Well, I’d tell a lie if I said I didn’t want him drilling me again. I was just a little surprised, that’s all. It was a little like having your own wlkatar. At home, you don’t get linked all that often while you’re still feeling the bliss from the last one. That Lop. By the time he finished with me, I’d just about passed out. And he did pass out. Right on top of me and my aching fuck-socket. (Plenty of teasing about that, later, you can bet.)

Maybe all parents are like this: even though it was a matter very much on our minds, in the end it took us totally by surprise. Funny how that happens. I remember how startled our parents were when Drushka and I ripened. You’d have thought they’d never even seen us in their lives before that second. Such a commotion. We didn’t help, because we were totally unaware of what was going on. That’s the way things work. At least I’ve never heard of a young wlko saying to his brother, "My word, look at you. You have eggs down to your knees. Let’s go and get our dads to open us so we can get started". That’s the sort of thing parents say. Or, in Drushka’s and my case, grandparents. Grampa Tuhl-Menikhsh sort of collared me and Drushka and marched us over to where our moms and dads were having a sort of snack together. I’ll never forget how surprised they seemed.

And I admit it never failed to catch Drushka and me by surprise. Once Ranee had to whisper in my ear–during a fuck–that it was time to take a good look at the boys’ crotches. (How embarrassing!)

Well, it was the same old story. One day, when Lop was leaning against the tree and I was leaning back against his chest, the kits came ambling toward us for some reason. Lop stopped licking my ears and commented to me for the umpteenth time that they boys were changing shape.

Changing shape! For the life of me, all I could see were their cock-sheaths. I’d swear an oath they had no such things on their bellies at breakfast.

"Kits", I said, clearing my throat in a display of nervous authority. "Kits, come here."

The first of many inspections of their nuts. They were on the large and loose side, but Lop agreed that they weren’t ripe yet. Definitely not.

I think for a while we were handling their nuts every day, just about. Even so, like I say there seems to be some sort of law of nature about these things. One afternoon when we were eating, Lop caught my eye and drew my gaze to Mickey’s crotch. The furry bag between his legs was draped over his thigh, as he sat with one knee up and the other down. The loose, soft lumps inside were obvious. Like poached eggs. And it wasn’t a kit’s thigh, either: the corded muscles under the fur were very obvious.

They were good-looking youngsters. Better looking, I’d judge, than any of Drushka’s and my own. And nice boys. They were almost as tall as Lop, now. And ripe, it appeared. A simple test was all it would take. When Mickey finished grooming and got up, Lop called him over and put and arm around his waist. "Look at this, Perry", he said, first tumbling the young man’s testicles in his hand and then cradling them up for inspection. "Loose as pudding. Is this boy ripe, or is he ripe? Looks like we’re going to have to do something about setting free some black."

Lop’s and my eyes met. "What’s so funny?" he asked.

"Oh, nothing. I was just thinking about how many times I’ve had this exact same conversation. With Drushka. Word for word, I mean. Is this the way it goes with you rupellids, too?"

He frowned for a second. "Well, I guess it is. It’s just what you say."

"All about ‘pudding’ and ‘setting black free’ and the like? What about, ‘these things get any riper and they’ll shoot squirt right out of his cock the first time they snap’?"

He chuckled. "No, nothing so crude. You vulcids are a caution. Hmmm. I guess we say, ‘they’ll empty his purse clean out’."

"Same idea."

"Yeah." He laughed. Still holding Mickey by the balls. "But, stud, if this is really the same ritual with you guys, you’re missing your lines."

So I was. I set about playing my part.

Tim was looking at us with interested embarrasment.

"C’mere, son", I said to him, indicating a spot between my legs. The dear kit came and stood in front of me, tail around his thigh, glancing at Mickey and Lop. Even before I reached up and felt his nut-bag and sheath, it was obvious that he was a man.

"Soft as ripe ksehmhhss! And hanging to his knees."

I could hear Lop chuckling. "Aren’t you supposed to say something about his mane and neck, now?"

"Uh, no. We didn’t anyhow. Something about ‘they’re not kits any more, they’re men’."

"In every way but one" Lop and I said. In perfect unison. And burst out laughing.

The kits were already embarrassed to tears without that, but at that moment I felt closer to Lop even than I did when the ache in my asshole turned to bliss. I wasn’t sure why, then; and I’m not sure now. But I think it had something to do with feeling that everything was all right. Lop often gave me that feeling.

"Well", said Lop with a short little sigh, "this should be interesting."

"Will our eyes be green, too?" Tim asked.

Lop smiled the sweetest smile. "Do you want them to be?"

The boys were quiet, but their ears were down. I couldn’t tell whether they were worried or embarrassed. Both, probably. The boys were sitting down, now, between our thighs. Tim nestled against my belly, cheek on my chest, arm around my neck. I could feel him clutching my mane, just like a little one.

"I don’t know", he said, finally. His voice was low and he sounded unhappy. "I want to be like you. And Lop. And if you and Lop are queer, I want to be queer."

"Me too", said Micky. His voice was muffled by Lop’s fur.

"Aren’t they sweet?", said Lop to me over Mickey’s head, chuckling. Not unkindly. "Look, you darling balls of fluff, I’m not sure you get to choose. Anyway, that’s down the trail a piece. First thing–" he took Mickey by the purse again–"first thing is to get you boys opened, next thing is for you to make each other good and red. And keep each other that way. Come the next wlkatar, you can do whatever you want. A couple of good-looking boys like you two–every cunt in the place will open for you. You won’t even have to drop the usual hints about how your nuts are killing you, and so on."

(Sort of an odd thing to say, actually. Not much of a promise–that’s the way wlkatar work.)

"And every tail-hole, too", I stuck in. "And you’ll get linked by a wlko or two. Keep your fire burning; give you a little variety. You learn new stuff, too."

"Yeah", laughed Lop. "Going cold during a wlkatar–that would be a new one. Either way, what we’re driving at, boys–" he glanced at me–"what we’re driving at is that if you’ve snapped your nuts into a few dozen cunts–" here Mickey yelped softly as Lop squeezed his ripe balls to make the point–"and a dozen tail-holes, and have had guys pulling against your third hand from time to time, well, if in the end you can’t decide for the life of you which you liked better, then you’d know for sure."

"Know what?" Tim asked, meekly but a little eagerly. "That I’m green-eyed?"

"No. Know that you’re a regular, normal wlko."

It was mean of Lop to tease him, but I knew the kits loved any kind of attention they got from him.

"Look, Tim, it’s nothing to wish for", I said, cuddling him. "But the real point is you’re never too old to learn. I’ve told you before. It was only when I met daddy Lop that I realized I didn’t care if I never eeled a cunt again."

Well, we set a time for three days later, in the morning of course. Normally, in my family and Lop’s too, we would have done it the following day. But Lop and I needed time to work out one small detail.

And that was: we didn’t have the first idea about what to do.

The outlines were clear, but like the sorts of things you say when determining that youngsters are ripe, we didn’t agree on everything. There were the little family traditions to hash out–who opens who, for example. And some of that hinged on things like which kit was born first (we had no idea). And there had always always been discussions with their moms. In Lop’s family’s case there was something about the birth of the fathers, which didn’t figure at all in my family, and something about names. All of which didn’t work.

So we decided to ask the boys.

That was worse than useless. Both wanted Lop to "break the twig", as the expression has it. Be the first black ever under their tails. The two of us exhanged surprised looks.

The boys couldn’t say why. My goodness. Lop and I wondered if maybe they’re queer after all. Maybe twisted sexuality is commoner among wlkon than I realized!

There were other explanations, and in fact it was like Lop predicted. You could’t tell anything from the first step: after they were opened, like all wlkon the boys were passionate and intense in their mutual (and seemingly perpetual) linking. The real test was the second step. Come their first wlkatar after they were opened, I noticed that the first time or two they coupled, they were driving wlkon seed. But after all, that was all they were familiar with. Unlike Lop and me at that age, they didn’t even have any experience watching wlkwim taking black, as various adult relatives fucked.

And of course they cock-whipped the first couple of gals they eeled, not knowing any better.

But anyone could tell just from watching them at that first wlkatar, once they got the hang of fucking, that they loved cunt. Loved cunt. Not with the single-minded intensity of the gorgeous boys Abner and Aaron (the ones with four co-wives). But they were real keen on playing at making babies. And after they married, they had enough children, between wlkatar, to suggest that someone was fucking their wives very regularly indeed.

My guess, thinking back on that pleasant day, is that they were instinctively impressed by Lop’s virility. Queer Lop and his delusions about eye-color! They saw through all that. Everything about the man was profoundly masculine. They must have been figuring that taste of big rupellid black would really make them men. Ironic. But understandable. They probably heard those stupid fables at the wlkatar about that sort of thing.

But back to that mild morning. It’s funny to think about it now. We were both so fuddled and anxious. About that! Something so familar to both of us, and now suddenly so strange that we had to improvise.

Normally, in both Lop’s and my clans, whatever else was different, one co-father would open each boy more or less at the same time, and then, in the afternoon or early evening, the dads would trade off and drive the boys’ seed again. With that, they were well and truly open and would commence, just a little tentatively at first, to link their brains out.

When the twig is broken, as a rule, kits (in my experience) show black long before their dad snaps his nuts, and they make some hkshihh. But they wouldn’t make SkhtuS until the second shafting, and they made a lot more hkshihh then, too. And also, to be crude about it, by the time the boys had been linked twice, they’d been through enough beauty and bliss to be pretty eager to try things out for themselves. Plenty willing, as well as ready and able! They sit still long enough for their dads to clean them up, but they’re black the whole time and can’t wait to try out their black on the first link with one another. That’s not just a figure of speech (as Mr Roper would have called it). The feeling that comes with SkhtuS rising in your prick is pretty hard to contain even when you’re used to it, and it’s something like torture for brand-new black. For all that, they really don’t quite know what to do, at first, and their awkwardness is very funny to watch. But, as my great-grandfather would say, as we sat around hiding our amusement from the earnest boys, it’s something you definitely can’t do for them.

Well, we wanted to do what the boys wanted. But that meant doing something very irregular in my experience, and Lop’s, too. The boys had nothing to compare it to, except of course their conversations with other youngsters at wlkatar. I mean, boys and girls with ripened older brothers–the ripe ones, themselves, would be busy linking and slotting.

We decided that Lop would open one of the boys first thing, and then I’d link to him after a decent wait for his first bliss. Then, in late afternoon, we’d repeat the process with the other. And as for which boy would be the first to leave his bliss in his brother’s gut, we’d cross that bridge when we came to it.

In many ways Mickey was Lop’s favorite, and vice-versa. If Lop was going to do the honors it seemed obvious that he’d start with Mickey.

The honor wasn’t entirely welcome.

"Does it hurt?" Tim asked, helpfully. (Nothing like bucking up his twin.)

Yes, I thought. It’s bound to, if Lop does it. But it was their choice, after all, they were determined, and no question about it: they’ll have only the one taste of Lop’s wood, but seven or ten minutes of that will truly teach them what black is. (They’ll even a start on an idea of what monux is.)

Mickey was shaking. Lop was holding on to him, and the kit was holding on to one of Lop’s arms, almost like when he was a year or two old. (It wasn’t going to be easy not to think of them as "kits" any more. A young wlko, mane erect and up to the purse in his moaning twin is no "kit"!)

"Yes", Lop said, to both kits but so softly that it was plain he was really talking to Mickey. He was smoothing the boy’s short mane with his hand, smoothing his whiskers. My goodness, the little tadpole’s neck had gotten long. And his whiskers too. "Yes it does hurt. At first. Only at first. Well, it just feels strange. Like you’re taking a crap, only different. Then it feels nice. Maybe you can even feel yourself gripping. Getting tighter. Taking hold of the black. It feels even nicer then. To both of us. Finally, it’ll feel so beautiful that I won’t be able to hold my SkhtuS. Then, well, you’ll be able to tell that my nuts have snapped. It’s something nobody has to be told how to recognize. You’ll be disappointed, too, because the feeling had become so beautiful, and when I juice into you it means it’s all over. Only, it’s not all over. After my nuts snap, while I’m cleaning you up, you’ll get this dreamy feeling for a while. It may not be very strong, the first few times. As you go long, maybe you learn how to swim with the current–anyhow, with practice or something, the dreamy feeling gets stronger somehow. And lasts longer. That right, stud–?"

I agreed that whether it was experience or maturity, breaking the twig was only a taste of what linking could be like.

They were silent for a while. Lop was smoothing Mickey’s mane and licking his cheeks and ears and his closed eyes.

"OK" Lop said, gently disentangling himself. "Now lie down on your back, precious kit. We’re going to make you a man."

The boy did, and Lop got on his knees between the young man’s legs.

I could smell the hkshihh starting to flow. And mine too. He was purring. Rather softly, I thought. Either he didn’t want to alarm Mickey or else maybe he just wasn’t all that eager to do what had to be done. When the scent of his hkshihh was really strong I caught a whiff of SkhtuS. Mickey was lying there, staring down at Lop’s groin with big round eyes. He’d seen Lop’s black or mine hundreds of times, of course. Thousands. I guess he’d never seen it from quite this perspective! Or given so much thought to what it might feel like to have something like that actually going into his body. In a way that nothing else ever had, before. And who knows what kids make of grown-ups at play, all that growling and purring and writhing around. Drushka and I sort of understood it was something nice, but then we could watch our dads and older brothers at their linking and our dads and moms fucking, whereas Mickey and Tim only had me and Lop to go by. I thought of Lop at wlkatar, I mean I thought what he looked like linking to another wlko, and the elegance and beauty of it, his big, blocky, strong body somehow transformed into the purest grace. The kits had seen that thousands of times, I guessed. But who knows what they made of it.

"Does that feel nice?" Lop asked the boy, as he continued his little massage between the boy’s legs. Now he was also squeezing and pushing the kit’s emprisoning drill-sheath.

Another rupellid thing, I guessed. It was just a little shocking.

"I guess so", Mickey said, in a small voice, ending with a kind of sigh. I wondered if it felt the same for Mickey as it did when Lop did that to me.

I was embarrassed by my own shiny black bone (the scent of Lop’s hkshihh had had its usual effect; and normally, I’d have an immediate use for it–breaking the other kit’s twig). I took Tim between my legs and cuddled him. The two of us watched as Lop lay down on Mickey’s pale white chest. He was talking to the boy, so softly I couldn’t hear. Mickey’s tail was lying flat on the ground, and he had his hands only very losely resting on Lop’s shoulders. He raised his legs. I suppose Lop told him to. Lop shifted position ever so slightly between the youngster’s thighs. Still talking. Licking.

Lop was still for a long moment. Then the fur on his sides and rump rippled with the slow muscular effort.

Mickey’s long cry was soft, but so unhappy sounding. And his little hands–no, that’s just the point; they weren’t little. They were man’s hands. His hands were holding handfuls of Lop’s fur. Wads of it. Really clutching at the loose skin at the base of my man’s neck. Lop was very gentle. Mickey didn’t get the whole thing. At least, I could see that Lop’s cock-sheath wasn’t actually puckering up under Lop’s balls. As long as the root of his peg was still outside, though, Lop himself wasn’t getting the full beauty of it. It would be long link if he did it that way.

Lop paused. He was talking to Mickey. Then a very slow, gentle, sinuous movement of his whole body. Mickey’s first link was under way. Lop was beautiful. Big as Mickey had grown, Lop’s body engulfed the young man’s. His movements were sensuous, passionate, strong. But so gentle. So muscular. Tender. Sensual. The ideal man. (And a rupellid! Beyond belief.)

Small cries started coming out of Mickey, in time with Lop’s movements, and it was clear why. The man was giving the boy everything, now, everything but his nuts. And it wouldn’t be long before he gave the boy those, too.

I didn’t have to imagine what the boy was feeling. I remembered the first time I took Lop–

I was on fire myself. Long before it was clear that Lop’s SkhtuS was shooting into the boy, hkshihh was streaming down my black, down my sheath, soaking into my balls, dripping from them. It was a little embarrassing. Of course, I’d never actually watched anyone open a boy, still less anyone as sexual as Lop: since we always had twins, Drushka and I were at work at the same time, whether we were breaking their twig or "sizing" them, which is what Drushka jokingly called the second opening.

Lop lay quietly on Mickey’s body for several minutes. I doubt that Mickey would often have the experience of a buttful of hard black lasting so long after it filled his gut with bliss. (And he’d never again have a gut that full of anything, probably, except monux gristle.) Finally Lop raised himself, slowly. Mickey just lay there. Legs wide apart.

It was hard to tell who looked more dazed.

Lop paused on all fours, and had to crane down to lick the young man’s face and neck a little. Mickey’s hands were on Lop’s arms. He was breathing very deeply.

"Are you all right?" I heard Lop say, very quietly.

Mickey made a soft noise.

"Well, could you tell when I came?"

Mickey made the same soft noise.

And when Lop raised his body from the boy’s, he was showing black. Cute black dick. A little hkshihh. Probably all Lop’s. Lop fairly gushed hkshihh when he was even turned on; I don’t think opening Mickey was any kind of sexual treat for him, though, any more than it is for vulcids.

Lop didn’t stand up so much as roll to one side and lie on his back. His black hadn’t quite slipped yet, and a little creamy-white SkhtuS was still welling out of it. I judged that my husband had just had an intense experience.