Please see original story (www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/adult-friends/lake-desolation/) for warnings and copyright. Highlights: All fiction. All rights reserved. Includes sex between adult men of different generations. Go away if any of that is against your local rules. Practice safer sex than my characters. Write if you like, but flamers end up in the nasty bits of future stories. Donate to Nifty TODAY at donate.nifty.org/donate.html to keep the cum coming.
***** Previous chapter:
"So, Johnny, can I, do you, can we. Damn this is hard. Is it too soon for me to, to, live here? With you?"
"No, Mick, it's not too soon. I just hope," and there my voice really did break, "I just pray to God it's not too late." His face tilted up and his eyes closed and we were suddenly in a kiss. A kiss of a passion that does not burn, but warms. A passion that does not demand, but yearns. A passion that, I prayed silently, would never fade or die.
Dear John Letter 3: Jerry Meets Thumper
by Bear Pup
A note on this series: As I said, this started as a gift to a very dear friend and reader. As I began writing it, I fell in love with the characters in a very odd way. Posts for this story will come rarely (for me), as I find times when I am in a very... strange and special mood.
When the kiss ended a fulfilled lifetime later, Mick pulled back, his hazel eyes locked to mine. "Your eyes are like coffee," he smiled, "strong Navy coffee. Rough and harsh and the perfect thing to wake you up."
I pinched him. "We can't wake up until we sleep, you little minx."
He laughed, "Mick the Minx! I love it." He pulled back further and studied me, "Johnny, what did the guys call you when you were a kid?"
"John, to be honest."
"Bullshit. Every kid had a nickname even if he doesn't like it."
I blushed, "I had one friend, Bill, when I was, oh, thirteen, about to be 14? Yeah, 1943. Bill had us form a club... you know, treehouse, secret handshake and all that. The inventively-named 'Secrets Club'. I couldn't come up with anything interesting for a nickname and everyone had to have a code name. When I flat refused to talk about it anymore and insisted on John, the rest of the guys went into a huddle, sniggering and peeping up at me."
"And?"
"Um, well, it the summer after Bambi came out. And, well, when they broke, I was...
"Were what?"
"Well, HELL. I was... Thumper."
Mick dissolved in giggles. "Thumper?!? What were you guys DOING in your Secrets Club, eh, THUMPer?" Waggling eyebrows made it clear what he meant. I was now scarlet and stuttering.
"N-N-NO! Oh, god, nothing like th-that! I mean, I was appalled even then. I mean, Thumper? The damned bunny?" I shook my head. "But Thumper I was for the next four months."
It was a golden summer, filled with first everythings. There was nothing sexual... well, at least nothing for me. In hindsight, Bill was too daring and brash NOT to get into a little play. I recalled the special relationship he had with Walter, and the very different but equally-unique way he treated Floyd. Thinking today, I wonder what who did what with whom while I was desperately trying to find a way to ensure that no one, ever, knew that I was hard all the time and constantly looking for the next chance to 'relieve the tension'.
It was a bittersweet memory. Bill was the ultimate prankster, the daredevil, the free spirit before it was even a term. A month or two into the next school year, Bill was showing off to a couple of younger kids who were in full hero-worship mode, something which made Bill certain of his invincibility. He was on the train trellis across an arm of the growing lake east of town, weed-grown and rarely-used. As it happened, a freight headed into Springfield used the track that day. It was a windy day and Bill, well, Bill didn't hear the train in time.
He was amazing though. He almost made it, racing the train to the far side. When Bill saw that he couldn't make it, he tried to dive off the side, only to strike, and be trapped by, a trellis-joinder. It was months later that the actual truth came out, leaked by the daughter of Sherriff Wallace. Bill had literally been torn in two, just above the waist. He died instantly, and with him the Secrets Club... and the name, Thumper.
As I daydreamed that, Mick sobered. "Johnny, can I, um," his voice whispered, "can I call you Thumper? Or not! Anything, really! I want a special name for you, something I can call you that no one else knows. Does that make any sense?"
"More than you can know, Mick. To be honest, the way my heart pounds when you're around, Thumper is more than appropriate. But that means I need one for you, too." I thought for a moment and smiled. "How about something no one ever calls you... your real name?" I smiled, "Can I call you Jerry?" The arms flung around my neck and flurry of kisses were a pretty clear 'Yes'.
I swatted him on the ass. "Go get some clothes, Jerry, and you can move in right now. We'll get the rest of the stuff tomorrow. Sound like a deal?"
With one last kiss, this one lingering a bit, he was out the door. Before I even really had a chance to think, he was back with a battered and faded Navy duffle, one we called a Ruck or, more commonly, a Backbreaker. The canvas monstrosity was easily big enough to haul a body with enough room left to haul every article of clothing a sailor might need. This one was bulging.
I narrowed my eyes. "Mick, uh, Jerry... how exactly did you pack that fast?"
"Well, Jo--Thumper, I kinda, well, you know, uh..."
I laughed. "You knew damned good and well I'd invite you to stay, didn't you little twerp!" He smiled shyly, adorably, and I pulled him into a bear hug, covering his face with kisses. "You've made me happier than I've ever been, Jerry." I started to leak a few tears again before I snuffled myself back to normalcy.
"Now! Get that Backbreaker unpacked and take it back to Mack." He looked at me, bemused. I softened my voice and tilted his face up to mine. "Because I am going to make damned sure that you never need to pack your kit into it again, my precious and wonderful mate." Jerry curled his face into my chest and I could feel him sob. I wrapped him tighter and cooed, "I swear to god, son, that I will work so, so hard to make you as happy as you've made me.
"Now, let's get you settled."
Isn't it odd? In the romance stories, the girl moves in with the guy and everything magically... works. I mean, really, how much furniture do these people HAVE? It had been 43 years since I had a rack mate, and shit just... accumulated. I was blushing furiously as I dumped drawerfuls of, well, crap into a laundry basket until Jerry literally grabbed me from behind locking my arms in place.
"Thumper, just stop, okay? Let's slow down a bit."
"NO! Please, God, fuck! I can't bear the thought of slowing down. I-I-I-I'm t-terrified, Jerry, that you are going to, I dunno, stop and, and, and, and realize you m-made a... mistake." My voice had started strong and ended so soft and broken I don't know how he could have heard me.
He pulled me around and did something that instantly broke the panic. It was something I'd done to him and Mack any number of times. He smacked me upside the head. HARD! Damn, it HURT! "Shut up. Do it now. Another word, Johnny, Thumper, and you won't be able to walk for a week. If you so much as THINK that I'm going to leave you, and I'll kick your ass from here to Seattle." All I could do was stare. "I have wanted you, needed you and, FUCK, loved you since I was nothing!
"NO! Not one fucking WORD. I've lived in absolute terror, Johnny -- FUCK -- Thumper, whoever you are -- that you would not want me. And you think that after all that, after years of being afraid to even hint something to you, that I'm, what, going to wham-bam-thank-you-sir? Fuck that! Now, do you pull your head out of that ample ass and slow the fuck down, or do I tie you to a chair until you come to your senses?" He was furious, livid, bright-red face and slitted eyes.
I gaped at him. My mouth was so open he could probably see my tonsils. I shook myself and snapped my jaws shut, eyes still wide but now with a hint of mischief, I replied, "Can we do both?"
"What?" he spat at me. He was so mad I'm surprised he could see.
"Can we slow down AND you tie me to a chair sometime? It sounds a little kinky, but hot."
The closest I can come to his red-faced, boggle-eyes response would be something like "{gurgle}AAGGHH{growl}." He grabbed me hard enough to get my attention and literally lifted and threw me onto the bed, ripping my shirt-seam and kissing me at the same time. I laughed and tried to fight him off until I felt his amble manhood poking my stomach. I growled in return and practically ripped off his canvas work-pants while he made short work of my over-shirt, buttons flying, and literally ripped the front of my t-shirt in half.
This was the wild, animalistic sex guys always fantasize about with one, single, major difference. We were not desperate for cock or ass, to suck or fuck. We were obsessed, compelled, consumed with the need to touch every part of each other, to maximize the amount of skin in contact between our two bodies.
I whined, high and frantic, when his overheated cock finally touched my quivering belly.
When his nipples finally rubbed across my own with no base fabric to interfere, he growled so deeply that it was like making love to a mountain lion.
When his lips found my ear as his hand grabbed one meaty cheek of my ass, I whimpered, shuddered and redoubled my effort on the taut cords of his neck.
He rumbled a deep purr when my hand finally found the cleft of his ass, then sucked in a strangled gasp as I stroked down and into his most-secret crevice.
I found myself, confusingly, flipped like a ragdoll, airborne and now atop this writhing, squirming, wriggling bundle of man. The move had another effect -- the sudden separation of our naked bodies and their equally-abrupt return drove a wave of musk, mingled essence of Jerry and Thumper, blasting through my nose, mind and soul like a wildfire, setting every single nerve and neuron ablaze with need and desire.
At that moment, driven by the same primal response to the ultimate sexual trigger, Jerry's legs wrapped around me and we began to hunch against each other, locked in a kiss that could not, would not, MUST not ever end. His feet in my flanks drove me and my own desperate, gnawing thirst consumed me as I hunched in a counterpoint to Jerry's own jabs and thrusts.
That same kiss became a lifeline, a CPR of love, as we exploded into each other. I sucked each of Jerry's exhalations and screams into my own lungs and returned them with exultant howls which he sucked in and returned as bellows of release. Shouts, swallowed and made to shrieks; cries, consumed and returned as exclamations of joy; sobs, inhaled and transmuted into screams of unutterable release.
Note to self: CPR requires that at least one party to occasionally breathe in fresh air. At some point, the inability of either of us to deny the kiss, the release, the reality of who and what we were transmuted into, well, um, kind of, you see... okay, we passed out, breaking the kiss and the seal, only to recover a few minutes later.
We looked at each other and the slack-jawed expression on my lover's face -- lover. I rolled the word on my tongue, exploring it, reveling in it, exulting in a term I never thought would have 'my' in front of it -- was frankly hysterical. I pulled away to find that we were glued together with at least one copious load of cum from each of us. We began to laugh uncontrollably, me with my trademark braying, barking laugh, Jerry with the full-throated roar of mirth he'd inherited from Mack.
We slept then, cemented together like teen lovers. It was the kind of sleep I had never known. A sleep where the slightest move by my beloved Jerry half-woke me to pull him to me closer; a sleep where even a fidget of mine would results in a half-conscious Jerry-murmur, "Thumper" as he pulled me into him yet again. It was the sweatiest, most-uncomfortable, least-sexy night's sleep I'd ever had, and I would fight Satan himself rather than give up the memory of that blessed and holy night. It was the sleep of love itself.
Yes, I know. This chapter is insanely-short. The intensity of it, though, made it needful for me to step away for a while from the narrative that Mick and Johnny (Jerry and Thumper) wished/wanted/needed to tell us.
If you want to get mail notifying you of new postings, e-mail me at orson.cadell@gmail.com
Active storelines, all at www.nifty.org/nifty/gay... Canvas Hell: 23 chapters .../camping/canvas-hell/ Beaux Thibodaux: 15 chapters .../adult-youth/beaux-thibodaux/ The Heathens: 16 chapters .../historical/the-heathens/ Off the Magic Carpet: 9 chapters .../military/off-the-magic-carpet/ Lake Desolation: 8 chapters .../rural/lake-desolation/ Dear John Letter: 3 chapter .../military/dear-john-letter/ Brother Bear: 2 chapter .../incest/brother-bear/ Shark Reef: 2 chapters .../adult-youth/shark-reef/