lips how true this is, your good behavior, that is, and to the extend you can articulate it, how you feel about each other, and Heinz, it might pay for you to forget your sister’s slim legs sprouting from beneath her pretty dress, and the pretty dress, too, when you answer.”
       
       “I like her even in a house mop and barefoot; any way she’s dressed,” the boy said, flushing slightly at the obvious but unintended double-entendre.  Gustav let it slide.
       “And you, Nell?”
       “I love my big brother,” the girl responded.  “I think everyone can tell.”
       
       “Fine,” their guide said.  “Let’s review.  The camp site is hardly more than ten minutes away.  You’re strongly attached to each other in an affectionate and friendly way, the young female loving her older male escort.”
       Both nodded.
       “And that I suppose brings us to the more wicked side,” their teacher said, “questions about whether you have ever kissed or touched each other.  No restrictions on that in That Valley.  I heard from my predecessor that he had girls and boys with him over the last three years that had considerable experience from age seven, on, though most were virgins.  The rule is tell all simply because keeping secrets is a violation.  The logic isn’t perfect, but when it comes to rules, there has to be one to be the exception.”
       
       Neither child nodded.
       
       “Yes,” Gustav mused, “I don’t quite understand it, either.”
       “Then it must be emblematic of the whole country,” Heinz observed.
       “After telling you that you have a lucky sister,” the young man said, “I’ll agree, but also agree to keep out of it.  The issues deserve much talk with your family and around your table.  Here, we are free from all of it.  When the war escalates, it is probable that bombers from all the involved nations will circle That Valley so their crews can have a look down through the sights at what’s going on.  That closes the topic, if it can be done without making a rule.”
       
       Both children nodded in relief, trying not to smirk at their host’s absurd take on European-deployed air power.
       
       “Have you ever spied on each other?” was the next question.
       “I guess I wanted to,” Heinz said, “but…”
       “How would you have felt, Nell,” the young man asked, “if you’re brother had been successful?”
        “I think it would have happened pretty soon,” the girl replied, “because I kind of wanted the same thing and I kept feeling it stronger and stronger, and mother and father are very gentle and affectionate with us, so I felt they wouldn’t feed me to a wolf if they knew I was leaving my door a little open so Heinz could see me if he wanted to, because he must pass my room to get to his, and the bathroom.”
       “And how would you have felt, assuming you and your brother were alone in the house, if, having done what you said, you’d heard his nervous voice asking if he could come in.  Not: “Hey, sis, it’s me,” but, “Nell, is it okay if I come in for a little while?’”
       “I think I would have had to whisper,” the girl mused softly.
       “What words do you think you’d have used?” the query continued.
       “’Mother and father aren’t going to be back for an hour,’” the girl quoted.  
       “And if he’d suggested locking the door to your bedroom?”
       “I would have nodded because by then I don’t think I could have even whispered,” Nell replied, flushing beautifully.
       
       Gustav was not a demanding inquisitor, and the three lay back to watch the clouds sail over for several minutes, trusting, and letting wave after wave of raw anticipation wash over and half drown them.
       
       “Are you too scared to whisper now?” the nineteen year old asked.
       “Not as much as I’m going to be,” the girl managed to reply.
       “And I’m not as scared as I want to be,” her brother added.
       “Would it help if we stripped out of our boots and shoes and let the cattle tend to themselves for awhile?” the shepherd asked.
       “I think so,” both replied.
       
       There are many obvious advantages to advanced civilization, and some obscure ones.  That fact that wolves and bears had not frequented the skirts of these mountains for centuries, for example, allowed a shepherd to relax his vigilance from time to time.  Gustav sat up and began with his hiking boots.  “It will be aesthetic,” he said as his guests sat up to follow his example, “if you leave yours on.  Heinrich, my predecessor in this part of the valley said the contrasts between heavy leather footgear and a child’s pale, slim body is a major artistic realization, and, should a bear venture on the scene, why it would be nice to have someone well shod enough to run after it at full speed and not go limping along, hobbling on one foot, then the other.
       Both children new their friend was trying to be funny, and they appreciated it, but the sight of him now without his tunic, his powerful chest bare to them, left them too dry-mouthed to even smile, though the trusting glow in their young eyes provided a window on their momentarily stymied humanity.  Then the young man stood, letting his shorts and briefs fall to his ankles and stepping, naked, from them.  Not at all an exhibitionist, he nonetheless displayed, which made the staring children grasp each other’s hands and squeeze.  There was a massed power about his waist focused in the hard shaft standing high from under his flat belly that made Nell and Heinz gasp audibly.  If they were going to look artistic in their leather boots, their leader seemed to pull it off without any shoes at all.  He was beautiful, just past tenderly boyish and yet male enough to electrify the nine year old girl from her knees to her tummy.  Her brother felt about half what she did, but it was enough to dramatically tent his leather climbing shorts.
       
       Hands still linked behind his neck, the young medical student dropped to his knees, moving between the wide-eyed children in his charge.  “Would you like to help me?” he asked Nell, “because it’s going to be difficult pulling his shorts and underwear over his boots.  We may even have to take them off for a minute.”
       “And spoil my beautiful brother?” the girl thought to herself, saying nothing as she quickly shifted to the right hip of the boy, across from the fully developed stag that scared her to her toenails.  
       “I’ll do his shirt, and help you in a minute,” the young man suggested, the girl answering with her fingers at her brother’s now heaving waist.
       “Have you ever seen him bare chested?” Gustav whispered, as he undid the eleven year old’s first buttons.
       “Not for years,” the girl said, gazing intently as the older male finished his work and spread her older brother’s light, cotton shirt wide.  Instinctively, Heinz copied the instructor and moved his hands behind his head, enjoying, in a very nervous way, being stared at as much as he liked staring at the powerful, bare chested athlete and at least half as much as he knew he was going to love staring at his pretty sister’s bare girl chest.
       
       “Touch him if you want,” Gustav suggested, “and I’ll finish his shorts.”  The girl responded immediately, shifting to her brother’s right flank and looking into his blue eyes as her fingers found his panting chest and began the toboggan ride from child to girl.  As Gustav worked slowly with belt and buttons, her gaze flicked to his progress and back to the boy’s face time and again.  She toyed with his face, neck, and especially beautiful shoulders, his arms, his flanks, and his heaving preteen chest.  As his hips rose, helping the young man, she squeezed Heinz’s right shoulder with her left hand, ran her finger’s low on his flat belly, and stared as the shepherd pulled down his shorts, then his underpants, leaving him jutting five hard inches from his waist and within inches of his sister’s exploring fingers.  There was a struggle with the boots – any bear was going to have to take him as he came – but it lasted only a minute and then the mature eleven year old was naked but for the heavy leather and socks on his feet.
       
       Immediately, it was the girl’s turn, and she lay, scared but welcoming, as the males, the adult huddled over the nearly naked boy, opened her blouse, and began touching her panting chest.  Though nascent, Nell had both distinguishable mounds and budding nipples and would probably not have been mistaken for a boy her age, in the light or dark,  under any circumstances.  Her brother continues to fondle and caress her, both their eyes glowing, as the older male stripped her of her shift and underwear, guiding the latter carefully over her boots, and in less than five minutes had her as naked as her older brother.  Both males knelt at Nell’s feet and she shyly spread her legs and raised her knees.  Gustav excused himself for a minute and retrieved a Leica from his knapsack, carefully manhandling the naked children into various poses as he composed and took several photos, always seeming to contrast the heavy hide of their footwear with the delicate skin of their immature bodies.  Looking at each other, Heinz and Nell knew he was right, there was something visually engaging about it all, indefinable as it might be, and they cooperated fully in holding the various tableaux while he carefully steadied and operated the beautiful camera.
       
       How quickly they became used to it.  Their parents had never forbidden or chastised, just set a modest example which the children had happily followed.  Now all but naked together, with their handsome stallion of a teacher enhancing their faith in the future, they huddled against their naked man as he whispered to them.
       “Believe it or not,” (and it does strain credulity), he said, “we have an appointment.”
       “But we want to stay with you,” Nell said.
       “The three of us, pet,” the man soothed, “I’ll be with you as long as you want.”
       “Where?” Heinz asked.
       “Half a mile from here, in the forest,” Gustav replied, “and we should set off about now.”  He stifled any further questions with a kind look into each puzzled face, took a child by each hand  (camera around his neck), and they circled the cows then headed into the woods, the males remaining hugely erect as they made their way.
       
       “The objective of this excursion,” the shepherd explained as they walked, child on each side of the man, “is to teach girls, and, to a certain extent, boys, about the beauty of the mature male at its most absolute.”
       “You’re absolute,” Nell observed, “and Heinz is about an inch away.”  (She used the English measurement as x centimeters or millimeters was overly scientific and underrly poetic for the occasion.)
       “Thank you,” Gustav blushed, “but I’m afraid I won’t be able to accept the compliment until you repeat it on the return trip.”
       “Then give us some hints,” Heinz suggested.
       “You’ll be happy that I didn’t in about five minutes,” their leader laughed.  “But I can tell you there’s nothing new under the sun, at least in this case, that it’s been part of That Valley tradition for eons, that there’s no initiation, you know, with hazing and that nonsense, and that it will give you a secret to tell the right partner at the right time for the rest of your lives.”
       “Are we allowed to have two?” the schoolgirl asked, apparently thinking in terms of strudel.
       Gustav laughed, hugged her slim, bare shoulders, and whispered: “hush.”
       
       Scant minutes brought them to a clearing with a large, enclosed pen at its center.  Children brought up on tales of forest witches could hardly help but shudder at the heavily crafted log structure, and Gustav was especially gentle as he lead them closer to a heavy wooden door at one end of the edifice.  He knocked and in a few moments the door opened.  Josep, Heinz’s age emerged and sat on the edge of the small porch attached to the building.  “We’ve fed him the right herbs,” he said to Gustav, “we found plenty of all of them.  It’s okay to come in.”
       
       “Fairy tales can come true, it could happen to you, if you’re young at heart.”  It doesn’t fit the time frame, but so accurately describes the eleven and nine year olds it earns its place.
       
       “The herbs are to calm him,” Gustav reassured his puzzled charges.  “Heinz, you know Josep from town, he speaks English, and that’s why he’s here.”  The boys nodded to each other and smiled.  “I know him, too,” Nell added, no frown on her pretty face.  “He was in That Valley last season and seemed to have an instinctive way with the buck, so that’s another reason he’s here as our host.”
       
       Neither head nodded.
       
       “Call it,” Gustav said, “the most sophisticated fertility rite ever performed by any culture, and, with that as an introduction, it might pay us to go inside and see what all the fuss is about.”
       
       Both heads nodded, they dropped from the porch, climb the steps, and Josep swung the heavy door.  Inside was lighted by torches.  Trussed and mounted in the center of the room was a young six-point male deer, very, very much alive.  The beautiful animal was positioned with his forelegs three feet off the ground, and a cot covered in red silk was positioned directly beneath the powerful animal’s body.  Without a word of coax ing or suggestion of enticement, Nell moved to the cot and lay on her back, heavy boots planted securely on the just-wide-enough improvised bower.  Gustav and Heinz knelt on red silk pillows at the girl’s left flank while Josep looped his left arm over the animal’s lower back and began fondling the three year old animal with his right hand, finally fully exposing the beast’s massive, pink erection.  Their host held the animal hard against his base, freezing his hand rigidly in place to give his handsome guests time to catch up with themselves.  The heavy breathing eased after some minutes – acclimatization – but still no one spoke.  What in the world was there to say if you were sharing the very center of the world?
       
       And after a quarter hour, it happened in near silence.  Josep began masturbating the beautiful animal, the heavy breathing returned, and after five minutes the five hundred pound animal’s hot, white seed began at first splashing, then steadied into a fast, hard pulse as Josep resumed his iron grip at the base of the steed.  Nell was at first slicked by the wild spurting, then covered from her face to her thighs, first with ounces of hot, wild semen, then four teacups full.
       
       When, after two minutes, it was over, Josep gently tended the animal, releasing him, and leading him to the porch where he jumped to the grass and thudded into the woods.  In moments the older boy returned, and, standing at Gustav’s right hip he slicked his hand on Nell’s deeply puddle belly and began masturbating the tall, powerful athlete.  In a minute the leader’s sperm was splashing on the nine year old’s bare chest, and that went on almost a full minute.  The host male then guided Heinz to his sister, wet both male and female with the feral semen, and guided the boy as he mounted the by now wriggling and entirely welcoming child.  In five minutes the eleven year old was fully inside his kid sister and his buttocks dimpled rhythmically with his mating.  When, panting wantonly, he froze rigidly against the child, everyone in the room could imagine what was happening high between her long slim legs with their heavy leather boots.
       
       Nell had her firs climax with Josep, the experienced thirteen year old bringing her to screaming cliffs three times before he froze hard and slack faced against her, eyes glazed, as she passed out.  When she came to, a minute later, Gustav was fully mounted.  She grabbed with arms and legs, Josep hurriedly fitting a flash to the Leica, and clawed and screamed the more, her boots bather the young adult’s buttocks, for half an hour before he released, holding her still as death, a torrent of fresh, not seed deep inside her.
       
       So, at parties, church, hunts, and social gatherings, the whispering has gone on for nearly a thousand year.  Whispers about That Valley.
       
       
THAT VALLEY – END FILE I


THAT VALLEY – FILE II


	The second thump of a landing rock was comfortably closer.  Again, the strapping fourteen year old tried not to smile.  There was too much hideous in anything to do with Nazi humor.  

       “You know Reyn as well as Josep and me.  His is a mountain story, too, but it involves skiing and a blizzard.  He was thirteen, two years ago, and out with his seven year old sister, Gretchen.  
       
       “Are we going to be safe?” the by now worried young athlete asked her equally fit older brother.
       “You’ll be in scouts in another year, and you won’t have to ask a question like that,” Reyn replied, “we’re in the woods, it’s March so it won’t last too long, and I know how to build anything you might like short of a castle on the Rhine.”
       “Well, I’m glad you have that hatchet,” the girl allowed.
       “And food, and matches, and guess-what about the water and firewood.”
       “It’s still scary,” the girl said, and, indeed, it was a mere hour until dark.  Only there would be no dark.  The boy gave the girl his heavy sheath knife and taught her which bark to trim, while he lopped off dozens of branches quickly dragging them to a bare spot on the floor of the late winder forest.  Chopping, trimming, and more chopping and a six-foot lean-to appeared, complete with a bed of saplings and boughs, and a six foot long pile of kindling and semi-dry logs lay three feet from the opening of the improvised shelter.  A child could see that the improvised camp would be as warm and cozy – at least – as a bed at home. 
       
       “It’s not going down to below twenty [F.] or so at this time of year,” the boy observed and by now his sister was smiling warmly at him, and not for the first time. They melted snow and dined on buttery bread with cheese.  It got dark, the fire of more beauty with each passing minute, and then they were very much at home.
       “If you did build a castle,” the wry pixie asked her brother, “would you want me to be a princess or a queen?”   Something – everything – in the seven year old’s voice bid the boy think hard.  It did no good, the harder he thought, well, let’s leave something up to the imagination.
       “What would you want to be?” he asked in return, voice, where was his voice?
       “Think about it,” the girl coaxed, “the two of us alone together in a grand palace.  Would you want me to be your sister, the princess, or the queen, your…”
       “I guess I’m catching up a little,” the boy said, “but since everyone would say the same thing, I guess that’s what I would want.”
       “No me,” the vixen chirped.  “If they ever think of something to rhyme with ‘no way’, then I’ll use it, but, meantime, I know what I’d want, I’d want to be your wife, your queen, every day and every night.”
       
       There was a long silence.
       
       “I’d want that to,” the now intensely agitated boy finally was able to whisper.  “I guess I would have wanted that when you were four and I was nine, maybe a year later.”
       “Funny how that fits,” the girl responded.  “Almost like we’re brother and sister, same track, same train.”
       “I know what you mean,” the boy stammered, “but the thing is you’re so young, months before you’re seven, and, you know, kinda not the biggest girl in your class, which will probably change one of these days, because I’m the biggest boy in my class.”
       “In the shower, too,” Gretchen whispered.
       “I guess so, but that doesn’t mean anything.”
       “It may not but it does now,” the girl said, perhaps a trifle cryptically.  
       “What it really means, Gretchen,” Reyn said, “is that even if we believe we can be outside the code in a secret or at least in a private manner, there would still by physical problems, you know, trying to be husband and wife.”
       “But I’m an athlete,” the girl said, “parallel bars, vaulting horse, mat, you know, splits all the time.  I’m not some angelic cake decoration, and I could break your nose with one swing.”
       “Are you really serious about it or just kidding around?” the thirteen year old said.
       “About loving you, serious, but I don’t want to put you on the spot.  Your morals are as important to you as your heart and head and I don’t want to tamper.  But serious?  About loving you?  Shakespeare couldn’t do me justice.  I rage with passion for you as I fall asleep and eat, drink, and breathe it all day long.  Since we read and study a lot at home, it hasn’t made a difference in my schoolwork, but unless we are married as best we can be I can’t promise a single thing about next year or, for that matter, avoiding trolley wheels with any particular care.”
       
       More long moments they sat.  “Plus,” the girl whispered at last, “even if we hated each other, we have to stay warm under just the blankets in our knapsacks.”  Reyn had been thinking exactly the same thing.
       “I should build another shelter,” he said, “in case, you know, you change your mind.  You talked about not putting me on the spot, and I think you should have a spot refuge.  From what I’ve heard, when a boy gets to a certain point, he can’t, you know, stop, even if she wants him to.”
       “When I start crying and sobbing, you start building,” Gretchen responded, making her brother chuckle with a delight not totally inspired by laziness.
       
       “Hi,” they whispered to each other, and it’s difficult to chronicle love more succinctly.
       “Do you know about the physical part?” the older brother asked tenderly.
       “Frogs seem to have it best,” she replied, “even the next day.  I’ve seen that much.  How about you?  What’s your story?”
       
       Don’t you just dread it when someone says “story” in one of my books?
       
       “I’ve always wanted to tell you,” the bother said, and in the fire’s blaze she could see him color.
       “And I’m guessing here,” the cutie observed, “nothing to do with frogs or toads.”
       “Thanks,” the boy said with a trace of a laugh, “that makes it easier.”
       “Can part of it be talking?” she wanted to know, “I mean sharing something secret, you know, in detail.”
       “Yes,” Reyn said.
       “Perfect answer.”
       “Thanks.”
       “I’m not in a playful mood,” Gretchen noted, “but even so it seems like a game of twenty questions might, you know, be suitable, only I’ll begin by assuming your secret has nothing to do with the size of a breadbox.”
       The boy nodded, and, spontaneously, both children removed their boots and eased out of their heavier hiking clothes, settling,  lightly dressed, side by side, lying on their backs under their thin blankets.  They were very comfortable.
       
       “Don’t you think it will still hurt?” the boy asked when they’d half caught their breaths.
       “Don’t you think changing the subject might get you hurt?” Gretchen shot back with a delightful giggle.
       “Okay,” he mock-sighed, “ask your questions.”
       “She or he?”
       “Damn,” the boy answered, “second grade isn’t like it was when I was a kid.”
       “Girls and boys both have secrets,” the child observed, “and some of them are excellent, and some of them are about boys and boys.  I all comes across as being very natural, so much so, it got me to wondering if you could be a kid without at least something happening.”
       
       She did have a way of looking at things.
       
       “It wasn’t a boy,” Reyn said.  “Anyway, he was nineteen, and it’s hard to measure at that age, because a nineteen year old in college or with a steady job is a man, while lots of others are still kind of boys, plus, it depends how they look; boyish or mannish.  Darl was very boyish, in that way, but a champion skier, which made him a man.”
       “Is this going where I think it is?” the razor sharp seven year old asked.
       “Twenty questions?” her brother murmured, “you’ll have the grail, Judge Crater from the States, and the “Titanic”, longitude and latitude to the tenth of a second before we get to number six.”
       “Twenty questions,” the pixie responded, “and you’ll be trying to explain to your little – almost baby – sister, how it happens we’re stuck in a blizzard, off skies, when something happened with you, on skies.”
       “Couldn’t you ask at least one more,” Reyn mock-sighed.
       “So it’s all true?” but how little surprise there was in her voice.
       “We got sidetracked by a snowstorm,” the boy said.  “We could tell it was local and would pass in a couple of hours, we were well equipped, hatchet, food, matches and blankets.”
       “And just to top off this little wedding cake of ours,” the girl said in as mysterious a voice as a female can conjure up, “you’ve been trading with me to borrow the radio for the last week.  With all it’s weather reports.”
       “If there was a question there I missed it,” the boy said.
       “My only one is to wonder if any girl in the world ever had more of a brother than you are.  Lord, I don’t want to wait for my wedding night, I want to be able to whisper stories to the devil and end up totally raped in the bargain.  I can tumble and dance, and read, which is the important thing, but a bear could get us tonight, and I don’t want to die with those as sum lifetime accomplishments.”
       
       “We just moved a hundred yards off the trail, you know, when it really started coming down.”
       “Did you suspect anything?” Gretchen asked.
       “Maybe a little,” the boy admitted, “because we could have made it to the road.  Thanks for the question.”
       “How much?” the girl, amply rewarded, continued.
       “More scared than anything else,” Reyn recalled.  “Because I guess you could say there had been some tension.  It was my fault, I kept wanting to be near him, and, you know, the other boys were always around and they like being with him, too.  So he had to maybe push me a little away.”
       “Oh, god, this is so predictable,” again, with a mock-sigh, hard to pull off when one is panting openly, “he suddenly bought a radio.”
       “That’s the first thing we did alone together,” the boy acknowledged, trying to keep a look of hopelessness from his eyes, not that there was any hope, but just for form’s sake.
       “Men,” she half panted.
       “So, anyway,” Reyn went on, “I didn’t connect the radio like an almost too-bright someone I know, and I more thought he wanted to talk to me, maybe about the team.”
       “And how long did that last?” the girl said, now doing well as an interlocutor.
       “Before we got ten feet from the trail,” the boy replied, “he said he wanted to talk about something personal with me, not about anything even partly official, and if I wasn’t in the mood for conversation, or if I had any special reason to be back in town, we could still make the road safely.”
       
       “That would have made it so he’d have had to carry me,” the tomboy said.
       “I just stopped in my tracks,” the boy responded, ignoring the fact his pretty sister hadn’t formed her statement as a question.
       “Did his voice get like yours is?”  There, back on track.
       “That was the first thing that made me feel something and made something, you know, happen.”
       “With, you know, what fat men can’t see…?”
       “Kinda.”
       “Well, I feel it too,” Gretchen said, “in everything you say.  Feel it more than hear it.  All over but mostly, you know…”
       Indeed.
       
       “So what did he say next?” was the following question.
       “He came up close behind me, his skies between mine, and took my hat off and kissed me on top of the head.”
       “Maybe I shouldn’t interrupt with any more questions,” the little prodigy observed.
       “It took a long time to happen,” her brother responded, “and then it went on and on, so there was plenty of time for questions, then, and since it’s only seven in the evening, and we haven’t  hiked far enough to wear chalk of a goat’s hoof, I guess it’s the same, now.”
       “Meaning he talked with you?”
       “Well, it’s kind of hard to explain.  First, I was really happy just finally – finally – being really alone with him, so I didn’t feel like saying much.  He was scared because he might scare me.  A couple of times he asked me if I wanted to ski down into the valley, and I said no.  Then he started quizzing me, just like you, asking me if I’d ever spent time in private with a man and how I’d feel if we happened to be alone together in the gym and both wanted to take showers at the same time, or if we were hiking and found a nice pool and wanted to swim but didn’t have suits.”
       
       “That would wipe civilization out for me,” the girl mused.
       “Looking at things your way,” Reyn said, “I see clearly enough, in retrospect, that I had, as he questioned me, not a thought in my head about home, hearth, town band, or the dark side of the moon.”
       “Did you know it used to be two thousand miles away,” the girl said, “now it’s over a hundred times that far, a few inches a year.  Think what a giant thing that would have been to see.  Man would have never had to develop any art or clean up anything.”  What WOULD piles of dirty dishes and laundry matter with such a nightly presence?  She had her point.
       “He kissed you on the head…”
       “He didn’t overdo the caveats and cautions,” the boy said.  “I mean, it’s hard to explain.  He wasn’t urgent or demanding, or evasive and contriving, but I guess all of them together.  Not casual or matter-of-fact, but both of them.  I though it was going to be without words, but after he’d kissed me again, and I just remained still, he whispered that he wanted to take me in the woods about a quarter mile, build a fire, and engage in homosexual activities for two hours, and if that’s what I wanted to happen, I should proceed, which is what I did as soon as I had enough strength in my legs, and I could feel him shaking, too, to do so without falling on my face.”
       
       “Best race I ever heard of,” Gretchen said.
       
       “I guess the outcum was never in doubt,” the mildly experienced boy thought to himself., chagrined he didn’t dare say it to his witty kid sister (but kind of proud of himself, too).  “Of course,” he did say, “I was in pretty good shape from all the cross-country and herringbone climbs, so we weren’t in any danger of our skies growing roots into the ground as soon as the spring thaw took hold.”
       
       “Since growing roots is what it’s all about,” the girl, a bit of a locker room veteran, even if physically naïve, mused to herself, as her brother had done, “I don’t know why you went anywhere.”  Aloud, the child asked what kind of words the two used.
       “I guess the kind of formal and polite ones,” Reyn replied.
       “I think I like them, too,” Gretchen mused, “even if they’re sort of squishy and dipsy-doodle compared to the words the working-class girls use when they come to the gymnasium.”
       “Same with boys, but I guess you’ve figured that out on your own,” he responded.  “Somehow the vulgar terms trivialize it, strip away the love and don’t even leave affection.”
       “Maybe they think it’s sloppy enough without being sentimental,” the girl noted, “but I still wonder if, you know, maybe one word couldn’t be used with someone really special to make it a little more animal.”
       “Jens Strass said his little cousin used it, she’s your age, and the word, coming from such an innocent mouth, got him really excited.”
       “So you wouldn’t mind if I tried it once?” the pixie wanted to know.
       “In the right time, place, and circumstance,” Reyn allowed.
       “I’m thinking in terms of eight o’clock, seeing as it’s just after seven,” she responded.
       “So you want to know everything that happened after we built the fire?”
       “Unless he said anything while you were moving away from the trail,” the girl replied.
       
       “Well,” Reyn said, “Darl’s kind of a prodigy.  I mean you know him as a coach and for skiing, but he’s almost ready to take his degree in theology, even though he’s nineteen.  I mean, yes, I like being around him because he’s attractive, what they call cute in the States, but even more, because he makes sense of things.  So, yes, we did talk quite a bit as we poled our way through the woods.  First, he admitted right out that he was the devil’s disciple, not in the sense of bringing misery and ruin, but in the sense of preventing a dominate spirituality and fait spoil your life.  Since he knew about wicked, he was able to draw the fangs of wicked, thereby reducing it to a pet.  He didn’t strain the analogy, just pointed out that boys are attracted to pets of all danger levels, and the secret was finding one that excited you but didn’t poison you.”
       “That’s pretty good,” Gretchen nodded.
       “I guess if something happens with us tonight,” Reyn went on, “we’ll have sort of a pet within a pet.  The fierce one, doing, the tame one, talking.”
       “I hope they’re tortoises,” the seven year old said, “so they both live a long time.”
       “Well this is the best night of my life,” Reyn said, “so I hope you’re right.”
       “It’s the best of mine, too,” the sister agreed, “and it even feels like we should surely die of being together, fair being fair, and not that we can be together from now on and until we get married, and even after that if we find the right partners for not-quite-wholly-wedlocked matrimony.”
       “What if we end up with each other?” he asked.
       “It would be a laugh,” the girl allowed, and that did it for both the siblings, motivated and inspired as they were in their efforts to restore straight faces in honor of the occasion, and bring to it the very dignity they censured others for lacking by virtue(?) of crude expression.  As engagements go, it was a good one, and they returned to the story at hand.
       
       “Too much philosophy is far worse than none at all,” Darl said as they reached a clearing in the forest and automatically went about the task of making a fire.  “I mean if the wigs don’t agree, what can there be to it beyond entertainment?  With it, you have anarchy, every man an ideological island, and without it the regimentation to build a pyramid.  There is no philosophy of no philosophy, anyone who stands rock solid and denies the least vestige emphatically, therefore if there is no not, how can there be anything to measure against it, or, more philosophically, where do you start measuring, since there is no not?  A hundred cults with a thousand offshoots, but it’s all just a hairball, rooted not in nothing.  Every mandrake among them gets up to speak, none say there is none, all say mine is best.”
       “I hope it doesn’t get worse,” Reyn said to his athletic older companion.
       “Nineteen-thirty-eight is not the year to talk about things not getting worse,” the theologian responded, intriguing his young friend with an actual bite of his hard cracker.
       “You don’t say,” the boy quipped in response.
       
       The fire was soon blazing and the coach and skier removed their knapsacks, retrieved their blankets, and sat on a fallen tree.  Reyn, a boy generous at heart, wished every youth his age could share such an experience, and it is likely Darl felt the same.  They remained nervously motionless for some minutes.  “Do you do things with other boys,” the eleven year old whispered.
       “I’ve wanted to,” Darl replied, “maybe three times, but I’ve always been too young to be where I was, drawing extra attention and a plentitude of scrutiny.  Nothing happened to me in my youth except this: when I moved into a certain dorm room there was a long letter taped under the drawer in the desk – I don’t know how long it had been there, and never tried to trace it.  It was written by a boy your age to a friend of his, my age, now.  It beat twenty novels for its insight into affection, love, and reality, on top of which it was graphic to the extreme.  Since the practical, real, friendly love in the letter exceeded all I had read, seen, heard, or knew, that letter utterly changed me and made me, an agonistic, into a devil whose work it would be to plumb the depths of the religion which forbad this love, first to learn it, then to work toward destroying it in the name of Frank and Marshall, the child and young man in the letter.”
       
       “And girls?” 
       “I have a special girl and we’re both keen on being married, but between school and skiing we’ve had little difficulty maintaining a chaste relationship.  In other words, none.”
       “Are you nervous?”
       “I think that’s why I said so specifically what I wanted for us,” Darl replied, “I mean inviting a boy into the woods for ‘homosexual activities’ is not the phraseology of someone who knows what they’re doing.  I’m lucky the police aren’t half way up here by now.”
       “I feel sorry for them,” the boy responded.
       “Who?” the young adult asked.
       “The police,” Reyn said.
       “Yes,” the coach sighed, “there was much in the letter like that.  People – not just Frank and Marshall – just sort of up and, you know, falling madly in love; a witty phrase, a droll comment, a silly aside, yes, according to them it can happen just like that.”
       “Just like that?” the boy responded, gently snapping his fingers in Darl’s face, eyes glowing.
       “Before that,” the man assured the boy.
       
       “Do you know what to teach me from the letter?”
       “In theory,” Darl whispered, “but look at all the theories in theology “  He managed a nervous smile, warming the boy’s heart till it was a twin of the blaze three feet away.
       “If you make lots of mistakes, won’t you learn by them?” Reyn the Gracious asked.
       “I just use old-fashioned words,” the scholar said, “as in the letter.  I’d like to have you look at my penis.”
       “Do you want to look at mine, too?” the child whispered.  
       “Yes,” Darl said.  Looking into each other’s eyes they busied themselves under their blankets, then pulled them aside.  Darl stood neatly eight inches from his uniform pants, Reyn almost six.  It was cool enough the re-covered themselves after a minute.  “You’re beautiful,” they tripped in unison, too nervous to emit other than an unintended soft bark of laughter.
       
       “Do you do things in bed at night?” the young man asked, “masturbate?”
       “Yeah, the kids are always talking about it, I mean they call it ‘jerking-off’ right? but I don’t think most of them know how to really do it, either.”
       “Since my objective in life is to do what I can to divert the resources squandered on organized, industrial religion,” Darl replied, “I decided I had to take one trip on their track and not do it, even though, after reading the letter, I’m pretty sure I know how.  What I don’t know is whether character, pseudo-character, or perversity is the underlying factor.”
       “But you CAN learn from mistakes, right?” the boy said, “I mean I wasn’t wrong about that.”
       “Too vague,” the older male replied; “four years of mistakes and twenty years later, four more, to understate the probable coming reality, considerably.”
       
       “But doesn’t that make the case?” the boy wanted to know, “these are jackrabbits in combat boots, you’re the greatest student at Heidelberg in fifty years.  Simple logic says if they can’t learn through error, you must be able to.”
       “The paradox,” the young man mused, “is that you are so massive in learning from whatever the opposite of a mistake is, that, according to your logic, our relationship is at least problematic.”
       “Then maybe we’d better start making mistakes instead of musing over them,” the boy suggested.
       “If the letters are accurate,” Darl responded, “it’s going to be very, well, there’s really no other word than ‘messy’ than ‘sloppy’, and  neither fits.  There may be a great deal of fluid of a particular appearance and consistency and we must be careful no undetected splatter gives us away, though, from the letters, in an emergency it’s possible it could be excused as mucus from the nose, assuming, of course, there was just a trace.”
       “Then we can roll in the snow and inspect each other,” the boy noted, to his companion’s nod.
       “It’s meant to happen with me first,” the man quoted on, “because there may be a letdown after it happens with a boy your age, and if that happens, if you suddenly feel cold about it, it wouldn’t be good for me to be splashing you.”
       “I understand,” Reyn whispered.
       “There’s some writing concerning the lips and tongue,” the instructor pointed out, “I guess if kind of boils down to two things.  First, it is tempting, if you really like your partner, to use your mouth on his penis, to buck your head up and down, listening for encouragement.  This is fine for experienced boys, but the two hazards face a virgin.  First, the adult may not be able to advise the child of the incipient ejaculation because the approach is so exciting, an adult often can’t speak.  Second, the semen of the adult has a strong, salty flavor.  A boy your age, to be agricultural about it, has a mild and lightly salty seed, by all accounts, a hot joy to the tongue.  A male my age, maybe not, maybe too intense.  Therefore, if you want to experiment with your lips and tongue this first time, you might get a sudden rush of heavy, slimy semen in your mouth.  All of these are in the mistakes department, so, if you wish to test your theory, letting it happen that way might be the way to learn.”
       “Can I make that one next time?” Reyn asked.  “I really want to watch it happen, especially if it happens with you first.”
       “I want to watch, too,” the older male agreed, “and I want to take at least some of yours on my tongue.  Would that be okay?”
       “Yes,” the boy replied.
       “And there’s another thing to talk about,” Darl continued, “and remember I said it’s probably going to be messy, so, what I need to know is if you’d like me to spill on your belly and thighs, or mine, while you watch.”
       “Mine,” the boy said.
       “Then,” he went on, “there’s the way we become fully aroused.  We can do it by ourselves while we watch each other, or we can use our hands on each other, which the letter emphasized is the better way.”
       “But we’ll still be able to watch if we do that, right?” the boy said.
       
       “Yes,” his friend said.  Both sat a few moments close, side-by-side, Reyn on his teacher’s left.  The older male was the first to lower his blanket and expose himself.  Reyn shifted slightly on the fallen tee trunk and moved his hand to the nineteen year old.  Instinctively, he slowly pulled down the athlete’s heavy foreskin, exposing the hot pink/purple of his swollen, glistening glans.  The fluid was pretty obvious, and he spread it, then began stroking up and down, quickly responding to the throbbing heat in his hand and setting up a muscular rhythm.”
       “Open your coat and pull up your shirt,” Darl whispered, “and hold me against you so it will all get on your bare skin.”  Using his left hand the boy complied, finally moving to his right and crouching between his stag’s legs, masturbating him hard and fast, holding him against his own panting body.  A minute passed, both males staring avidly at the pink slash of the boy’s bare skin and the purple, feral maleness pressed hot and slick against it.  Darl braced the boy, allowing him to use booth his by now avid hands.  It went on for four minutes.  “I’m cumming,” the nineteen year old managed to grunt, and then both stared as one thick gush of semen after another pumped from the adult’s straining body all over the bare front of the eleven year old boy.
       “Can I taste a little before you put snow on it?” Reyn whispered.  Darl leaned to him, wet is tongue, then faced the child.  The boy stuck out his and they experimented.
       “It’s nice,” was the youngster’s opinion, and he nodded as the older male returned to his white, slick belly.  A little at a time the man got the boy used to him, but finally the weather became a factor and, rubbing the young skier with a handful of snow, the man helped him secure his clothes, fastened his own, and they returned to their respective positions in front of the fire to warm up.
       “I though, you know, it would go away while you were cleaning me,” the boy flushed.
       
       “You didn’t get back to normal at all as far as I could tell,” Darl admitted, “and I guess I take that as a supreme compliment.”
       “That’s still inside me,” Reyn responded, “just like your was.”
       “So you liked it?”
       “Offer me an Olympic medal,” the youngster replied, “and I’d have to blow my head of for want of being able to decide which I’d rather have a dozen of.  Times with you, or silver and gold.  I loved it.  It was the most beautiful thing I’ve ever imagined.  If girls had, you know, a third eye and could watch what an adult was doing inside their bellies, there wouldn’t be a virgin over six on the entire planet.”
       “That would solve so many problems,” Darl agreed, “that we’d become extinct in three generations due to overpopulation.”
       “And your sister is?”
       
       “Three,” the boy replied, “but Nell’s a tiny thing.  We’re going to have to wait.”
       “Take a little very friendly advice then,” the theology student suggested, “and don’t wait too long.  Use a little pressure, as I did with you.  To miss being with her as we were just together, and as I’m soon going to be with you, would be a tragedy, and it’s worth the risk of a negative outcome.”
       “She likes to ski, already,” the boy noted as they quickly began to warm up in front of the well-crafted fire.
       “That’s likely to be a plus,” the adult agreed, “but think of it this way.  Thin ice, with a perhaps paradoxically green pasture on the far side of the river.  In other words, a lot to be gained, but a substantial risk involved in obtaining it.  You have to move cautiously across the ice, but if you freeze, stand jittery and shivering in one spot, you certainly won’t reach the pasture, and you may fall through.  Any bold display and stomping advance, and you’ll very likely fall through.”
       “What if she makes a bold advance in my direction?” Reyn asked.
       “Then be sure of your ice,” Darl advised.  “Some parents and member of that generation are very tolerant of illicit ‘goings-on’, even encourage them directly or indirectly, while in other families the knowledge could cast a spell – a curse, if you will – that might last for generations or even prevent generations, boy in military school, girl in a convent.  In fact,” he continued, “be very careful that nothing happens for the sake of the thrill, for sake of indulging in taboo just because it’s wrong.  This is not to say that you need be madly in love, but that there should be an underlying flow of affection and companionship – friendship and respect.  Doing it for the thrill, like breaking into an empty house when you have no need of shelter, well, I doubt we’d be together if I thought you were cheap goods of that nature.  And remember this, if you choose: you can be happy and fulfilled without anything of the nature occurring.  I’ve been.  Yes, I yearned a time or two over the years, but then I went back to my book or my skies and the feeling passed.  If you get a lot done every day you’ll find yourself hard pressed to worry about those events which did not happen.  On the other side of that coin, if she proved predatory, demanded constant attention, wanted what we’re sharing incessantly, and this is not impossible – perhaps I’m thinking of you as an older brother and how I’d feel – think how you’d respond to what might be the biggest nuisance imaginable.   That’s why adult activities are proscribed for children.  They may favor them to a degree that precludes other important facets of the young life: study, hobbies, reading, sports and friends come quickly to mind.  In a wealthy and tolerant family, perhaps there could be an ideal wherein a brother and sister shall we say had their own private room and spent a lot of time there, but all you have to do in this world is stand still to miss out, lie still to miss even more.  Doing so might make a glorious weekend, but it would also make for a sad year, never to be recovered.  And I don’t mean to be discouraging.  I’m in favor of your mating with Nell, as soon as possible.  The world is not going to get better before it becomes profoundly worse, and, to be frank about if, if your pretty little sister ends up a toy of the Russians it may stand her in good stead to be able to remember a gentle, sweet, glowing brother.”
       
       “Can a boy make a baby in his sister?” the eleven year old wanted to know.
       “As easily as any other male can,” the scholar replied, “starting when she’s twelve or thirteen, that kind of depends.”
       “Would the child come out all strange?”
       “Well,” the man said, “if your parents are related and perhaps your grandparent there’d probably be a strong chance of at least crooked teeth.  If they all brought fresh blood to their relationships the chance of you and Nell producing a defective child is only fractionally more likely than any conventional couple doing so.  At the dawn of human history there must necessarily have been a very high degree of inbreeding, and we survived.  The common house cat is much the same as it was a thousand year before Christ, and cats breed indiscriminately with their close relatives.  It’s too controversial a subject to be researched rationally and objectively – empirically – but the letter alluded to secret research that suggested incest might even be a vector in producing prodigies, savants, and geniuses; favorable genes pooling rather than unfavorable ones that might cause retardation and physical problems.  Not that there’s anything inherently wrong with a snaggle-toothed retarded child.  In fact they tend to be most enjoyable company, and often find a niche as good as anyone’s when they grow up.  Since our National Socialist leaders seem pretty far gone on science, there are probably sophisticated experiments going on at this time.  Who knows, one the one percent chance we dominate after the war, edicts very much in favor of you and Nell may become accepted policy and even law.  Even mass societies can change almost overnight as has happened with religion time and again.  How would you feel if there was a law that said you HAD, for the fatherland, to marry your sister.”
       
       “Great,” the boy replied, “but I don’t suppose Hans Fenkel would feel the same about his fat, disagreeable little sister.”
       “Yes,” Darl nodded, “and lots of boys have older sisters, or none.”
       
       They were warm enough now to stop theorizing, working with their minds toward a better world, re-arranging things so boys would stay home, oblivious to brass buttons by virtue of pink ones, and let wars and conflicts wither on the vine, and, finally, establishing a right that would last a thousand years.  Nor did the fire get all the credit.  Talk of spawning; friendly, handsome brothers with adoring, wriggling little sisters was, of and by itself, incendiary.  Without further words, they moved again together.  Reyn stood, instinctively spreading wide his long, muscular skier’s legs ad the nineteen year old dropped to his knees and moved in front of the child.  The boy’s penis was jutting from the thick wool and leather of his uniform, a modest show of his soft, babyish skin forming at backdrop for his hard, uncircumcised near-adult boner.  A trace of blond silk over the boy gave Darl to know, from his reading, that his climax would be hot, hard, and wet.  He blew softly on Reyn, two hands almost clapping gently on his head in response.  Blew more, then touched, then licked, ensuring the grip of the young boy.  With his right hand the teacher fondled the preteen, immediately stimulating the child to young manhood, swelling him a full inch.  “How lucky a girl, to do with him as she pleased,” the older male mused as he gently pulled back his student’s foreskin, “and why in the name of all that’s holy should anyone object to this gentle, friendly play among consenting partners of any age and relationship?”  Yes, it made no sense.  Let them become lust-crazed, drooling zombies, as they never had in history, and then come out with the laws and statutes, to solve a problem.  Meantime, throw the laws out.  Leff people lone, as they say in the writer’s adopted country.  
       
       He cupped Reyn with his left hand, big and heavy, according to the letter, for eleven, pulled the sexy foreskin gently to the base of the shank, looked a long time, blew softly, kissed, licked, and very gently engulfed.  The boy’s hands went rigid and the flow of his hot sperm began immediately, pumping almost savagely from deep within his shaking body again and again.  His semen was a boiling, full-flavored nectar, slightly saline, at first copious then massive in quantity, spurt, spurt, spurting wildly for a full half minute before it eased to a tantalizing flow, and finally a few drips and none.
       
       They mated again three times, fully, happily, and contentedly, each wondering the while at the natural feeling of it all and powerful glad they had not waited another freaking minute.  The snow flurry eased, they just skied off and left the fire, a privilege of the winter camper, and returned to the valley, little the worse for wear from their ordeal.
       

[The writer has about twenty stories on Nifty under various pen names, many with politically insensitive commentary.]

“THAT VALLEY” – END FILE I

Posted by Thomas@btl.net

xxx






“THAT VALLEY” – FILE II


       “Why did you wait until I was seven?” Nell asked Reyn.
       “What happened at the end,” the boy explained, “happened a lot because we didn’t need to be naked together to share it.  What I mean is, it happened the other way, too, with him standing over me.  What happened in my mouth was pretty intense, and maybe kind of neutral at the same time, which doesn’t make much sense, but it always made me feel kind of light and good, afterwards, so it happened a lot.  Darl was a very potent young adult, his seed probably carrying a maximum of, well, call it male essence.  The result of our being together two or three times a week, both monogamous and not given to divergent pleasures, was that I kind of grew a little faster and, well, a little bigger than most boys.  Even when you were six I didn’t think it was safe, then you didn’t put on much of a growth spurt, and I sort of did, so I knew it wouldn’t be safe, then I began falling in love with you, so I no longer thought of you as my kid sister, and began not caring if it was safe or not.  I mean, I could hardly kill you.  I’m not like a horse or anything.  But it’s going to hurt at first, and it’s going to make you walk stiffly for awhile.  People will know, but than that’s probably usually the case.  Put enough feet to the fire and the stories would come pouring from every family.  A lot of things, Nell.  Just waiting.  Watching you display more and more over the last few months, make your wanting known without being anything but sweet and delicious.  That was like living a year each day, and with things the way they are in the world, that’s nothing trivial.  Waiting.  A morning prayer, every morning, that a run away truck or wasting disease wouldn’t claim you before I heard you cry out beneath me and felt your tears on my chest.  The chance to pour myself unto you, to get American corny about it.  Selfish.  Wanting you for me.  Then you traded your radio for a new set of batteries, and I became the happiest fourteen year old yet to live.”
       
       “How strange it is,” the pixie mused.  “For the first time in my life I feel like praying for something, not out of ritual, but really, and think of the blasphemy!  Why it’s monstrous.  No color of cloth on earth would share my prayer, light a candle, or bless me”
       “And yet,” the fourteen year old advised, “should you seek a consultation with this minister and that priest, in private, seal of the sacrament, you’d probably come to find that Jesus loved you so dearly his disciples would glory in understanding your wants and meeting your needs.”
       “And I wouldn’t have to pay like we usually do?” the girl asked.
       “If you were lucky,” the boy responded after a moment, “you might even reverse that old collection-plate gag.”  The girl thought her brother very droll and funny even while nurturing just a trace of a grudge against Coach Darl for so endowing her brother they’d had to postpone their talk for perhaps two whole years. 
       
       “Were you ever able to be naked with him?” the girl asked. 
       “We called it going to the fire,” Reyn replied, “hiking by the area we’d first visited on skies.  The first time we were like I don’t know what.  Very bashful.  We made up a game by closing our eyes then sort of playing hide and seek.  Touching each other and seeing who could got the furthest without peeking.  We didn’t do very well, but it was fun, anyway.  He’s so beautiful lying along a log on his back, hands behind his head, his left leg on the ground for balance.  We’d pretend we were artists working with models and carefully arrange each other.  What we liked best was lying on soft grass, on hour backs, me on top of him with his hands going all over me, then touching me while we talked about things like compressing weeks of passion into hours and who knows what else.  My big thrill was when he let me get him wet, first, because usually it was the other way around, and feeling how excited he got – you know, extra – when my hand was slick with my own watery sperm, where usually the end happened with his hand wet with his semen.”
       
       “Did that make it happen faster?” she wanted to know.
       “Abut twice as fast,” the boy answered, “but you know, it’s kind of hard to be precise because before I’d spray off on him we’d usually have been naked for half an hour more.  But starting from being active with each other, yeah, about twice as fast, plus quite a bit more.  If you had pictures of both ways, it would be easy to tell which was which.”
       
       “I liked the part about being naked and lying on the grass,” the girl murmured, “did you ever roll over so you could feel his bare chest against yours?”
       “That’s how we came together when we were playing our hide-and-seek game,” the boy said, “it took awhile, as against just grabbing on to each other, but the feeling was very special.”
       “Say no more,” Nell whispered.
       
       The athletic you teenager quickly stripped out of the remainder of his clothing, the seven year old girl copying him garment by garment.  Closing their eyes they simulated a game of hide-and-seek as well as they could on the confines of their improvised, but very pleasant, bower.  As it had been when he was eleven, the first touch of the girl’s chest against his own was equivalent to what many conventional might experience in a hear.  She felt tiny and soft, he rugged and highly potent.  Just firmly touching they slowly opened their eyes.  “Hi” they both whispered.  
       
       Gradually, their arms folded around each other, the girl wriggled slightly, and in a few minutes was lying on her back on her beautiful brother’s heaving chest.  His penis was huge between her legs, seven full inches, thick, and utterly reliable looking.  How amazing a wonderful boy was attached, a quiet, sensible beauty who’d earn well for his tribe, perhaps their tribe of little monkeys and geniuses.  In her life she’d never be jealous of another female sharing him, how could she possibly blame a girl?   
       
       “Nell,” Reyn whispered after his hands had roamed every beautiful inch of her tiny body for long minutes, “it’s going to happen just the way it did the first time with Darl.  Hold me low down with your left hand and grip he hard and pull down slowly with your right.  You’ll start getting splashed immediately, so be ready, and if there’s too much hold me to the side and let it spill in the snow.”
       “Will there be any for inside me?” she wanted to know.
       “If there’s time,” her brother replied, “you can roll over on your tummy, move back against me, and maybe I can spray some in you without going up inside your body.”
       “If that happened,” the prodigy asked, “would it make it easier for us, later?”
       “It’s very slippery at first,” Reyn acknowledged, “but pretty quickly it gets sticky.  I don’t know if it would help or cause problems.”
       “Then it’s not all romance,” the girl mock-sighed, “we’ll end up experimenting just like other boys and girls do.”
       “What would be absolutely amazing,” Reyn observed, “would be if we lived in a world where you could get up and report for show-and-tell.  Say to your fellow second grader’s that having sperm inside you made it easier or harder to take a mature male.  Even if they giggled, you know, the girls, they’d still learn.”
       
       No, their aspiration to advance the world and set things right was not solely frivolous.
       
       Nell way lying with her hands behind her head, giving herself completely to the lingering touches and feather caresses of her stallion buck.  “Can I touch you at all before it happens?” she asked.
       “It feels like you could for five or ten seconds,” Reyn answered to her responsive nod, his hands now everywhere on the arching, panting, naked child, legs spread wide.  She wriggled lovingly to his gentle ministrations, arching with a gasp when his right hand moved high on her right leg and kept moving against her.  It was hard, keeping her pose of welcome and will, but her hands remained behind her pretty braids and she made do by whispering his name over and over.  Three times he brought her to gentle, fairy cums, and each time she gurgled happily and encouraged him with soft hisses and mews deep in her throat.  Nearly an hour had passed.  The heavily laid fire burned feely, it’s heat collected by the clam-shell design of the lean-to.  The blaze, the story of Darl, their nakedness and closeness, their lives, all moved inward, all centered between their young navels and knees, and her hands came free.  For a few seconds she felt him go to steel in her hand, gripped him hard – he was so rugged – following protocol, and lowered her right hand, instinctively wetting it on a heavy slick of seminal fluid lodged under his full hand heavy foreskin before holding him vertically and  taking him slowly and fully.  His sperming was immediate, the silver spray jetting against the bows roofing their shelter.  So astounded was she with Reyn’s display she gaped in petrified awe before responding to her own needs, and bringing his huge, spraying penis hard against her tender breast, thence allowing him to slick her white and deep just has Darl had cum off on him a few years earlier.  In half a minute the real fire began subsiding, and she gazed tenderly and still awestruck as his pulse lessened.  So enthralled was the act between a mature teen and a wildly young girl she nearly forgot her own suggested ending to their first time together, and so with some haste rolled, her slippery chest and belly helping, on her stomach, moving urgently back.  He helped and they found each other in an instant.  Pushed firmly against her, but did not force.  “I’m cumming,” the fourteen year old groaned at the full touch of the tiny maiden, and Nell, holding still, could feel a renewed heaviness to his pulse as he ejaculated four heavy sprays of semen just inside her.
       
       Again they rolled, very carefully, this time the stag on top of his fawn.  “Hi” they whispered again as she spread her legs widely and moved carefully up against her mature brother.  They were still perfectly positioned, Reyn slightly on his elbows and knees, the girl with her arms around his middle back, legs ready to wrap around his muscular buttocks and pull him to her.  So ready, yet for ten minutes they just enjoyed wiggling gently together to the rhythm of his tender thrusting against her.  His hugeness and her tiny body.  Her hard, athletic banjo string muscles, thighs and belly, the soft stroking of her hands on his flanks and back as they stared by firelight into each other’s wide, blue eyes.  Could there possibly be more?  Wouldn’t a single, quietly passed drop of his spend fill her belly?  Wouldn’t that be enough for the clerics to deny and forbid?  God sure as hell didn’t think so.  And the kids were on his side.  Reyn was guided by unseen hands, encouraged by unheard voices, and responded with power and vigor.  He began taking the little girl, and her legs flew around him with a slap.  His flaring head entered her, and he bucked hard but short.  She did shriek, she did cry, and he felt her tears against his heaving, bare chest.
       
       In a few minutes it began to be complete with the children.  “You’re way inside me now,” she whispered as his huge penis moved to have its length high between her slim, white legs.  He hissed in response, and, though his eyes had grown slack and vacant, he still stared down into her pretty German-girl face.
       “More sperm is coming,” the teen managed to whisper after half an hour, “then we better stop for awhile.”
       “Yes and no,” the girl panted.
       “Are you sure?” he panted, caring displacing the animal in his eyes almost in an instant.
       “I want you to fuck me,” she hissed, biting his collarbone and shaking.
       
       There, she’d said it.  No more dirty little secrets between them.  He wilded at the word, not quite fully raping her, but in less than five strong minutes his lower belly was hard against hers; he was home, he was a man and man enough to hold his manhood.  She panted, resting, for another five minutes, then, with the energy of a tiger, began her own fill rape, lunging against him, biting him, raking his back with her tiny fingers as she pounded on him with her tiny feet.  He responded lie another tiger, now hard and fast with her, studding fully, lunging fully, faster and faster until she screamed and went wild, so out of control she violated their one rule and yelled “fuck me” once again, then her eyes rolled fully back, her head lolled and she died to the outside world.  Twice.  three times.  Then the fourth, gentle and tender as a spring breeze, a gentle shuddering accompanied by happy gurgling as she felt once again the pulse of him so incredibly deeply inside herself.  “Good-night” each whispered, both very thankful the skier and scout  knew now to build a lasting fire (and he was good at woodcraft, too).
       
       
       Note to vet readers.  Just this minute.  Over heard very clearly while I was in the kitchen.  “Mama,” Tonton to Daisy, “Elston wants to take my boty.”  I’m, no kidding, tempted to go downstairs and say “Elston, why don’t you come up an sleep with me?”  I had to go down once a month or so ago for a long distance, collect-to-me, call, and, while I rarely even knock on their door, it is my home, they are my guests, not tenants, so with just a quick knock I opened the  west bedroom door.  As far as I could tell, both boys, nine and thirteen, were in bed with the beautiful – and I mean it  - Queenie, their fourteen year old sister.  They shuffled quickly while I closed the door, Queenie came upstairs to take the call, and that’s the end of the story, for the moment.
       
       
       Heinz could almost sense them.
       
       “Do you want to talk a little?” he asked, assuming they all might appreciate a break in the story telling.   “If nothing’s happened this far, I think we’re pretty safe.
       “Okay,” came Aaron’s soft whisper.  He was a beautiful hawk faced, black-eyed boy, delicate as a girl with no trace of femininity.  Indeed, it was little Nammi who, in her black-eyed face, had some of the boyish essence of her fourteen year old brother.  Both were slim and delicate looking, yet could play, sing, and dance with great energy until late in the night, providing they got ample sleep.
       
       “How are you fixed up for coats and blankets and things?” was the Nazi’s first question.
       “We could start a store,” the musician replied, then giggled.  “I mean is that a cliché for a Jew, or what.  One extra blanket, and he wants to go all mercantile.”
       Heinz laughed.
       “We’re fine,” Aaron answered, straight.  “The only thing is, there’s are a lot of things, I guess you’d call them issues, we wanted to talk about while we were learning about your friends, but we were distracted by the pace of the chronicle and so we’ve just been sitting and moving closer.”
       “I’m glad you didn’t find any of it funny,” the blond noted, “whispering’s one thing in the fog, but a fit of the giggles might be something else.”  They, the eight remaining children, were now enough in sight Heinz could see them nodding and sense their quaking.  One slip of one hand off one tightly clenched lip, and there’s be half a firestorm, that’s how cute and intelligent the little group was.  But there was not slip, and maybe none of it was that funny in the first place, so their lives were saved.
       
       “You probably know the safest way to go,” Heinz said to his age-mate, the leader, Aaron, “so, if you want, you could take me to what you think is the safest place and I could tell the story of
       
       .
       
       
