Subject: GAY/INCEST “BROTHERS GO HUNTING” Chapter 2 BROTHERS GO HUNTINGby Mike hoo Dear Nifty reader. Authors enjoy your feedback, so if you will, please take a moment to share your thoughts, ideas and feedback. ALSO, please fty if you can make any donations. They deliver a real benefit to all, and especially in these days of pandemic and to shut-ins around the world. The donation details appear on the site’s home page. II. The crunchy noise of wide tires on the gravel and grit that led from the county road to the camp cabin, announced Bryan’s arrival. It was 3:25 and as promised, he would arrive at 3:30 and as he put it “be sure to have my coffee ready you fuckers” and they did. The modified F-250 with dual high seats, top and side light bars and iced well beneath the seats defined Bryan’s Guide Service of South Texas. The truck was prominent in his logo and his lifestyle. His 6’4″ frame heaved from the driver’s side door, shirt open as he’d left it when he headed out, claiming he “always liked the feel of air blowing through his chest hair” and shook the brothers’ hands and the three headed inside for coffee and explanation of the day’s plan. Already knowing how he dressed in loose baggy khaki workpants, USMC green boxers, knee-high scrub boots for protection, a red bandana and his headband halogen light set, Bryan was the hunting man’s guide and every man’s symbol of a man that loved life, adventure and sex. The morning drive to the cabin had sufficiently matted Bryan’s dense black chest hair and his lack of a morning shave just framed the facial features that served as a magnet for anyone in lust. His bright grin punctuated the face that spoke of honest integrity and just a tinge of enigmatic fascination. The sun still had not risen when they began loading their gear in the rig, while Bryan stood aside taking a long piss after the 3 cups of coffee he’d downed; they reviewed safety procedures that Bryan insisted on presenting each year, the plan of the hunt, warnings about wildlife they weren’t hunting for or after but that might pop up, and post hunt plans for the game – Jeff the Game Warden and Burt Meadows game and meat market processer. The guys grew bored with anticipation of hearing Bryan’s lectures about safety etc; but they also knew that he was the guy in charge of the hunt, their safety, related hunt management as well as his own Guide License, so they knew to listen up, and follow his instructions and signals. The rig loaded, the three shook hands again and that commenced the hunt. The specially rigged F-250 crawled back down the gravel and grit with halogen headlights beaming out into the scrub brush like an alien spaceship scanning the terrain, on out to the county road, turned north and headed up 12 miles to RM2923 (that’s Ranch-to-Market for non-Texans), then left about 100 yards to the locked gate and ranch marker overhead “Higgins Ranch”. Bryan and Ed climbed out. Bryan unlocked the gate and drove through, leaving Ed to secure the gate and climb back into Bryan’s brawny rig. The big kaynarca escort rig made its way through the cleared scrub on a road bed alongside a creek. Bryan killed the diesel and the 3 sat quietly as Bryan directed. They listened for the sounds of the early morning, birds, wind stirring mesquite trees, the dreaded sound of a nearby rattler (hence the knee-high game boots), and in the distance the faint sound of a pack of feral hogs rooting the undergrowth for roots and food; grunting and making their distinct squawking noises. The pack was moving toward the truck and the hunters. The sound of the lead animals growing closer as they tromped the undergrowth and rustled the lower mesquite tree limbs gave away their general direction, when suddenly the pack stopped silent. Bryan knew instantly that they’d been found by the dangerous feral hogs and that unless they were prepared to tangle with those boars and their huge tusks, they’d just sit tight in the rig and let the herd of hogs come or go, there’d be another time and perhaps better lighting. The slight tinge of light above the horizon yielded traces of sunlight that would benefit the hunters. The bag limit in the county was 2 each boars and sows w/o a litter per license and that meant Jim and Ed could each bag 4 feral hogs per year. If they each got their limit this morning from that herd, the hunt was over and they’d made the long drive to the cabin for a few minutes hunt. As none of the guys were too eager to step onto something that might snap back from the dark, they played their cards and remained in the rig, as Bryan started the diesel and eased farther along the creek bottom. He knew that just beyond a big mesquite tree up ahead, there was a broad mixed topography of rock, low scrub, some short grasses surrounded by a small line of trees following the creek. By the time they made their way to the edge of the open area, the morning breezes had picked up, the sky brighter, and the faint pungent-scented blend of the creek and mesquite permeated the air. Birds chattered rampantly and hawks were already soaring overhead, searching for prey. Again Bryan killed the diesel and the three sat silently; Ed and Bryan in the front buckets and Jim seated behind Ed. Bryan was hung and the tension of his khaki workpants against his thick dick made Ed want to reach over and grab hold, but the hunt was the priority and not serving Bryan’s dick. Still, Ed’s mouth dried at the thought of sucking Bryan’s huge dickhead, savoring his pre-cum and feeling the dick tube thicken and those veins pop into ropes along the shaft. Bryan felt he was being watched and slowly turned to face Ed, grin some and run his index finger along his own tube to tease Ed further. Bryan had played out the hunt. Each day of the hunt they could each try for one set of kills. They had 2 full days (Saturday and Sunday) and could spill over into Monday if they’d not bagged their limit. The tension of waiting had stretched the guys’ patience and their bladders. As each announced their orhanlı escort collective need to piss, Bryan climbed from the truck and was alerted to the bald eagle overhead’s squawk and dive to the ground ahead of the truck. The power dive and ensuing climb, culminated in the quick kill of a large snake, as the dangling menace hung from the eagle’s talons. “Holy fuck” exclaimed Ed as he too was exiting the rig and continued “did you see that come out of nowhere?” Jim shaking his head was already looking very closely at the ground to avoid any reptiles. Another eagle soared from a distant tree, toward the guys now standing in the crisp morning sun pissing like stallions. Bryan remarked, “must be a mating pair feeding chicks.” Bryan stopped suddenly, waved to the guys to be silent. He tilted his head and heard the distant grunt, squawking, rooting sounds of a herd of feral hogs. He gave the guys a thumbs up to the truck and the pair of hunters eased back into the rig, climbed up to the high rise seats and waited silently. Bryan joined them back inside, waited, watched and listened. The only sounds were the slight stir of air through the trees and across the open field, squawk of the pair of eagles overhead and the approaching sound of the herd. Unknown to Bryan, Jim and Ed just agreed on 2 each per day for a 2 day hunt. Ed’s dick throbbed thinking of the post hunt sex with Bryan. Jim had his thoughts of the Game Warden Jeff and wondered if they’d see him at the Meadows Meat Market when they brought in their kills? Burt Meadows was a fourth generation packing house owner, serving full slaughter, prep and packing for hunters in the area. He was in his late 50s and his 4 sons were all look alikes of different ages (20s to 40s) and wore tight jeans, long white aprons and coats that concealed their own packages and butts; but as Jim and Ed learned pretty early on from Bryan, the sons played hard rough and tumble sex. Bryan cocked his ear, raised his right index finger which was a get ready sign to the guys, then slowly stood through the open roof of the modified F-250 cab, strained to hear the pack’s sound and direction, used his right index finger again to steer the guys’ attention to the direction directly behind the truck. The herd’s noises stopped abruptly. Bryan’s hand held 5 fingers wide which signaled Ed and Jim to hold still. The tension was building and no one knew if the pack would continue onto the small path where the big rig was poised or if they’d just cross the path and head back into the scrub and out of sight. Regardless, Bryan’s thumb and index finger “O” sign, signaled to load and be ready to shoot. The pair of eagles were now joined by hawks, staying safely out of access to the hunting eagle pair. The breeze picked up and favored the guys being downwind from the feral herd; an ideal hunting position. The January sun was already brilliant and clear just above the horizon. The truck was parked into the sun so the herd wasn’t able to see the back of the truck or the hunter’s standing tepeören escort position in the sun’s backlighted staging. The pair of big boars lumbered from the left side of the path into the clearing with 2 sows and 2 younger boars behind. The hunters fired 2 each quick blasts and the pair of big boars dropped in their tracks as well as 2 sows. The 2 younger boars scrambled into the brush. It was silent again. The three men high-fived each other stowed their rifles and gear and settled into the high rise seats as Bryan fired up the diesel and slowly backed down the path toward the 1st pair of boars and sows. While Mr. Higgins, the ranch owner could kill all the feral hogs he wanted as they were a menace, licensed hunters were governed by the bag limit in place for the county. Ed and Jim would still be able to make another hunt on Sunday for another set of hogs to make their limit. The big rig slowed at the 4 carcasses, the one big boar on the right side of the path (Jim’s kill) appeared to be about 150s, Ed’s boar on the left was a bit smaller, perhaps 120s; but both big fuckers. Both sows appeared to be about the same size as the smaller of the boar or about 100+s. After Bryan ensured there was no evidence of a litter, the three loaded the hogs into the iced well, phoned Mr. Higgins to report the kills, ensured the gate was locked and made their way to Meadows Packing House back on Hwy 77. The guys beamed and their puffed up chests ensured Bryan that another good tip would be coming from these long-time clients; and likelihood of some hot sex as well. Arriving early at Meadows Meat Market, Tom the oldest son, came out to greet Bryan and the two familiar clients. Cameras out, pics snapped and high-fives being shared around distracted the hunters and staff from Game Warden Jeff Jackson’s arrival. The lanky brunette Game Warden approached with Steve Meadows- the youngest son who was bringing up a flatbed 4-wheel cart to load the hogs from Bryan’s truck. After a round of hand shaking, Jeff asked for Bryan’s license which he held pending review of Jim and Ed’s licenses. Even though Jeff and Bryan had known each other their entire lives, the protocol remained the same and everyone accepted the easygoing formality. Jeff scanned the pair of licenses, hit in some keys to report the kills on his tablet and retuned all licenses to their respective owner. He thanked them, shook hands again and as he turned to walk away Jim asked Jeff if he’d care to join them for steaks that evening? Jeff thanked Jim but deferred to an event with his wife and in-laws but that he “might drop by later to toast your hunt?” The men grinned at each other and Jeff winked before heading back to his truck, made a couple of calls on his cell and headed into visit with Burt Meadows. As he was visiting, young Steve pushed the heavy 4-wheel flatbed cart through the rear doors and into the refrigerated processing area. The two middle sons were busy gutting, stripping, sawing and processing kills from other hunters. Steve and one of the hired hands hoisted the 4 hogs into a cart, rolled them to a hooked rack and up onto a rack hook where they hung upside down pending slaughter. Bryan, Jim and Ed headed to Ducky’s Café just down 77 for a well-deserved breakfast. It was just 9:00 a.m.