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All sexually active characters in this work are 18 years of age or older.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are solely the product of the author’s imagination and/or are used fictitiously, though reference may be made to actual historical events or existing locations. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
Cover Design: Willsin Rowe
Seeking Zeke © September 2010 Kenn Dahll
eXcessica publishing
A Smashwords Edition
All rights reserved
Seeking Zeke
By Kenn Dahll
San Francisco in 1862 was bigger, noisier, and dirtier than anything I had experienced in my nineteen years on God’s green earth. Fortunately I had some money. To be rid of me after the scandal involving brutality and forced sodomy with Jonas, a neighbor boy, became public Pa paid my fare on Wells Fargo. Without telling Pa, Ma gave me some of her pin money. My fare became unnecessary after the first couple of days. The guard who rode shotgun on the front of the stagecoach was shot through the heart by an arrow from an unfriendly tribe. I’d been hunting since I could hold a gun. I was coerced into taking the position for the rest of the trip and my fare was refunded. I was given a free bed at the way station each night as well as meals; and I was paid for the work. The job with its benefits kept me further removed from Jonas, who was also ostracized and heading west with me. I left the stagecoach during the last night before we were to reach our destination, arriving in the city a day and a half later.
My first night I found a cheap rooming house down by the bay and went looking for work the next morning. All the while I kept an eye out for Jonas. I wanted nothing more to do with the coarse and grubby bully who tricked me into responding to his sexual advances then forced me to be his sex slave. I had to suck his dick or let him fuck me whenever the opportunity arose.
I had a mission−to find Jonas’ older brother Zeke. When the eldest brother Aaron became involved in a sexual scandal and fled the territory, I transferred my admiration and adolescent lust from Aaron to Zeke. One day Zeke and I were sitting in his family buckboard. I was comforting him over the breakup of his engagement with Julie Whitfield. Her parents broke the couple up when Aaron’s indiscretions became common knowledge. As we hugged I disgraced myself with an erection. When Zeke noticed the hardness pressing in his side, he abruptly suggested I exit the wagon and hurriedly drove away. I was convinced my indecent act was party behind his decision to leave the territory for San Francisco. I wasn’t sure how Zeke would react to my reintroduction into his life; but I had to try.
By the third day with no job prospects in sight and no longer willing to pay for the private room, I decided it was safe to return to the Wells Fargo Office to pick up my final pay and to see if they had any work. I was taken on in the stable caring for the horses. It was a task with which I was very familiar, having grown up as the only boy on a mid-western farm. At the end of the day I reported to the stable manager, a dark brown-haired Virginian with equally dark blue eyes by the name of Pete. I was pleasantly surprised when he seemed interested in me and asked numerous questions about where I was from and how I got to San Francisco. When I excluded Jonas from my account he seemed suspicious that I would come out alone. As I told my story he checked me out, running his eyes down my body and back up to my face. After I finished he surprised me with an offer to better my sleeping arrangements.
“Hey Dirk. Instead of bedding down out here in the stable, why don’t you bunk with me in the space over the coach garage?” He seemed nice, but I still harbored painful memories of what Jonas did to me so I didn’t respond immediately. “It would be just for sleep. No funny business.” Pete caught my hesitation and correctly deduced its source.
“You sure do smell a lot better than the horses. Okay.”
“Great, let’s go get some food. You’re a Wells Fargo employee and can eat at the canteen for free.” Pete bought me a few beers after dinner as we sat around and traded stories−which strayed further from the truth as the evening progressed and the beers disappeared. When we finally strolled back to the coach house a little after eight, I felt very relaxed and was thoroughly enjoying Pete’s attention.
“You can’t be serious about sleeping in that!” Pete said when I pulled my one-piece night wear from my satchel. “You’ll roast in it. I don’t want to open the loft doors because of the horse shit stink outside.”
“But it’s all I have except for my undergarment and I wanted to rinse it out and let it dry overnight.”