Gay Erotic Stories

About a year ago, while traveling through Iowa, I had occasion to stop at a small country bar just outside the limits of a town somewhere in the middle of the state, I’m sorry, I really don’t remember the name of the town but it would have little bearing on the rest of the story anyway. I had driven right past the place but something about it attracted me, maybe it was the row of semi-trailers which were parked outside, dwarfing the building, or it may have been the collection of pickups lined up beside them. I made a sharp u-turn on the two-lane highway and drove back to it, thinking I would just have a beer and check out the clientele, which hopefully would be more than interesting. Once inside, I chose a stool away from the men who had gathered in their obvious comradeship and was happy just to watch the crowd while nursing the beer. Then, just as I was about ready to leave, the front door opened again and about six-feet two-inches of the most captivating man I’d ever seen sauntered into the little bar. He had one of those combination attitude-and-body auras that fill a room with its presence. You know, broader than broad shoulders, flared chest with coarse hair that came out around the open placket of his shirt, flat abdomen and an ass and basket that jeans were made for. The patrons greeted him as if he were the Mayor of that town, calling out his name (which was Jake) patting him on the back and offering him drinks, all of which he turned down smilingly as he continued through the room and took the stool next to mine. I was willing to risk being obvious in my examination of him as he sat down, since he also had that aura of kinship that gay men learn early to perceive. The skin on his hands , arms and neck showed the signs of many hours of outside labor which belied the boyish softness in the beautifully defined features of his face. A thick crop of well-trimmed, sandy hair capped his head. He looked at me, smiled a ready smile and welcomed me into his space, although we’d never before met. I ordered another beer. As usual, in places like that friendly little bar, you tend to strike up a conversation with the person seated beside you, and for us the conversation started naturally and continued until we knew quite a bit about each other, likes and dislikes, work; one thing and another. While we talked I told him I write fiction and he said he had a story for me. At first I was apprehensive, I didn’t feel I had that much time to spend there, and honestly, when most people say that, well, the stories just aren’t that interesting. Finally, I gave in and his story turned out to be a tale that I wouldn’t even have imagined. So, I present to you a story as told to me in that nameless bar in Whatsis, Iowa, by Jake Nordland, whose name I shall never forget.

The sign at the end of my driveway read NORDLAND TRUCKING CONSIGNMENTS, I know it don’t sound like much and when you study the financials, it looked like even less. My Dad died about two years ago now and left me the whole shebang; since I was the only family he had and we’d worked together with me as a driver since I was twenty-one years old and fresh out of the Army. He’d worked hard and poured his whole life into it but things just really didn’t fall together for him. When I got the business there were three mortgages on our house, two on the new shed where the five Kenworth tractors were kept and worked on , and another pile of debt on the five freight trailers, two cattle haulers, two tank trailers and the flat bed. The rolling stock wasn’t in very good condition but I’d become a pretty fair mechanic and kept it all going as best I could. Somehow I was managing to make a meager living and keep the wolf away. That’s when J.W. Harrison came into my life. It was in the summer about a year ago that I was working on one of the stubborn engines in the shed, stripped to the waist and dripping sweat, (I would’ve given a months salary to see this guy stripped to the waist; my left nut to see him naked) when I hear the gravel start crunchin’ on the drive and see this big Cadillac limousine pulling up toward the shed. I wiped some of the grease off, decided to forget the shirt though, and went to the door to see what was going on. I was still wiping my hands on the rag when the back door of the car opened and an old man with a cane climbs out. He looked more like Santa Claus, at least from the neck up, than most of the pictures in kid’s books that I’ve seen. He had a neatly trimmed white beard and white hair that stuck out around a black, bowler hat and was wearing what was probably a thousand-dollar suit. His cane was carved mahogany, and it seemed he really did need it to walk. He walked right up to me, bold as can be since he only came up to the bottom of my chest, looked me up and down with more interest than I thought necessary, and started talking. “I would like to see Mr. Nordland.” He had a deeper voice than I had expected but his age showed through it. “You’re lookin’ at him,” I replied, still wiping my hands and arms. (And what arms!). “Oh, I beg your pardon.” He looked embarrassed. He probably thought I was just the mechanic. I didn’t want to tell him I was a one-man show. “I’ve been inquiring about some hauling I would like to have done and you come highly recommended.” His eyes were looking up at me, traveling all over my chest and belly. I wanna tell ya’ if I hadn’t been half-naked already, I would have been stripped nude when he finished with me. The little guy was real proper and everything but disaster hung all around him like the stink of shit sticks to your boots [I was going to ask him to elaborate on that, but decided not to]. “That’s real nice to hear,” I smiled. “What can I do for you?” I felt like I was getting in further than I wanted to already. “Well, you see, I have some...merchandise...ah...livestock I need to have transported to market in Wyoming. Would you be available, say, in two weeks?” Everything in my guts told me to say no, sorry, but that’s not what came out. “I’m afraid the cattle haulers aren’t in the best of sha...” “Oh, you won’t need one of those.” He pointed with the tip of the cane toward one of the longer, plain freight trailers parked off to the right of the shed. I was confused, “You did say, livestock, didn’t you?” “Why, yes, but where I want to go isn’t all that far and I’d rather no one see my...stock.” He rested both hands on the top of the cane, sort of swaying in my driveway. “One of those will do just fine.” “Prize stock?” I was getting in deeper. “Some are, yes.” His little eyes flashed at me from behind his specs, knowing that I was going to accept. Then, he tossed the bait with the hook in it. “This job will pay you seventeen thousand dollars, Mr. Nordland.” “What!? For a two day drive to Wyoming? Are you nuts?” I asked him. You could have knocked me over. I felt my butt fall back against a truck fender. “No, Mr. Nordland, I am not, as you say ‘nuts’. I chose you for this job because I’ve heard you’re a person I can, well, trust. I’ve heard that you are a person who would be...simpatico to my lifestyle.” I figured I was reading the old guy right, so I said, “You mean, am I queer? Yeah, I am. What’s that got to do with it?” Now I was afraid that the funny, little old man was going to make a play for me. He laughed a little. “Just what I said, Mr. Nor...what’s your first name, son?” “Jake.” “I feel I can trust you, Jake. I also like to do business with our own people. Do we have an agreement, then?” Listen, there was no way I could turn down that kind of money so I said okay, besides the old guy had half of it down, and I needed new tires on that truck or I couldn’t take any job. We shook on it, he gave me the money and I walked him back to his car. The limo had really dark-tinted windows but when I kind of looked in, I could have sworn that his driver was sitting there stark naked except for his black, chauffeurs cap. That was impossible, so I dismissed the idea and went back to working on my truck, his offer tossing around in my head. Anyway, for the next two weeks I thought of little else, only J.W. Harrison and the wild proposition he’d made me. I took a few short trips during that time, doing a little business here and there. Working on the trucks helped to keep me occupied, too. Then, all of a sudden J.W.’s day arrived. I showered, dressed and climbed into the rig in time to arrive at his house and pick up the cargo; I couldn’t wait to see what he had. Harrison lived in a lovingly restored Victorian house, with one of those huge porches that wraps all the way around it, set toward the front of several hundred acres of prime Iowa corn land. A long, gravel drive wound past the house and back toward the outbuildings. For, as well as the house was kept, the rest of the buildings were in terrible condition, unpainted, and deteriorating from decades of disuse...except for one. It was a long, low pole-building with a coat of fresh white paint, gigantic ventilating fans on either end and huge sliding doors. That’s where I found J.W., leaning on his cane outside the open doors. “Hello, Jake, I’m glad you could make it.” The old guy was smiling but there was something odd about the way he looked, paler, weaker somehow than the last time I saw him. The twinkle was gone from his eyes, they looked sunken. “Morning, Mr. Harrison,” I said as I jumped down from the cab and approached to shake his hand; even his hand felt chilled and older. I walked around the to the back of the trailer, opened the doors and pulled out the ramp. “You got your stock ready?” I asked him. “That I have, Mr. Nordland.” He gave me a strange side glance as he walked into the barn, a little smile curling his lips. While he was inside I lit myself a cigarette and waited with one booted foot propped up on the running board. I’ll tell you right here and now that I don’t remember if I took a drag on that butt or not, cause what I saw next you wouldn’t believe. I didn’t believe it and I was there. The old guy comes out of the barn with another guy behind him, but the second man’s got nothin’ on except a black jock and a pair of boots. He was a big, handsome guy with a full head of curly, dark hair and muscles all over ‘im. An ass, my God, and a crotch that looked like he had that jock stuffed. He had a chain dragging from one hand. Then, God, you could have knocked me over, at the end of that chain came another guy and then another and another until there were fifty of them standing outside the barn. They had shackles on their wrists, secured in front of them, and chains that went down between their legs to a heavy drag chain that hung along the ground from man to man, first to last. Just thinking about it makes me hard, even now. (Jake pawed at his crotch on the barstool next to mine; I wanted to reach over and do it for him but I had a story to write). I think I just stood there with my mouth hanging open, looking but not quite believing. Some of ‘em were my age, you know, older guys but most of them were real young, like eighteen or nineteen. Some of the young ones gave me a mean, defiant look as I walked along the line, checking them out. Oh, I didn’t say, but they were all naked as the day they were born, but you probably guessed that. Their heads ere shaved down to about a half an inch; that kind of made them all look alike, but they’d been left their body hair, the ones that had any, except in their crotches, those were all shaved neat as can be. I couldn’t believe seeing all them cocks and balls just hanging there, out in the open and everything; big, long, fat, average, there was all kinds there. A few of ‘em were even a little hard, arced out away from the balls, like this. (Jake gestured with his hand to demonstrate the curve and I almost fell off my stool). Lord, I wanted to drop to my knees and eat my way through the line! And muscles....these guys were muscled out like football players, you know, not too much, just right. Big chests, firm flat bellies, hard thighs and strong, corded arms on every one of them.(my own dick was reacting now. I wasn’t sure how much more of this I could listen too.) On my way back up the line I checked out each pair of ass cheeks, and I’m here to tell ya, what a treat! Each set looked as strong, milky- white and hard as the last one. No blemishes on them either except a tattoo on the left cheek that identified each guy by number; it matched the tag with a number pierced through their left ear lobes. I stopped and ran my hand over the furry flank of a particularly hunky, dark-haired guy with a big fleshy dick, letting my fingers trace into his warm crack. He turned and gave me an insolent, threatening look that sent me on my way. Harrison was just standing there with the guy in the jock next to him when I got back to the truck. A funny little laugh came from him cuz he must have seen the look on my face and the bulge in my jeans. “WHAT THE FUCK IS THIS?” I bellowed at him. I must have gone white with confusion and,...well, excitement , too. “I told you, Jake, I have livestock that needs to be transported to.....” “No...no.” I was shaking my head. “Livestock is pigs and cows and stuff. You’ve got human beings. MEN! Fifty live, naked MEN!” I stood there waving my arm at that row of guys. “I ain’t haulin’ them anywhere!” I was walking back toward the cab when he hooked me again. “Ten thousand, Jake...ten thousand dollars, as soon as we get to our destination. And, Jake, they’re not men...they’re livestock...a commodity...Slaves.” Now, you gottta remember I’m just a plain Iowa farm boy. Sure, I got pretty heavy into leather and shit in Germany and heard the stories about male slavery but I never really believed it, especially this close to home. “Jake, I know you don’t understand, but please try. The ‘men’, as you call them, that you see standing here were misfits. Criminals, delinquents addicts and worse.” He used his cane to point out individuals along the staggered line; some of the guys lowered their heads when they recognized their own problem. “Some of the older ones came to me on their own, some of the younger ones were sent to me by their families when parenting and the system had failed them.” There were tears welling under his old eyes. “What you see here is nothing more than a military school without uniforms, if that analogy works better for you. Uniformity, Jake; uniformity and discipline...and humiliation. That’s all they expect.” “But...slavery...Mr. Harrison.” I still couldn’t believe what I was seeing or hearing. “It’s against the law.” “When all else fails, Jake, drastic measures must be taken. When a boy came to me he was literally stripped of everything that meant anything to him, identified him. He was given a new code or program, if you will, to live by. Nothing else had worked for him, but obedience does. He was trained, educated and molded into a man who could become an asset to his Master, and to society when the time came. He also learned to know his body, be proud of it and care for it, and to respect the others. That is one thing that ‘society’ teaches no one. “Do you see that man whose butt you touched, Jake?” J.W. had his withered old hands clasped tight on the top of the cane as he tilted is head toward the young man. “I think he needs a little taking down.” All I could hear was a low buzzing in my ears and the soft jangle of chains as I stood there, staring back down the line, into the guys eyes. J.W. sure knew which buttons to push in me. I felt like that guy was daring me as I started back down the row, really getting into this but not sure what I’d do when I got to him. We were so close I could hear his steady breathing when I decided and unbuttoned the fly of my jeans. I’ll tell you, that boy’s mouth fell right open when I flipped out my dick, stretched it a few times and squirted a little piss right on his knees. When I got a real strong, steady stream goin’, I aimed it up to his belly and sprayed it around until he was soaking wet from there to his bare feet. When I finished the pungent stink of urine and that boy’s warm skin had me so hot I wanted to get off, so I did. It only took me a couple of strokes and I shot a load onto his cock and that beautiful bag of his. That slave’s dick hardened right up and was drippin’ piss and cum off the tip as if it was his own. I asked him, “What d’ya say, boy?” His whole body sagged and he lowered his chin; not broken but humbled. “Thank you, Sir,” he murmured. (I ordered a double scotch, neat and one for Jake). “If I’d had them all dressed and hired a bus would it have made a difference? They’d still be what they are.” Rapidly, his eyes moved across my face, recognizing the comprehension in my own as I walked back to the truck again. Well, I guess I couldn’t argue it anymore. And, I’ve got to admit I was fascinated. I agreed to drive them. He told me that the guy in the jock was the boys overseer, NUMBER 14. He was in charge of loading them, giving them blankets to sit on and packing in food for the trip and the files which held all their papers. As I stood there smoking, I never realized how important that one man would become to me. When they were all in and settled the three of us climbed into the cab; Number 14 helping the old man, and we started down the gravel drive and onto a road that would change my life forever. For the first several hours we rode in silence, me trying to figure out in my head what the Hell I was doing, Number 14 pressed against my side, and I’m tellin’ you that almost drove me fuckin’ nuts; he was so good lookin and smelled so damned good, like sweat and man; with the old man dozing off against the passenger door. He was lookin’ worse all the time by then. J.W. knew a secluded place along the County Trunk we were taking where I could pull the truck off and give the boys a chance to stretch their legs and piss. I didn’t watch them at first, but when I figured out that they didn’t care, ya’ know...well it kinda turned me on, seein’ them big dicks just hanging there, spraying streams of piss into the grass, just natural as can be (I swallowed hard and tried to hold onto my pencil. Talk about turned-on). Then, he really surprised me when he said, “Go ahead, Jake, choose one and take him. I know you want to and any one of them would be pleased to serve you. They’re just men.” He was coyly smiling and looking me up and down again, undressing me. I suddenly felt sweaty and blushed from my head to my toes. I caught the condom he tossed to me and fingered it nervously while I looked up and down the row of chained nudes, bathed in the warming sun. I thought, what the Hell...there’s a first time for everything. Besides, there was one that I wanted, I’d noticed him earlier, in line at the barn, and watched him nervously when we stopped. He was a handsome, husky guy, about twenty one with dark brown hair and deep, burnished brown eyes that shown with a spark of challenge, too. I think that’s what attracted me most, that and a cock and ass that dreams are made of. This one was really something, ya’ know. He had a coat of dark fur on his chest and across his rippled belly, and would have had a great pelt between his legs if it hadn’t been shaved away. I appreciated the shave though, cuz it made his big uncut dong and loaded balls look even bigger. Trying to control the shaking in my hand, I reached out and gently stroked the skin and moist hair on his chest. His muscles reacted under my touch as I let my finger circle one of the tough nipples and then trace the muscles that ridged his gut. With my other hand I tipped his head back and looked into those hard eyes and felt the hair disappear under my hand; replaced by kind of stubbly skin and then that exciting ridge where his dick joined his body. The guy slowly closed his eyes while I hefted his stuff onto my palm, like I was weighing it. I closed my fist around it, skinned him back and felt him drop the last of his pee onto my hand. “I assume you’ve chosen one , Jake.” J.W. called out from behind me. That guy and I were searching each others eyes like mad, when I answered, “Yeah, we’ve made a choice.” I felt his fist lock around my hard-on. “Number 14, get Number 27 ready for Mr. Nordland.” Harrison ordered. I’ll tell ya’ I was nervous as a cat and twice as excited when I peeled out of my clothes, watching Number 14 unshackling my selection and leading him to my trailer. I could see his dick rising to a heavy curve as he was tied by his wrists to the rings on the vans side and told to spread his legs wide behind him. He had one of them long, silky bags between them and his jewels were dangling in it, one higher than the other. His ass cheeks were flexing as he waited and that made the tattooed “27" dance on his pale skin. Harrison was sitting on the running board and the other slaves were lying or sitting on the grass, watching and rubbing their own dicks. “I think he’s ready for you, Jake.” J.W. really loved that part, I think. He was looking at me like he’d never seen a naked man before. I figured that’s what he wanted to see all along. I was ready too, hard and leaking into the greasy rubber as I unrolled it along my dick. I cut a supple switch from a nearby willow and walked over to the slave. I must’ve surprised that boy when I came up behind him and started working him over with the stick. I never done anything like that before, not that I didn’t want to, I just never did. I whipped that pretty bubble-butt and the back of his legs ‘til they were cherry-red and the slave was yelpin’, weepin’, and dancing around on his toes like he could run away from the stinging pain. And all the while his hooded prong just got longer and thicker until its wet head popped right out of its turtleneck. The dick was dancin’ around too, in sort of a weird, out-of-beat way. Well, when I was done whippin’ him I fucked that man, long and deep fuckin’, that left us both locked together, panting and sweatin’ like pigs in rut. His ass felt so good along my dick that when I was finished with him the first time, I had J.W. toss me another rubber, changed the and went at ‘im again. Number 27 like it , too. That guy was moaning, stretching out his body against mine, rolling his head and yelping like a pup; and every time I reached around and squeezed his nuts, he shot a load of cream out the end of that beautiful dick and onto my van tires. I think his cum is probably still on them. When we got back on the road Harrison talked on and on about his philosophy and about the boys and their training. I guess he just wasn’t gonna give up until I understood and I’ll admit it was sinking in. He admitted that besides training and teaching that he did trade in them. “After all,” he said, “that’s how I could afford to keep as many as I did.” I noticed that when he talked about them in the past like that, both he and Number 14 appeared sadder, kind of distant. When I asked him why we were taking them on this trip he never really answered me, just kind of skipped around the question. He was a queer old character, all right. There seemed to be a kind of urgency about that journey; he made me drive all night, but it didn’t bother me. And our rest stops became further and further apart; not stopping unless I really had to and then he would allow me to unload the cargo. Harrison was sleeping more and more, too. He was looking all grey in the face and so tired, I was worried about him. Finally, he fell asleep against my shoulder and he stayed there until close to sun-up. It was just about dawn when I pulled off the road and onto a deserted farm road cuz I had to take a leak real bad. I remember I tried to wake J.W. but he just laid there, his head on my shoulder, heavier than he’d been before. I’ll never forget that feeling....the old guy was as dead as could be, just sitting there with that funny half-smile he always had, set on his face. I reached over and woke Number 14 and when he saw his Master dead an’ all, his eyes filled with tears that ran down his face but he never made a sound; he’d been trained not to. (I didn’t have to ask what happened then, he just kept going.) I put Number 14 in the back with the others, turned the truck around and headed for home; I really didn’t know what else to do. I remember I was kind of panicky, real confused; with a dead guy in the cab and all. Driving like Hell I finally got back to the town nearest his place. I found the undertaker, gave him a lot of money and told him Harrison was my neighbor and I had found him at his house like that. Well, it was kind of true, but I kept my name out of it I felt there would be few questions, cuz it was clear he died of natural causes. The short trip from there to my place was a ride from Hell; my mind was goin’ so fast I was sure I’d go crazy. What the Hell was I gonna’ do now, I kept asking myself. Christ, I had fifty guys in my trailer, all naked and with no Master. I stopped at a pay phone and called my best friend, John and told him to meet me at my place and to be quick about it. Now that I think about it, he must’ve thought I was nuts just from the tone of my voice. Then, I drove home. Fortunately, I live out in the middle of nowhere, no neighbors, not much traffic on the road, nothing. Pulling into the drive I saw John leaning against the hood of his Mustang by the tractor shed. I wasn’t sure how I’d tell him; I guess I was gonna worry about that later. I backed the rig up close to the double, sliding doors and jumped down from the cab. The expression on John’s face turned from a smile to genuine concern when he saw me. He uncrossed his arms and met me half-way. “What the Hell’s the matter, Jake. You look terrible.” he held my arms tight in his hands, shaking me a little. “I...I ..Oh, Hell.” I said. I couldn’t think of a way to start so I just went to the back of the truck and opened the doors. Well, you should have seen the look on his face. He turned the color of flour and I figured it was the same way I looked at J.W.’s farm the morning before. “Come on, help me move the tractors out of the shed.” I seemed to be moving with an unconscious purpose. John was helping but he kept firing questions at me one after another that I kept ignoring. Finally, all the trucks were moved and I told Number 14 to get the boys into the shed. I just stood there laughing nervously, watching John’s face as they paraded past him, naked and cock-swingin’, one after the other down the ramp and into the barn. When they were in I ordered Number 14 to lock the drag line to one of the uprights, secure the doors and come up to the house with John and I. “Now, are you going to tell me what that’s all about?” John asked, his voice edged with impatience. I got a bottle of scotch from the cabinet and three glasses and we all sat down at the kitchen table. Oh, but before that I decided to try something I was curious about. “Number 14,” I said, “Whenever you’re in the house you’ll be nude. Understand?” John’s mouth fell open again. He’d never imagined anything like this. I was really enjoying it but my heart was beating so hard I could hear it. “Yes, Sir,” was all he said, standing there in my kitchen, kicking off the boots, and peeling out of that clean, black jock; simple as can be. What a looker that man was. My God! About twenty five years old, dark complected and as handsome as anyone I’d ever seen. He had a full, thick head of hair that was kind of tousled around his face and a dark shadow of beard beginning to grow. His body was big and powerful looking, bulging arms, a thick chest, nice narrow hips and legs that looked like they were made for running. There was a lot of rich, shiny hair that spread across his chest and down over his flat belly until it got curly between his spread legs. He’d assumed an at-ease position with his hands tucked behind his ass, like he was showin’ himself to us; real proud. And, let me tell ya’, John and I were looking. His long cock and hefty balls were nearly buried in that pelt of dark fur. He didn’t move a muscle when John reached out and pulled his penis out away from his bag and held it in the palm of his hand. The trimmed, kind of reddish head came almost to John’s wrist and I remember him saying how warm and good it felt when he closed his fist around the shaft. It grew some and we could see his heartbeat in the big vein that extended along the top as John started strokin’ the cock. Pretty soon that big dick was standing straight up, throbbing in the air, aching to get off. Then John was pumping it and Number 14 was breathing hard and sweating but he obediently held his position. I could tell by the way his nuts were drawn up that he was ready to cream and that’s just what he did. He moaned once and that big dick of his shot a load of cum all over John’s shirt, the front of his jeans and finally drooled all over his hand. John didn’t miss the opportunity to try his hand at Mastering, either. After he ordered him to do it, it was a real turn-on to see that handsome man on his knees licking his own spunk off John’s clothes and hands while my buddy spanked him with his belt as punishment for his sloppiness. When John and I both dumped our loads onto the floor he was made to lick that up, too, which he did without complaint. Anyway, after that we sat there for a long time, drinking and talking, John and I at the table and Number 14 sitting, as he been told to, on the floor with his knees drawn up to his chest, his ample genitals lying lazily on the linoleum. He was close enough that John could reach forward every once in awhile and tease the big cock back into a half hard condition. I was sure they both really enjoyed that. I told John the whole story, about Harrison and his boys, the ‘school’ and what I learned from him. I brought him right up to date. We were all probably getting pretty drunk but the excitement of the whole situation had kept our minds clear. Finally, it was John who broke the spell. “Seriously, Jake,” he asked, “what are ya’ gonna do with them all?” “Hell...I don’t know.” I walked over to the window and looked out across the yard to the shed. “I guess I’ll just turn them all loose.” Number 14 spoke for the first time in a long time. “With all respect, Sir, you cannot do that.” I felt guilty as I turned angrily and saw him cower. “What do you mean I can’t do that?” “Forgive me, Sir, but they have nowhere to go and yes, they all do know how to do something but they are helpless without someone to tell them what to do, especially the newer ones. May I say something else, Sir?” “Yes, 14, anything that will help.” At that time I felt kind of hollow, alone. “Well, Sir, Mr. Harrison did not pick you by chance. There is a file in the truck, with the boy’s papers, all about you; the military, the Leather, everything. He said he trusted you and he meant that. He knew he was dying and he wanted you to make the decision to take over before we reached our destination. He told me that. Unfortunately, he died before he had the chance to ask you to do it. He knew what kind of man you