*County Fair*
*byoboy!*
That's
what it said on the front of the kid's sweatshirt. Except that I could
not be
sure if the kid in that shirt was in fact a boy. One of those
androgynous
faces, elfin-like, boyish but epicene, (Oh how I wanted it to be a boy)
long
blond hair, flashing blue eyes, a small gold ring in the lobe of his
left ear,
yellow short shorts that no wimpy American boy would dare be caught
wearing by
his peers. The kids hair hung in a single braid in the back, but larger
than
the rat-tail some kids wear, and the sides and front were cut as one
might call
a bowl-cut. The shorts were full cut, the leg hem no more than a couple
of
fingers down from his crotch.
He
was looking on as another (and I say "another" only hopefully at this
point since neither the gender, nor the sex, of the "byoboy" has been
established) ...another boy, obviously a 4H lad, is trimming the wool
on a fine
blue ribbon lamb. As I drove my rake past the two youths, at six of the
clock in
the dark cold harvest moon morning, blue-eyes flashed a look of
recognition;
but I kept on going. Moments later this beautiful apparition was
running around
the sputtering tractor to cut me off.
—Hey
mister, wait!
I was
bundled in two wool jumpers, Lycra tights, wool socks and leather
boots, my
one-piece olive drab jumpsuit, tuque and gloves, and this kid is
prancing about
in shorts and jumper. Well, it (he maybe?) had wool socks on that were
almost
knee length and the jumper was wool and long-sleeved, but I was
immensely
jealous. There was a time when I would dress like that, and I suppose I
would
dress like that now but for the nature of the work here. There is too
much
standing around to be half naked in this cold. He at least had the
warmth of
the sheep.
—Wait!
Are you... and he proceeded to rattle off several identifying
characteristics
that pointed at me and marked him as well read.
I
nodded, and he went on:
—I
saw an article at school you wrote in a magazine when we were studying
origami.
Your caravan is cool! Is it here? Can I see it?
I
still was not sure if this was a boy or a girl and the voice coming
from the
bright red lips had a strange accent; English was not their first
language.
—Yes.
I am that same person and the caravan is parked by the north service
gate, in
the area reserved for livestock vehicles. I'll be there about noon and
then
again after eight this evening if you would like to drop by for a tour.
—Ok!
Thanks!
The
boy shearing the lamb was hollering something unintelligible, the lamb
was
bleating; the kid's blue eyes flashed a smile.
—gotta
go...
Noon
came and went and so did I. Dinner came and went but I was not around,
electing
to eat this evening at the "mess hall" and mess it was. But the food
is not costing me anything and the trashman does the dishes.
At
eight I went to take a shower at the maintenance shop and left a note
to the
blond braided byoboy on the door of the old van to that effect and that
I'd be
right back. My parking place is between the maintenance line and where
the 4H
kids' families are parked. Good location. I was just back and had
turned on the
sunlamps and started some water for tea when there was a clatter at the
door
and I ducked into my long shirt as I ran forward to see what young
voice was
calling.
—Hallo!
Are you here?
It
was my boy! And boy for sure. There was no mistaking the appendage
dripping
between his naked legs. He was dripping all over for that matter; the
rest of
him was naked as well, and for once he looked cold. I had the blanket
drawn
closing off the main cabin from the front of the caravan. Outside the
temperature was down to 35f and it was not much more than 45f in the
entryway.
Come in quickly, I told him, where its warm, and I'll get you a towel.
I drew
down my damp towel from the line and tossed it to him as I went aft for
a dry
one. When I returned a moment later I asked him if I could get him a
shirt or
was it ok with him if I took mine off.
—Fine
with me. I seen the clothing optional decal on your door and I know
from the
letters my teacher showed me that you're a naturist.
I
took my shirt off and invited him to tea. His name is Gustaf, from
Sweden,
staying in Cambridge as an exchange student, thirteen but didn't look a
day
over ten, not a hair on him in any important place. He told me all this
and
more over tea and biscuits which we had under the lights.
The
first time I was nude, besides in the tub, he said, that I can
remember, was at
my uncles farm. My two cousins then were six and seven, and I was five.
One day
Fritz, he's the older one, was in with the new lambs. He didn't have
anything
on and told me to take off my clothes and climb over the rail to be
with him.
Well, I did. And he showed me all sorts of neat things. One thing he
did right
off was to take a nursing lamb off its mother and put in front of me.
The lamb
started sucking on my little pecker and pretty soon I was hard. He was
getting
hard just watching me but I didn't know what all that was about and
then he
stuck his hard peter into the mother sheep and I watched him pushing in
and out
until his face got all screwed up and he started groaning and moaning
and I put
my hand on his bum and asked if he was all right. All of a sudden he
was nearly
pulling the skin off the sheep and moaning and then he sank back onto
the hay
and caught his breath for a while. I asked him why he was putting his
pecker
into a sheep's bum and he said it wasn't a bum and besides it felt
good. He
said it was fun and he would show me how to do it next year.
The
next year I didn't go to visit them in the summer but the year after I
did and
he said first I had to know what it was like to be the sheep and that
night he
called me over to his bed and when I was in it next to him he pulled up
my
nightshirt and put his hard peter into my bum. The next day I got to do
it to a
sheep.
Now
I'm in Cambridge and some other kid from here is taking my place with
my folks.
But the kids around here are really prudes. They're all so ashamed of
their
bodies. The first night I was with my host family I walked nude from
the
bathroom to the room I'm sharing with Terry, and his father told me I
had to
cover myself. I thought there are a few things I could teach that kid
if I can
ever get his clothes off—he even sleeps in them most of the time and he
doesn't
know a thing about what you can do with a sheep.
So
this week at the fair; well, all the 4H boys are in the old bunkroom
and there
are these big group showers that can hold ten kids at a time. We were
all in
there last night and they were carrying on with all these silly jokes
about
Greeks and don't drop the soap and snapping towels and grabbing at each
others'
arses. I was getting hard just watching them fool around and got behind
Terry
and gave him a poke and all of a sudden I was inside him and he didn't
even feel
me at first. Then he broke away and gave me this silly grin like he
half liked
it but thought I was queer or crazy. Well tonight I was taking a shower
alone
and him and the others took all my clothes and when I came out to go to
my
locker and get more they jumped me and threw me out the door. So
instead of
trying to get back in I just ran over here. I knew you were here and
they'll
never think to come here when they finally get around to looking for
me.
——
We'd
finished our tea then so I took him on a short tour of my caravan. The
awnings
were down so I felt no compulsion to put anything on and it was warm
enough.
He's a cute kid, small, like about a ten year-old would be, a little
taller, a
little longer, if you know what I mean. When the tour got back aft in
the van
Gustaf threw himself across the cushions under the lights, feet drawn
up so his
legs were splayed and his arms were over his head. He laid there
watching me as
I sat beside him watching his whizzle get hard. At first I was going to
ask him
what he was doing for the rest of the night. How he would get back into
the
bunkhouse, but then I figured he could stay and he would like that cos
it would
eventually worry Terry even if Terry didn't really want to be worried
about it.
Then we talked about some other show things for a few minutes until
suddenly
Gustaf sat up.
—Well,
I guess if you don't want me then I'll be going along now.
—Wait!
I grabbed his hand as he stood, I want you very much Gustaf; at the
very least
I want you to stay just so I can continue to look at your beautiful
body; I
want you for more than that but at the same time I am very much afraid…
—What's
to be afraid of, he interrupted, I'm a boy, you're a man. I can tell
you love
boys, that's one of the things we learnt at school back home, and my
uncle
taught me all about sheep and being a catamite.
I
held him close, laid him back against my chest and braided his hair,
and then I
turned off the big lights and together we practiced some of the things
his
uncle and his cousins had taught him to do so well.