Fair or Fowl

by Thole (poondu@members.gayweb.com)

*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, (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 be caught by his peers in. 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 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 sweatshirt. Well, it (he
maybe?) had wool socks on that were almost knee length and the
sweatshirt was long-sleeved, but I was immensly 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.

–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 van 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. But yes I am that same person and the van 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 maintanance shop and left a
note on the door of the old van to the blond braid byoboy that I’d be
right back. My parking place is between the maintanance 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 van. 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 option 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 cock 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 cock
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’ asses. 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 the van.
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 layed there watching me as I sat
beside him watching his pecker 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 in to 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 and
said:

–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 being a catamite.

I held him close, laid him back against my chest and braided his
hair, and then turned off the big lights and together we practiced
some of the things his uncle taught him to do so well.

-30-

Thole