Below, is an extra scene from the soon to be published Dakota Skies. The theme in this outtake is one of male teen sexual awakening, as well as a dose of gun totin' fun. You have been duly warned.




 Jamie Carter POV

I don’t know when my sexual awakening started. It kinda crept up on me over a period of months through my teen years. Everything started one night in bed. There was a stirring in my groin. My hand reached down to scratch. However, instead of dealing with an itch, I ended up massaging things that had only been touched in line with more functional actions, or with soap…  never for pleasure.

Damn, it felt good. There was no sense of right or wrong in what I was doing; just, the more pressure I applied, the better the sensation. Before I knew what was happening, I was breathing heavily, my balls were trying to crawl inside my body, and my cock released something thick and sticky into my underwear. I would have been mortified by the mess, save for the fact I felt so unbelievably good and sleepy.

After that, between chores, I’d sneak away to somewhere private and play until I’d given a few shrubs extra moisture. I had a willing body and an even more willing dick. All I had to do was think about jerking off and my cock stood to attention. What was embarrassing was how quick things happened. A sharpshooter wouldn’t have beaten me to the spurt-off. Hell, it weren’t any one thing, person, or thought that got me going—all I wanted was the euphoria that accompanied white pulsing squirts of cream.

Pa already gave me the humiliating birds and the bees talk, so I knew what was happening. I only wish I’d known sooner how good it felt. I sure had missed a lot, and there was much time to make up.

More than one Christmas passed as the bond created between my fist and groin grew.

I started to look around town for someone to share my experience with. Sadly, there wasn’t a female whom I was interested in having relations with. Even if there was, I was positive her pa would march me down the aisle with a Winchester at my back, if he ever discovered we’d done the deed without a marriage license. Age would have had no bearing on the situation.

Thankfully, Pa came to my rescue. I have no idea how he knew what I was going through. Surely, men his age didn’t experience such urges? Awkward thoughts aside, I was grateful when he got me some time with Claire, a new whore at the Dusty Nugget.  Eli, the owner, was Pa’s best friend, and his son Morgan was mine.

It didn’t matter about the jeers, whistles, and words of encouragement that accompanied my anxious ascent up the stairs. In my mind,  I was climbing the proverbial mountain to manhood. By the time I got to the room, I was a beetroot-colored walking erection. A fact that didn’t go unnoticed by the fellas in the bar.

Nevertheless, in the hour that followed, I did my duty. Eventually I emerged to the sight of the whole saloon rising to its feet, clapping. When I got to the main street, my back was sore from all the ‘good on ya, son’ congratulatory slaps.

At the time, I was very pleased with myself. However, in the days and weeks that followed, I couldn’t help thinking something was wrong. It wasn’t the girl. Claire was sweet, shapely, and very caring. Her womanly attributes were ample, and she was an excellent teacher in the art of sex. I was confused.

The way men around me spoke, you’d think sex with a woman was the holy grail of sensations. Female attributes were held in higher regard than gold. Men would gladly give up their glistening nuggets for the chance to spear and play with a naked lady.

Yet I didn’t feel like that.

To my way of thinking,  the build-up had been exaggerated. Sure, it was good. Anything was better than my own hand. Even so, it wasn’t the doors to heaven I’d been led to believe it would be.

Nevertheless, I kept returning to Claire.

My brain was at odds with my body. It was as if there were two people inside me, and they were squabbling.

In desperate need of a distraction, I made my way to the Scarlet Ember Ranch. There was no better diversion than schooling a green horse.

Scarlet’s lay about an hour’s ride out of town to the northeast. It wasn’t big by ranch standards, being only about 2500 acres. Some fields contained crops to sustain the horses. The rest was grazing.

The main house was a two-story wooden building, painted white, which always looked clean despite the dust. Close by were a series of large red barns and a bunk house. The color was further emphasis of the ranch name. They were quite a contrast to the house. Most of them housed the horses in winter. One was an indoor training area, another held hay and straw. Outside, there were three schools and a number of holding corrals. The property always looked well-maintained. Everything about the place shouted quality, including the horses.

Scarlet’s wasn’t a second home to me, but it was definitely a third or fourth. It was one of the hiding places I’d retreat to when I wanted to get away from the rigors of being a deputy to Pa, the sheriff. I was always welcomed by Mr. Garrett, the owner. He was a kind man—like an uncle you wanted to have, even though we weren’t related on any level, not even distant.

He and the ranch hands had known my family for a number of years. They’d seen us grow, have fun, and grieve like many others in the town during the gold rush.

I dismounted by the corrals. They were getting some of the mustangs used to regular ranch sounds. Hearing a gun go off, or the crack of a whip from a distance was one thing. Experiencing a cowboy using them next to your head was another. Not a single bullet or strip of leather touched the horses in anger. What made them spook was not seeing the source of the noise and it being so close.

“Hey, Jay,” Clay shouted, “Come to give us a hand?”

Clay was one of the older, more experienced men on the ranch. His joints were seizing up, so he didn’t ride much, and he walked with a limp. But he could read horses as good as Mr. Garrett, and tell a host of stories—none of which anyone believed were true.

I was young and up for riding anything. “Sure!” I hollered, grateful for the immediate work, and jogged over to the pen.

The mare they’d been working on was through for the day and a chestnut gelding was ready to take her place.

Ass in the saddle, I rode him around until he settled. Then I lightly stroked him with the whip so that he knew its feel. He seemed okay with that. The next step included silently swinging the bullwhip close by. He wasn’t so sure about that and pranced around. Nevertheless, with encouragement from the surrounding ranch hands, I persevered, and it wasn’t long before he accepted the leather about his torso and legs.

The gelding was doing well, so Clay suggested I go the whole hog. The scenario wasn’t new to me. Everyone was experienced, but it was Clay who had the final call.

With a flick of the wrist, the whip snaked and hit the ground with a loud crack. Dust flew up into the air, along with the mustang. His front legs left the floor and took him high. I grabbed hold of the saddle horn in a bid to stay in place. Unfortunately, my mount was almost vertical when he overbalanced. I didn’t stand a chance. The ground approached quickly and with a thud. All the wind was knocked out of me. The next thing I saw was two hooves landing close to the other side of my head.

For a while, I found it hard to breathe. I wasn’t sure if it was the shock of the fall, or the fact the mustang landed on his feet and missed me. Had he not been so coordinated, I’d have been flattened.

Shouting echoed around me, while I closed my eyes and concentrated on taking a breath. Clay was directing some of the men to grab the gelding, others to make certain I was okay. I was sure I’d be fine. It was purely the shock of the fall, and the need to expand my lungs, that kept me attached to the floor.

When I opened my eyes, a head surrounded with light occupied my vision. A hand cupped my face, accompanied by concerned words of, “Y’all right there, Jamie?”

My breath caught. The hand felt comfortable. It took everything in me not to turn into the touch. What was I thinking? Did I hit my head on impact? Instead, I took in deep gulps of air, thankful no pain accompanied the act.

Finally able to focus on the face hovering over me, I recognized the person as Dean.

“Yeah,” I croaked.

The pint-sized cowboy smiled in relief. I couldn’t help returning the gesture.

“Anything broken?”

“Only my pride,” I replied, slowly sitting up.

Dean assisted my endeavor by curling his hand behind my back, adding pressure. It felt nice.

His voice cut through the distraction.

“You did well to stay on as long as you did. Damned lucky his feet landed where they did, too. One for the books, I’d say. Glad I ain’t gotta tell your pa a different story.”

“Sure thing,” I agreed.

A few minutes later, I got back in the saddle and continued with my job.

That evening, I returned to town and headed for the bath house for a much needed long soak.

About a week later, I returned to Scarlet’s. I wasn’t sure I consciously sought out Dean, but my eyes found him anyway. He must have felt the stare as he looked over to me, smiled, and put his hand to his hat in acknowledgment.

“Y’all right there, kid?”

I gave thumbs up as a reply before disappearing to a corner in the barn. My stomach was in knots. Why was a man making me feel things a woman should?



Sheriff’s business took me to the ranch next.

Given my previous visit, I wasn’t exactly enthusiastic. That being said, if I defied Pa, he’d have asked questions I didn’t have answers to. Leastways, not ones he’d like to hear.

My visit was in the form of a warning. There had been an escalation of break-ins, and the thieves weren’t fussy in what they took. Pa’s gut reckoned the prospect of well-bred horses might entice them to Scarlet’s. There was a good haul if the robbers had the guts to hit the place.

Pa suggested I stay for a few days. He thought a presence from the sheriff’s office wouldn’t do any harm. Pa and the other deputy, my twin sister Roseanna, would take care of the rest of Blackrock.

Given some of the experiences my body had recently been exposed to, a few nights in the bunkhouse with Dean wasn’t something I relished. At least, that’s what my brain told me. Other parts of me were thrumming to a different tune.

As things stood, I didn’t have a name for what I was feeling, but I knew it wasn’t the norm. Therefore, rather than risk the ire of some gun totin’ cowboys, I put my job first and kept watch through the night, opting to sleep as everyone was having breakfast.

Three nights in, amid the snores, grunts, and groans of sleeping ranchers, the horses in the corral were restless. That particular bit of evidence, timing, and that little voice inside told me we had visitors—and not the welcome sort.

The first thing I did was kick Butch awake, only to be greeted by strong fingers grasping my arm and a gun barrel in my face. Ignoring his sleepy instinctual reaction, I forcefully whispered, “We got company.”

A grunt of acceptance was his reply.

Butch woke everyone else. The sight was…  interesting. There wasn’t time to dress. Therefore, six men in their socks and long johns, wearing gun belts, and one fully dressed deputy, crept out of the back door of the bunkhouse.

One went to raise Mr. Garrett. The rest of us circled around back of the thieves. There were four. Two were sneaking toward the house, while the other two were in the corral, busy roping horses.

Using whispers and signs everyone would understand, we got into position. The men approaching the house were in gun sight.

No one wanted to risk any of the horses, so I crept around to the gate and unhooked the rope holding it in place. Dean slapped the ass of a nearby mare. She immediately kicked out and started to unsettle the already skittish animals in the pen. In the crush, Butch undid the bindings on the tethered animals. The horses could sense something wrong, becoming even more restless.

One of the thieves shrieked in pain as he was knocked over. I threw the gate open, and the moment the mustangs were clear, we opened fire.

Three died. One surrendered.

The dead were loaded onto a wagon, and the live one was hogtied to it.

Hugs and high fives followed. The sensation of strong arms and a hard body against mine was unexpectedly pleasing. Thankfully, I was so tired after the rush of the shootout, my body didn’t react.

In the morning, the sight of half-naked men was something I couldn’t avoid. Dean with a wet body gave me a dry mouth and stirrings in places that had no business being stirred by the sight of a man. The underlying meaning scared me to the core. There was no way I could tell anyone what was happening to me.

Breakfast reminded me of a free-for-all hog roast for starving men. Anything put on the table was quickly stabbed with a knife and claimed.

A full stomach later, I returned to Blackrock with the former thieves. Pa conducted the interrogation, which revealed the hiding place of the already stolen items. It didn’t take long for the lone surviving thief to sing like a canary. Pa could be an intimidating man when he wanted to be. It was an education to watch him in action.

The moment it was over, Pa told me I could head home for a decent sleep. I was shattered and welcomed the rest. However, as my head hit the pillow, I was assaulted by sensations of strong arms, hard bodies, and Dean glistening with water.

Too tired to contemplate the consequences of my illicit thoughts, my hand headed south.









#1 Nephylim 2014-09-30 10:40
That was awesome. Thank you Taylin. I love the fact that even though were talking about life a long time ago, there's no sense of it being any different than living life now.
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