Joey glanced all around, trying to make eye contact with a deer that seemed to have the same thought transmitting power as he. Who said that?
You can send thoughts too? Transmitted the doe standing only a few feet away.
Steve, Zeldon, look! It’s another deer with the same mind power we have.
My name’s Matilda, she offered. And it’s not just I that can transmit thoughts. There are just the two of us left, myself and my brother Jerry over there. And I still think you’re cute!
Steve and Zeldon looked on in astonishment and were speechless.
Forget it. I’m gay, Joey declared.
And your two stag friends?
They’re gay as well.
Pity. I’m really hot to trot.
Not interested. Sorry. That stag that is with you, Joey asked. Is he straight as well?
Who, him? He’s my brother. His name’s Jerry and he’s as queer as they come. He thinks you’re cute as well. He’s the one that first made goo goo eyes at you.”
Joey salivated at the sight of her brother Jerry, his lush chestnut brown coat streaked with sexy orange lines that ringed his tall muscular frame. His antlers rose majestically in the noon day sun, gleaming seductively, as a testament to his strength and sexuality as a powerful stag.
I’m Joey. Your sister says you find me attractive.
Jerry absorbed Joey’s thoughts then turned to face him.
I did say I found you attractive, but I would never have believed that there were other stags with telepathy powers. I thought my sister and I were the only ones on the earth with such powers.
That’s what our herd always thought as well, Joey explained. There were seven of us a mere week ago, but now we’re down to just three, I’m afraid.
Hunters got the others?
Yes, damn hunters.
Well, there are no hunters in this park fortunately, that is if you don’t count those damn grey wolves of course.
We had a nasty run in with a wolf pack just yesterday, Joey agreed.
Jerry eyed him longingly. It’s been over a year now since I’ve been humped. I’ve become so damn horny at the absence of any other gay stags I was ready to go out of my mind!
Tell me, Joey asked. Do you undergo a transformation to human during the full moon cycle?
Joey watched Jerry’s gorgeous brown eyes light up like two giant saucers. You mean…you mean it happens to you three as well?
Yeah, it does, Joey confirmed. Since I was born, four years ago, it’s been like that. I’m not sure why or how. I only know that the change over to human always happens during the full moon cycle. Apart from members of my herd, though, you are the first I’ve ever met that underwent the same process. Like you, I honestly always thought there were no others on the planet like the members of our herd.
Would you like me to show you around? Jerry asked apprehensively.
Joey thought for a moment, his cock stiffening. I’d like you to do a whole lot more than that. But I’m going through somewhat of a mourning period. My lover Anton, was ripped to shreds by some grey wolves only yesterday. It was awful.
Let me show you around anyways. I know you must be in a lot of emotional anguish and pain over the loss of your lover, but perhaps making love to me might help soften the blow. I can take you to a more secluded spot where tourists don’t usually go.
I see what you mean, Joey said, his powerful antlers nodding up and down in agreement. Tourists would freak if they saw two stags humping. Man oh man, would a video of one stag mounting another stag ever get a lot of play on you tube.
Probably millions of viewers, Jerry agreed. Anyways, come with me. It’s been over a year as I said, since I’ve been with a stag. I’m sure we can make each other feel better.
Joey was now so hard he thought he might explode just at the thought of ever so sweetly mounting the supremely handsome Jerry. Still, a part of him felt remorseful and guilty over his exciting new stag friendship. Anton’s body had been barely digested by wolves, and here he was, forgetting the love of his life to run off and romp with a strange stag he hardly knew at all.
You’re still thinking of him, aren’t you?
Anton? Yeah, kind of.
Well follow me. It’s understandable you feel such a sense of loyalty toward him, and yet, life still goes on.
You’re right of course. Well, okay, show me this secluded place.
Follow me, Jerry instructed, his face aglow with the knowledge he was finally going to make love to a fellow stag after twelve months of excruciating abstinence.
I’ll be back in a couple of hours, Joey said in his thoughts to Steve and Zeldon. They both nodded appreciatively and were ecstatic that Joey was finding a lover to replace Anton.
Jerry trotted off past the long row of trees, with Joey following. The sun shone brightly, its warming rays not quite strong enough to melt the inch thick snows that still clung to the tree tops like a giant layer of icing. The sun, nevertheless, felt good on Joey’s back, and he watched in awe as Jerry’s impressive ass waved hypnotically in front of him as he led the way along a meandering river bed. They soon past a clump of dead tree stumps, and sauntered single file down into a valley comprised of jagged boulders and wind strewn brush.
Just up ahead, Jerry thought out loud, past that clearing and around the bend.
They soon rounded the bend and came face to face with the mouth of a small, dark cave. Jerry entered first, then turned to urge Joey not to be afraid to follow. It’s always deserted. There’s never any wild animals lurking inside, if that’s what you’re afraid of. I come here often to meditate and to be alone.
Joey also stepped inside, his body soon enveloped by the darkened shadows cast by drab stone walls.
We can be alone here, Jerry insisted, nestling his nose into Joey’s neck, turning the stag on. He then let his nose run the length of his side, and stepped behind Joey, raising his legs until they rested on his back. His cock was long and stiff, playing with the edges of Joey’s anus until it slowly stretched him open wide.
The tow stags grunted excitedly at the fabulous pleasure suddenly surging through their bodies.
Jerry took it nice and slow, thrusting purposely and carefully with full length glides that brought instant ecstasy to both their thrilled and captivated minds.
Ten minutes later, Jerry groaned maniacally, a sign he was about to explode in orgasmic paradise after a year of doing without.
Joey panted savagely, the enormous flow of deer semen flooding inside, turning him on even more than he already was.
After a few minutes, Joey took a step behind Jerry and mounted him with two hooves planted firmly on the ground and two planted seductively on his trembling back. He entered Jerry slowing at first, but then began implementing faster and deeper thrusts, grunting in glee as the earth shattering pleasure began to build up within both stags. Their lavish shouts of unbridled ecstasy were loud and long, echoing all the way through the valley, and back up onto the hillside. In the confines of their secret cave, however, the phenomenal attraction would be safe from the prying eyes of inquisitive tourists.
Despite Joey’s assurances to Steve and Zeldon that he would be back in a couple of hours, both he and Jerry stayed nestled in each others fur straight through the night and well into the breaking of the day.
***
The sky was a startling grey, its unfolding canopy of bright blue, hinging on whether or not some passing clouds would either dissipate, or stubbornly remain to block the rising sun.
Chief Sitting Crow of the Chippewa-Cree Rocky Boy Reservation in Montana, strolled into Sheriff Dawson’s office, his ponytail awash with ceremonial feathers and colorful beads.
“It looks like it might be a nice day after all,” the sheriff announced. “Those clouds look like they’ll soon scatter and-”
“It’ll rain cats and dogs,” corrected the chief, interrupting the sheriff in mid sentence.
“Who are you, and why didn’t you knock?”
&n
bsp; “The name’s Chief Sitting Crow, but you can call me Davey.”
“Okay Davey, I’m Sheriff Dawson, and you can call me Sheriff Dawson. And you can also go through straight back that door and come on in a second time, only this time you’re gonna knock.”
“Nope! Ain’t got no time for knockin’ on doors. If I wasn’t an Indian you wouldn’t be so rude. I’m here with information about the four that killed those hunters.”
Sheriff Dawson sprung forward in his Spanish leather chair and sprung to his feet immediately. He had been made a fool of in his search for the killers and was now desperate for any tidbit of information that might possible lead to their capture and arrest. “You have information on the men I’m so desperately looking for? Why didn’t you say so. Here, have a seat, take a load off your feet.”
“No thanks, I prefer to stand. I wouldn’t be caught dead sitting in a white man’s building.”
“Well fine, but in that case, can I get you anything, coffee, soda, water, a beer even?”
“Beer would be nice. Maybe I’ll have that seat after all.”
Sheriff Dawson reached down into his cooler and popped the lid off a bud light with the opener on his key chain. He handed it to the chief.
“Now, what’s all this about you having info on those four men I’m searching for?”
“Let’s talk money first,” the chief insisted. “It’s a cold winter and some of my people are going hungry. I heard the state of Wyoming is putting up $50,000 for their capture.”
“That’s right, and another fifty from the victim’s families. That’s one hundred thousand dollars in all. All you have to do is tell me where to find them.”
“There in Yellowstone National Park, close to where the Montana and Wyoming borders meet.”
Sheriff Dawson’s ears suddenly stood at attention. He knew the four had stolen a car. If they drove through the night, they could’ve reached the park the next day. That would make sense. They were camping when they shot the hunters, and may have been on the run from another crime. Setting up camp again at Yellowstone would be a stroke of genius. Motels couldn’t report four men staying there and landlords couldn’t report four men renting apartments if they were holed up in Yellowstone.
“Sounds plausible to me,” the sheriff said excitedly. “They would probably still have the murdered men’s rifles and possessions with them, as well as the car they stole. Do you know exactly where in the park they are staying?”
“I could track them very easily,” the chief assured him.
“So you’re only in this for the reward money then?”
“That’s right. A hundred thousand would buy a lot of food and planting seed for my people on the reservation. You have any more beer?”
“Of course. Here’s a six pack, help yourself.”
“Thank-you, I will.”
“Now how do you know the killers are at Yellowstone?”
“My people, the Chippewa-Cree, believe as the Chickasaw do, in the legend of The Ghost Of The White Deer.”
“Oh shit! Don’t tell me you’re going to go on about some crazy legend. I thought you were going to tell me about the four men I’m after.”
“I am going to tell you all about them, if you’ll only give me half the chance to.”
“Fine, okay, go ahead. But you better not be handing me some damn Indian fairy tale.”
“What I am going to tell you is true, and any Indian can verify my story for you. A long time ago, a warrior from the Chickasaw nation fell in love with the daughter of an Indian chief. The warrior asked the chief for permission to marry his daughter.”
He stopped to drain off his beer before snatching up another one. He then continued. “The chief did not approve of the warrior, nor did he like him. He sought to find a way to stop him from his marriage plans without upsetting his daughter. He told the warrior that if he would bring him back the carcass of a white albino deer, then he could marry his daughter anyplace, anytime, anyhow. Because the warrior was a brave and skilful hunter, it seemed like an easy and fair request to all that heard of it, even to his daughter. However, the chief knew something that no one else knew, and that was that an albino white deer was extremely rare. Not only would it be almost impossible to find, but also impossible to kill, because such a deer has magical qualities.”
The chief paused once more to drain the fresh bottle and instantly started on a new one. “After a month of searching, the warrior did the impossible, and found an albino deer. But it was during the five day cycle of the full moon, when the albino deer’s magical qualities are at their peek. He fired an arrow through the heart of the deer but it did not die. Instead, the deer charged the warrior and killed him with his antlers. As the warrior died, his soul took possession of the deer’s wounded body. It was at this time that a pact was made. The deer would allow the warrior to take human form for the five day full moon cycle so he could say goodbye to the chief’s daughter. Ever since then, the descendants of that deer have been transforming into humans for each five day full moon cycle. As the legend goes, because the warrior could not keep his human shape, and had to change back into a deer, he vowed never to love any woman ever again, including the chief’s daughter. That is why they say that all descendants of that albino deer, are not only transformers, but also all gay.”
Sheriff Dawson’s jaw dropped, and he stared incredulously at the chief. “That has got to be the biggest bullshit story I have ever heard. Don’t you think I have enough problems without you coming in here, trying to pull my leg with this crap? And what were you going to do? Shoot four stags and then tell everybody they were the killers so you could collect the hundred grand? Just how stupid do you think I am?”
The chief sat his beer down and gazed into the sheriff’s angry brown eyes. “Okay, you have it your way, but when the next full moon comes, you’ll have just five days to catch them. I am the only one that can point them out to you, because I can spot a shifting spirit. Anyways, you know where to find me if you change your mind. Just cross the border a ways into Montana and you’ll come across the Chippewa-Cree Rocky Boy Reservation. Ask for Chief Sitting Crow, or just plain old Davey. Either way, they’ll know how to find me.”
He arose and sauntered to the door. “When you get desperate enough, sheriff, you’ll come see me.”
“The hell I will! Stories of queer deer that change to human. What a load of fucking bullshit!”
The chief didn’t respond to the verbal assault, but rather smiled as the door closed behind him, leaving Sherriff Dawson to stew in his own anger.
The next three hours were spent hurling insults at his deputies over the phone, and tapping his fingers impatiently on the desk. Without any real leads, the four killers could be solidifying an undetectable hiding place or maybe even flying to some other far away country, never to be heard from again.
Deputy Arnold Bruce suddenly stepped inside, shaking his raincoat and using both hands to wipe the water from his hair. He shook his umbrella and tossed it in a corner.
“What the hell are you doing with an umbrella?” the sheriff asked, perplexed.
“Are you kidding me? It’s raining cats and dogs out there!”
The words stung Sheriff Dawson. He suddenly remembered that they were the same ones the Indian Chief used when their conversation first started and they had disagreed about the weather. The chief’s prediction had been spot on, proving that either sheriffs could be wrong about things from time to time or that chiefs could be right about things as well.
“The sky was turning a bright blue, and the clouds melting into nothing. So how the fuck did we get rain?”
“Don’t blame you for being a little miffed by it,” Deputy Bruce said. “Even the local weather man got it wrong. Said there would be loads of sunshine. I don’t think anyone saw this downpour coming.”
Sheriff Dawson suddenly became deep in thought. Nobody saw it coming except for the Chief! He rolled his eyes at the ceiling in bewilderment. Maybe he had dismisse
d this Chief Davey a bit too quickly. Nevertheless, he viewed it all a water under the bridge now. Of more importance, was why one of his deputies was hovering over him instead of being out hunting for the missing four killers.
“I thought I told all you deputies not to come back here unless you had something to report.”
Deputy Bruce pursed his lips and glared daringly at his boss. “I do have something to report, Sheriff. That’s indeed why I’m here. I wanted to let you know in person that they found the car that was stolen, you know, the same car we figure that was used by the four killers to get away while we were searching the ridge for them.”
A smile crept quickly onto the sheriff’s stone cold demeanor. At first, his lips formed only the beginnings of a sultry crack, but soon they took on all the happy dimensions of an ear to ear grin. “At last! Some news on those sorry bastards. So what do you have for me? Where was the car found?”
The deputy paused before answering, relishing the approval he was getting from the sheriff’s happy glare. I was so rare to be granted any praise from his boss, the deputy wanted to savor the moment. “The car was found hidden under some loose brush and branches at Yellowstone National Park.”
The words floated in mid air, and then accosted the sheriff like a vicious slap.
“Say again?”
“Yellowstone National Park.”
“I heard you the first time. But I can’t believe it. I just can’t fucking believe it. Okay, here’s what you do. Get on the phone to the park rangers. Tell them from this moment forward that nobody gets in or out of the park. Tell them we’re flying out first thing tomorrow morning.”
“Why not right now?”
“We’ve got to talk to a certain Indian chief first,” the sheriff informed him.
“What? Why are we wasting our time on that for?”
“Because I say so, that’s why. You may want to grab your umbrella. You’re headed out to your car again, and driving me to Montana, and the Chippewa-Cree Rocky Boy Reservation.”
****
A chilled fog swirled lazily in the soft morning breeze, turning the landscape grey, and shrouding the park with a finicky mist that seemed eerily reminiscent of scenery his eyes had beheld while watching horror movies as a child.
A Presidential Closet: Going Boldly Where No Gay Has Gone Before Page 8
