The winding road

  The Winding Road



There is a winding road, in a valley set so far back the people living in these parts have to have their trees shipped in on horse and wagon. It was there I originally meet Lawrence.  Oh did I forget to say that Lawrence was my great grandfather and the guy I Fell in love with and I am his great grandson Nathan. The tale starts in 2014 and in ends up in 1860 on a small barn in the Midwest. Lawrence is fourteen years of age when I first crossed the time stream, in my world we found that time flows like a great river. Crossing it at different spots let you cross time it self, leaping a head are leaping in to the past. Oh here I go again, am a bi-sexual male. Little did I comprehend Jumping the time stream would throw me into the arms of a young farm boy, my age and he would not only turn out to be my lover and in doing so almost wipe out any chance of me being born! There say the genes skip a generation are two, such is my case. You see Lawrence is a twin to me born to another woman and to another time so what was to unfold as it did, was like doing yourself. Creepy, nevertheless; hot and deep full of the best love making I ever had then are now. The sad part a love that never should have happen, then or now. I hence now know who penis I got. Lawrence is fourteen inches hard and the first time I figured I would end up giving him a blow job while he was in me. 



That nocturnal evening; was beyond my adolescent mentality, nor did I see that the future are the outcome of my youthful lust not to say the damage it would ensure for my reality. By screwing my great grandfather. One little act of momentary lustful pleasure it would change my reality and my future.  However; I keep flying ahead in the telling of the romance. So far to the tale, in my world we discovered a device. That must have been left from the distant future and written and instructions with diagram, called the time cruiser.



The device but not much more like a digital watch, the day I went back to 1860. Was a fall day around the end of August? The winding dirt roads leading through the Blue Ridge Mountains of Virginia.          To the dirt road leading and winding through the mountains look like it was worn down by traveling horses. If it could have been viewed from the heavens; it would have look as a giant brown snake, it head that of a great serpent.  This was doing the time of the United States civil war, my great grandpa was setting off to fight for the Confederacy. Not because he believed in owning another human being. The fact was Lawrence cannot understand why any human what own another. Nevertheless; Lawrence knew he was going off to war as a drummer. That being said he did not figure. Return so Lawrence did not want to go all a virgin. However; he never figured he would lose it to his great grandson and I never figured I would fuck my great grandfather.







1



I was walking up the road towards the farm, for some reason I figured and have seen this farm before. There stood Lawrence on the front porch of a majestic farmhouse, much to my surprise I was thinking I was looking at my spit image of myself. Lawrence must have thinking the same thing, by reaction on his face. A few days went by we chatted found out we had a lot in common. Go figure, it must run in the DNA. The next day Lawrence was leaving to go fight. We walked towards his barn. Once in the barn we climb the wooden ladder towards the Hay loaf. Reaching over Lawrence pressed his lips on mine, at which time; I must have had a shocked look on my face! Because of Lawrence reaction; his next words were trust me, I have been desiring your body since I seen you walk up. Lawrence than started unfasten my pants and slide his hand down my pants. Grabbing my manhood, later after we cooled down and where rested so we could walk. Lawrence, headed off towards war and I stay on for a bit to help his family.



Part 1

Will I get back to my time and if so will it be the world I left from since me and Lawrence fucked?















James A. Jorgensen

pen name e. n. morris