A Presidential Closet: Going Boldly Where No Gay Has Gone Before Page 4

  Wayne had thought about using his own gun or perhaps even Ted’s own gun to air the young man’s head out with a hail of bullets, but Ted had warned that if a special code wasn’t punched into his watch each and every day by a certain time, then setting number two would kick in and stay on forever unless turned off. And a dead Ted certainly wouldn’t be able to turn off the shooting flames.

  There was no way to remove the collar, and tampering with it would only set off number three at any rate. And that would use up more electricity than was needed to light up the entire building.

  Wayne sighed at the thought. He simply would have to grin and bear it. And he would have all the time in the world to do it in. That was because all of it was always going to be Ted’s time.

  ###

  Among The Stags

  By Amy Stranhouse

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  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination, or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual locales, events or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Among The Stags

  The air was crisp and cold, turning Steve’s breath into vapors that hung in the gentle breeze like wisps of curly smoke.

  Zeldon watched Steve closely, his cock erect and glistening in the noon day sun.

  Steve glanced back at him longingly, but only for a split second, not wanting Crandon, the herd leader, to notice. Crandon was savagely jealous of his male harem, and would not allow any to taste the pleasures of the flesh unless it was his own giant cock that was doing the honors.

  As the only virgins in the herd, Zeldon and Steve stayed well behind the others, not wanting to attract Crandon’s lusty, wide-eyed gaze. Steve could only surmise that he at times longed for fresh, young flesh, and a tight virgin ass to stretch open wide.

  The snow was brittle and packed tightly, causing abrasions to their hoofs as they dug frantically for the moss underneath.

  Crandon, clearly frustrated at the sparse vegetation, raced to the edge of the hillside, scouring for valleys below that might better satisfy the gnawing hunger in their bellies.

  Steve could sense Zeldon’s thoughts drifting toward him, and rejoiced that Crandon had moved too far away to intercept his love message.

  You make me hard every time I think about what it would be like, just you and me, humping, not only as stags, but as humans.

  Steve smiled at Zeldon’s thoughts, but knew they were mere wishful thinking. In his heart of hearts he knew that Crandon would never allow he and Zeldon to make love, neither as stags nor as humans.

  Steve turned to make sure Crandon was still far enough away, then sent Zeldon a quick mind word to nullify his foolish fantasies. When he feels the time is right, I’m sure Crandon will deflower us himself. Although, it is nice to dream of what could have been, would have been and should have been for you and I, my love.

  Steve’s own cock now stiffened also, hardening like iron as a light sprinkle of milky white flakes began swirling in the air above, descending in a dance against the biting winds. I love you Zeldon. You’re beautiful, and make me hard as steel.

  Crandon raised his head as their thoughts somehow reached him. Zeldon and Steve had supposed he was far enough away not to hear. They were wrong!

  Crandon trotted back, his hooves crackling on the tightly packed snow. He lowered his antlers, aiming for Zeldon’s side.

  The sound of impact was sickening, and spatters of blood, mixed with bits of gleaming fur, turned the white beneath his frightened hooves, a menagerie of red and brown.

  Horrific yelps of pain accosted the silence, sending echoes up the lofty mountain, where precipitous jutting ledges, inaccessible from below, absorbed the sounds with mocking relish.

  Steve knew he was next, and braced himself for the brutal impact. He didn’t have to wait long. Crandon veered away from Zeldon and was charging Steve with fiery anger flaring from his nostrils. Steve stared into his large black eyes, so lifeless, yet cruel, so piercing yet uncaring.

  Steve didn’t move as Crandon figured he would, but held his ground, his soft hind legs, and the rounded hump above them, his for the insidious pointy antlers to tear at.

  He dug into Steve’s flesh with a relish. He groaned and stumbled sideways, falling onto the ground. The rest of the herd turned to witness what the commotion was all about, and trembled at Crandon’s sense of cruelty. But the implications of his harsh actions were clear. He and he alone was to mate with all males. If he had to injure, maim or even kill to get his point across, then he would.

  Let that be a lesson to the rest of you, he chastised them in his thoughts. No mind contact about love, amongst you stags. You’re a part of my harem and you belong to me alone, not each other! Now come, Let us go. The valley below has green poking up through the snow.

  Zeldon glanced at Steve wearily, blood dripping from his gaping wound. He wanted to help him up off his side, but knew that Crandon would take it as an act of disobedience, to assist him, and no doubt punish him further. Zeldon turned his back to Steve, with tears in his eyes, and trotted off.

  Steve rocked himself side to side, then forced himself back onto his hooves. His wounds were worse than Zeldon’s but he tried being brave. He knew the first day of the full moon was scheduled to appear that very night.

  The full moon always brought about the transformation from deer to human, and lasted five days. It meant they would all have five glorious days out of each month where Crandon couldn’t read their thoughts. Five glorious days of being human, where Zeldon and Steve could sneak off to a corner somewhere and admire each other’s handsome face, maybe even sneak a quick kiss, or run their fingers along each other’s rippling abs. They had already touched each other’s cocks on a couple of other occasions, but only for mere minutes. Crandon was always lurking nearby, watching, spying, and making sure Zeldon and Steve spent as little time together as possible.

  The low winter sun enhanced the valley’s angular chunks of heaped together rocky turf, savagely uprooted by centuries of incoming and outgoing ice covers. The pickings were slim, and their sensitive lips stung at the jagged sandstone piles. Every few feet, however, a tall clump of green foliage presented itself, and their grateful mouths chewed ravenously to help ease the pain of starving bellies.

  In the distance, rose sculptured slabs of twisted ice were left strangely dilapidated by thaw and shunting winds.

  It was here that Steve’s mind ran amok with secret desires, daring to create images of Zeldon and he, perhaps one day hiding in between the cascading sheets of ice as lust filled stags, with he, as the man of Steve’s dreams, mounting him so gloriously from behind.

  A floating ensemble of fluffy white clouds, stubbornly unwilling to dissipate, silhouetted against the dazzling blue sky.

  A pack of red tailed foxes, suddenly scampered onto the scene, their bellies famished and craving any sustenance that might at least buy them time before crossing over into death. It had been a particularly brutal year, and only the savvy, genius, and hard won experience of their fearless, sadistic leader Crandon, had kept them alive. It was all the more reason that Zeldon and Steve had no chance of sneaking off together. It was doubtful that the rest of the herd would ever come looking for them, and yet, eloping was not a palatable alternative when the outcome was virtual starvation. And if their empty bellies didn’t get them, then a stray mountain lion, or pair of coyotes, or pack of wild dogs would. Then, of course, there were always the wolves, nature’s number one natural enemy for poor, defen
seless stags, foolish enough to leave the group and venture out on their own.

  Of course, finding food as a human was infinitely far easier, yet, turning back into stags at the end of the five day full moon was a guaranteed phenomenon for them, and not something they could control or alter.

  The scariest foes of all, were the human hunters that regularly patrolled the vast, unchartered mountainside. Staying away from their insidious rifles meant staying away from the best feeding grounds. Being in tundra like conditions that were almost uninhabitable, was the only way to keep clear of the hunting threat.

  A small group of does sauntered past, waving their female asses at the stags, particularly at Crandon, whom they assumed was the leader of the herd. They stopped to pee in the wind, hoping the chemicals released in the air would tantalize their nostrils. They were wrong. They had no way of knowing that these stags were a herd of deer that were all gay. They also had no way of knowing that for five days out of each month, they would actually be transformed into humans.

  Steve stopped to more closely view the passing does. He counted five in all, their bones almost poking through their skin, and their eyes wild from gnawing hunger. He assumed the five had probably become disillusioned with their male harem leader, and had ill advisedly set out on their own.

  One of the doe had markings on her thighs resembling wolf bites. She had somehow managed to escape a fatal bite. I knew that in time, however, either those same wolves, or hunters just as callous, would finish them all off for good.

  For now, the five lingered close by, mystified as to why the stags hadn’t scampered by to sniff excitedly between their legs. They had scented the air, and minced by them with their female wares, but still nothing!

  One doe grew agitated and impatient, trotting closely to Crandon, ready to nudge him into adoration unless he responded to her ass waving tease.

  Rage flared from Crandon’s nostrils and blasts of angry air bellowed from his lips. He had snarled out a message that he wasn’t the least bit interested in members of the opposite sex.

  Still, she held her ground hopefully, knowing that without large herd protection and guidance, her days were numbered.

  He lowered his antlers as a sign he was ready to gore her unless she retreated at once.

  She longingly eyed the few miserable clumps of green they were salvaging from the unforgiving ground and made soft, glowing eyes that radiated with the promise of love in exchange for mere scraps.

  Crandon charged suddenly, unwilling to allow a prolonging of her seduction ploys.

  Steve closed his eyes just before the moment of impact, knowing the intense pain his own encounter with Crandon’s antlers had caused.

  Stunned yelps now permeated the valley, echoing off blankets of glinting snow and ice. Drops of red now mingled with the sheer white carpet, until the trickle consummated into a scarlett flood. A few seconds later, and she was dead.

  The four remaining doe turned away, making a hasty retreat to the rocky climb, where tapestries of swirling flakes and rising mists mingled with their panting breath.

  Crandon sighed bitterly at the fresh carcass. Its scent would permeate through the bitter chilled air for countless miles, alerting every wolf, mountain lion and hunter’s dog, that prey was available for the taking.

  As tasty as the tidbits of green clumps had been, it was time to move on.

  They trotted upward until the low evening sun accentuated the monotonous rows of breeze rippled snow. The full moon would soon be upon them, and with it, the long awaited transformation back to human. Crandon scoured the hilly landscape for nooks and crannies that might house them through the approaching night. What he found was even better, a cave. It was the first stroke of real luck he’d had all day. He signaled to the stag herd with his mind, that blessed shelter was just over the horizon.

  Zeldon glanced at Steve excitedly. Within four or five hours, the prying mind of Crandon would be shut off for a whole five days. It would be a time of stealing a few moist, thoughtful kisses, perhaps a few careful caresses with loving fingertips, and, if Crandon was distracted for long enough, a cherished holding of each other’s large stiff cocks, even for the briefest of moments.

  The cave was large and dry. They huddled at the entrance as night began to fall, garnering light from a million stars and a surge of power from the glowing orb that hung in the sky like a giant, nesting firefly.

  Sounds of howling from coyotes permeated the silence, telling them that the doe carcass had been found.

  Randall eyed Steve’s wounds carefully. That’s a nasty wound, he said to him in his worried thoughts.

  Steve twisted his neck and glanced behind himself. A gaping hole was swelling with dried blood and the promise of gathering infection. Steve could feel the onslaught of a fever coming on. Crandon’s attack on him had meant to be a glancing blow, to merely frighten him and illicit some momentary pain. But Steve had stubbornly held his ground, and taken the full brunt of his gouging antlers.

  A surge of chill swept over Steve as fur retreated from off his flesh. In minutes they were all standing upright, shivering maniacally in the bitter cold. Randolph removed the sachel of furs that had been tied around his neck and passed them out, along with the strapped leather soles that served for their shoes. The box of matches also fell to the ground.

  They scurried like rats in maze, overcoming their new surroundings to find scattered twigs and anything that might burn. What they found would not be enough to see them through the frigid night. Crandon took a deep breath for courage and ventured out into the biting air. They would need something that would burn for much longer or they would literally freeze to death. Nearby, were the remnants of a fallen tree. He hauled back part of a massive stump and they helped him into the cave with it. Randall rifled through the satchel till he found the foot long knife, then began to carve the log into strips of firewood. Zeldon fumbled with a match on some dry leaves until they ignited. Then he began tossing the strips Randall cut, into the surging flames. A welcome warmth radiated throughout the cave. All they would need now, was some food.

  “That deer carcass we left behind would sure taste good right about now,” Randall declared, drawing raised eyebrows of criticism from around the cave.

  “Ewww, how gross! Really Randall, we’re not cannibals.”

  “We’re not deer anymore, are we,” countered Randall. “At least for the next five days, we’re not.”

  Zeldon said little as the flames flickered lustily, spewing sparks and causing dancing shadows to illuminate the cave walls. His eyes were fixed on Steve’s wound, still visible between pieces of clothing, as he touched the sides of it gingerly.

  “Don’t get your fingers in the wound,” Randall barked at him with a frown. “You’ll get it infected.”

  “I think it’s already infected,” Steve answered with a sigh.

  Steve could tell that Zeldon was desperate to nudge closer toward him and nurture him with love and comfort. The eyes of Crandon, however, remained vigilant and fixed upon the both of them, their uncaring blackness a stark reminder of the ferocity he was capable of, should they dare show each other any meaningful affection.

  “This cave goes back quite a ways,” Anton declared, returning from an exploratory walk.

  “How far back?” Crandon asked.

  “Can’t make it out in the darkness, but it could be fifty or so yards, or fifty or so miles. No way of telling without a torch.”

  “Can you make him a torch, Randall?”

  Randall picked up a fallen piece of cloth and wrapped it round and round a large piece of stick he’d cut from the log.

  “This should do nicely,” Randall offered. “For ten minutes or so, anyways.”

  Anton took it from his outstretched hand and dipped it in the flames. It ignited immediately.

  “I’m off again,” he said, scampering off the long narrow cave corridor that could contain any number of mysteries.

  “Wait! There may be other animals hi
ding out down there. Anton,” he said, turning to face Steve. “You take the knife and go with him.”

  “My leg hurts, from the wound. Can I rest it?” Steve asked hopefully.

  “I’ll go,” Zeldon piped up, not wanting to see him suffer.

  “Fine,” Crandon relented. “You go, but just grab the knife and hurry. If this is a lair for some wild animals, I don’t want any surprises emerging from those shadows later as we sleep.”

  “Be careful,” Steve shouted out to Zeldon, forgetting that Crandon was close by.

  “Be careful! Be careful! Ohhhh puleeeeeeeese be careful,” Crandon said sarcastically, trying to mock Steve.

  “You bastard,” Steve whispered under his breath.

  “What was that?” Crandon asked suspiciously.

  “Nothing,” Steve replied, a sense of rage now searing past the boiling point. It was at that moment that he decided he would kill Crandon the first chance he got.

  Crandon watched Steve’s countenance morph into a visage of wanton anger, his eyes on fire and his expression etched with vengeance. He then realized that goading Steve might only serve to push him over the edge, so he reluctantly looked away.

  In five minutes they were back. Zeldon was sweating profusely and Anton seemed excited and nervous. “Oh shit! Shit! You’ll never believe what we saw.”

  “What? What did you see?” Crandon asked.

  “A bear. About three minutes along the cave. Sound asleep.”

  “A cub?” Crandon asked apprehensively.

  “No! A full grown bear. About eight hundred or a thousand pounds. A black bear.”

  “Shit! A Hibernating bear. That’s all we need. Black bears are the most vicious.”

  “That could be a blessing in disguise,” Randall piped up. “Bear meat is mighty tasty. And I’ve still got spices in the satchel.”

  “Well, since you’re so keen on it, why don’t you kill it?”

  Randall thought about it for a moment then rose to his feet. “Hand me the knife,” he said to Anton. “I’ll need you to come with me, though. Someone will have to hold the torch for me.”