High Country Ch. 02

In a few moments we had passed through the station filled with bikers and hikers among other mountain enthusiasts and begun our descent toward Mountain Village and home. I straightened myself further and watched as the tall older stud lowered his pants again, letting me know of his need for further plying. In the lowering, he extracted a finely rolled joint and lit up, handing it to me after sucking on it and pointing to the rising stickiness of his Rastafarian prick as encouragement to get going. I gladly slurped that re-hardened thing as he enjoyed the scenery, toking on the j throughout, offering passing commentary and encouragement while I kept myself occupied. We landed at the base station in a happy state of highness, mine including another throat full of Caribbean cum, sweet stuff that it was...

Parting at the town piazza, me with my bags and he with his proud piece jouncing satedly in those baggy trousers, we promised to meet up at my place after he had taken care of his business. Jeremy would be enthralled by my morning. I was hoping his had been half as 'productive'.

Upon banging open the heavy wood door with hands full, I waltzed giddily into the chef's kitchen we had updated several years before to find Jeremy pressing out fresh angel hair spinach pasta and dancing to the tune of Dreamboat Annie, a bottle of Guinness Stout close by and half empty. He smiled lasciviously up at me upon my entry and snickered as I emptied my treasures on to the marble island top, paying particular note to the THC-laden gummie bears and similar lollipops procured just a short time earlier.

He grasped my buttcheek and pulled me to him as he 'welcomed me to his lair'... tonguing me hungrily and crinkling his nose at me upon recognizing familiar flavors. "I smell the cum of an Englishman, honey," he teased. I was looking at the wine rack as he did so and immediately honed in on the unchanged state of it, begging the question of where might be the evening's choice he had been tasked with picking up while at the co-op...? "Ummm, well, the delivery hadn't arrived by the time I was leaving and Adolpho, you know how he is, just said come back later to get it," he prevaricated.

Knowing of his penchant for purloining sperm from the Latin man's prodigious package, I translated that salvo into the fact that it had fled his mind after slipping into the 'receiving area' in the back of the co-op building- 'receiving' actuating the double entendre for Jeremy giving the young Spaniard another mind-blowing head job.

Cheshire cat grin later, he confessed, and I pocketed my wallet as I headed for the door. Determined to have the particular vintage for our guests at the upcoming meal in a few hours, I promised to fill him in on my 'mouthwash' story upon returning and dashed out to catch the sommelier, Adolpho, before he disappeared. This was a proven post-cum habit of the free-spirited youth. I had learned the hard way, yet far from perturbed, I looked forward to chatting the cute boy up while fulfilling my promise to Sheila for the coming evening.

Indeed, my fears were proven justified upon nearing the co-op's rear exit fifteen minutes later, spying Adolpho sneaking out to an early afternoon highland hike as was his noted preference. I teased him that he had occupied the body of "Heidi-of-the-Mountain" in a previous life due to the common communing with high mountain meadows. He admitted his weakness with ready good humor.

"Adolpho—wait up," I hollered to the unassuming Adonis. The boy halted, turning to confront the person hindering his escape and hang-dogged at me when he recognized my approach. "I wondered if you were gonna get by before I split," he guiltily excused himself, and I forgave his transparency as any doting parent does a spoiled kid caught in the act. "You should've sent it with J, you brat," I scolded, grinning, and he colored immediately, knowing Jeremy had surely told me of the earlier liaison between the two.

He knew me better than to think I would be pissed. My ambivalence to the concept of monogamy was an exception rather than the rule, and screwing with the fairer sex who more commonly demanded higher standards and fewer wild hares made him fall into the traditional mien of the 'busted' trademark. Blushing deeply, he unlocked the door and ushered me back inside to the coolness of the bodega where he stored his stocks. The bustle of the fronting groceria hummed beyond the quietness here and Adolpho gave me an endearing hug in thanks for not badgering the subject.

Gathering up the gran reserva of the six bottles, as ordered, I patted his bulging crotch package conspiratorially, "I know, I know...who can ever resist his mouth?" To which he colored over once again and replied, "I would be gay in a second if he wasn't hooked up already...ain't nobody that good anywhere." His wistfulness made me smile again, knowing of my good fortune, and I shooed him off with a hand wave to the peaks above, dismissing any need for further discussion. He and I could chat another time—the hills were awaiting him.

I stopped by the bookstore next door afterwards for a paper then meandered my way up the trail to our place, perusing the news. The dogs, Suture and Elvee, were camped out on the big front porch as I climbed the steps and their tails furiously cleaned the stained wood surface upon sensing my person from a distance. My curiosity was piqued as Jeremy seldom let the boys out without his attendance, enjoying their company as much as me. Upon entering the door with them, I caught the lyrics to The Cure's Wish CD from our oldies collection rhapsodizing through the log house.

The fresh pasta sat heaped and draining in the colander inside the big copper sink, newly prepared pesto mixing aromatically beside it. Fresh snow peas, baby white mushrooms, onions and a trifecta of colorful bell peppers sat draining next them, all neatly chopped, diced and ready for roasting. Lamb chops and mint leaves for six marinated in the frig. My man was a chef extraordinaire and I watered at the thought of the dinner to come. Ditching the wine on the rack I dumped clothing piecemeal on my way up the cut log staircase to the upstairs master en-suite, wondering where Jeremy had gotten off to and ready for a nice soaking shower.

I lit a fat blunt from a few nights previous on the way up, still reading an op-ed article. The enjoyable effect of the herb was accelerated and accentuated by the altitude. At the middle landing I discerned the presence of two voices from the bedroom above, over the music, and I slowed my ascent. I distinguished a newly familiar sotto rhythm trading sentences with the sexy one of my Jeremy's. As my eyesight gathered the view at the top of the stairs, my dick began a familiar warming at the sight of a delectable pair of butt globes arched in front of and accepting the silky, bare Caribbean dick that I had recently practiced on in the gondola.

Of course, I thought... Jeremy had to be the 'old friend' Ambergai had alluded to at the emporium and he had arrived while I was collecting the vino...oooh, how hot. My eyeballs were scorching, even the wild curls on my head were rigidly transfixed. The pair had no idea I was voyeuring and I stripped my drawers off to free my straining, and fixedly interested, phattening cock. I spit on it to allow my palm to slide over it as I enjoyed seeing my Jeremy's rarely fucked beautiful asshole suck in the huge thing now ramming him steadily and deeply. It appeared as if the Jamaican dick had cum once already from the frothy creaminess surrounding the stretched hole which I could view periodically as the black log retracted completely, and the stuff evidently enabled my personal stud to take the entire length to the hilt by the slipperiness factor. Had it indeed cum once, Ambergai intended to multiply his pleasure if his continued efforts were any indication. My angle couldn't be better and my visual allowed for every single stroke.

With the passing moments, the reggae artist became more vocal and he let me in on past secrets and episodes which apparently had occurred between the two on the island of their past, expressing nasty descriptions of a history I had heretofore not been privy. My man had been taking this dread dick to climax since he had been a preteen, from the low whisperings being voiced and it filled in a history I would never have guessed.

I watched as the two rotated together, ending with Jeremy's back hitting the mattress. Those large dark hands stretched apart the pretty chocolate thighs and calves I knew so well. Ambergai's huge dick never vacated the seldom-used tight little asshole during the motion. My topman certainly enjoyed the able pumping piece, at least by the mewings coming from his throat. His pleadings not to stop put me past the point of no return and I stroked sperm on the hardwood beneath me. I continued fondling myself as I remembered the blunt, raising it to my lips and inhaling as the action continued.

The Rastafarian somehow sensed my presence and turned his head toward me. "Oooh, ma' J-boy, the plot do seem to have a-thickened here and now, ma'true baby boy bitch—here is the other Mon-half we were a-speakin' about, and I'm a-guessin' he is a'thinkin' ya' already know this here dagger daincin' down in the purty hole it's a'takin again, getting a'cabin-stabbin da'way it knows this big Mon likes to be havin' it." And he reached for the blunt in my fingers after that rant. Jeremy peered up and around the slim waist sprouting the dick he was feeling and sheepishly beamed at me. "Oh man, Luke, this here is happenin' by your own fault. This fat-dicked ole' Daddy is hittin' this ass, now—you shouldn't have oughtta got it goin' on the way here—this here Jamaican can go for the hours doin' just like this."

Ambergai reached another audibly dubbed eruptive cum at that moment and he pulled out for a split second, showing me what he was doing to my stud. I didn't take insult. The two had no doubt determined my response before, as evidenced by their picking of the big poster bed we shared to do this deed. I left for a second to retrieve a pre-rolled doobie from our morning's visit to the 'apothecary'.

Upon returning, I found the two men separated, Jeremy's familiar fat piece resting languidly on that ripped belly which sported creamy gobs in proof of his enjoyment. His strapping legs were now bending down over the bed's edge. The RostaMon was leering my direction again and signaled with his besotted eyes that I was next. His on-point rigidity never wavered, the perfectly proportioned thick and straight dick still suspended like an expanded cobra waiting to strike. By the time we had shared a deep hit each, the two studs had positioned me like we were in a mission and the missionaries were ready to do penance—or I was...I get confused on that. Regardless, two huge black dicks spent the next half hour putting it to me, unloading on and in me until they and I had 'got enough'. It was more than plenty, let me just say.

Our multi-person Rainhead-equipped shower saw me practice scrupulously detailed hygiene on the satisfied bodies sharing the marbled enclosure. The luxury was all mine as I rigorously detailed each beautiful mature man's body, methodically scouring, buffing and polishing every muscle, organ and crevice on each. Jeremy filled me in on the past adolescent and youthful years living on Blue Mountain as he had discovered himself. I learned of him becoming the man who loved me and to whom I was devoted. Mr. Gee offered contrast, nuance and levity to the description. Finally, we toweled off, collectively groomed stray dreadlocks, oiled down glistening bodies and descended to the low beamed great room that centered our log home. I cracked the wine open and picked music for the evening. 'Gai, as Jeremy called him, had agreed to stay for dinner. He readied, then lit the big rock fireplace, and Jeremy worked his magic in the open style adjoining kitchen.

As Apollo descended and waned, we three sat comfortably on the front porch sharing wine and tokes of our various smokables. Our three neighbors and friends joining us for dinner strolled up to our perch, were welcomed by the guardian canine denizens and each accepted a first glass of the full bodied red of the evening. Both women and the older gentleman joined our discussion of the Island life, Blue Mountain and Kingston, Jamaica, and reggae in general. We all got to know the most interesting dreadhead be-tangled personage to darken our door and shower in our entire time on this mountain. Jeremy's dinner merited scrumptious delight.

Afterwards, as we sat out back around the fire pit watching the full moon rise over the craggy peaks guarding us, the three musically-inclined guests pulled out their drums, guitar and jazz flute, and the majestic embodiment of the original Mighty Diamonds added his vocal wares to the welcoming of the autumnal equinox.

Amidst the amazing private performance, Cat G pulled me aside and let me know that her lady, the Ms. Sheila Escobar, was entirely taken by her fellow Creole-Jamaican's surprise appearance. And, the gran reserva fulfilled her evening, I was assured.

Jeremy and I basked in our happiness and luck as the Milky Way blossomed all around us.

Suture raised his fat-headed snout to the moon, adding his howling two cents to the overture.

Which left us in stitches.