The Tribe

©2010 Herb Cat. Do not reproduce or distribute this story without the author's permission.

As an author, I welcome feedback from readers. Please send any comments about this story, positive or negative, to Herbcatwriter@yahoo.com. Thank you.

.oOo.
Chapter 22

Benny took control. "Go ahead and touch it, Freddie." Benny took his friend's hand and pushed it on to Wallace's cock. The shaft quivered and Freddie pulled his hand back. "Shit, don't be such a fuckin baby, Freddie. Here, like this." Benny didn't bother consulting Wallace on the matter. He just wrapped both hands around the man's cock and began his expert jerk routine. He kept pulling Freddie into the action, until Wallace had twenty little fingers working away on his meat. His cock had grown twice its size since Freddie first beheld it, and was oozing precum like crazy. "Get ready, Freddie." Benny giggled at his impromptu rhyme. "Old Wallace is about to shoot his fuckin wad!" Sure enough, before he knew what was happening, Freddie got a facial. He stared up at Wallace and all three started laughing.

Freddie became a regular visitor to the "dead animal house." Sometimes with Benny, sometimes alone. When Frank heard his son had become a procurer, he too dropped over next door and got the new kid to service him. He learned Freddie had three sisters at home, so looked to his son as an older brother. Freddie idolized Benny and Frank's boy drank up the admiration. Whatever Benny did, Freddie wanted to imitate. So soon the lad was sucking cock, rimming ass, and getting fingered with the best of them. Frank also discovered Freddie lived on the same block as Philip Maggio, so soon the boys were visiting and servicing the shoemaker as well.

One day as they were getting their pants back on to go home, Benny asked, "Hey, Mr. Maggio, will you make Freddie a belt like you made me?"

"Would you like that, Freddie?" Philip lifted Benny's shirt so Freddie could get a good look. The younger boy studied it carefully.

"Can you make it an Indian design? I like Indians."

"Of course!" Philip didn't betray his own ignorance of native American art as the two youngsters chased circles around him hitting their mouths with their open palms.

Philip dropped by Jason's apartment that night. "Jase, you got any books about Indians?" The two men browsed through his old Boy Scout material. They learned the Zunis used swastika designs. "No, I don't think Freddie's mom would appreciate that."

"Hey, look at these Navajo blankets. They're like the design on my dresser scarf."

Philip nodded. He knew Jason's bedroom pretty well. "Yeah, but they're just zigzag stripes. That won't be too exciting on a belt." Eventually Philip settled on some bison and horses and teepees. "Hey, Jase, look at these Crees. Ain't those loincloths sexy?"

"Technically, they're breechcloths, Phil, but yes, they sure are sexy." They continued to check out Jason's box of material. "Look, here's something I wrote when I worked for the council. It's a guide for doing Indian beadwork. Tells where to order the beads, how to build an Arapaho bead loom, stuff like that. You know what'd be really classy, If you sewed a few inches of beads on to his belt."

"Wow. It sure would. But then Benny would be jealous."

"Well, he'll grow bigger. In a few years, you'll have to make him a new belt anyway. Hang on. I'll be right back." Jason disappeared into his bedroom. When he reappeared, Philip broke out laughing. His friend had stripped, then taken the dresser scarf, passed it between his legs, and cinched it in place with a belt. "What do you think, Phil? Sexy?"

"Ha ha! Leather would be better. Some soft deerskin chamois. But, hell, the look becomes you. Come here and give your pal a fuck."

Philip raised his open palm. "How?"

"On your knees, you fuckin redskin!"

.oOo.

As an author, I welcome feedback from readers. Please send any comments about this story, positive or negative, to Herbcatwriter@yahoo.com. Thank you.