Farewell Uncle Ho 37
This is a work of fiction. Names of characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination and are used fictitiously; any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locations is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 2015 by Dennis Milholland – All rights reserved. Other than for private, not-for-profit use, no part of this work may be reproduced, transmitted or stored in any form or by any means, other than that intended by the author, without written permission from the copyright holder.
Careful! This is a work of fiction containing graphic descriptions of sex between males and critiques of religion and governments. And last but not least, Nifty would like your donations.
Farewell, Uncle Ho
by Dennis Milholland
questions and comments are welcome. www.milholland.eu / dennis@milholland.eu
Chapter 37 (Sun., Jan. 15)
We were on our way back to my room above the bay with four boxes of Meal, Combat, Individual, a carton of cigarettes, a six-pack of Heineken, two rolls of paper towels and a small can of Crisco all in one big brown-paper grocery bag. What more could two horny guys need to tide them over? When we got to the barracks, however, Evans was sitting at the top of the stairs, waiting patiently.
"Everything okay, Evans?" I was seriously hoping that he didn't need pepping up.
"Just wondered if you know when the Protestant church service starts." He was scrubbed with spit-shined boots and as ready for church as you could get in fatigues.
"Sorry, Guy," I chuckled. "I'm Mahayana Buddhist." Both Gerry and Evans seemed impressed, probably because neither had ever heard of it.
"Uh, saw a sign in the commissary." Gerry told Evans putting a hand on his shoulder. "It said that the General Protestant services were at 0730 but the Collective Protestant service start at 0930, so if you hurry, you could make it."
Evans seemed really excited and thanked Gerry profusely. I waited until we got into the room and had locked the door. "Well, well, Chaplain Helmstedter, your flock is growing."
"Not bad for a heathen, huh?" He came closer to give me a peck on the cheek. "So, what's a Mahayana Buddhist believe?"
"On March 15th every year, we pray to the erect cock." I started unbuttoning his shirt. He started unbuttoning mine. "It's the only thing worth praying to because it's the only god, known to man, that will give you an answer to your prayers."
"Like it." He said putting his right hand behind my head to draw me in for a real kiss. After several seconds of wild tongue, he broke. "Think I'll convert."
"Hold on." I pulled away. He looked jilted. I went to the end of the room to put another scoop of coal into the oven. "We seriously need a shower, no matter how much I'd love to go raunchy with you. Don't want to scare you off, since it is an acquired taste."
"Can we use the showers up here?" He asked while pulling off his boxers. At least, it looked as if I could keep his cum-stiff ones.
"Yeah, and there'll be loads of hot water." I hadn't noticed that he'd brought up a towel and his shower shoes earlier. But then again, I'd been in a daze after Haruki and Sean had left. But he was hardly in a daze when I got my enema equipment out of the duffel bag. His big eyes were asking what that was and my smile was telling him that he was about to find out.
***
After having cleansed ourselves inside and out, we were sitting, buck-assed naked, on my mattress, back on the floor, in front of the oven, with our backs propped against the metal bunk frame, indulging in a bottle of beer. Luckily, we were speaking in low voices, as I was explaining the dos and don'ts of butt fucking, when there was a knock at the door. There was no use in playing dead, since whoever it was had probably heard my voice. "Who's there?"
The young voice sounded frightened. "Pierson."
"Go away." I put my finger to my mouth for Gerry not to make any sounds.
"There are two guys who I don't know trying to break into lockers downstairs." Now, my alarm was going off. This was a trap, since I would have heard anything like that. He was probably out there with at least Morton ready to jump us, if we opened the door.
"So? Call the MPs. It's not my problem." I said in a normal voice.
The loud banging was accompanied by a deep voice: "Open up!" This was obviously Morton.
I motioned for Gerry to get behind my wall locker, as I put on my fatigue pants and fished a P-38 can opener out of one of the C-ration boxes. I unlocked the door, which they heard from the outside. But what they weren't expecting was that I flung it open and rushed Morton, falling on top of him.
I made two very small incisions with the P-38 above both of his eyes, through his brows, so his own blood would blind him, as soon as he stood up. That was not to mention the panic, since he had no way of telling how badly he was injured. And, the more he moved around, the more he would bleed and the less he could see.
Of course, Morton got to his feet the second I got off him. But almost immediately, he was seeing red. He was starting to cry.
Then, I grabbed Pierson. I used the pressure points under his earlobes to lift his heels off the floor. The searing pain was visible. My voice was forced congenial. "I have warned you. And you didn't pay attention. Now, it's lesson time." What the little fucker didn't know was that this was all there was to lesson time, since the pain was probably enough for him to lose consciousness, if the lesson lasted much longer.
I let him drop. "Now, take your buddy by the hand, because he can't see right now, and go to the latrine downstairs and wash his eyes out with plenty of cold water. Use toilet paper to put pressure on his eyebrows and the bleeding will stop in a few minutes. Can you do that?"
He gestured that he could and took Morton by the hand toward the stairs. "Here's the top step." His voice was quivering in precisely that amount of terror, which he had diligently earned himself.
***
I latched the door, pulled Gerry from behind my wall locker, got him down on the mattress. Adrenaline was still rushing freely through us both, when I rolled him onto his back, lifting his heels to just about next to his ears and pierced his hole with my tongue. His gasp made the idea that this was a first for him totally believable. I licked and he made horny sounds, encouraging my thumbs to massage the outer perimeter of his entry more intensely. Then he said the magic words: "Fuck me!"
Before I'd used the one P-38 as a weapon, I'd used one of the other three, like the Cracker Jack's prize, there was one in every box, to open the Crisco. I used the one-two-three finger routine on my Gerry. He was much more pliable than Bat had been, probably because he was much younger. And, who knows, maybe Caucasians have more openable fuck holes. Anyway, before we knew it, I was in and settling into a slow, lascivious, fuck.
I had my lover's ankles resting on my shoulders, his tongue was flopping about in my mouth, and breathing was bordering on panting and in unison. And there is only one possible meaning to the sound of my upper thighs slapping against his hindquarters, and only one reason for the smell of testosterone mixed with an occasional fart, hanging in the air as I pumped.
His toes were being neglected, so I lifted myself up and onto my knees and took both of his pink, soft feet off my shoulders and explored the toes with my tongue. He started thrashing his head from side to side, increasing his panting. We had just discovered one of his major erogenous zones. Keeping three toes of his left foot in my mouth, sucking and licking, I rolled him onto his right side, lowering his right leg down to the mattress and placing it between my legs so my dick could drive deeper.
Our bodies were now at a right angle, and I felt the spasms in his ass, only slight at first, then full-blown, involuntary muscle contractions, which would end up making him squirt. My dick head pulled back to be just inside him as my tempo increased, stimulating his anus further. My man bucked and the head of his dick spat its snot onto a strut of the unfinished wall.
When I pulled out quickly, I only needed three pulls on my own cock to paint his chest.
***
He was sprawled on the mattress, spent. His smooth, pale, almost delicate skin contrasted nicely with the dark green wool of the Army blanket upon which he lay. He smelled of love, both given and received, laced with ambient scents of coal fire and beer. His skeletal muscles, although relaxed, were well defined, belying his recent end of puberty and onset of manhood.
Now, looking at him in the light of a bright, late morning, I was fascinated by his pubic hair. It was flaxen in color and nicely curled. Mine was, of course, black and straight.
He opened his eyes and smiled at me. "Like what you see?"
"I think I'm in love with what I see." I smiled back. Our voices were muted; we lacked any need of loud expression. Our immediate existence was fully contained in this ten-by-fifteen-foot barracks room.
"How can you tell when you're in love?" This key question has kept philosophers and writers in bread and butter since the beginning of time, but I thought that an immediate description of the symptoms was what he was after.
"There's a sense of urgency to be near him. When you can't locate his whereabouts, you feel anxious. All others assume a secondary importance. You have an intensified need to see him smile, to make him feel good. When danger threatens, you are willing to end civilization itself to rescue him. And most importantly, you know that you could never do anything to hurt him."
He sat up, next to me, leaning his head on my shoulder, his buzz cut prickling my skin. His kiss, out of the side of his mouth, tickled, yet it made my dick pulse just once. "Yeah, that's a pretty good description of how I feel."
"And how long have you felt that way?" Deep inside my brain, I knew the answer, but I was desirous of his putting it into words. The anticipation of his answer set my nerves on edge, made my breathing catch and my cock slightly inflate.
He looked at me with the intensity of new discovery. "I seriously think I had a hard-on for you at the induction station."
I put my arm over his shoulder to draw him in closer. "Yeah, I was thinking the same. The spark that some would have thought to be hatred was, in fact, our first expression of infatuation."
He planted a firmer kiss on my cheek. "Is that how you saw it at the time?"
I nodded while I was reflecting. "When we were filling out the forms, you had your eyes on me. At the swearing in, you stood next to me." I had to chuckle at the memory. "You didn't have the look of hate in your eyes. I know that one all too well." I chuckled again before continuing. "You were cruising me."
"But I still don't know what made me charge at you, like that." I felt the tickle of a single tear rolling down my chest.
"I'm no psychologist, but do you want to hear my take on it?" He nodded that he did. And I felt tears no longer tickling their way across my left nipple but flowing in a steady stream. I brought his head up and licked the tears dry. "I think your subconscious decided, that if you didn't act at that moment, you might never see me again. It felt an urgency to make contact. We didn't know that we wouldn't be separated once we got here. And since you don't smoke, you couldn't ask for a cigarette. So, your mind used one certain means to make me remember you, no matter what."
"But didn't you think I was going to attack you?" He wiped his nose on the back of his left hand; I reached under the bed and gave him a paper towel.
"You weren't in attack stance. You weren't armed." His questioning look demanded an answer. "I can scan someone pretty accurately for concealed weapons. And you weren't rushing me to throw me off balance. You were just getting closer."
"So, you stopped me, causing the least amount of damage?" He looked at me, meekly hoping that I would verify this.
I squeezed him tightly. "Yeah, and I really am sorry that you tripped and scraped your face." I leaned over to kiss the remnant of scab on his cheek. "I never meant to hurt you, Baby."