The Zone of Male Gawking

ZONE OF MALE GAWKING by Peter D'Leon

PROLOGUE: IN THE BEGINNING

 An almighty deity calling himself Isione created the Virtorum above and the earth below.

 In the beginning, Isione separated the nothing and there was light, and there was night, and there was brine, and there was terra firma. And he created the larger and the smaller luminous bodies in the sky. And he blew life onto the creatures above in the air, everything that crawls and walks on land, and everything that swims and breathes under the waters.

In the beginning, he created a man on his image. From the dirt of the earth, air was blown into him, and life came to be. And he named his creation Ommar, meaning the first. And he liked all that he had created, and he took a rest. He gave Ommar a task, to name all that was alive. And one by one, all living creatures got a name. And the creatures spawn offspring because they had companions, but Ommar did not. Every night, he lay to rest alone. Isione could hear in the air the whispers of Ommar's longing, "I'm here with me, while the others here have others like them to be with. Together, their kind is one with one, but not me. I am with none."

For long, Isione saw Ommar walking through the garden, tall, impressive, looking at all that surrounded him, looking at all the creatures he named, and still he looked down at his shadow of one. He was not sad, why would he? Ommar did not know what that emotion was. One day, Ommar waited until darkness, reached his favorite spot under the big tree and slept. Isione took benevolence in his creation.

He came to Ommar while he slept and out of one of his ribs, a companion was created, and a name was given onto this new creation. Ommar could see that his companion was somewhat different, but it wasn't important. There was joy in him. He was like the others, with one of his kind, sort of.

Then, after some time had passed, Ommar's companion was visited by the ophidian, sneaky, cunning, and deceiving. The reptile creature confused, and Ommar's companion gave into the temptation and ate the fruit offered from the tree of life. Isione had been clear. He told them, eat from every tree, not from the tree of life. But Ommar's companion was weak of will and was deceived and tricked by the slithering vermin and ate and came to Ommar to make him eat so both could be the same.

But Ommar did not take bite. He looked at it, looked at the other, he turned his back, and he walked away. He was not angry. But there were awful feelings attached to the act. He walked to the river and sat under a tree to eat other fruit. Isione came to them and saw Ommar's companion running into the tall bushes when he heard his voice. Ommar did not run. But he looked bewildered at what was happening. Isione asked why the subterfuge. He was told that the hiding was because the body was bare and not clean. Isione knew what Ommar's companion had done. Immediately, the creepy wriggler was blamed for the deed and Isione felt disappointed by the disobedience, but Ommar was not a disappointment and that was reason to rejoice. Isione punished his creation and Ommar's companion was banned from the garden, never to return and to linger in the shadows of oblivion forever. Ommar did not understand, but believed in his creator so he did not question the actions. 

Ommar soon forgot the other and he was once more alone in the garden with all the other creatures that were not. So Isione decided to try it again. He put Ommar to sleep, and he had dreams like none before. These dreams cause reaction, his body quivered as he poured out his male essence. Even asleep, he could smell it as there was nothing quite like it in the garden.

The seed of human life formed a puddle as droplets oozed out of what made him a male. Then, Isione took the essence of man and from it, he created another being in Ommar's image, a man that was anew with a fresh heart and spirit. Upon having the experience of Ommar's obedience, Isione concluded that a second man created from the first would also be obedient. Isione named Ommar's previous companion, but gave Ommar the honor of naming anew, and he named him Anarr, meaning one from a man.

Ommar saw that Anarr was like him and that pleased him. Anarr was lively and curious. They walked the garden hand in hand; it made them feel serene, learning from one another and helping to care for the garden. They lived in blissful harmony for long, while speaking to Isione, a must. Ommar introduced Anarr to all the creatures he named.

It did not pass much time when Anarr, alone, was tempted by the ophidian to eat the fruit from the tree of life. The reptile creature, deceptive as it had always been, took an equal form as Anarr. He was a tall man, with dark hair, bronzed skin and the slithering vermin enveloping his naked body. They were two but one. The creepy wriggler approached him, calmly and provocatively offered him the fruit. He deceitfully told Anarr that eating the fruit would make him a god just like Isione was. Anarr knew not to eat that fruit. The ophidian in its disguise employed once again its deceitful tactics alluring Anarr to betray.

This time however, the reptile creature, although it presented itself with allure, was not successful. Anarr refused vehemently to eat the fruit, and he ran away from the slithering vermin. Anarr saw Ommar by the lake, and in an instinctive manner, he cried, "This is how it must be", he fell into Ommar's arms, and he was embraced.

An accepting chill went up and down Ommar's body. A sense of protection overwhelmed him and as he looked at Anarr, he asked him why he was running. He said that the serpent had come to him and wanted him to eat the fruit he was told not to eat, so he ran from the presence of the serpent because it made him ill. Instinctively, Ommar rested against the tree and Anarr against Ommar. As their bodies pressed against the other, he began to rub his hand and fingers over Anarr's soft, silken, delicate skin down to the thigh and upwards to the chest. 

Isione heard it all and he watched them as they discovered pleasure on their own. He watched them find their lips. He struggled wanting to interrupt them, but he failed every time he tried. Having his arms around Anarr was a good feeling. Having Ommar's arms around him was a good feeling. Isione felt goodness as he was right in having created Anarr from the life essence of Ommar. He witnessed and marveled in the tenderness of Ommar talking to Anarr, comforting him, touching him ever so delicately and understanding what happened. As Ommar comforted Anarr, something different began to transpire between them. They noticed a part of their body growing and becoming sensitive to the touch. They had never seen it happen before. But instead of fearing it, they embraced it. They had seen it before. A peculiar liquid came out from it a few times daily. Since it happened to both, they touched it, sensed it and when it began to drip, they tasted it.

Ommar felt a deep awareness and he acted upon it and his lips touched Anarr's lips. The wetness of the act, the intensity of the feelings revolving inside of them, made them feel safe and together to be the right thing. Ommar and Anarr had discovered the hidden indulgence of hedonism and gratification by their own self. It strengthened their bond, their love and their shared purpose, binding them like no other creation in the garden.

Isione liked it and he came before his creations one morning as they were still embracing and enjoying the warmth of their bodies. Isione saw that Anarr had proven his blind obedience. And in his anger towards the serpent, still dressed as a man, he raised his arm and cast a curse on the slithering vermin restricting its existence to Malorum, the realm of all that's bad and evil.

Isione found grace in them. And after an unknown time, Ommar and Anarr became the ultimate culmination of a meaningful existence and they were allowed to leave the garden freely, with his blessing. He came to them with a promise that one day their descendants would be allowed entrance back into the new garden, Virtorum, the realm of manliness. He told them to breed and proliferate and feed the young. An Angel, who had always been there, made his presence known. He was posted in the entrance. The Angel showed them the way out and he would stand guard until the time was right to greet the return of their descendants.

***

 In a realm with only men, it would encapsulate romantic and emotional bonds without any external social constructs which will be free from stigmatization and will be deeply integrated into the cultural fabric of the reality being lived.

***

JANUARY

ITS LORDSHIP SIRE

Overture

The story began in the heart of winter's embrace, January, the year's first candle, burning with a pale but hopeful light in the long winter dark. The American West lay under a shroud of frost and tranquility. The mountains, cloaked in alabaster snow, reaching for the heavens, their icy fingers stretching skyward. Vast plains were transformed into a crystalline expanse, where each step crunched with the sound of frozen earth. The air was sharp and invigorating, carrying whispers of the pristine wilderness.

Men are fulfilled with their manhood. It is what defines them. Phallus, the academia locution preferred in the circles of the elite, may not choose designations bordering in the profane and unsavory. But those who are not, the plebeian, favor a more modest nom de plume identity such as manhood, fore-bearer, or the one that rose in popularity shortly after the demise of the Seine royals, its lordship sire. Yet, plebeians found equally appealing more salacious monikers coming from the realms of vulgarity.

 Since the dawn of humanity, its lordship sire has received an infinite plethora of epithets. The names have come and gone throughout millennia. Many never survived the withering of time. A handful of them attempted comebacks every other century without much luck. The filth and improper have sustained so much indignation from decency, decorum, and etiquette that they have been ostracized.

 The beauty of a lordship sire is universal. It is detached from the physical beauty of the man. There is an inherent biological understanding when looking at a man's lordship sire, seeing it transcends the limits of the physical world and into a realm of acquired worship.

 Every man is born with the inclination to adore lordship sires. First is the revering of their progenitors' lordship sires. Then, the devotion to those encountered along the path of life before coupling. It all ends with the complete adulation of their mates' lordship sire.

 The instinct provides for the innate protection of their sons' lordship sires, as well as their mates, closest friends, surrogate sons and others by blood or mutual acceptance. A lordship sire gives life before and after as the instrument to provide the juice of life. 

***

THE PEER SQUIRE BOARDING HOUSE FOR BACHELORS

 The train had been stopping at Brazen Creek at 5:00 pm for two years. On January 6th, 1870, it was exceedingly late. The town had grown steadily since 1855 when it was founded. It looked very different than the disarray lawless town it once was. Law and order reigned. The town needed everything and everyone and men came from all over the country, the territories, from abroad and even from the disputed regions to settle, try out fortunes, luck, live, raise a family, and die.

 Dillan Wheeler, 22, and fresh out of college, exited the train into a world that until a few hours ago, he had only heard off in stories from a few intrepid explorers or read about in the papers back home. This was his first outing as a man. He felt the coldness of the night. Winter had a hold on this region. He fixed the wool scarf around his neck and blew some hot air onto his hands. He came to be a pedagogue. The position had been open for quite some time before he decided to take it. He contacted the Governmental Scholastic Agency, and they accepted his request for this post. That was a few weeks ago. He wanted a new place, an adventure away from his progenitors. And in 1870, nothing screamed adventure in America like the allure of the wild west.

 Dillan Wheeler, five feet nine inches, dark straight-wavy short hair, with alabaster skin and oblong bone cheeks, with an athletic built and a boyish look with a wholesome character, was terribly late. A carriage was waiting for him. The driver was dozing. There was a handmade sign that read, "Mr. Wheeler". Dillan woke him. His luggage was loaded into the carriage, and he left the station. His destination was the Peer Squire Boarding House for Bachelors.

 The Agency had already made the arrangements for him and for the other pedagogue. They were going to educate the frontier pupils, the children of the men carrying on their shoulders the edification of the nation's future. The trip to the boardinghouse was short. The town was in darkness, except for a few lit candles here and there. The frigid wind of January was creeping its way up his legs.

His arrival woke some of the tenants. He saw a young face on the second-floor window looking down. He had a pretty good idea who that was. Two teenagers came out and took all of Dillan's belongings and hauled them up the stairs and through the main entrance. Inside, the boys kept going. Dillan just followed them to the second floor as they opened a door. They flung his luggage inside, and they left. Dillan saw they really looked mad, as if they rather be sleeping. Inside, he began to unpack. He heard a knocking at the open door. He turned and a tall clean shaved middle-aged man stood there in his black night garment with an oil lamp in hand. As soon as he saw the silhouette, Dillan felt he ought to keep quiet.

 "I see you made it in one piece, Mr. Wheeler."

 "That I did," he shook the hand of the welcoming stranger. "Are you Mr. Owens?"

 "I am. Welcome to the House."

 "The House?" Dillan's inquiry hinted at his surprise to the building's moniker.

 "That's what we call this house. Its full name is the Peer Squire Boarding House for Bachelors, which is quite a mouthful, don't you reckon?"

 "I reckon," Dillan smiled at the man's explanation.

 "Well, Mr. Wheeler, I leave you to tend to your things. If you're hungry, we save you a plate. It's downstairs in the kitchen. I'll see you in the morning. Breakfast's at 7:00 AM. Please, don't be late. These are your keys. This one is for the room, and this one is for the front door. Well, I fare you a good night, Mr. Wheeler." He turned and left the room.

 And as soon as Mr. Owens left, another figure crawled into Dillan's room without any warning, decking in his sleeping undergarments.

 "Hello stranger!" The smile on his face was contagious. 

 "Patrick!" Dillan shouted.

There was an exuberant joy pouring out of Dillan as he was joyous to see his best friend. They hadn't seen each other for several weeks. They hugged and kissed their rosy cheeks.

"When did you get here?" Dillan asked inquisitively.

 "I've been here since yesterday." Patrick replied standing in front of his friend with hands on his hips. "You were supposed to get here this afternoon. What in the name of Priapus happened?" he asked.

 Dillan placed one of his trunks on the bed, opened it and began to take some clothes out to fill out the drawers.

"We learned of a collapsed track shortly before we left St. Louis", he explained, "It took them forever to fix it. I realized then that I wasn't going to make it here on time. I used the telegraph office in St. Louis."

"Ah, so you were the one who sent the telegram!"

"Yes. I didn't want to get into trouble."

"You didn't. As soon as Mr. Owens got the telegram, he told me you would be late."

"Sorry I wasn't here earlier; the whole thing was out of my hands." Dillan's attempt to apologize made Patrick smile.

"Don't worry, water under the bridge. Besides, we have all day tomorrow and the weekend. And with that, I leave you be. Mr. Owens only gave me a few minutes. We're way over our curfew as it is. I'll see you in the morning. And Dillan, welcome to Brazen Creek!" There was magic and mystery in his voice.

They kissed like schoolboys on their first day and he left. Dillan reached over and locked the door. He had enough visitors and interruptions for one night. He felt exhausted. And less than an hour later, he was in bed sound asleep dreaming of Knights in a faraway land and a prince needing to be rescued.

 The next morning at 7:30, Dillan, Patrick, Mr. Owens, his mate Mr. Haskell, and the two other guests staying in the house were finishing their buffet-style breakfast. There was a sense of decorum being displayed at the table. These were four bachelors doing respectable business in town because only respectable men stayed at the Peer Squire Boarding House for Bachelors.

As soon as they finished, Mr. Owens got up and so did the others. The two men doing business with the local bank, acknowledged the other's presence. They politely looked at Mr. Owens. They were dressed to impress, and they left. Dillan and Patrick looked at each other in silence. They were seconds from bursting into laughter but restrained themselves as gentlemen do. Mr. Haskell kept sending them signals to just wait.

"Mr. Wheeler, Mr. Griffiths, please, follow me into my office."

They felt like being called into the principal's office. They entered and they sat when told. They waited for a few minutes. Mr. Owens sat behind an oak wooden desk of exquisite carving.

"As you know," he addressed them, "besides managing this House, I'm also the schoolhouse's Headmaster. It hasn't been opened since it was built two seasons ago. So, you can imagine how happy I was when the Agency send me a telegram informing me that there were two candidates who had chosen this post." Mr. Owens was intrigued to see Patrick raising his hand. His facial gesture sent the right message to Patrick. "What is it, Mr. Griffiths?" His voice was firm and assertive.

"Just a correction. I didn't choose this post."

"You're correct, Mr. Griffiths. You were assigned to the Brazen Creek Schoolhouse. However, Mr. Wheeler, you chose this post."

"I did."

"May I ask why?" There was a genuine interest in his voice. He had a good idea why.

"Well, as soon as I learned that Patrick… Mr. Griffiths was posted here by the Agency, I immediately submitted by application. We're brothers, and I didn't want him to be here alone. Also, I really needed a change of scenery and to be far away from my progenitors."

Patrick listened in silence. He knew all this.

"Perfectly understandable, Mr. Wheeler. When I was your age, I traveled through the many historical capital cities of Europe for a year. I too needed to be far away from my progenitors. Anyway, gentlemen, I'll be supervising you. Come to me if there is any problem at the schoolhouse with the students or their progenitors. If you haven't noticed it, the schoolhouse is the building next door. You'll have breakfast and dinner here, and lunch will be provided for you at the schoolhouse. You must always remain there with the boys, including at lunchtime, at which time, some of their progenitors will be bringing them their lunch. I should remind you that this is a respectable boarding house. You must maintain decency and respect. I am responsible for your wellbeing, don't forget that. Now, to other matters that need your immediate attention. Since I cannot be at the schoolhouse, you, Mr. Wheeler, will be in charge. Sorry Mr. Griffiths, but as you know, you owe the Agency and Mr. Wheeler does not. The Agency has put him in charge."

"That's okay." Patrick responded. "I don't mind having to report to him." He giggled a little.

"The position is merely informal. I don't anticipate any problems. I'm always here. If you need me, just send a pupil for me." He took some air and continued. "Now, there's something else you need to do. I know you're eager to explore this town and make the best of what's left of the weekend, but there's one more thing you need to tend to." They kept their eyes fixed, and their ears opened.

He continued, "All the materials, books, and school supplies are currently kept at the General Store. They've been there for quite some time now. There's also a small trunk for each of you with your school items." The news brought smiles to their lips. "I need you to go over there, today, and retrieve the boxes, the trunks, and the crates. Mr. Acker has been graciously keeping them stored. He's the owner of the General Store. He should be waiting for you. I spoke to him three days ago to remind him that I was removing the schoolhouse's belongings. He has been a pain in my neck for a while complaining about the longest that the schoolhouse's property has been taking storage space he apparently needs. I don't see what the fuzz is all about. We're paying him handsomely for the storage. Anyway, go there, retrieve our property, bring it to the schoolhouse and on Monday morning you can sort it out. Any questions?"

"Did you say the General Store owner is Mr. Acker?"

"Yes, Mr. Logan Acker. Oh, and just one more thing. I understand you're young, but you're also respectable single cavalier gentlemen who have not yet coupled. It's the mandate of the Agency that you," he pointed at them, "are not to visit the Cabaleiro Saloon or the Crimson Succubus Tavern at any time, day, or night unless you're under direct permission from me, that also includes any establishment that resembles either of those two places. If it is a matter of education, especially during the day, and you must go inside, please, make it quick. This mandate also includes the Macho Man Cantina, however that's a members' only club, so I don't think you'll be granted entry. If you found yourself in need of male companionship, do visit The Bakla House. It's discreet, it'll provide you with what you seek, and as Agency employees, you'll get a reasonable discount. Just ask Jimmy or any of the boys and they'll tell you where it is." He saw their eyes roll. He knew very well these were not the lines of dialogue they wanted to hear.

Mr. Owens continued, "Now, about guns. They're not needed, and you're not obliged to carry one. However, if you wish to carry one, you're not allowed to have them inside the schoolhouse, for safety reasons. If you don't have one, but you wish to have one, talk to Mr. Acker. When not in use, keep them saved in your rooms. When going out at night, I do encourage you to take them with you. If you don't have any questions, you're dismissed. I'll see you at dinner. And please, don't be late."

Dillan and Patrick felt they were disciplined and reprimanded without having done anything wrong. Mr. Owens' words echoed the long and tedious meeting they had before coming here. Listening to the mandate made it real. They were afraid to even move. But the instant Mr. Owens dismissed them, they snapped out of it and left.

 There was a spacious foyer at the entrance, with the library and reception area on the left and the ample dining room on the right. The library was the enlightening center of the House on many nights. Guests used the space to read, plenty of classics and moderns to choose from as well as newspapers and magazines, to talk to other guests, to have a few drinks, and relax after a long hard day. There were nights when Mr. Owens entertained his guests with short piano concertos, bringing current music and the classics to life. This was the place where men were ushered when visiting a guest.

Behind the dining room, there was Mr. Owens' office and the private residence room he had shared with Mr. Haskell for several years. Behind it, there was the kitchen, the pantry, and the storage area. There was a door there that led to the back patio where chickens, goats and other domestic animals resided to provide continuous sustenance to the House guests while a robust garden with seasonal spices, vegetables, and fruits complemented and satisfied their daily appetite. Behind the library, there was a private washing room and behind it, there was a resident room. Right in the middle, front and back, there was a double staircase, leading to the second floor. There were three resident rooms on each side. Dillan and Patrick had the first and second rooms on the left. Dillan's room had two windows, one facing the street and the other facing the building's side. Patrick's room had two windows facing the building's side. 

 Residents at the house were single men who needed long term accommodations and other amenities that the traditional hotel room could not provide. Coupled men were welcomed when traveling alone. The boardinghouse was not cheap, and its guests had to follow strict rules. Uncoupled men weren't allowed to bring men up to their rooms without the explicit permission from Mr. Owens who prided himself on keeping a tight ship. He managed the residents while his partner managed the physical structure, maintenance, supplies, and employees. The House had a permanent cook and two kitchen assistants. There was a full-time boarding-keeper named Jimmy and two houseboys who helped with the residents' personal laundry, water for the bathtubs and the other amenities offered. They also helped in the dining room when breakfast and dinner were served. Behind the house, there were well-kept huts where the employees slept. The main cook had a sleeping area next to the kitchen which was closed after 9:00 pm. When special dinners were served, the House hired other boys to assist with the servings. All services provided were extra. Dillan and Patrick made sure that the houseboys and the boarding-keeper received tips whenever they got paid. The houseboys were grateful. There was a grounds keeper that managed the vegetable garden, the flower gardens, the front and back patios, and the domesticated animals.

Dillan and Patrick adhered to the rules of the House, including having a curfew. After dinner, they could go out for a few hours, but they had to be inside the House no later than 11 pm. On Friday night, Saturday night, and holidays, their incursions into the offerings of the night ended by midnight. Any night they wished to be after eleven, they had to inform Mr. Owens, who emphasized how disruptive it was to enter the House late at night.

***

ENCOUNTER AT THE GENERAL STORE

The New Yorkers walked to the General Store. The two burgeoning cavaliers strolled down the dirt road in the chilly morning hours. Brazen Creek had already been awakened. Patrick casually placed his arm around Dillan's shoulder. Men were coming out of shops, stores, and businesses. There was the old man carrying a small bag coming out of the Apothecary. A well-dressed gentleman had just come out of the Decoris Shoppe with a bag in his hand, perhaps it was a new hat. They saw a few young men neatly dressed most likely coming from the Maschio Boarding House. There were men, wagons, carriages, and mounted horses going up and down Brazen Creek's Main Street. 

Dillan knew he was not in New York City. The noises, the smells, the air he breathed were different. This was the west, a place destined to be magical, and strange were laws were less constrained. After a few minutes, they stopped in front of the big wooden structure painted in bright colors. It had two floors, and it stood at the intersection of two busy streets. 

Once inside, they saw everything anyone could ever need to start a new life on the western frontier. There were house goods, kitchen goods, all kinds of furniture, big and small, mostly used but still in good condition, cowboy and working clothes, all kinds of guns and rifles, and horse paraphernalia, but they saw no one.

"Hello!" Dillan called out, no response. He waited a few minutes. He looked at Patrick and he called out again as he looked around. Nothing. He turned to Patrick, "Come on."

Not having an answer did not deter him from finding the schoolhouse's property. Patrick said nothing. He followed his friend.

After a few minutes searching, Dillan shouted, "Here they are Patrick!"

"Look!" Patrick also shouted, "Our trunks!"

And they turned into pillars of salt once they saw the cold shinny metallic end of a long rifle barrel pointed at them.

"I'll suggest you two leave those trunks exactly where you found them, that is if you wish to see the dawn of tomorrow." The deep voice of the man holding the steady rifle caught Dillan by surprise.

Upon listening to the demand, and loving his life, and really wanting to see the dawn of tomorrow, Patrick dropped the trunk, and did not move. He looked at Dillan in total fear.

"You've got about two seconds to tell me what in Priapus name are you doing here and who are you?" The man kept pointing the unmovable rifle at the two terrified cavaliers.

With hands way up and terrified, Dillan replied, "There's no need to shoot anyone. We're unarmed! We're just getting our things."

"Your things?" The man asked in that deep voice that was making Dillan nervous for other reasons then the one he was finding himself on. He sensed the man's impatience growing.

"The schoolhouse things!" Dillan shouted out with fear in his voice. "Mr. Owens from the boarding house talked to Mr. Acker about it and we're here to retrieve them!" Dillan spit out the words as fast as he could. He really was hoping to see tomorrow's dawn.

The man lowered his rifle slowly, and he looked at the two scary cavaliers, "Are you the pedagogues?"

"Yes, yes, we are!" Patrick shouted relieved that their identity had been revealed to the man with the shiny rifle.

The man lowered his rifle completely, and he took a few steps closer to Dillan.

"Are you insane? Why didn't you wait for me in the front?"

"I called out, twice, but no one answered." Dillan responded feeling relieved and safe.

"So, you decided to just barge in."

"Not our intention, believe me."

"In fairness though, we didn't wait for long." Patrick said attempting to explain their reckless behavior. 

Dillan gave him a stern look. The rifle man took a few steps back from Dillan.

"Which of you two dimwits is Mr. Wheeler?"

Dillan frowned his eyes, but he was in no position to argue.

"Me!" Dillan, however, made sure with his face that he didn't like the name calling.

The moment Logan met Dillan's gaze; the world seemed to shift. The soft morning light filtering through the high windows caught in his dark hair, casting golden edges along Dillan's features. He stood in front of the young cavalier looking at him. The breath hitched in Logan's throat before he could steady himself. It was ridiculous, this feeling, like the air had thickened, like time had slowed. His eyes, warm and knowing, held him just long enough to send a rush of heat through his chest, unexpected and undeniable. A flicker of a smile tugged at the corner of his lips, the kind that could tilt the balance of everything he thought he understood. Logan wasn't the sort to believe in foolish notions. But in that single moment, standing in front of the pedagogue, he felt something that was impossible to explain, yet impossible to ignore. It was as if he had been waiting for this, though he hadn't known it until now.

He kept his eyes on Dillan. He approached him once again, but this time in a friendlier manner. He extended his hand.

"Look at you. You're a captivating handsome man. I don't think I can take my eyes of you." He gave Dillan a big smile. "I'm Logan Acker."

"Dillan Wheeler." He confirmed his name with a dashing smile, and he didn't waste any time to return the complement, "And you're gorgeous!", he said with a quivering smile. "Love your voice!"

The moment their eyes met, something shifted inside Dillan, sharp and sudden, like the breath had left his lungs for a beat too long. He wasn't a man prone to dramatics, yet there he stood, sunlight spilling soft through the dusty windows, catching in the loose hair framing Logan's face. He felt he needed to say something, something easy, something fitting for the moment. Instead, he simply looked, caught between curiosity and the undeniable pull of whatever it was that had just settled deep in his chest. A slow smile tugged at the corners of his lips, small but knowing, like he felt it too. And just like that, Dillan knew, whether he had planned for it or not, which he didn't, whether he was ready for it or not, this dashing squire man was about to change everything.

He looked at Dillan with his piercing blue eyes. "I've been called many things, but never that. I like it!" He turned to Patrick, "And you are?"

"I'm Patrick Griffiths", they shook hands, "and we're both pedagogues. We're here to collect the schoolhouse property." He was still shaken up.

"Well, it was about damn time", he placed the rifle on top of a crate and leaned against it. "I told Mr. Owens so many times before when he was going to get them crates and boxes out of here. I kept telling him that I needed the storage space. I mean, those crates have been here like forever." Dillan smiled as he found the comment funny. "Hey, I reckon, do you need them to be taken to the schoolhouse?"

Logan shook his head for a moment. He was trying to reconcile with himself. Moving things from the store to another building was not a service he offered. He had no idea where that came from, and he didn't know why he made the offer. 

"Yes, please. Could you arrange it?"

"I reckon that for someone else, probably not. But for a charming handsome fella like you, hell yeah!", there was a short moment of eerie silence as their eyes met. "Will this afternoon, say 'round 4:00 pm be alright for you?"

"Yes, I'll be waiting for you." Dillan replied with a fool's smile.

"We'll be at the schoolhouse waiting for you." Patrick interrupted, reminding Dillan that he was still there.

"Well, yes. We'll be there." Dillan reiterated.

"Okay, it's settled. I reckon, is there anything else I can do for you?" Logan asked as he kept his eyes on Dillan. He made a mental note to thank all the angels that were responsible for allowing Dillan to find his way into his shoppe.

"Actually, there is." Dillan was quick to say. "Mr. Owens said we could procure guns from you. Nothing fancy."

"I reckon you're going to need them. Two pretty boys like you will want to have some protection, especially at night. Tell you what, I'll take two of my pistols this afternoon. How's that?"

"That'll be most satisfactory." Dillan agreed with a smile he simply couldn't shake off. Patrick nodded in agreement.

"Anything else, gentlemen?" Logan asked hoping there was nothing else.

"No, no. I reckon, that'll be all." Dillan responded without ever taking his eyes off the studly owner of the General Store.

And it happened. Logan caught Dillan staring at what lay between his legs. To reward Dillan's audacity, he softly grabbed his lordship sire and caressed it over the trousers. Dillan smiled, cocked his eyes, turned and grabbed Patrick by the arm. They left the store. As they walked to the door, Dillan turned his head to see if Logan was staring at him. He was. Outside, Dillan stopped.

"I'm hungry. Are you hungry?" he asked Patrick. "Come on, let's find something to eat." More than hungry, Dillan just wanted to do something.

Patrick followed his friend shaking his head a little. They saw a lunch wagon on the other side of the road. Logan stepped outside, leaned against the wall, and kept staring at Dillan's hind cheeks as he walked away. Then, he grabbed his lordship sire with some tenderness.

"Easy boy, easy. I reckon that you'll enjoy that soon." He smiled and went back inside moving his leg and accommodating his lordship sire at the clear sight of a deserving male awakening initiated by the sight of the captivating young cavalier who had just rattle his life like the fox inside the rooster's house.

The General Store

 The Brazen Creek General Store had been under Logan Acker's care since he took over the management from the previous owner. That would've been one Emerson Burnet from Madison, Wisconsin, age 42 who gambled the store's deed one night while halfway drunk during a poker game that Logan won four years ago. Logan had no interest in keeping the deed. He was going to returned it to its rightful owner, but there was nothing Logan could've done when the idiot died that night. He stumbled too far from the town on a particularly freezing night in November and froze to death. He was just a few feet from the outhouse. He had no choice but to legally keep the deed and run the business. And so far, he had been doing a good job.

This was a rather big building with two floors. The second floor was used mostly for storage, but it had some secluded areas for employees to sleep. On the first floor, around the back, there was a door that led to the private residential area that Logan liked to call home at the end of the day. There was a spacious sleeping area with a regular bed good for two, a kitchen, a sitting patch, a small table, and a fireplace. There was an outhouse a few feet away reachable from a door next to the kitchen. In cold nights, he did his privacy inside in a small patch designated for just that.

Logan sold all kinds of goods for cabins and huts, for those traveling, and the likes. He sold appropriate clothing for men and boys. He sold shoes, socks, undergarments, long johns, hats, guns, bullets, knifes, saddles, harnesses, pots and pans, essential furniture, tents, even candies and other bake goods done by locals. He also had a unique line of products made by the Natives. Every three or four months, they came and brought clothing, moccasins, jewelry, hats, pots, and a few other creations from their hands. They were exclusive and by some mysterious force, they were highly sought out by the citizens in this and many other towns. However, Logan sent many of the Native trinkets and widgets to a San Francisco retail store. 

This also included human nectar; a rare substance Natives produced. It was sweet, but not like sugar, maple or honey. This was a different kind of secretion that was whitish-gray, and the taste of a few drops could linger in the mouth for hours. Some said it was the ambrosia from the gods of ancient Greece. They always brought a sample in a small bottle for Logan's personal use. This sap-like ooze was so good and so expensive, he kept it out of sight. Those who knew, asked. It would be later that Logan would discover that the human nectar he so much enjoyed would be available to him for free. A few times a year, Logan took his wagon full of provisions, mail, military stuff, and occasionally money to Ft. Cockrane. The soldiers stationed at Ft. Dickson in Brazen Creek came to the store to load their wagon with provisions that arrived from the government and those they bought.

***

THE TOWN OF BRAZEN CREEK

In the rugged expanse of the American frontier, nestled between towering pines and rugged hills, lay the humble yet resolute town of Brazen Creek. Its story began in 1855, when three intrepid pioneers, Emerson Burnet, James Caldwell, and Elijah Benton, embarked on a journey that would shape the destiny of this remote outpost.

Emerson Burnet, a former Livery Stable owner and merchant from Madison, Wisconsin, had long harbored dreams of forging a new life far from the constraints of his genteel upbringing. His heart, as steadfast as the granite cliffs he would come to know, was set on creating a community where goodwill, strength of character and fairness could flourish amidst the untamed wilderness. It also helped his skills became awash as Missouri's population grew. He wanted a new place, and this was the one.

James Caldwell, a former miner with a weather-beaten face and a heart of iron, had left behind the turbulent gold rush towns of California. His experience in the rough-and-tumble world of mining made him the ideal candidate to lead the construction of the town's essential infrastructure. He carried with him a map etched in the margins of his memory, a cartographer's dream that led to Brazen Creek, a modest trickle of water that promised both sustenance and opportunity.

Elijah Benton, a taciturn yet fiercely skilled blacksmith, had journeyed from the deep South with his cavalier partner and their 12-year-old squire son. His past was shrouded in mystery, but his hands spoke volumes about his craft he passed on to his son. He envisioned a town where the clang of his hammer would forge not just horseshoes and plows, but the very essence of a burgeoning settlement.

The trio arrived in Brazen Creek one brisk autumn morning. The land was both beautiful and brutal, a paradox of fertile plains and unforgiving terrain. They made their camp by the creek's gentle flow, the cool air filled with the promise of new beginnings. Their initial days were grueling. Emerson set about organizing a livery stable and a general store, fashioned from timber and dreams, while James began to survey and clear the land for future development. Elijah, with the precision of a master craftsman, established a blacksmith shop just between the livery stable and the general store that would soon become the heartbeat of the town's industrial life.

The townsmen were skeptical at first, outsiders in a land known for its ferocity. But as weeks turned into months, their work began to show results. The creek, once a mere trickle, was harnessed for irrigation, turning arid patches of land into thriving gardens. Emerson's general store became a beacon of daily life, a meeting place to exchange ideas and opinions, drawing settlers who shared his vision of a better future. Elijah's blacksmith shop became a place where not just tools were made, but where stories were shared, and community bonds were forged. His son Benjamin, whom everyone in town called Ben, started his promising life by creating his first pieces using leather, belts, and polished stones he found by the riverbed.

Life in Brazen Creek was harsh but filled with a sense of community and purpose. The town grew slowly as more settlers arrived, drawn by tales of fertile land and the promise of a new beginning. The pioneers faced numerous challenges, from harsh winters and droughts to conflicts with Native tribes they were able to resolve and maintain an amicable interaction. Yet, they persevered, united by their shared dreams and the bonds they forged in the face of adversity.

The town's economy was initially based on agriculture and trade. Most of the land surrounding the town was dedicated to farming. The town became a heaven for miners, lumberjacks, and railroad builders. Elijah's blacksmith shop was always bustling, with settlers bringing in horses to be shod and tools to be repaired. Emerson's general store became a gathering place for the community. Emerson helped host town meetings and social events. The store was the lifeline of Brazen Creek, providing essential goods and a place for settlers to exchange stories and news. By the end of their first year, Brazen Creek had transformed from a solitary outpost into a bustling settlement. As the years passed, Brazen Creek grew into a thriving town. The arrival of the railroad in 1868 brought new opportunities and challenges. The town saw an influx of new settlers, businesses, and even a few outlaws seeking to make their fortune. Despite the changes, the spirit of the original pioneers endured. Entertainment for men expanded beyond the saloon as it included houses and cantinas. A hotel ensured men would have a place to stay, along with boardinghouses and affordable renters for passing men.

As the town thrived, Emerson, James, and Elijah met their fate. Emerson froze to death after he stumbled on a November cold night in 1865. He had not coupled and had no son to speak of. A young squire named Logan Acker won the deed of his general store on a poker game. It was a night of bad luck for poor Emerson. James met his creator the following summer during a particularly bad storm. The flash flooding down the canyon caught him by surprise sweeping him and his horse. Neither were ever found. Elijah was the first to go. He and his mate Franklyn died of cholera during a brutal outbreak in 1857. Their son Ben, who had turned 15, took the reins of the Livery Stables. 

In their brief but fruitful time in Brazen Creek, each had their own story, their own sacrifices and triumphs, but together they had built more than just a town. They had forged a legacy for those to come, a testament to the enduring spirit of the West and the dreams of those who dared to tame it. The town became a place where history was made not just by the grandiose gestures but by the everyday courage of its men. Every month, new men arrived. Miners who were stopping for a day or two on their way to the gold and precious stones to the north and west. Men who were looking for work, found their luck on the fields of ranches to handle cattle, or snatched by companies building needed structures. Railroad workers made a stop here to see their families that came to be with them for a day or two. There were immigrants coming from many places able to do all sorts of jobs and skillful in many trades.

***

THE SCHOOLHOUSE

Logan arrived at the schoolhouse with boxes, crates, and two trunks in a wagon. Dillan and Patrick were there. Logan carried boxes and crates into the classroom. He was aided by Olaf whom Patrick gawked at as he and Dillan carried their trunks. Patrick hushed lowly to Dillan. He thought there was something anomalous about Olaf. Dillan slightly nodded, giving Patrick mixed vibes as to the nature of what he understood he meant about Olaf.

"He's not from around here", Patrick said to Dillan. Then, he turned and faced Olaf, "Pardon my ignorance but I reckon, where are you from?"

 Patrick Griffiths, 22, 5'8", had sandy toned skin with brown straight-curly short hair with a triangle bone cheek structure that complemented his trimmed built physique, his boyish looks and his mischievous character, always inquisitive, never holding back.

"Scandinavia", Olaf responded with a clear Norse accent.

"See, I told you he wasn't from around here," looking at Dillan. "Are you aware that your accent is extremely provocative?"

Olaf was not one to react to flirtation. He wasn't accustomed to it, but it didn't face him either. He smiled at Patrick as their eyes met a few times.

Logan and Olaf brought the last boxes under the gazing eyes of the two young cavaliers whose only experience teaching was that of their internship done at a prestigious private school in New York City's upper east side. They were looking forward to indulging in the artistry of proving their mastery before a captive audience in need of acquiring the skills necessary to get ahead in life in this time where being literate was a desired ability not everyone was able to acquire. They were looking forward to starting the first leg of their journey in life. 

"This is the last one," Logan said to Dillan as he panted a little and caught his breath. He also realized that his entire being was being bombarded by the intense and absorbing aroma exuded from Dillan.

And as this happened, Dillan couldn't take his eyes off Logan. In fact, he kept them fixed at Logan's front indulgent. He saw Logan's noticeable outthrust as he walked from the classroom to the wagon. In response, Logan made every possible effort to absorb the aroma he whiffed out of Dillan as he walked by him asking him where to put a box or a crate. Logan made sure Dillan could see him grabbing his lordship sire as he walked in front of him. Nothing makes a man more nervous than seeing another man grabbing his lordship sire. It made them sweat.

Patrick repeated the maneuver with Olaf. However, every time Olaf walked into the classroom, Patrick kept wondering about what he believed he was noticing being outlined. It made little sense to him. At first glance, the contour lines of Olaf's lordship sire were at one side of his dark blue jeans. But when he returned from the wagon, the lordship sire's contour was clearly visible on the other side. And there were a few moments when Patrick swore, he saw them on both sides. An illusion? When they finished, they both looked at the pedagogues, they smiled, and they put back their jackets and left the room.

Logan came back carrying a wooden box he placed on the desk and opened it.

"I hope you two know how to use these." Logan took out two pistols and their holsters.

Dillan grabbed and checked one of the pistols. He rolled the bullet chamber, looked inside the barrel, aimed and pulled the trigger with the precision, agility and style of a professional. Logan was impressed.

"This will do." Dillan said.

Patrick grabbed the other and did exactly the same. This time, Logan had to laugh.

"Same here." Patrick said.

"Okay Boys, I get it. You know you're way around pistols."

"Why wouldn't we?" It was rhetorical. "How much for both?" Dillan asked.

"Normally, the pistol and holster, some 30 notes. But you can have them for free. They're mine and I'm no longer using them."

"Why free?" Dillan was interested to know.

"Because two handsome cavaliers like you shouldn't be walking around unprotected." Logan came closer to Dillan's face. "Just take the pistols, as a nice gesture from an admirer. I mean, you should be accustomed by now to receive nice gifts from men."

They looked at each other. That was not by any stretch of their reality in the city.

"I certainly do not!" Dillan erupted, "I will, however, take them only because we need them, so thank you."

They grabbed the holsters and the pistols. Logan turned and walked away laughing. 

Dillan and Patrick watched the wagon blending with the traffic on Main Street. They closed the schoolhouse, and they walked back to the House. Mr. Owens was told that all the boxes and crates had been delivered. He was relieved in being no longer a thorn on Mr. Acker's back. He was also relieved seeing his pedagogues carrying their pistols.

In the Schoolhouse

  The schoolhouse had been open for two weeks. Dillan and Patrick welcomed their thirteen students every morning. A small class, but quite enough compared to other towns with just few pupils. They had provided them with quality basic literate education. From the window in his office, Mr. Owens could see things happening at the schoolhouse. And something he had been noticing for the past few days, he thought could no longer continue unnoticed. He took the time to ask some of the pupils as his suspicion was confirmed. Dillan rang the bell, and the pupils said goodbye to their pedagogues. They had been in their three-piece suits in dark pastel tones all day. They wanted to finish, go to their rooms, and liberate their bodies of the heavy fabric that made them look cool when walking. Some shook their hands; others provided a gentle and soft kiss on their cheeks. They saw their boys leave. They were glad the Temple of Priapus brought the pupils coats and gloves to wither the cold.

"Job well done!", said Dillan.

It was a gentle pad on the back for another day of honest and important work. They liked to do that to each other. They gathered their belongings, closed the windows, fixed the chairs, locked the doors, and headed to the House. As they went up the stairs hoping to relax for the rest of the afternoon, the last thing in their minds was exactly what came to pass as they heard the deep affirming voice of the headmaster.

 "Mr. Wheeler, Mr. Griffiths, will you please join me in my office." He was standing at the foot of the staircase, and then he went back inside. They were thinking about what could possibly be wrong. They came down and went inside the office.

 "Mr. Wheeler, Mr. Griffiths, it has come to my attention that you've been giving away your lunches to some of the pupils. Am I to understand that this is a correct assessment of the situation?"

 "It is," responded Dillan softly taking the lead and realizing why they were here. When they started doing it, Patrick was concerned precisely about what was happening now. He told Dillan that if Mr. Owens found out, he would not like it. Patrick kept quiet.

 "I see. May I inquire as to why is that happening?"

 "Because they didn't have anything to eat and watching us eat was just wicked on our part."

 "I sympathize with you, and I understand it. However, there's a bigger picture you must consider. Their nutrition is the responsibility of their progenitors, not ours. They must provide them with either sustenance or money to buy sustenance. It's not our responsibility to feed them, just to educate them."

 "Yes, we know that. We just couldn't see them looking at the others and at us eating and they didn't have anything. It was heinously heartbroken."

 Mr. Owens fraught his shoulders and took a deep breath. Dillan couldn't tell if it was of relief, I understand you, or if it was of discontent, I cannot believe you did that.

 "Look, you're my responsibility. You're important to the Agency." Mr. Owens was talking to both.

 "I would say that the pupils are important." Dillan said.

 "Not for the Agency. For them, you are," he points at them, "We're in the middle of nowhere. The probability of diseases, illnesses, and other ill-fitting conditions is very high. You need to be and stay healthy. That means, three meals a day. The Agency hired you and it provided those meals to you, not to them. So, you're not to share or give away your lunches to the students, and that's a mandate."

 "You want us to let them starve all day?" Patrick was unable to contain himself as he exploded.

 "Well, yes, Mr. Griffiths. As harsh as that sounds, yes." Mr. Owens' affirmation was clear, strong, and final.

 "With all due respect, Mr. Owens, I refuse to let that happen!" Patrick snapped back. He did it without thinking, of course. Mr. Owens knew that and so did Dillan who placed his hand on his friend's upper thigh and squeezed to calm him. Patrick understood the gesture and stopped talking.

 "Really, I get it. I'm not blind to the situation. But, as it stands, it is what it is, Mr. Griffiths. However, if you have a different solution, I'm all ears."

 There was a moment of silence. Then, Patrick spoke, "Okay, will it be satisfactory for you and the Agency, if we find sponsors for the children with no lunches?"

 "I'm intrigued. Elaborate Mr. Griffiths," Mr. Owens asked with great interest.

 "I mean, Mr. Wheeler and I can find sponsors willing to patron the pupils' lunches for some time." Patrick's eyes lit up a little with the idea that popped into his head. He looked at Dillan who also smiled in approval of the idea.

 "Beguiling proposal, Mr. Griffiths. I would have to say that if you and Mr. Wheeler can accomplish that, I would have no objection to the notion and most likely neither will the Agency."

 "Great!" Patrick's exuberant jolt caught Mr. Owens by surprise, and he almost fell from the chair. "Sorry!"

 "No apologies needed Mr. Griffiths."

 "Dillan and I can go right now and find sponsors for the pupils. Come on, let's go!"

 Patrick grabbed Dillan and pulled him out of the office and into the street. Patrick was determined. Outside, he stopped and faced his friend.

 "So, how should we do this?"

 "Why are you asking me? This is your idea."

 "I know, I know. But your mind works better than mine for this sort of thing. I got you the idea, now, how can we accomplish the task before us?"

 "Really? Fine!" Dillan replied and something came to him. "How's this, I'll ask Mr. Acker if he can sponsor one or two pupils. I mean, he has a business and there's only four pupils needing lunches."

 "That's actually good Dillan, and I'll ask Mr. Chong if he can provide us with larger portions or perhaps sponsor one of the pupils."

 "Good. Now we have a plan. Let's meet back here in about an hour, shall we?"

 "Yes!"

And just like that, they started moving with a purpose. Patrick walked to Mr. Chong's lunch wagon and Dillan to the General Store. He gambled that Mr. Acker would not say no to his request. 

 At the General Store, Dillan waited for Logan to finish with a customer. After he did, Logan had already noticed his presence. As if one could not avoid feeling the intensity of having a beautiful man looking at you. The essence of man like the vapors of a hot day on a dirt road that can be seen at a distance emanating and the closer you get, the more intense they become.

 "Good afternoon, Mr. Wheeler. To what do I owe your presence?" Logan made sure he kept his eyes on target, directly at the line of vision of the sweet angel standing in front of him. It was good to see him again.

 "I have a proposal for you," Dillan replied.

 "A decent proposal, I reckon. I'm listening." Logan crossed his arms and carefully paid attention to what Dillan had to say. He didn't know what the young cavalier was going to say. For all he cared, Dillan was here to tell him that the sky was green, that someday men will travel far distances on flying machines, or that sometime in the distance future, men will walk on the moon. It made no difference what fantastic tale he was about to tell him. Logan stood there, staring and listening. He smiled at Dillan, and he enjoyed the sweet aroma emanating from him. It was the combined aroma of honey, maple, lavender and wildflowers rolled into one sweet smell. Intoxicated. He listened to the delicious words that seemed to be whispered by a cherub who fled Virtorum and landed in Brazen Creek.

 Dillan was anxious, "I'll get to the point. We have four pupils who come to the schoolhouse without proper meals to consume at lunch or money. For the past few weeks, Patrick… Mr. Griffiths and I have been given them our lunches. Mr. Owens somehow found out and he has prohibited us from continuing to do that. He cited the notion that we must stay healthy, eat, and some other bull. Anyway, we can't do that anymore." 

"I think Mr. Owens did the right thing in prohibiting you from giving away your daily sustenance. Doing so wasn't smart."

"Perhaps it wasn't, but Mr. Griffiths and I were not about to just let them watch us eat. That would have been morbid."

"Probably. You and Mr. Griffiths aren't that kind of men, you know, the kind who would let others suffer. I reckon that's not you. Now, I reckon that you're here for a reason. So, tell me, my beautiful cherub, how can I help you?"

Dillan smiled at the flirtation. Any other man, and he would have put him on his place, but not Logan.

"Mr. Griffiths and I are looking for sponsors who'll be willing to provide sustenance for these pupils. So, I was wondering if you could sponsor at least one, maybe two." Dillan let his charming smile win over Logan.

Logan thought that if Dillan was here to ask him to donate one thousand notes to some skanky scheme, he was about to open his coffers and hand him the keys. But the fact that he was here asking for money for a worthy cause made it all so much sweeter.

"Tell you what," Logan seized the moment, "I'll sponsor all four pupils for the rest of the year."

Dillan thought his ears were deceiving him, "What? Oh, that's great!"

Logan looked at Dillan and he said, "There's a catch, Mr. Wheeler… Can I call you Dillan?"

"If you're sponsoring all four pupils, yes, you can call me Dillan. I insist. And can I call you Logan?"

"Of course you can, my cavalier beauty."

Dillan kept reacting positively to Logan's flirtation.

"So, what's the catch?" Dillan was a little afraid that he would ask him to do something kinky, queer, or worst, wacky.

"Oh, nothing fanciful. You've got to go out with me on a date. That's dinner on Friday night followed by some other activity of my choosing."

Dillan said nothing for a moment. However, inside he was screaming of joy. He was trembling like in a cold night standing outside with no covers. He just stood there staring at Logan. His eyes zigzagged from the top and down to Logan's prominent bulge where his lordship sire lurked asleep but the contoured lines on the front pouch were undeniably the truth that something truly wonderful lurked inside his trousers, hidden there waiting to be awakened. Logan knew the young cavalier was checking him out. He allowed Dillan to keep pleasing his eyes with dreams of what he could offer him.

"Okay." That was all Dillan had to say. His heart was pounding. He went from cold trembling to feeling the air around him increase a few degrees, enough to make him sweat.

"Alright then. I shall pick you up at seven."

All Dillan did was smile.

A little while later, he was waiting in front of the House for Patrick. He came and he saw in his face the frustration of no success in the endeavor he had set out an hour earlier.

"Any luck with Mr. Chong?" Dillan knew the answer.

"Nope. He explained in his very distraught broken English that the only reason he was giving us larger portions was because the Agency was paying our meals in advance. He wasn't going to give away free lunches. He got a bit mad, but I just wanted to laugh hysterically at how he incredibly batches the English language. How about you? How did it go with Mr. Acker? I mean, I don't see a sad face."

"That's because I have no reason to have a sad face."

"Oh, did we strike gold?"

"More than that, he said yes to all four pupils!"

"What?" He was about to jump in jubilation, but he stopped. Instead, he stared at Dillan, "Wait, what did you promise him?"

"Why would you say that? I didn't promise him anything!"

"I'm sorry, you're correct. You're not that kind of man. Let me put it this way, is there something that he wants in exchange for doing this grand gesture, or is he just doing it because he's a nice person and he really wants to help these boys?" Patrick didn't really want to sound sarcastic.

Dillan was a little afraid of telling Patrick what Logan wanted. Patrick knew him very well and he knew Patrick as well, and he knew what he would say, but he told him anyway.

"He asked me out on a date."

Patrick grabbed Dillan by the upper arms. He came closer to his friend, enough to feel Dillan's breath crashing against his face.

"Thankfully," Patrick spoke softly, "you're not a cavalier stud like I am. A gorgeous man asked you out on a date. A cowboy no less! Do you realize what he really wants, do you?"

"Of course I do. I'm not stupid." Then he revealed the rest, "He's sponsoring the pupils for the entire year."

"Ouch! I stand correctly. He really wants to hammer that nail and he's confident that he will. Mr. Acker-"

Dillan stopped him, "Logan. His name is Logan."

"-Of course, his name is Logan. I reckon Logan's getting the better deal here. So, you'll go out with him and please promise me that you'll have a great time. Capiche?"

"Capiche."

Patrick gave Dillan a tender kiss on the cheek. He turned and he walked up into the House. Dillan followed him. Inside, Patrick made Mr. Owens aware of all that had transpired, including the news that Dillan would be absent for Friday's dinner.

The Agency

 The Governmental Scholastic Agency is the organizational entity that regulates and governs all schools in the new states, territories, regions, and private schools to educate boys and adults, as well as immigrants, workers, and other foreign individuals. In the west, the Agency controls the education of the masses. They hire pedagogues from big cities to come out here to educate and provide literate classes, including basic math. The Agency has been struggling with the fact that some towns were easier to fill than others.

The Brazen Creek schoolhouse had been needing pedagogues for two years. When Patrick found himself in the precarious position of being indebted for the next four years to the Agency, organism that paid for his university education, they quickly saw the opportunity as the young man could not say no. The Agency assigned him to Brazen Creek. Dillan was not far behind. He wasn't going to let Patrick come out here by his lonesome self. He told the Agency he was coming too. The Agency was more than happy to finally have two pedagogues. In November of 1869, the Agency informed Mr. Owens of the two arrivals for the new school year in January. Patrick was also instructed to provide literate classes for adults who needed it as one of the mandates of the new law signed by President Grant. These classes were to be given at night and twice a week. 

Classes at the schoolhouse began in the second week of January. They last until the last week of May. June and July are summer vacations. Classes resume in the first week of August. They last until the second week of December. School closes for the last two weeks in December and the first week of January. Although Dillan and Patrick were off during the summer, they must comply with presentations and special activities sponsored by the Agency. This included visiting other towns to promote education and the possibility of opening new schools. They must, however, continue to attend to their adult pupils if they have them. The Federal Government gave money to the Agency for every school it administers and for every pupil of any age enrolled in school, day, or night. 

 Patrick instructed pupils in reading, math, and science. Dillan instructed pupils in writing, history, and the arts. They had pupils from eight years old to sixteen. It was a collaborative effort. Literate pupils tended to be the boys of those who already had been educated someplace else. However, boys aged fifteen and sixteen, some as young as thirteen and fourteen in these parts of the country, go out to work and support the family. Very few managed to go beyond that. Out here, boys came from farms and ranches. They were the boys of railroad workers, miners, and shoppe owners. Rarely would they have young well-educated students. For them, progenitors usually chose a Governers to impart the education. If a Governers was registered with the Agency, he could use school materials and even a room at the schoolhouse.

 And at the end of the school year, pupils were greeted with a graduation ceremony that rewarded their efforts throughout the year. 

***

FIRST DATE

Friday night at the rendezvous point, Logan thought he'd be late. He barely made it on time. He tried everything in his wardrobe. He had been here before, so he couldn't understand why this time he was nervous, and he still was when Dillan came down the stairs outside the House a few minutes past seven. Dillan wore new pants with shinny boots, a charcoal gray shirt with a new vest and a thick leather jacket. It was a cold night. He looked like a dashing western prince out of a glorious romantic adventure. The one thought that kept creeping inside his head was, will he like what I'm wearing? Logan was a six feet tall squire man, age 26 with dark straight short hair and a hint of a mustache and a beard, natural skin color with square jaw cheek bones, a brawny and sturdy body making him look masculine and rough with a mysterious and free-spirited character that has helped him survive all this time.

He kept his eyes on the stylized dressed cavalier coming down the stairs. Dillan clearly saw on Logan's face that he liked what he was wearing. Logan himself managed his pivotal best to dress to impress. He wanted to scream to the wind how handsomely seductive Dillan looked, but he contained himself in the midst making a fool of himself in front of those who were looking. He saw Mr. Owens peeking through the library's window, and he saw Patrick looking from the second-floor window.

"Well, I reckon you look amazing!" Logan said as he removed his new black hat – which was the gentleman thing to do – to greet his date. His words were constrained. He felt a flood of emotions as his eyes zeroed in on Dillan.

"Thanks! Now, let me look at you."

Logan put back his hat, and he complied with Dillan's request. He swirled as he modeled. 

"Nice! You look debonair!" What Dillan wanted to say was that he looked awesome, beautiful, captivating, provocative, and seductive, but he kept it all inside.

Logan gave him a smiled and he extended his right arm with the palm facing up. As an uncoupled young cavalier, Dillan accepted the offer. He extended his left hand, and their fingers interlocked. And jitters rushed through their limbs, immediately inundating their bodies with a voltage of male static. Dillan sensed Logan's heart palpitating. Logan felt Dillan's heart pulsating. They kept controlling their smiling gestures at each other. Dillan had felt this before, but never with this much intensity and vigor. Logan realized it was all new to him.

"Shall we go?" The effort on Logan to contain his primal instinct to grab Dillan and kiss him was hard to resist, but as a gentleman, he resisted.

Dillan said nothing as he nodded, and they left. Dillan looked back and had a glimpse of Patrick's enthusiastic look. 

"Where are we going?" Dillan asked.

The warmth of Logan's hand was degrees above the cold air of the evening. From the moment they saw each other, their eyes kept gawking down. They had too, it was expected. Men like it when others look, and that made Dillan slightly apprehensive. 

"I have a reservation at the Orphic Restaurant. It's inside the hotel. It's the only one we have. Thankfully, it's good."

They walked to Le Grand Homme Hotel. Dillan kept discreetly looking at their hands and he couldn't stop smiling. This was the first time he walked in public holding hands with a man who was not his progenitor. Back in New York, a sentinel would've been walking right behind them. But this was not New York. As they continued to the hotel, although it was a chilly evening, he was feeling warm inside, and he couldn't stop smiling as Logan's musky scent was doing its most damaging job to his senses. Yet, Dillan wasn't aware how his own musk was affecting Logan. At first, he looked alright, but it took Dillan a little while to realize that Logan was struggling to keep his posture. Logan's entire essence of being had been threatened. He was fighting a battle he was steadily losing. Logan was looking forward to surrendering to Dillan without mercy. Losing to Dillan would be the most arousing sensation he could ever experience, he thought. Logan wanted to ask him a million questions, but no voice managed to leave its natural cage. Dillan wanted to ask him a million questions, but every time he opened his mouth, the rush of cold air froze his words and only the plumes of his breath escaped the imprisonment of his throat.

Along the way, Logan greeted acquaintances on the streets, men tipped their hats, the scandal coming out of the saloon made them both look. A carriage came to close as Logan grabbed Dillan and moved him out of the way. He wanted to shout something nasty to the driver, but Dillan's presence made him behave. He grabbed Dillan's hand again.

Dillan was drowning in their silence. He thought it would be easier, but he was having the hardest time coming to grips with the whole situation. He didn't know what to do, but strangely enough, it all felt good. Logan kept thinking that everyone in town was looking at him walking down the street holding hands with a beautiful cavalier.

It wasn't until they got to their table that their hands left the coziness of their touch. Logan pulled Dillan's chair. He was not wasting any chance and opportunity to impress his cavalier companion. The steward came, Logan ordered two glasses of wine, and let Dillan browse through the menu.

Then came the dreaded portion of a first date; the getting to know each other through awkward questions with awkward answers. They asked about their families. Logan said he's been an orphan since the age of 10 and had no brothers or uncles to speak about. Dillan said both his progenitors were alive and living in New York. He told Logan that they had successful careers. Logan asked him why he was here in Brazen Creek. He responded he wasn't going to let Patrick come all the way here by himself. He told him about Patrick and that he followed his friend and brother. And that's when it was time to order the food and another round of wine.

As the clock kept ticking, Logan felt comfortable talking to Dillan and so did Dillan. Talking to Logan wasn't a walk in the park. This wasn't casual conversation like they already had. This time there was an end to it. Dillan knew perfectly well that Logan's final intention was to end up in bed with him. Dillan wasn't sure if that was something he wanted tonight. As a cavalier man, he had all the right to just say no. He had been avoiding it for some time now. He tilted his head softly. Logan might have seen it, but he didn't know the reason behind it.

Both ordered their meals. Dillan seized the moment to order something the House's kitchen seldom prepared. A good meal was always a good plan on any date. But so far, Dillan couldn't say that it had been all bad once the pleasantries of getting to know the other were out of the way. Logan asked him about the town and how he liked it. He said he had been here for almost fifteen years. Dillan said it has been quite an engaging experience for him, but still, too early to tell. He did compare the weather and thought that New York City's coldness this time of the year was harsher.

"Since I've never been to New York, I can't confirm or deny, but I'll take your word."

Logan asked Dillan what he liked to do most when not wearing his pedagogue attire. Dillan responded that there were several things he liked to do, but above all reading was his passion. It was the one thing that brought him solace. Logan immediately asked him about his favorite literature. Dillan told him that The Three Musketeers, The Scarlet Letter and Moby Dick ranked top as his favorites. He told Logan he enjoyed the works of Edgar Allan Poe and that the ultimate novel to engross oneself in a world of the imagination, the possibility and the incredible was Frankenstein, or the Modern Prometheus by Martin Shelley.

But when Dillan mentioned that he found dear to his heart the works of Jonathan Armitage Lennox, Logan smiled at the man sitting in front of him and told him he enjoyed reading him too. The initial quivering that overtook his senses back at the House, by now had calmed. The conversation seemed more manageable, fluctuating with much ease. Logan responded by telling him that he enjoyed the works of Jules Verne, particularly his latest one, From the Earth to the Moon. He asked Dillan if he had read it. He gave him an enthusiastic yes. There was no point in asking if he liked the book.

"You know, it would be wonderful to one day reach the moon and walk on it, like in the book." Logan said.

"Maybe one day we will, you never know. And why stop there? Maybe, maybe we can reach the other planets as well."

"Maybe."

"And speaking of flying to the moon, have you heard of the airships?"

"Airships? No, I haven't."

"Well, they're all the rage in Europe. They've been used to crossing long distances in a very short time. They're thinking of crossing the Atlantic. There's a fascinating article in this week's Gazette."

Dillan went on talking about the airships. To Logan, it sounded like another story from a Jules Verne novel since Dillan was injecting bits of the future. Dillan's voice was most alluring to him. He could simply listen to him for hours on end without getting tired. Dillan said all he knew about the airships and moved on to other things. Logan wasn't sure about what, but he listened, quietly, without interrupting him.

"I'm sorry." Dillan's apology sounded sincere.

"Why are you sorry for?"

"I've been monopolizing this conversation."

"No, you haven't. In fact, I can tell you that I've enjoyed immensely every minute of it."

He took the overture as a sign that he was doing well on their first date. The conversation continued. They ate their delicious meal. They had a few more glasses of wine. When finished, Logan paid, and they left the restaurant. By then, they felt less intimidated by the other. Dillan was feeling complacent.

After leaving the restaurant, Dillan didn't know where Logan was taking him next. He asked, but Logan refused diplomatically. They held hands as they walked down the street. It was colder than before. There were less men on the streets. The streetlamps were providing enough light to create shadows that flickered with the howling of the wind. They made a turn, and they stopped in front of what looked from outside like a weathered wooden structure with the name on a big sign over the entrance reading The Macho Man Cantina. This was a place Mr. Owens had told him and Patrick not to visit. But tonight, he wasn't with Patrick. He didn't say anything else as they entered the cantina.

Even from outside, they heard the rowdy crowd already gathered in the place. They kept holding hands as they walked in. Dillan felt warm and inviting. There were men playing poker and others playing darts. They were men gathered all around talking, laughing, many of them already inebriated. There was music coming from an old piano and men dancing cheek to cheek. Some of the men recognized Logan. Some knew him as customers. A few considered him a friend. Some recognized Dillan as one of the pedagogues. Some greeted him as he walked to the bar. Dillan sat in a stool as Logan moved another, and he sat right behind him.

The bartender greeted both by name and gave them a shot of whiskey. Logan caution Dillan to take it easy with the drink. They kept talking and listening to the music. Then, Logan placed his left arm around Dillan's left shoulder and his right hand around Dillan's belly. He then turned his head towards Dillan, eyes bright, face glowing, and as casual as it could've been, their lips met, a touch of passion woven in the silk of a kiss. 

Logan didn't stop there. He kissed Dillan again and again. And every time they kissed, they looked into each other's eyes, deep, able to see their souls. The kissing had an engaging side effect, constant smiling. Logan's body was pressed against Dillan's back.

"That better not be your pistol!" Dillan said addled.

"It isn't!" Logan responded with confidence.

"Good." And they kissed again, and again, and again.

Dillan felt Logan's lips on his neck like a ticket to the wonderland of joy. All the kissing had the expected result; they had rigid lordship sires.

Logan was caressing Dillan's neck and kissing it, when the most magical moment was suddenly shattered. 

"Go lay on a shack you two!" The voice of the bartender made them look.

Logan was quick in his response, "Mind your own business, John."

The bartender gave them a smirk, and he left them alone. In between kisses, getting some air and a few words, they kept a little silence as they watched the crowd gather. In the corner, Thomas the butcher, a strapping muscled hunk of a guy was enjoying a lively conversation with a young man as his hands kept rubbing and grabbing the man's front pouch with intensity. They were not the only ones doing that.

"Is this a place for risqué liaisons?" Dillan asked a bit quizzically.

"What? I guess, yes. Look, men come here for different reasons; liaisons as you say, they come for frolicking, and some other intimate affairs. This is your first time here, right?"

"Yes. I'm not even supposed to be here. This place was prohibited by Mr. Owens."

"How does John know you?"

"His son is one of my pupils."

"And he tells me he's the pedagogue's pet." John intervened with pride in his voice, "Is he your pet?".

"Absolutely." Dillan responded with a smile.

 Again, Logan was quick in his retaliation, "John, we're on a date. Mind your damn business."

 "Sorry, mate. Do carry on!" He sounded apologetic.

 "Thank you!" Logan replied.

 "It's not his fault."

 "I reckon, he and I are good mates, sort of like family. So, where were we? Ah, yes, kissing your voluptuous lips, your soft neck." 

 And they kissed, and as they did, Logan's hand kept pressing over Dillan's front bulge, caressing softly and hard the very essence of Dillan's lordship sire. Logan felt Dillan's lordship sire in his touch as it was rigid and throbbing. Logan kept whispering delicious dirty words in Dillan's ears. Every time Logan's lips touched them, an intense tingling sensation took hold of his body making it shiver. Logan kept the words from his mouth subdued until the words he really wanted to say finally came out into Dillan's ear. Dillan smiled. He turned his head and looked at Logan. He placed one hand on Logan's face and the other on Logan's hand over his belly. And as gently as he could, he said to Logan, "Not tonight."

 Dillan turned his head back to gaze at the patrons having a good time. Logan leaned his head against the back of Dillan's head. He took a few whiffs of Dillan's hair and pressed his hand on Dillan's lordship sire. He knew tonight he and Dillan were not ending up in bed as he thought he would hours earlier.

Two lonely tears came down Logan's eyes slowly as he whispered to Dillan, "Whenever you're ready, I'll be ready."

 It was past two in the morning when Dillan entered his room at the House, took his clothes off and he spent 20 minutes teetering his lordship sire using the night's events and the still fresh thoughts in his mind of Logan until his life juice came pouring out. He cleaned himself and went to sleep. He knew he could have ended up in bed with Logan, and most likely he would have enjoyed it too, but if Logan becomes the man Dillan wants him to be, he will have to wait.

At the back of the general store, at his compound, naked, Logan teetered at his rigid lordship sire with great gusto while standing up and leaning against the wall. His eyes closed and opened to see his lordship sire, and his mind was concentrated in one image, Dillan. What would he be doing to him. It was enough to conclude in a cascade of life juice pouring out onto the floor. Dillan was not an easy man like the ones he would find at the saloon. This was a true gentleman, a cavalier who was raised properly. He would have to have patience with him.