The American Southland was well represented by Marsh County, Georgia. An area so insignificant, tucked into the corner of the state just below the Tennessee border, and barely noticed by the rest of the world. Most of the residents liked it that way.

The beauty of the ridge line marking Lookout Mountain rose up through the trees in the western part of the county, attracting thousands of tourists and rock climbers to the limestone cliffs. To the local folks, the tail end of the Appalachian Mountains was something they got to see every day, if they bothered to look.

To the east of the highway, which meandered along the base of the mountain range, lay some of the most fertile soil in the state. Farming was big business in the valley where corn and grains grew tall as peaches began to ripen in the orchards. Fine old Southern traditions had abounded here for generations, but as in the rest of the nation there had finally come a wind of change.

The prejudices fell slowly to the logic of racial equality and the law, but there were still those who didn't see the need for a change. From voting booths to the pulpits across the South the evolution of thought took place and life settled into an accommodation, of sorts.

The times did little to address the economic needs of small rural communities in the nation. Poor were still poor and rich ... well, the rich always had a way to stay on top. Caught up in the cycle of life, most folks went about their business, thankful that they were the survivors with a job and family to take care of.

The small town of Trogdon was at the head of the mountain valley. A farming community for several hundred years, it was just about picture perfect for a television comedy show featuring a sheriff, his deputy and other odd characters. Except that North Carolina had already exploited that story, so Trogdon would not see itself in reruns for the next one hundred years . But if the show had been cast here then the characters would all be named Trogdon, the most extensive family in these parts.

In fact, there had once been a sheriff here named Trogdon about fifty years ago, but he died in office. It seems the good people of Marsh County took exception to their lawmen stealing from the citizens so they lynched him right down in the town square. Must have been a mighty fine show. Too bad MT missed it because he wasn't born yet.

His name was Marion Cotswold Teague, and all three of those names spoke to an ancient Southern heritage inherited from the Old World. But that was just too big a handle for a small town boy so friends called him 'MT.' His detractors called him 'Empty' and assorted other mean things.

Of course the mean folk always had first names like Buford or Lemuel, and as for last names, there were plenty of Zapelses, Pickles and a few Dubbses. It didn't take any intelligence to be mean, but it was usually fueled by a quart of homemade moonshine known as Pure Georgia Poison.

Putting all that aside, MT was a smart kid who did what his parents expected of him ... most of the time. The town was really too small for a boy to get away with anything for long. The watchful eyes of the neighbors were an assurance that tongues would wag and parents would be told of any untoward activity. The best way for people to cover up their own indiscretions was to gossip.

But MT was liked by most folks in the white and black community. His father's generation had broken the chains of racism twenty years before and that legacy was now held by their children. Didn't mean there were no hard feelings, but now the barriers were mostly economic.

The country now had a black President, although many in the black community here still didn't see him as anything but a man of mixed race. The white folks weren't sure what to think, except that their last white President had been a grave disappointment. But he was from Texas and most of them were dead sure he wasn't a real Southerner.

When MT was almost six, a full decade ago, the Reverend Hayes of the Trogdon Baptist Church did the unthinkable. The congregation should have expected it because the reverend was from North Carolina, and that was figured to be damn near Yankee territory. But the reverend stood at the pulpit one Sunday and announced there was going to be a change because he had heard the voice of God.

It wasn't unusual for a preacher to claim direct communication with the Divine. The evangelists on television in their huge glass enclosed cathedrals said that all the time, especially before they asked for money. But this was a first for Trogdon, and so the small gathering held for Sunday worship sat up to pay attention.

Their small numbers was the issue and the good Reverend Hayes wanted to make that clear. The church could hold four hundred, and right now the congregation was so small they could turn half the place into a bowling alley without disrupting services. One hundred and twenty-three people looked back at the reverend and wondered what he was about to do.

"I have invited the Reverend Jones and his congregation to join with us," Hayes said, and the gasp from the congregation could probably be heard all the way across the valley in Fairview.

Fairview was the real issue. They had a fine new Baptist church with a large wealthy patronage and most of the folks in the valley headed there for Sunday service. Hayes would not allow the Trogdon church to fail. After all, the cemetery out back held heroes from the Revolutionary and Civil Wars. They were on the national historic register for goodness sake, which put Trogdon on the map.

The Reverend Jones ran the small Baptist church over in Lively Corners. The black neighborhood on the west side of town was often considered not a part of Trogdon although a boy could throw a rock across the railroad tracks from one to the other, and of course some did. But inviting the blacks to join the whites in worship didn't sit well with everyone, and some of those dissenters were on both sides of the fence.

So there was a gasp that MT didn't understand. Hell, he could barely see over the pew in front of him much less comprehend the words of their preacher. But he looked up at his father and saw a sly smile on the man's lips, and then every head in the church turned to look and see how the man in the front row would react to the announcement.

Mr. Benjamin Lee Trogdon, patriarch of the family, and perhaps the only member of the church whose opinion counted. He fit the image of a fine old southern gentleman, complete with a mane of snowy hair and the white linen suit.

The town was named after his great-great granddaddy, a man who was just born when the American Revolution forged a nation. He was remembered as a fierce man and had eventually shot at a few Yankees some decades later. Folks said his actions could have started the Civil War, but that was just part of the family's legend.

The present day Mr. Trogdon stared up at the reverend and everyone saw his head nod in understanding. The man had known this was coming. Being on the Board of the church he knew that income was down while expenses mounted. His own donations had kept the roof on the place and maintained the cemetery out back where more than a few Trogdons occupied the ground.

But Trogdon saw this as a practical business move and a way to bring his town into the twenty-first century. The color wars were over and it was time to move on. There had been few winners in the civil rights battles of the sixties and now it was forty years later, well past the time for the Old South to fall in line with the rest of the nation.

Things might be different in Alabama and Mississippi where the Confederate flag still hung out in the breeze for all to see, but this was Georgia, and Atlanta lay not too many miles away. The largest city in the South, Atlanta's black community set the tone for much of the state. The times had changed.

Reverend Hayes closed out his service and left the pulpit for his usual walk to the rear of the church where he would greet the congregation as they filed out. But today his walk was halted as Mr. Trogdon stood and stepped into the aisle to shake his hand. There in front of everyone Trogdon displayed his acceptance. But not all would agree with him.

MT had no way of knowing he was seeing town history being made, but the results soon became apparent. Fully half the whites took their worship to Fairview the following Sunday, so they missed seeing the new black members come to the service.

They came in small family groups, unsure of the reception and afraid that this was not a smart idea. But the Reverends Hayes and Jones stood side by side on the altar to greet them. At first the black families sat to the right while the whites hove to the left. MT remembered looking across the aisle and seeing some of the black folks he knew.

The reborn Trogdon Baptist Church soon mixed the traditions of both congregations and in doing so swelled their ranks. The Reverends took turns at the pulpit while the choir of six black ladies soon found a white face or two singing with them about that Old Time Religion. And life in Trogdon moved on ... for the better.

The economy of the American Southland began to falter as MT approached his teen years, but not here in Trogdon. The Old Man had a great understanding of business and he kept a majority of the townsfolk employed. His trucking company employed hundreds, his farms so many more. The rest of the nation might be heading for disaster, but things looked much brighter here in town.

The changes as they began were subtle and MT was one of those who noticed it right away. For decades the black community in Lively Corners had kept to themselves, but now they felt a part of Trogdon. The flow of black faces along Parker Street towards the shops of downtown Trogdon increased. That little whisper of God's voice in Reverend Hayes' ear had brought the two communities together.

So MT grew up in a town run by one man who was never a politician, but he controlled the economy, which gave him all the power a mayor could only wish for. Everyone knew Mr. Trogdon on sight, but few felt the need to speak to the man unless summoned. It was like having royalty in their midst, and like most boys, MT had little to do with the man.

That all changed one fine summer afternoon when he was fifteen ... but first a word about Dubb's Drugs. Owned and operated by Elvis Dubb, it was the most thriving business in town after the Piggly Wiggly supermarket. The drugstore sat on the corner of Lindsey and Parker Streets, a prominent place, and one of the town's most valuable assets.

Lindsey Trogdon fought in the Civil War and a street was named after him for his heroic efforts. Parker Trogdon was the town drunk during the Great Depression, but he used to fix flat tires for little old ladies and that got him a street. Maybe they felt sorry for him. MT was sure he wouldn't be getting any streets named after him.

Where were we? Oh yes, Elvis Dubb and his drugstore. Elvis was known by just about everyone as the town's queer man. Shocking to say the least, but he was safe with his 'abnormal desires' because he didn't openly display his homosexuality. Other than the occasional limp wrist and a slight lisp in his voice he acted normal. The town was certainly grateful about that because they sure needed a druggist.

MT didn't mind Elvis or the image he broadcast. Still, most folks wondered if a druggist should wear a brightly colored silk scarf around his neck and a matching handkerchief in the pocket of his white lab coat. Yup, that was a little gay.

Gay wasn't something MT thought about much as he was growing up. Like most of the boys in town he joked about Elvis, and what homos did to one another. All the talk about getting corn-holed had little meaning until MT reached puberty.

When he was twelve, MT asked to use the bathroom at the drugstore one Saturday afternoon because he had to go real bad. And since the town frowned on kids taking a dump in the town square, he really had no choice. Elvis sighed and pointed to the bathroom door beside his tiny office. MT smiled and gave a polite "Thank You" over his shoulder as he ran to relieve the cramps.

The bathroom consisted of a sink with a mirror above it and a toilet on the opposite wall. MT sat there with a smile of relief on his face staring up at the mirror. Right then he wondered if Elvis had installed some kind of trick mirror and was sitting in his office watching.

He had no way to prove this, of course, unless he could get into Elvis' office. That didn't seem possible, but with his business done MT just sat there wondering if Elvis would be turned on at the sight of his dick. Would the man have sex with a boy? And when those two thoughts came together, sex and dick, he began to get an erection.

MT leaned back and ran his fingers across that stiffness, fondling it for a few short strokes. If Elvis was watching this would drive him crazy. Suddenly MT stood and zipped up his pants. The show was over. As he walked out of the bathroom he saw Elvis was behind the counter as if nothing in the world was amiss.

"Thank you, Mr. Dubb," MT said, really meaning it this time.

"You're welcome, Master Teague." MT always got a kick out of how Elvis always called all the kids "Master."

But Elvis had a gleam in his eye and MT could still feel that swelling in his pants.

"Uh, Mr. Dubb ... can I ask you something, you know, private like?" MT motioned to the door of the office.

"Oh ... oh, I suppose," Elvis stammered and led the boy into his office.

Once he closed the door MT began looking around and sure enough, there was a picture hung on the wall right where he figured a spy hole might lay hidden.

"What is it, MT?" Elvis asked. First time he ever said that and MT didn't know the man knew his nickname.

"Uh ... well, see ... I have this thing on my ... you know, my parts," MT said. "Would you look at it?"

"You want me to look at it?"

"Yessir, I sure do."

"Why don't you go to the doctor?" Elvis asked. He was looking down at MT's crotch and the bulge pushing out the front of those jeans.

"Well, I just noticed it and you being a druggist and all, well, it's almost the same thing as a doctor ... isn't it?" MT asked.

"You want me to look at your ... is it sore? Maybe you've been playing with it too much." Elvis offered.

Yeah, that was true, but MT did have a little brown spot on his ball sac, the mole having been there since he was born. Had Elvis seen that when he was in the bathroom?

"I'd sure appreciate it if you'd tell me what it is," MT said.

MT didn't wait for Elvis to agree and unfastened his jeans. He bent over to slide the clothing down and Elvis plopped down in his rolling swivel chair. When MT stood up his dick stuck straight out from his stomach and Elvis couldn't take his eyes off of it.

"See, its right here," MT said, fingering the mole on his balls and completely ignoring the erection.

His dick pointed right at Elvis as the man leaned forward for an examination. MT leaned back against the desk and grasped his dick, moving it aside so Elvis could see the mole. Without a word Elvis began looking down at the mole. MT closed his eyes and moaned as his hand slid across the head of his penis. And then Elvis touched his balls.

MT was already in a state of high excitement and Elvis couldn't know how much that touch turned him on until MT's dick brought the exam to a quick conclusion. His balls jumped and his dick began to spurt, spraying the front of Elvis' white medical jacket.

"Oh ... Oh," MT said, as his dick emptied itself in Elvis' lap. He opened his eyes and looked down at the mess. "Sorry," he said, "it just does that sometimes."

Elvis sat there amazed. "I didn't mean ... ," he stammered. "You ejaculated ... it happened so fast."

"Sorry," MT said again. "Maybe I'd better just go home now."

He pulled up his jeans as Elvis dabbed at himself with a handkerchief. He didn't know what to say but MT did.

"Thanks," he said with a smile. MT left Elvis sitting there, looking down at the wet stains on the front of his coat. For once he didn't ask MT to 'come again', his usual parting comment to every customer who entered the store. Come again. That would have been priceless.

That was all three years ago, and neither of them mentioned the incident again. Of course not, what could they say? MT would occasionally chuckle when he saw Elvis on the street, but in the store the man was always professional. MT had learned something from the encounter: he liked it when someone else touched his parts.

By seventh grade MT became sexually active, at least with other boys. His first experience was with Alvin Hicks, whose family was considered the lowest of the low in town. It wasn't fair in MT's estimation, so he made friends with the boy.

Alvin appeared in school dressed in clean clothes, but the edges were frayed, the cloth worn thin. The boy was an aggressive little critter, and yes, "Critter" was his nickname. Alvin's father ran the town dump, drank too much and was known to get locked up occasionally as a public nuisance.

The sharp folds of land to the west of Trogdon were riddled with hidden caves, places all the boys in town had been warned to avoid. But being boys, they often ignored the edicts of their parents, and by the time he was thirteen MT knew most of the deep dark holes in the mountains behind the town.

Alvin had his own special cave hidden in the trees with a screen of bushes to mask the opening. It was only a few yards deep, but it was dry. He and a few other boys would hang out there to smoke cigarettes and share a forbidden nudie magazine. Someone's older brother would always bring those things back from Chattanooga which was just across the ridge in the next valley.

There was a good deal of solo work going on in that cave, depending upon how inspiring the magazine might be, and Critter was always in the middle of it. MT judged him to be about the horniest boy he'd ever met.

The week after MT's fourteenth birthday he arrived at the cave, gave the expected whistle of warning and ducked through the bushes to find Alvin there alone. He should have known nobody else would be there. It was the day of the first Little League baseball game of the season. MT and Alvin were probably the only two boys in town who didn't think the world revolved around baseball, but he was glad it happened for that was the day he got a close look at sex.

Alvin didn't make a big deal about it ... he just reached over and went for it. MT sat there stunned by the overwhelming feelings of someone else's hand. So of course when Alvin was done MT returned the favor. All he could think about was what Elvis would say if he could see what they were doing.

Three months later Mr. Hicks put a pistol in his mouth and blew his brains out. Alvin and his mother moved to Alabama to live with her family. MT never got to say good-bye, but then he wouldn't have known what to say. They had repeated their sexual activities several times with some interesting variations. Enough experience for MT to realize he liked doing that stuff.

Elvis might be the town queer, but MT spent a lot of time wondering about himself after Alvin moved away. It would do no good to display any gay interests in this town since MT was sure one queer was all they could handle. So no one knew and life would go on until something new came around.

MT was lounging on the steps of the Lindsey Trogdon statue early one morning. School was out for the summer and he was just sitting there remembering the incident with Elvis when he saw this strange kid ride by on a bike. MT knew every single boy in town and this one was new so he yelled for him to stop.

The kid wheeled back around and skidded to a stop in front of the statue. His bike was shiny and looked new ... an expensive Mongoose at that. The boy had shaggy blond hair and wore expensive clothes, including the Nike shoes on his feet.

"You're new," MT said.

"No I'm not, my family lives here," the kid replied.

"I mean new in town. I haven't seen you here before."

"Just came for a visit with my grandfather, and I might stay the summer. Name's Perry, what's yours?"

"My friends call me MT."

"You a Trogdon?" Perry asked.

"No."

"Oh good. Been looking for someone outside the family. Can we be friends?"

"Uh ... I guess. You a Trogdon?"

"Yeah ... sorry," Perry said. "I guess some folks don't like us much."

"Naw, not a problem to me," MT said. "It's just the Old Man scares some folks, probably because they owe him so much money."

"I've got three dollars," Perry said, "Can I buy you an ice cream?"

A new kid ... and he had money. This was going to work out fine.

"Sure, I'll buy you one back soon as I get my allowance," MT said.

He never got an allowance unless he earned it and never had any spare money except at Christmas. His folks weren't exactly poor, just thrifty. But Perry didn't know any of that, he just wanted a friend and MT came for the price of an ice cream.

They pushed their bikes across the street and went in to sit at the lunch counter in Dubb's as Mrs. Foster scooped up a couple of cones. Elvis was in the back filling orders and didn't see them. Not that MT would tell Perry anything about the man. They took their cones outside and went around back in the alley to sit in the shade.

"How long you been here?" MT asked

"About two weeks, I'm staying in the summerhouse. Pops says I can be there all by myself now that I'm fourteen ... how old are you?"

"Fifteen."

"Hmm, so I bet you got lots of hair on your balls. My balls are still smooth as a baby's ass. "

Perry's comment came out of nowhere. MT was to learn the kid often made strange little pronouncements like this and not all of them were completely innocent.

"Yeah, hairy balls ... that's me. You'll get yours soon enough."

"I get a monster hard on and it feels good when I play around, but nothing major really happens ... not like I've seen happen with other guys. My friend Davy can squirt clean across a room like a fire hose." MT knew what was coming next and almost laughed aloud as Perry asked. "Does yours squirt?"

"Gallons and gallons," MT lied. "I filled up a whole Coke bottle last time I did it."

"Oh wow. Can't wait until I can do that," Perry sighed. "So ... when do I get to see you do it?"

"Do it? You mean ... you want to watch?" MT asked in amazement.

"Sure, why not?"

"Let's bounce," MT said.

"You want to come out to the house?" Perry asked.

"I guess." Of course he did.

The ride out Lindsey to the gates of the Trogdon estate took them about fifteen minutes, but it felt like forever because Perry was back on the sex talk. MT liked the boy but he was not about to label himself a queer. Not in this small town and not to some strange Trogdon, no way.

Perry could be anything he wanted, queer or otherwise; he was a Trogdon, and that was the point. Those people led exceptional lives, far above the other residents of the county. MT wondered whose kid this was, but he would soon find out.

"Look," MT finally said after being asked to show off his masturbation talents. "I am not waving my dick around for anyone to see, and I lied about the Coke bottle."

Perry smiled. "I know that, it's physically impossible. The average ejaculation is about a tablespoon worth of liquid, no one makes gallons of goo. But it's fun to think about, isn't it?"

MT nodded, he had to give the boy that much. "If it was gallons you could put out a house fire."

"Think of the money the fire department could save if they didn't have to buy hoses," Perry said.

MT warmed to the idea and then laughed. "They'd have to make sure the firemen could handle the load."

"I get these wonderful feelings when I go for it, but nothing really glorious happens. All that work for nothing really sucks. I suppose that's why I'm curious to see other guys do it. I'm sorry for asking, and I sure don't think you're queer."

"Naw, that's all right. You seem like a smart guy," MT said. "I bet you go to a private school."

"Altamont Academy down in Atlanta, and fortunately it's a boy's school," Perry said.

"Fortunately?" MT asked.

"Oh yeah, who has time to deal with all the drama of middle school girls?"

True enough, MT thought, and then they reached the estate. The entrance was set in a long thick hedge of Nandina bushes with large stone columns on either side holding up the heavy iron gates which were left open these days. MT had never trespassed in there before, now he was an invited guest.

The long driveway up to the house was covered in crushed white stone and lined with stately southern oaks. The heavy branches provided a veritable tunnel of green that kept them from getting a good view of the house until they were almost upon it.

Plantation houses were few in this part of the state, but the Trogdon mansion was still on the state register of historic sites. The tall white columns across the front towered three stories to the roofline, a classic look. MT had never seen this place before, and it seems maybe he wouldn't as Perry turned his bike towards the side of the house and followed the driveway to the back.

Pecan trees dotted the side yard close to the house and beyond that MT could see the rows of a peach orchard. They passed by a large screened porch surrounded by bougainvillea vines that seemed to hold up the roof, and this time of year they were covered in a summer riot of magenta blossoms. Beyond the trees were a tennis court and a swimming pool, but wedged between them was a small house.

"That's where I'm staying," Perry said, pointing at the house, and then he grinned. "It's cool unless the breeze blows in the wrong direction, then I get the smell from the stables."

MT could see the low shed roof of the stables and the barn behind it. The pastures were surrounded by straight lengths of white wooden fencing that stretched away into the distance. MT gaped at the sight, this estate was huge.

Perry led him over to the side of the garage where a black man was washing a late model Cadillac that MT recognized as belonging to Mr. Trogdon.

"Good Mornin, Mr. Perry," The man said. "You sure took off early."

"Hey, Franklin ... I had things to do. Is Pops still coming back this afternoon?"

"Mr. Trogdon will be here for supper," Franklin said. "And who's this?"

"This is MT. We just met," Perry said.

Franklin smiled and gave MT a nod. Then without another word he went back to washing the car. MT knew all of the black families in town; most of them lived in Lively Corners and had for generations.

Franklin was probably one of the Ball family members, but MT wasn't sure. The family relationships over on the west side were one of the most complicated puzzles around. There were so many aunts, uncles and cousins in each family that it would cause a mind to explode trying to figure it all out.

Perry led MT over to the summerhouse and they stepped inside.

"It's air conditioned but I like to sleep on the screened porch most nights," Perry said.

MT nodded at that since he did much the same at home. "You might like that cold air pretty soon when it stays ninety degrees all night long. If you're just visiting, where are you from?"

"My mom lives in West Palm Beach, that's in Florida. But we also have a house in Atlanta and that's where I go to school," Perry said. "I was gonna be sent off to summer camp, you know, computer camp. But Pops ... uh, my grandfather, asked me to come up here and stay a while."

Perry looked down at his sneakers and shook his head. "My dad left us. He's the Trogdon, my Pop's second boy. I think he's out in California somewhere having a good time, Mom won't tell me. The only time she talks about him is when she uses words I'm not allowed to say. But Pops likes her a whole lot, probably more than my dad. You got both your parents?"

"Yes ... well my dad and a stepmother anyways. My real mom died when I was born, sorta puts me under a curse I figure," MT said.

"Oh, that's so sad ... I'm sorry," Perry said.

"My dad owns the garage in town, my step-mom works at the Piggly Wiggly. Got no brothers and sisters. It's just me."

"I have a little sister, but she's ten and a royal pain in the ass. Mom says it's just the age, she'll grow up. So ... we have all afternoon, we could swim or play video games," Perry said.

"Can we just go outside and run around?" MT asked. "There are lots of places I can show you."

"Sure, I haven't seen everything myself. I know, let's go in the kitchen and get some sandwiches to take along, and then we won't have to come back for lunch. Hold on, I got a backpack in here somewhere."

MT followed Perry into the bedroom and it was already a mess. He didn't laugh since maybe they had a maid service. His own room at home was always clean and it was his responsibility to keep it that way. But Perry had his own television and a video game machine- X-Box by the look of it.

"You want your privacy I'll give it to you, but only if you keep that room clean," His step-mother had said. It was worth the effort because MT enjoyed that solitude.

"Got it," Perry said, holding up a green backpack. "Let's go get some food."

The kitchen in the mansion was impressive, as was the cook who sat at the table playing cards with one of the maids.

"Lord, boy ... I didn't know if you were going to be back for lunch or not," The large woman said.

She was definitely in the Ball family. MT had seen her sing during the Christmas parade last year along with her five sisters.

"Sorry, Bernice ... I didn't know either. But I found a friend in town. His name is MT."

Bernice smiled. "I know who he is. Hello, Mr. Teague, and how's your momma doin?"

"Hi, Ms. Ball," MT replied. "She's fine now, says it was just the allergies from all that pollen in the air. I expect you'll see her back in church come Sunday."

"That's a blessing. You be sure to give her my regards. So what can I do for you gentlemen?"

"I was going to make some sandwiches and take a hike out past the orchard," Perry said.

"Ahh, a little adventure, how nice," Bernice said. "I'll be glad to make you something to eat."

"Would you? Thanks, Bernice," Perry said.

She heaved her considerable body up out of the chair and walked over to the refrigerator. The door opened to reveal a plate filed with wrapped sandwiches.

"Why Lordy be, we already have sandwiches," Bernice laughed. "How many do you want, sweetie?

Perry smiled. "We'll take two apiece, thank you."

Bernice pulled out the sandwiches and gave MT a smile. "I'll thank you to keep an eye on Mr. Perry if you get down in that creek. He ain't been here long enough to know where the snakes and the poison ivy patches are, you gonna have to show him."

MT nodded. "I can do that."

She placed four sandwiches in the pack and added several bottles of RC along with a bag of cookies. "Now you be all set ... go have yourselves some fun."

Perry led the way across the pasture, keeping an eye on the ground to avoid the little piles left by the horses. The mountains rose up from beyond the trees and dominated the skyline for miles in either direction. This was one of MT's favorite views, although he had rarely ranged this far from town and onto Trogdon property.

"You know how to ride a horse?" Perry asked.

"Not really; only rode the ponies at the county fair one time," MT replied.

"Pops said I should ride this summer. My mom owns one of the horses here. Maybe we can do it together when she comes up to visit."

MT nodded. Another sign of rich folks: they kept horses even when there was no one to ride them. The swimming hole most kids used was about a mile upstream towards town, but MT wasn't going to take the boy that way. He didn't know Perry, and wasn't sure he wanted anyone to know of his friendship with a Trogdon ... not yet.

"You know what poison ivy looks like?" MT asked and Perry shook his head.

"I've seen what it can do, but I never saw any."

As they reached the fence MT held out his hand and pointed at the cluster of plants by one of the posts. "See those shiny leaves? Now look at the shape ... that's poison ivy."

Perry studied the plant and nodded. "Got it ... when will we see the snakes?"

MT laughed. "If we're lucky we won't. Snakes are kinda shy unless they get cornered. But we have copperheads, rattlesnakes and water moccasins; those are the dangerous ones. Then there are about two dozen or so snakes that won't kill ya, but all of them bite."

Perry didn't look so sure of himself now. "Uh, what happens if we see one?"

"Turn around and walk away. I'm not afraid of snakes but I respect them. Most people make lots of noise and that scares them off. We probably won't see one."

Perry hesitated once they had climbed over the fence, and so MT led the way. The Johnson grass was filled with Queen Anne's lace, but that ended at the trees where the forest was filled with ferns indicating a water source close by.

Like most country boys, MT was aware of the nature around him. Some of it was dangerous and had to be avoided, but the rest was delightful. The fields and woods around Trogdon were filled with nut trees, berry bushes and ground plants with edible fruit. It made the hikes he took adventuresome, as each time of the year offered something different.

MT walked along the edge of the woods until he came to a break. A path worn through the groundcover led them into the trees and towards the creek. It was warm enough and he wondered if Perry was up for a swim.

"Hey, there's the creek," Perry said. "Can we swim?"

"It's pretty shallow here ... but the water is probably safe," MT replied.

"Safe ... oh, you mean snakes?"

"No, I mean cows and pigs," MT laughed.

Perry looked puzzled. "I don't get it."

"There aren't any farms upstream for about five miles ... now do you get it?"

"Oh ... Eww, you mean in the water?"

"Animals don't care where they do their business. I just don't want to swim in it," MT said.

They reached the edge of the creek which was bordered in ferns. MT looked up and down the creek.

"You don't want to go in the water near any piles of rock. Water moccasins hang out there. If you see any small holes in the bank of a stream chances are they have a nest dug in there. But this water is running pretty fast and the creek is wide enough here, I say it's safe."

"I'm glad you're here, I wouldn't know what to look for," Perry said.

MT shucked his sneakers, pulled off his shirt, and then he looked over at Perry.

"You planning to leave your clothes on?"

Perry grinned. "No way."

MT dropped his jeans and underwear before walking out into the water. It was only about three feet deep in the center, but still pretty damn cold. Water off the mountain generally was unless you found a hot spring, and there were none of those around here.

He looked back and watched Perry pull off his jeans and push down his boxers. Ahh good, nature had been kind to the boy. He was fair of face and yet there was still a little bit of that childhood pudginess in his body. Give me the summer and I'll make a man of him, MT thought. Perry saw him looking and waved his dick in the air.

"This feels wicked," Perry laughed.

"Out here a man is just another animal, and they don't wear clothing," MT said.

"How true," Perry said as he stepped into the water. "Damn, that's cold."

MT laughed, grabbed his parts in both hands and dunked himself in the water until it closed over his head. He jumped back into a standing position, sputtering and blowing water out of his mouth. Perry imitated the move and then stood there shaking the water out of his hair.

"That sure is enough to wake you up ... does it ever get warmer?" Perry asked.

"Not by much," MT allowed. "Mountain water always runs cold, especially if it comes out of one of the caves up in the hills."

"Caves? Oh, I don't like creepy dark places at all."

"Some of them are like that, but there are some bigger caves where you can walk right in. But don't go talking about that to none of the older folks that live round here. We aren't supposed to go inside any caves."

Perry grinned. "But you do, don't you?"

"Of course. I know almost all of them by now. You want to get out and sit in the sun?" MT asked.

"Yeah, my nuts will freeze if I stay in here much longer."

MT walked out of the creek and picked up his clothes, but instead of putting them back on he carried them through the ferns to a large flat rock and crawled on top. Perry followed along, stepping gingerly through the ferns.

"You need to go barefoot more often, toughen up your feet," MT said, and then he lay back on the rock with a sigh.

Perry grunted as he climbed up on the rock and dropped his clothes in a pile. The surface of the rock was nice and warm so he sat down beside MT.

"You sure got a lot of hair down there," Perry said. It was true, but they were a study in contrasts. MT had dark brown hair on his head and everywhere else. Perry was fair haired and that meant his pubes would take a while to show any color.

"I told you, yours will come along soon enough. Some just get it sooner than others. Ain't but a thing my Momma always says."

"Your mom looks at the hair in your crotch?" Perry asked.

MT laughed. "Oh hell no. Why would she do that? That's just her favorite expression. Kinda like saying there are other things that are more important. I don't let women stare at my parts."

"So, no girlfriend, huh?" Perry asked.

"Nope, they all want rich boyfriends. Once the girls around here find out about you I imagine you'll have a hard time keeping them out of your pants."

"No ... I am not letting any girls in my pants," Perry said. "They'd just laugh at me because my dick is small. Now you have a big old puppy between your legs ... can I touch it?"

MT sat up. "Now why would you want to do that?"

Perry shrugged. "You might like it, that's all."

"You have some experience ... I mean sexual stuff, huh?"

"A little ... and you?" Perry asked.

"I have never done anything with a girl, but I had a boy give me a blow job when I first started playin around."

Perry's mouth dropped open. "Uh ... you did, wow. I mean ... did you enjoy that?"

MT almost laughed because Perry's dick was fully erect and looked like a skin popsicle sticking up from between his legs. Yeah, the boy needed to grow some hairs down there.

"It was just a thing," MT said. "He sucked my dick, I made cum and he spit it out ... but he got better after the third or fourth time."

"Wicked," Perry said. "We ought to try that."

"Perhaps we will, but definitely not out here for the world to see," MT said. "You better settle down before someone runs a flag up that pole of yours and salutes you."

Perry blushed and reached for his clothes.


On to Chapter Two

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