{"id":3092,"date":"2018-11-16T18:56:45","date_gmt":"2018-11-16T23:56:45","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/www.beydeckard.com\/blog\/?p=3092"},"modified":"2022-07-23T10:53:07","modified_gmt":"2022-07-23T14:53:07","slug":"the-wanderer-part-four","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/beydeckard.com\/blog\/the-wanderer-part-four\/","title":{"rendered":"The Wanderer \u2013 Part Four"},"content":{"rendered":"\n<p><em>Author\u2019s Note:<br>This is an unedited, ongoing serial that will  eventually be published in novel form. Plot\/characters\/elements are  subject to change as it is being written. It\u2019s currently in 1st  person\/present tense, but I may change it to past tense, excluding the first chapter which will act as an intro. <strong>Read at your own discretion and take note of story tags below<\/strong>.<\/em><br><br><strong>Genre:<\/strong> Post-Apocalyptic sci-fi <br><strong>Tags: <\/strong>prostitution, graphic sex, large age gap, violence, theft, drug\/alcohol abuse, depression, rape, gang rape, cannibalism, murder, incest, child\/infant death and abuse, general abuse, (more to be added as the story goes)<\/p>\n\n\n<ul id=\"menu-wanderer\" class=\"menu\"><li id=\"menu-item-4605\" class=\"menu-item menu-item-type-custom menu-item-object-custom menu-item-4605\"><a href=\"https:\/\/beydeckard.com\/blog\/the-wanderer-1\/\">Part One<\/a><\/li>\n<li id=\"menu-item-4606\" class=\"menu-item menu-item-type-custom menu-item-object-custom menu-item-4606\"><a href=\"https:\/\/beydeckard.com\/blog\/the-wanderer-part-two\/\">Part Two<\/a><\/li>\n<li id=\"menu-item-4607\" class=\"menu-item menu-item-type-custom menu-item-object-custom menu-item-4607\"><a href=\"https:\/\/beydeckard.com\/blog\/the-wanderer-part-three\/\">Part Three<\/a><\/li>\n<li id=\"menu-item-4608\" class=\"menu-item menu-item-type-custom menu-item-object-custom menu-item-4608\"><a href=\"https:\/\/beydeckard.com\/blog\/the-wanderer-part-four\/\">Part Four<\/a><\/li>\n<li id=\"menu-item-4609\" class=\"menu-item menu-item-type-custom menu-item-object-custom menu-item-4609\"><a href=\"https:\/\/beydeckard.com\/blog\/the-wanderer-part-five\/\">Part Five<\/a><\/li>\n<li id=\"menu-item-4610\" class=\"menu-item menu-item-type-custom menu-item-object-custom menu-item-4610\"><a href=\"https:\/\/beydeckard.com\/blog\/the-wanderer-part-six\/\">Part Six<\/a><\/li>\n<li id=\"menu-item-4611\" class=\"menu-item menu-item-type-custom menu-item-object-custom menu-item-4611\"><a href=\"https:\/\/beydeckard.com\/blog\/the-wanderer-part-seven\/\">Part Seven<\/a><\/li>\n<li id=\"menu-item-4612\" class=\"menu-item menu-item-type-custom menu-item-object-custom menu-item-4612\"><a href=\"https:\/\/beydeckard.com\/blog\/the-wanderer-part-eight\/\">Part Eight<\/a><\/li>\n<li id=\"menu-item-4613\" class=\"menu-item menu-item-type-custom menu-item-object-custom menu-item-4613\"><a href=\"https:\/\/beydeckard.com\/blog\/the-wanderer-part-nine\/\">Part Nine<\/a><\/li>\n<li id=\"menu-item-4614\" class=\"menu-item menu-item-type-custom menu-item-object-custom menu-item-4614\"><a href=\"https:\/\/beydeckard.com\/blog\/the-wanderer-part-ten\/\">Part Ten<\/a><\/li>\n<li id=\"menu-item-4615\" class=\"menu-item menu-item-type-custom menu-item-object-custom menu-item-4615\"><a href=\"https:\/\/beydeckard.com\/blog\/the-wanderer-part-eleven\/\">Part Eleven<\/a><\/li>\n<li id=\"menu-item-4616\" class=\"menu-item menu-item-type-custom menu-item-object-custom menu-item-4616\"><a href=\"https:\/\/beydeckard.com\/blog\/the-wanderer-part-twelve\/\">Part Twelve<\/a><\/li>\n<li id=\"menu-item-4617\" class=\"menu-item menu-item-type-custom menu-item-object-custom menu-item-4617\"><a href=\"https:\/\/beydeckard.com\/blog\/the-wanderer-part-thirteen\/\">Part Thirteen<\/a><\/li>\n<li id=\"menu-item-4618\" class=\"menu-item menu-item-type-custom menu-item-object-custom menu-item-4618\"><a href=\"https:\/\/beydeckard.com\/blog\/the-wanderer-part-fourteen\/\">Part Fourteen<\/a><\/li>\n<li id=\"menu-item-4619\" class=\"menu-item menu-item-type-custom menu-item-object-custom menu-item-4619\"><a href=\"https:\/\/beydeckard.com\/blog\/the-wanderer-part-fifteen\/\">Part Fifteen<\/a><\/li>\n<li id=\"menu-item-4620\" class=\"menu-item menu-item-type-custom menu-item-object-custom menu-item-4620\"><a href=\"https:\/\/beydeckard.com\/blog\/the-wanderer-part-sixteen\/\">Part Sixteen<\/a><\/li>\n<\/ul>\n\n\n\n<hr class=\"wp-block-separator has-css-opacity\"\/>\n\n\n\n<p>It takes me a few minutes to free the pipe from the side of the Argonaus tanker and when I pull it out, it\u2019s a hell of a lot heavier than I thought it would be. I grind my teeth, keenly reminded of my years, and tug hard on the pipe, dragging it slowly between the rows of young corn stalks, careful not to disturb the plants. By the time I\u2019m done, I\u2019m out of breath and dripping with sweat. The worst part is I\u2019ve got a shitload of dust in my eyes and I can barely see\u2014I still feel like a fucking idiot for losing my new goggles to that little bastard Chirri in last night\u2019s card game. I wonder what Pytre would think of one of his novices sneaking out to gamble and drink with the likes of me.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p><em>Pytre<\/em>. My mood\u2019s been shit since I woke up and it\u2019s not getting any better.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>I shake my head and lift the nozzle to the side of the reservoir, pushing it into the port and locking it into place. After I turn the spigot, I lean against the side of the big tank to wait, the metal nice and cool through my damp shirt. I see there\u2019s a leak, a tiny nick in the seal or something, and the water comes out as vapour. A small rainbow shimmers in front of the cloud of mist\u2014a rare sight on this shitty desert moon\u2014but there\u2019s no red in it. I know it\u2019s because of something in Chornoboh-7's atmosphere, but it bothers me. It\u2019s not a <em>real<\/em> rainbow\u2026 Not like the ones back on Earth.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>I take in a deep breath to sigh my nostalgia and regret it instantly when I get a good snoutful of something awful. Fuck, the water <em>stinks<\/em>. Grey water, my ass\u2026 more like <em>dark<\/em>-grey water.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>\u201cThat\u2019s not good,\u201d says a shrill voice to my right and I look over at Ghest who presses a finger against the escaping spray. All that does is split it in two, making the ghostly rainbow double itself. He shakes his head. \u201cWe can\u2019t afford to lose water like this.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>\u201cRelax, <em>padre<\/em>. It\u2019s not that much.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>\u201c<em>Any<\/em> amount is a waste,\u201d Ghest says with a deep frown. He\u2019s a sickly-looking thing with crusted chalky spots on his otherwise shiny bald head and greenish-blue bruises beneath his bulging eyes and it might be my imagination but he always smells faintly of piss. He\u2019s the oldest Rimer I\u2019ve ever seen, and I doubt he\u2019s long for this life.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>He keeps standing there with his finger on the leak, a sour look on his face, until the reservoir is full, then he steps back and wipes his hand on his robe as I shut off the water. His finger leaves a brown smear on his threadbare robes and I make a mental note not to shake his hand.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>The old cultist follows me to the tanker as I drag the pipe back and refit it to the ship\u2019s side. For a moment I think the tanker pilot is just going to tell poor Ghest to go fuck himself when he complains about the pipe leak\u2026 but then Ghest says something in a low voice as he takes a small green bottle out of his seed bag. I smile to myself as the bottle changes hands, the man enthusiastically agreeing to get the pipe fixed. Seems pious ol\u2019 Ghest isn\u2019t above bribery.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>The Rimer steps back and I bang on the side of the tanker. Moving back, I close my eyes to wait until the tanker is airborne\u2014the dust is hellishly thick, even this close to the fields. The desert, always encroaching, always there waiting to smother the greenery with its dirty yellow dust. The Disciples of Rime have to work around the clock to keep the desert from taking over. I wonder why the hell they stay here when there are dozens of inhabitable planets and moons that aren\u2019t half as crappy as this one.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>\u201cYou\u2019re leaving, then?\u201d Ghest says as we walk back towards the small huddle of tents. I can hear eagerness in his oddly high-pitched voice. He\u2019ll be glad to see the back of me. I know most of them will\u2026 one in particular. <em>Damn you<\/em>.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>\u201cYeah. I just need my bag and I\u2019m out of here,\u201d I say gruffly, but there <em>is<\/em> something else I want. I already know the answer to my question, but I ask it anyway. I have to.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>\u201cI want to see Pytre,\u201d I say, not meeting Ghest\u2019s penetrating glare. \u201cAnd thank him for saving my ass.\u201d Truth be told, I\u2019m haunted by those brief few moments when he was in my arms, those big eyes full of tears and conflict.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>\u201cHe\u2019s deep in a prayer cycle,\u201d Ghest says, his words curt.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>\u201cFair enough,\u201d I say quietly, feeling relieved and disappointed. I turn away.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>Pytre would never have come with me anyway.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>+++<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>I trade my pilfered liquor for travelling supplies at the general store, depositing the extra credits, then wind my way through Gulchtown, intent on finding a tavern. After a few dead-ends in the crumbling, yellow-brick town, I come across a two-story building made out of scavenged colonial ship plating. Above the door is a hand-painted picture of a pail with a long handle sticking out of it, the details worn away by the constant scrub of dust storms. I hear music, folksy and cheerful, but it\u2019s the clink of a bottle that pulls me through the open door.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>The place is near dead. At the back is a man without a shirt dandling a skinny boy on his knee. From the look on the man\u2019s grizzled face, it\u2019s clear the boy\u2019s hands are busy beneath the table\u2019s edge. A woman leans over the staircase banister, her breasts bare and nipples dyed a garish pink. As I cross the floor to the bar, the woman winks at me, lifting her skirt to show me her dick, and I give her a friendly wink back. I can easily afford her and I\u2019m tempted\u2014maybe she can clear my head.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>\u201cWe\u2019come to the Butter Churn,\u201d says the rangy old man behind the bar. His moustache is shaved in the centre, a style long out of fashion in the rest of the galaxy, and he stares at me unblinking, his blue eyes wary.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>\u201cA butter churn? Is that what the sign is out front?\u201d I say, as I take a seat.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>\u201cYeah, what of\u2019t?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>\u201cNothing.\u201d I saw a churn in a museum when I was a boy\u2014the same can\u2019t be said of whoever painted the sign, but I decide to keep my opinions to myself. \u201cWhiskey.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>The man nods and pulls a dark-brown bottle off the shelf, pouring a generous snit of liquor in a chipped glass. The bartender\u2019s still eyeballing me as I down the drink in one swallow. \u201cWhiskey,\u201d I say again.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>His nostrils flare and he pours another, and I see something in his eyes I don\u2019t like: recognition. Before I can lift the whiskey to my lips, he leans over and hawks into it, the spit opaque and lumpy as it swirls slowly to the bottom of the glass. I watch it settle. Yeah, I hate being called a hero, but when someone sees me as I truly am\u2026 well, it\u2019s not easy to swallow either, no matter how well-deserved it is.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>\u201cYou left my sister and her babies to die,\u201d he says, his tone as ugly as he is.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>I meet his gaze, steeling myself for more. It\u2019s been forty years, but I can still see them every time I close my eyes, a nightmare on perpetual repeat.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p><em>Men and women with mouths open in screams that I can\u2019t hear, babies lifted above the throng\u2026 \u201cLook at the children! You can\u2019t leave the children!\u201d A crescendo of pleas all around me, trapped within the thick walls of the ship, fists pounding bulkheads, begging and crying for me to let one more person in, just\u2026 one\u2026 more.<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n<p><em>Outside, babies dropped in the crush of bodies, trampled on. Three soldiers stayed behind to make sure no one tried to pry the hatch open again\u2014they lash out at the crowd with their batons, but the throng is too wild. One looks over his shoulder and stares at me through the viewport for a moment\u2014the expression on his young face is one of sheer terror. He\u2019s pulled into the crowd and I lose sight of him. I turn away. They\u2019re all dead anyway.<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n<p><em>\u201cGet everyone stowed away,\u201d I shout above the weeping and pleading.<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n<p><em>\u201cClear the way!\u201d The loadmaster has tears streaming down his cheeks as he follows my orders. He pushes the lucky winners of the lottery down the corridor towards the cramped quarters they\u2019ll share for the next sixteen months as we flee the solar system. Forty thousand souls across twenty-three ships\u2014the entire human race lifted into the sky while five billion are left to burn.<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>My eyes had been dry, but I remember my hands had trembled for days.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>\u201cYou a goddamn coward,\u201d the bartender says.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>I nod\u2014there\u2019s not a fucking thing I can say that will make any difference. I\u2019m either the man who saved the human race\u2026 or the coward who abandoned it. I keep holding his gaze, and I don\u2019t know what he sees, but his expression changes. It softens, just a touch. Just enough. I don\u2019t know if I\u2019m relieved or disappointed.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>Pushing the glass aside, I place a half-bottle of Rimer\u2019s chartreuse on the bar. It\u2019s my last one but I don\u2019t care. I need a drink and I don\u2019t think I can stomach any more of the cultists\u2019 green rotgut. \u201cWhiskey,\u201d I say, pushing the bottle towards him. A peace offering. \u201cPlease.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>The man eyes the bottle\u2014it\u2019s easily worth five times what he\u2019s serving me. After a moment he sighs and grabs a clean glass, pouring me another whiskey.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>\u201cThank you.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>He just snorts and retreats to the other side of the bar to keep watch on me, leaving the brown bottle in front of me.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>\u201cHey, mi\u2019suh nice fella,\u201d says a familiar voice. I turn and see it\u2019s the young whore from the other day. His blond curls hang in wet ringlets around his face and he\u2019s got a smile stretching from ear to ear\u2014he\u2019s looking at me like I\u2019m a long-lost pal, but there\u2019s something <em>off<\/em> in his expression. Could be the ugly bruise on his cheek colouring my perspective.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>The kid slides his hand up my knee and grabs my dick through my pants, easy as can be, and narrows his eyes at me. \u201cCome lookin\u2019 for me, long-tooth?\u201d he says, tilting his head, his grin getting coy. I notice for the first time that he\u2019s got one green eye and one blue.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>\u201cNo,\u201d I growl at him, and push his hand out of my lap.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>\u201cWhy fo\u2019, then?\u201d he asks, frowning. His hand finds my thigh again. I sigh and down my whiskey. \u201cYou wanna I find you n\u2019other? Maybe girl, yeah? Lou-Lou nice,\u201d he says, thumbing towards the woman on the stairs. \u201cI give better <em>suck<\/em>.\u201d He squeezes my leg and I look away. There\u2019s something desperate and hungry hiding behind his teasing expression and it just makes me feel tired.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>\u201cGet lost, kid.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>The old N2 unit in the corner suddenly starts hitting the same piano key over and over again. <em>Plink plink plink.<\/em> The kid\u2019s hand slides up my thigh, insistent, his eyes locked on mine. \u201cC\u2019mon, mi\u2019suh.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>\u201cScram your ass, Apple,\u201d the bartender growls. \u201cGo kick Patch and clean up them fuckin\u2019 spittoons \u2018fore I slit yer belly.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>The kid jerks his hand back from my leg, retreating a step. He tries to hide his fear under a toothy grin, but I can see it in his eyes. After he gives the broken-down old android a hard shove\u2014Patch, I\u2019m assuming\u2014it sits up a little straighter and starts playing a new tune. Melancholy compared to what it was playing before.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>I watch the kid scurry around, pouring out the dented metal buckets that serve as spittoons in this dump, and drink my whiskey. I notice he\u2019s limping.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>I sigh.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>\u201cHow much?\u201d I say, pointing to the kid. \u201cTo buy outright.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>The amount the bartender quotes is more than I can afford. The kid turns to look at me with those mismatched eyes and it tugs at whatever softness is left inside this burned-out old husk of mine. I sigh again. \u201cYou wouldn\u2019t put that against the bottle I just gave you, would you?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>The stony look the old man gives me says it all and I drop my eyes, concentrating on my whiskey. The kid would have just gotten in the way.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p><em>The way of what?<\/em> I came to this moon to find oblivion, but it keeps eluding me. Maybe I\u2019m not as done with this life as I thought I was. I finish my drink and stand, nodding to the bartender. The kid\u2019s sweeping the floor, his back to me.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p><em>Sorry, kiddo<\/em>. <em>I tried<\/em>, I think as I walk out the door. But did I really?<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p><em>Doesn\u2019t matter\u2026 it\u2019s too late now.<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>I pause in the middle of the street, my head hung low and my hand in my pocket. The brand-new utility knife rolls over and over in my fingers. The <em>expensive<\/em> new knife.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p><em>Fuck<\/em>.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>+++<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>The dust storm is like a wild animal clawing the desolate landscape. It\u2019ll hit in twenty minutes, maybe less. I drop my binoculars into my bag and look over my shoulder to where the kid is setting up our tent for the night. We should be all right to weather the storm\u2014our shelter\u2019s on the lee side of a big group diorite spires sticking out of the hardened dust\u2014but I have him drive a spike into the stone, just to be sure. By the time he\u2019s done, the air is so thick with yellow dust that I can\u2019t see my hand in front of my face. We duck inside the small tent and he zips it closed.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>\u201cLantern,\u201d I say and point. The kid nods and sits down with it.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>I\u2019m rummaging through my pack for some grub when it hits me that what I bought won\u2019t last long with two stomachs to feed. At least the kid doesn\u2019t look like he eats all that much. I watch him turn the crank on the lantern, his skinny arm going round and round and the tip of his tongue poking out the corner of his mouth. I clear my throat.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>\u201cHe called you Apple back there. That your name?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>\u201cYa, mi\u2019suh,\u201d he replies, grinning.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>\u201cWhat the hell kind of a name is \u2018Apple\u2019?\u201d I say, leaning back. He shrugs and keeps turning the crank. \u201cHave you ever even <em>seen<\/em> an apple?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>Apple lifts his eyes just as the lantern finally turns on. His pale eyelashes catch the light\u2014he looks otherworldly for a moment but it passes when he sucks in his bottom lip, his brows nearly touching above his upturned nose. \u201cNo, mi\u2019suh.\u201d He sets the lantern down between us and tilts his head up at me. \u201cYou seen one?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>I nod. \u201cWhen I was a boy there was an orchard next to my father\u2019s farm.\u201d Right away I can see his confusion\u2014maybe he doesn\u2019t know what an orchard is. I start to ask him, but he startles me by crawling forward to straddle my thighs.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>\u201cDon\u2019t do that.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>\u201cWhy fo\u2019?\u201d he replies, unbuckling my belt. He smiles at me as he unzips my fly. \u201cYou no wanna?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>I shake my head.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>His grin dimples on cheek. \u201cYou sure, mi\u2019suh Big Dick?\u201d He starts digging into my pants for my cock and I take his wrist, pulling his hand out.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>\u201cI\u2019m certain.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>Apple\u2019s face falls. \u201cNo like me?\u201d he says in a small voice.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>\u201cI like you fine.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>\u201cLemme then, \u2018k?\u201d He twists his wrist out of my grasp, holding his hand just above my crotch, waiting for me to agree.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>I\u2019m sorely tempted. His was the last hole I\u2019d fucked and I remember it being nice and snug.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>\u201cSuck then?\u201d he asks, his expression hopeful.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>\u201cNo.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>\u201cTo <em>thank <\/em>you,\u201d he says soberly with a small head nod. I know his hand\u2019s still over my half-covered, half-hard dick. I can feel it, just hovering there.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>\u201cThank me by keeping that lantern lit, carrying shit when I tell you to, and keeping your complaints to yourself. That\u2019s it. No fucking required.\u201d Noble words for a guy who hasn\u2019t even tried to move the kid off his lap yet.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>Apple stares hard into my eyes, silent and unmoving. \u201cNo fucking?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>\u201cNo fucking. No sucking. No jerking.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>\u201cLiar.\u201d He lifts his chin, challenging. \u201cYuh gon\u2019 beat me?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>\u201cI\u2019m not going to fucking beat you,\u201d I say, starting to get annoyed. At least I think I am.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>He finally relaxes, nodding. \u201cNo beat. No fucking. Yuh keep promise, long-tooth?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>\u201cYup. Promise.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>\u201cOkay,\u201d he says happily and shrugs, but then goes right back to pawing at my cock, freeing it from the confines of my dusty pants.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>\u201cBut I said\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>\u201cShut up, old man,\u201d Apple replies with a crooked grin, suddenly losing the pidgin and most of his hayseed accent. \u201cTrust me\u2014just sit back 'n let me work.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>Surprise robs me of speech and I just watch as he shifts backwards on his knees to pop the crown of my dick into his mouth. Well shit\u2026 If I can\u2019t talk him out of it, so be it. And Pytre was obviously right when he said the cunning little actor was older than he looked\u2014this \u201ckid\u201d is no kid.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>I groan and let my head fall back. His tongue starts swiping back and forth like a metronome while he slowly forces my cock down his throat. Holy hell, he wasn\u2019t joking earlier when said something about giving good \u201csuck\u201d. The airtight blowjob he\u2019s giving me could only be improved by him unhinging his jaw to swallow down my balls along with my shaft.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p><em>Shit... <\/em>Pytre. Why did I have to think of him just now? I close my eyes to swap Apple out with Pytre. It's a funny thing\u2014I taunted the enigmatic Rimer with every obscene proposition I could think of during my stay, but right at this moment I feel kind of <em>guilty<\/em>, I guess, for imagining him gagging on my cock like a goddamn pro.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>Not guilty enough to keep myself from enjoying this, of course.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>It\u2019s not long before I exhale hard then groan, blowing my load down Pytre\u2019s throat\u2026 but it\u2019s Apple who sits up, licking his reddened lips as I sit there, panting.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>The kid tilts his head, narrowing his eyes at me. \u201cWho was it?\u201d he asked.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>\u201cWhat do you mean?\u201d I try to tug my pants closed but with the way he\u2019s straddling me, the material\u2019s pinned under him.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>\u201cYou were with someone else,\u201d Apple says. \u201cI can always tell.\u201d I look up at him and he smiles a little wistfully. \u201cSo, who was it?\u201d he asks.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>\u201cNone of your fucking business.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<hr class=\"wp-block-separator has-css-opacity\"\/>\n\n\n<ul id=\"menu-wanderer-1\" class=\"menu\"><li class=\"menu-item menu-item-type-custom menu-item-object-custom menu-item-4605\"><a href=\"https:\/\/beydeckard.com\/blog\/the-wanderer-1\/\">Part One<\/a><\/li>\n<li class=\"menu-item menu-item-type-custom menu-item-object-custom menu-item-4606\"><a href=\"https:\/\/beydeckard.com\/blog\/the-wanderer-part-two\/\">Part Two<\/a><\/li>\n<li class=\"menu-item menu-item-type-custom menu-item-object-custom menu-item-4607\"><a href=\"https:\/\/beydeckard.com\/blog\/the-wanderer-part-three\/\">Part Three<\/a><\/li>\n<li class=\"menu-item menu-item-type-custom menu-item-object-custom menu-item-4608\"><a href=\"https:\/\/beydeckard.com\/blog\/the-wanderer-part-four\/\">Part Four<\/a><\/li>\n<li class=\"menu-item menu-item-type-custom menu-item-object-custom menu-item-4609\"><a href=\"https:\/\/beydeckard.com\/blog\/the-wanderer-part-five\/\">Part Five<\/a><\/li>\n<li class=\"menu-item menu-item-type-custom menu-item-object-custom menu-item-4610\"><a href=\"https:\/\/beydeckard.com\/blog\/the-wanderer-part-six\/\">Part Six<\/a><\/li>\n<li class=\"menu-item menu-item-type-custom menu-item-object-custom menu-item-4611\"><a href=\"https:\/\/beydeckard.com\/blog\/the-wanderer-part-seven\/\">Part Seven<\/a><\/li>\n<li class=\"menu-item menu-item-type-custom menu-item-object-custom menu-item-4612\"><a href=\"https:\/\/beydeckard.com\/blog\/the-wanderer-part-eight\/\">Part Eight<\/a><\/li>\n<li class=\"menu-item menu-item-type-custom menu-item-object-custom menu-item-4613\"><a href=\"https:\/\/beydeckard.com\/blog\/the-wanderer-part-nine\/\">Part Nine<\/a><\/li>\n<li class=\"menu-item menu-item-type-custom menu-item-object-custom menu-item-4614\"><a href=\"https:\/\/beydeckard.com\/blog\/the-wanderer-part-ten\/\">Part Ten<\/a><\/li>\n<li class=\"menu-item menu-item-type-custom menu-item-object-custom menu-item-4615\"><a href=\"https:\/\/beydeckard.com\/blog\/the-wanderer-part-eleven\/\">Part Eleven<\/a><\/li>\n<li class=\"menu-item menu-item-type-custom menu-item-object-custom menu-item-4616\"><a href=\"https:\/\/beydeckard.com\/blog\/the-wanderer-part-twelve\/\">Part Twelve<\/a><\/li>\n<li class=\"menu-item menu-item-type-custom menu-item-object-custom menu-item-4617\"><a href=\"https:\/\/beydeckard.com\/blog\/the-wanderer-part-thirteen\/\">Part Thirteen<\/a><\/li>\n<li class=\"menu-item menu-item-type-custom menu-item-object-custom menu-item-4618\"><a href=\"https:\/\/beydeckard.com\/blog\/the-wanderer-part-fourteen\/\">Part Fourteen<\/a><\/li>\n<li class=\"menu-item menu-item-type-custom menu-item-object-custom menu-item-4619\"><a href=\"https:\/\/beydeckard.com\/blog\/the-wanderer-part-fifteen\/\">Part Fifteen<\/a><\/li>\n<li class=\"menu-item menu-item-type-custom menu-item-object-custom menu-item-4620\"><a href=\"https:\/\/beydeckard.com\/blog\/the-wanderer-part-sixteen\/\">Part Sixteen<\/a><\/li>\n<\/ul>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"<p>It takes me a few minutes to free the pipe from the side of the Argonaus tanker and when I pull it out, it\u2019s a hell of a lot heavier than I thought it would be. I grind my teeth, keenly reminded of my years, and tug hard on the pipe, dragging it slowly between the rows of young corn stalks, careful not to disturb the plants. By the time I\u2019m done, I\u2019m out of breath and dripping with sweat. The worst part is I\u2019ve got a shitload of dust in my eyes and I can barely see\u2014I still feel &#8230; <\/p>\n<p class=\"read-more-container\"><a title=\"The Wanderer \u2013 Part Four\" class=\"read-more button\" href=\"https:\/\/beydeckard.com\/blog\/the-wanderer-part-four\/#more-3092\" aria-label=\"Read more about The Wanderer \u2013 Part Four\">Read more<\/a><\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":2,"featured_media":3093,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"generate_page_header":"","jetpack_post_was_ever_published":false,"_jetpack_newsletter_access":"","_jetpack_dont_email_post_to_subs":false,"_jetpack_newsletter_tier_id":0,"_jetpack_memberships_contains_paywalled_content":false,"_jetpack_memberships_contains_paid_content":false,"footnotes":"","jetpack_publicize_message":"","jetpack_publicize_feature_enabled":true,"jetpack_social_post_already_shared":true,"jetpack_social_options":{"image_generator_settings":{"template":"highway","default_image_id":0,"font":"","enabled":false},"version":2}},"categories":[72],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-3092","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-beys-tales-writing-2"],"jetpack_publicize_connections":[],"jetpack_featured_media_url":"https:\/\/i0.wp.com\/beydeckard.com\/blog\/wp-content\/uploads\/2018\/11\/dirty-dunes.jpg?fit=1200%2C800&ssl=1","jetpack_shortlink":"https:\/\/wp.me\/p4sexs-NS","jetpack_sharing_enabled":true,"jetpack_likes_enabled":true,"jetpack-related-posts":[{"id":3754,"url":"https:\/\/beydeckard.com\/blog\/the-wanderer-part-fourteen\/","url_meta":{"origin":3092,"position":0},"title":"The Wanderer &#8211; Part Fourteen","author":"Bey","date":"April 26, 2020","format":false,"excerpt":"Apple is no longer straddling my lap\u2014we\u2019re sitting side by side on the bed watching Pytre as he slowly undresses in front of us. He\u2019s keeping his eyes averted and his cheeks are so red they\u2019re almost burgundy. After painstakingly folding his shirt, he places it on the other bed\u2026","rel":"","context":"In &quot;Bey's Tales&quot;","block_context":{"text":"Bey's Tales","link":"https:\/\/beydeckard.com\/blog\/category\/writing-2\/beys-tales-writing-2\/"},"img":{"alt_text":"","src":"https:\/\/i0.wp.com\/beydeckard.com\/blog\/wp-content\/uploads\/2020\/04\/W14.png?fit=1200%2C900&ssl=1&resize=350%2C200","width":350,"height":200,"srcset":"https:\/\/i0.wp.com\/beydeckard.com\/blog\/wp-content\/uploads\/2020\/04\/W14.png?fit=1200%2C900&ssl=1&resize=350%2C200 1x, https:\/\/i0.wp.com\/beydeckard.com\/blog\/wp-content\/uploads\/2020\/04\/W14.png?fit=1200%2C900&ssl=1&resize=525%2C300 1.5x, https:\/\/i0.wp.com\/beydeckard.com\/blog\/wp-content\/uploads\/2020\/04\/W14.png?fit=1200%2C900&ssl=1&resize=700%2C400 2x, https:\/\/i0.wp.com\/beydeckard.com\/blog\/wp-content\/uploads\/2020\/04\/W14.png?fit=1200%2C900&ssl=1&resize=1050%2C600 3x"},"classes":[]},{"id":3313,"url":"https:\/\/beydeckard.com\/blog\/the-wanderer-part-eight\/","url_meta":{"origin":3092,"position":1},"title":"The Wanderer &#8211; Part Eight","author":"Bey","date":"March 11, 2019","format":false,"excerpt":"By the time Pytre is done eating, his lap is buried under a pile of discarded plasti-form wrappings. Frankly I\u2019m amazed by how much he just put away. \u201cFull?\u201d I ask, thinking again about the dwindling credit situation. Pytre covers his mouth and lets out a loud belch, then gives\u2026","rel":"","context":"In &quot;My Life&quot;","block_context":{"text":"My Life","link":"https:\/\/beydeckard.com\/blog\/category\/my-life\/"},"img":{"alt_text":"","src":"https:\/\/i0.wp.com\/www.beydeckard.com\/blog\/wp-content\/uploads\/2019\/03\/W8.jpg?resize=350%2C200","width":350,"height":200},"classes":[]},{"id":3402,"url":"https:\/\/beydeckard.com\/blog\/the-wanderer-part-ten\/","url_meta":{"origin":3092,"position":2},"title":"The Wanderer &#8211; Part Ten","author":"Bey","date":"April 7, 2019","format":false,"excerpt":"Apple won\u2019t meet my eye as he moves around the room packing his few belongings. \u201cYou can\u2019t be serious,\u201d I say, laughing. \u201cTurk\u2019s just looking to make a few bucks off your ass.\u201d He stops and glares at me before resuming. \u201cHe says he loves me,\u201d he replies, his tone\u2026","rel":"","context":"In &quot;Bey's Tales&quot;","block_context":{"text":"Bey's Tales","link":"https:\/\/beydeckard.com\/blog\/category\/writing-2\/beys-tales-writing-2\/"},"img":{"alt_text":"","src":"https:\/\/i0.wp.com\/beydeckard.com\/blog\/wp-content\/uploads\/2019\/04\/W10.jpg?fit=1200%2C653&ssl=1&resize=350%2C200","width":350,"height":200,"srcset":"https:\/\/i0.wp.com\/beydeckard.com\/blog\/wp-content\/uploads\/2019\/04\/W10.jpg?fit=1200%2C653&ssl=1&resize=350%2C200 1x, https:\/\/i0.wp.com\/beydeckard.com\/blog\/wp-content\/uploads\/2019\/04\/W10.jpg?fit=1200%2C653&ssl=1&resize=525%2C300 1.5x, https:\/\/i0.wp.com\/beydeckard.com\/blog\/wp-content\/uploads\/2019\/04\/W10.jpg?fit=1200%2C653&ssl=1&resize=700%2C400 2x, https:\/\/i0.wp.com\/beydeckard.com\/blog\/wp-content\/uploads\/2019\/04\/W10.jpg?fit=1200%2C653&ssl=1&resize=1050%2C600 3x"},"classes":[]},{"id":3427,"url":"https:\/\/beydeckard.com\/blog\/the-wanderer-part-eleven\/","url_meta":{"origin":3092,"position":3},"title":"The Wanderer &#8211; Part Eleven","author":"Bey","date":"April 21, 2019","format":false,"excerpt":"In the center of the room, a man is hanging upside-down, suspended from his ankles from a metal frame, his legs held apart. A woman in high heels is helping another man feed a big chain into the first guy\u2019s ass. I wince, watching the thick greased links slip into\u2026","rel":"","context":"In &quot;Bey's Tales&quot;","block_context":{"text":"Bey's Tales","link":"https:\/\/beydeckard.com\/blog\/category\/writing-2\/beys-tales-writing-2\/"},"img":{"alt_text":"","src":"https:\/\/i0.wp.com\/www.beydeckard.com\/blog\/wp-content\/uploads\/2019\/04\/W11.png?resize=350%2C200","width":350,"height":200,"srcset":"https:\/\/i0.wp.com\/www.beydeckard.com\/blog\/wp-content\/uploads\/2019\/04\/W11.png?resize=350%2C200 1x, https:\/\/i0.wp.com\/www.beydeckard.com\/blog\/wp-content\/uploads\/2019\/04\/W11.png?resize=525%2C300 1.5x, https:\/\/i0.wp.com\/www.beydeckard.com\/blog\/wp-content\/uploads\/2019\/04\/W11.png?resize=700%2C400 2x"},"classes":[]},{"id":3372,"url":"https:\/\/beydeckard.com\/blog\/the-wanderer-part-nine\/","url_meta":{"origin":3092,"position":4},"title":"The Wanderer &#8211; Part Nine","author":"Bey","date":"March 22, 2019","format":false,"excerpt":"\u201cSo, who is he?\u201d Finally. I look over at Pytre. He\u2019s lying on his cot, staring at the ceiling like I\u2019ve been doing for the past hour. \u201cRemember the Gulchtown boy-whore?\u201d I ask. Slowly, Pytre turns to face me, his hazel eyes wide. \u201cHow is he alive?\u201d I figure he\u2026","rel":"","context":"In &quot;My Life&quot;","block_context":{"text":"My Life","link":"https:\/\/beydeckard.com\/blog\/category\/my-life\/"},"img":{"alt_text":"","src":"https:\/\/i0.wp.com\/www.beydeckard.com\/blog\/wp-content\/uploads\/2019\/03\/W9.png?resize=350%2C200","width":350,"height":200,"srcset":"https:\/\/i0.wp.com\/www.beydeckard.com\/blog\/wp-content\/uploads\/2019\/03\/W9.png?resize=350%2C200 1x, https:\/\/i0.wp.com\/www.beydeckard.com\/blog\/wp-content\/uploads\/2019\/03\/W9.png?resize=525%2C300 1.5x"},"classes":[]},{"id":3188,"url":"https:\/\/beydeckard.com\/blog\/the-wanderer-part-six\/","url_meta":{"origin":3092,"position":5},"title":"The Wanderer &#8211; Part Six","author":"Bey","date":"January 20, 2019","format":false,"excerpt":"I\u2019m still in shock as he slumps towards me\u2014I easily catch him and hold him against me. He\u2019s just skin and bones, light as a feather in my arms, and he smells like he hasn\u2019t bathed in weeks. Weakly, his arms come around my waist, fingers scrabbling up under my\u2026","rel":"","context":"In &quot;Bey's Tales&quot;","block_context":{"text":"Bey's Tales","link":"https:\/\/beydeckard.com\/blog\/category\/writing-2\/beys-tales-writing-2\/"},"img":{"alt_text":"","src":"https:\/\/i0.wp.com\/beydeckard.com\/blog\/wp-content\/uploads\/2019\/01\/bar-yellow.jpg?fit=1200%2C918&ssl=1&resize=350%2C200","width":350,"height":200,"srcset":"https:\/\/i0.wp.com\/beydeckard.com\/blog\/wp-content\/uploads\/2019\/01\/bar-yellow.jpg?fit=1200%2C918&ssl=1&resize=350%2C200 1x, https:\/\/i0.wp.com\/beydeckard.com\/blog\/wp-content\/uploads\/2019\/01\/bar-yellow.jpg?fit=1200%2C918&ssl=1&resize=525%2C300 1.5x, https:\/\/i0.wp.com\/beydeckard.com\/blog\/wp-content\/uploads\/2019\/01\/bar-yellow.jpg?fit=1200%2C918&ssl=1&resize=700%2C400 2x, https:\/\/i0.wp.com\/beydeckard.com\/blog\/wp-content\/uploads\/2019\/01\/bar-yellow.jpg?fit=1200%2C918&ssl=1&resize=1050%2C600 3x"},"classes":[]}],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/beydeckard.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/3092","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/beydeckard.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/beydeckard.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/beydeckard.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/2"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/beydeckard.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=3092"}],"version-history":[{"count":5,"href":"https:\/\/beydeckard.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/3092\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":4601,"href":"https:\/\/beydeckard.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/3092\/revisions\/4601"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/beydeckard.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media\/3093"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/beydeckard.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=3092"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/beydeckard.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=3092"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/beydeckard.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=3092"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}