The Journal of Julian Corsair,
An Uncommonly Good Man
Copyright© 2014 – Nicholas Hall
Julian Corsair – Chapter Twelve – "Gracious Lord, oh bomb the Germans. Spare their women for Thy sake, and if that is not too easy we will pardon Thy mistake. But, gracious Lord, what e're shall be, don't let anyone bomb me!" – (John Betjeman)
Waking with Pauley in my arms, warm body pressing warm body, my hands alternating cupping his beautifully formed buttocks or fondling his perfectly shaped testicles, feeling him gently and methodically slip his turgid shaft up and down the length of mine, melding the partially hooded helmets of our instruments of delight, and his lips plucking sweetly on mine, is the way I wish to waken every morning the rest of my life; unless it'd be embedded deeply into his rear love chute, slowly pulsing the remnants of seed into him or feeling his stiffness, buried clear to his orbs, in my own willing receptacle.
It didn't take much longer after he nipped and suckled his way south, engulfing my manhood and tonguing my rapidly expanding slit, that he was rewarded with my thick, viscous, abundant tapioca-like essence. I believed in reciprocity, so he received equal, if not better, treatment!
Kissing me, Pauley murmured softly, "Matt, don't be too hard on Mr. Chandler when you visit the bank. There may be more to the story than you realize."
"What do you mean?" I murmured back.
Hesitating, pondering his answer carefully, he responded, "Well, Matt, how long has it been, other than yesterday, you were in Fox Creek?"
His question caused me to think, really hard, and I couldn't remember ever going to Fox Creek anytime I spent a week or two at the "Rabbit Patch". Most of my shopping trips were made to Lake View, if I needed anything. Otherwise, I spent my time at the "Rabbit Patch" and had to admit the same to Pauley.
"Matt," he said softly, almost conciliatory, "Dr. Corsair was well-known in Fox Creek and I think you'll discover that today."
Before I could inquire more of him, he continued, "I have to know, Matt, are you here to stay or will you be leaving at the end of the summer?"
There was no question, as far as I was concerned; I wanted him living here with me! Pauley coming into my life pretty well established where I'd live. There wasn't a job waiting for me back in La Crosse and to move Pauley there wouldn't be wise. This was his home; where he'd been raised and grown up to the man he is. Besides, I was content here. I did, however, have to make a decision concerning my house in La Crosse and settle my financial affairs there. My mind was already made up concerning my attorney and accountant. I'd keep both of them and rent the house out, once I'd removed those furniture items and other personal belongings I wished to have up here. The house would be good income property for me.
It didn't take long for me to relay my decision concerning his question; I was staying here and I wanted him to be with me! Decisions made, breakfast completed, I headed to Fox Creek to conclude my business with the bank.
The moment I entered the bank, Mr. Chandler hurried from his office to greet me. Clearly he was anxious to see me, causing my suspicious nature to come to the front, giving me a certain wariness concerning his motives for being so friendly today compared to the day before. Ushered into this office, I was confronted by another gentleman with hand extended in greeting.
"Stanley Bainbridge," he announced, "CEO of the Fox Creek Community Initiative Fund and representing the Board of Trustees of the Fund."
They both stood, evidently awaiting me to sit my tush in a chair; I fooled them, I remained standing, almost defiant, but not quite!
"Mr. Chandler," I stated authoritatively, "here are my `bona fides,' those papers you requested concerning the validity of my claims concerning the death of Dr. Julian Corsair and the legitimacy of my claim as his sole heir," and handed him the documents.
Before he could respond, I continued, "I failed to see any reason why these documents are so important just to open a bank account, but on the advice of my attorney, I acquiesce and deliver them to you. As a result, I am seriously reconsidering the advisability of opening an account with your institution. I found your intrusiveness abhorrent! If these documents are for some reason which I am unaware, then please enlighten me. If they're only for your own personal interests, then we're done doing business as of now!"
Neither man spoke; mouths open, dumb struck, much like a senior college student butt-fucking a freshman boy behind the dorm dumpster when the garbage man suddenly appeared and asked, "Are you going to dump your load there or in the dumpster?"
Their silence seemed to confirm my suspicions, so I turned to leave. Chandler almost leaped across his desk in his effort to halt my progress out the door.
"Dr. Burroughs," he pleaded, "please don't leave; you've misunderstood my intentions and I apologize for my most grievous mistake not informing you why we needed these documents! I was so taken aback by the news of Dr. Corsair's death I failed to make my reasons known to you. Please sit," and proffered me a chair.
Reluctantly, I accepted his offer and sat, trying to gauge his reactions as I did so. From the corner of my eye, I noticed Mr. Bainbridge's brow, now covered with beads of sweat, seemed to be regaining some of its color as he settled back into his chair.
"Dr. Burroughs, Dr. Corsair was well-known and loved in our little community and, perhaps when Mr. Bainbridge and I finish, you'll understand why."
Chandler pursed his fingers together and slowly began; "Dr. Corsair, Dr. John Edwards, and my grandfather, Darnell Anderson, along with some local minor investors, purchased this bank many years ago."
Now I knew why the Chandler's first name sounded so familiar; Darnell Anderson was Julian's best friend and oft-times fuck-buddy.
Dr. Edwards and Julian were spending a relaxed summer at the lake, since neither of them had any summer session classes to teach. There were rumors about the town the bank was going to be sold and the locals hoped some big bank didn't buy it out. The Fox Creek Savings Bank was locally owned, chartered under state banking regulations, and had a fair reputation for being a solid, conservative, but locally friendly little bank.
Julian put a pencil to the numbers, contacted Darnell, who by now not only owned his deceased father-in-law's farm, but an additional twelve hundred acres of prime corn and soybean ground as well. Darnell might not have "read real good," but he knew farming and could cash flow any operation. With Julian's advice, he'd also made some very profitable and secure non-farm investments and was always seeking another one; thus, he was more than willing to enter the venture with his old friend.
The bank was purchased and, with the limited shares available, the three of them each held seventeen percent (which actually consisted of seventeen shares of stock). The other forty-nine percent was offered to local interested investors with the proviso, in the bank by-laws, that no one person could own more than ten percent or ten shares; the exception being the three original purchasers or their heirs. If the shares of one of the original major stockholders should come up for sale, they'd be offered in lots of ten or less to new stockholders or those currently holding less than ten shares.
A Board of Directors was formed, a manager was hired, and a chair chosen. The bank was off and running. It remains a profitable bank, lending vibrancy to the community, and at the forefront of most community projects. People liked to brag it was community owned, although in reality, outside money purchased it to begin with. As time evolved, Julian made a crucial decision that greatly affected the entire community. Bank directors were paid a salary or honorarium each year, according to the amount of stock each owned and, if the bank was profitable, given a bonus, as well were all employees. Julian chose to donate his salary to the Fox Creek Community Initiative Fund, formed at his insistence and dedicated to the betterment of the larger Fox Creek Community.
I definitely needed to have a long visit with my accountant once I returned to La Crosse to conclude my business there!
Mr. Bainbridge entered the discussion at this point, pointing out the Initiative Fund and the projects and programs it funded drew the interest of other community organizations and members and the donations increased its permanent restricted endowments as well as the unrestricted endowments and funds available for granting. The Fund was able to do challenge grants with local groups and also seek government grants and loans as a result. They were able to assist local businesses with low-interest loans, through the bank, and, in some instances, purchased property for a business with an agreeable pay-off time negotiated.
Within the financial operations of the Fund, there were also separate, but restricted endowments, given by individuals, organizations, and bequeathals from estates, or donations in memory of persons, with interest from the restricted endowments used as unrestricted grants. The Fund required a five percent administrative fee to administer those grants.
"Through Dr. Corsair's generous assistance, we are able to fund a summer youth baseball and softball program, a youth soccer program or as he insisted, `football,' summer and winter concert series at the band shell in the park and high school, a new community center, and a number of scholarships for graduating seniors at our high school," Bainbridge continued. "Those scholarships are the John Edwards Memorial Scholarship, established after his death by Dr. Corsair; The Emily Harrison, The William Arnold, and The Geoffrey Alistair Bentley-Hughes Memorial Scholarships."
"You see," interrupted Chandler, "with his death, the Initiative Fund won't have his bank director's salary available for use. Not that the Fund depended on it, but it made many things available to the young people in our community. The scholarships are funded in perpetuity so there's no problem there, but the others, - well, they're not."
Man, it hit me- not unlike a bomb, laying waste to all my previous trepidations concerning the bank and its intentions! The fallout from Julian's gift to the community was far-reaching and would be devastating to this very active community if it was lost to them. It was my turn to be gob-smacked; absolutely, temporarily speechless, slowly realizing how many lives, other than my own, Dr. Corsair's generosity affected. In spite of my incredulity, I was elated and heartened, knowing his goodness went beyond me and what Pauley and I had read in Julian's journal!
With a deep breath, I sighed, "Gentleman, at this point in time, it's not my intention or desire to discontinue his practice." Standing, I said, "Darnell, let's get those bank accounts opened."
Pauley and I lay, not on the floor this evening as usual, but in bed with my naked body propped up on two pillows resting against the headboard of the bed and Pauley's equally naked body nested between my legs, his back resting against my chest and abdomen, trapping my stiffness between us. As I relayed my experience at the bank to him, he made no comments, only wiggled a bit to keep me stiff. We already relieved each other once and I was certain we would again, but I did urge him to read some more of the journal to me.
"This may be the last time for a while," he commented, "if you leave in the morning."
"Yeah," I commented sadly, as he picked up the journal and read, gently running my index finger up and down his hard cock.
Summer was over and I had a good start in seventh grade. My marks continued to be excellent and I enjoyed my classes. I especially enjoyed my introduction to the twice a week physical education class; not that I was a great athlete since I'm not, but I really enjoyed the shower portion of the class. That particular activity treated me with views of all sizes, shapes, and colors of cocks, some cut and some uncut, but all delectable as far as I was concerned. I was one of the very few boys entering puberty, that wonderful journey to possessing a "man-cock" with a few sprigs of black hair around the base of my longer-than-the-rest-of-them dick and my balls beginning to drop and increase in size. Was I proud or what? More than one boy would cop a quick feel as we jostled past each other going to, coming from, or in the shower.
The War continued unabated, although, if you listened to the news people, the Allies were beginning to gain some ground and see a few major victories while pushing our enemies back from the conquests they'd made earlier; albeit, there were huge losses of Allied troop lives and civilians as well. A major operation in the Pacific, the battles for the Gilbert and Marshal Islands, put two more pins in my map. The Brits fire-bombed the hell out of Hamburg, Germany, killing over forty thousand people causing me to wonder, as I placed another pin on my map, if that's where the term "hamburger" originated.
The Allies invaded Italy in September, striking, as Churchill put it "at the soft underbelly of Europe." It was an event Americans met with high hopes of ending the war soon. It wasn't to be, but still hopes were high!
September was also the month I brought an RAF officer home for the weekend!
Riding my bike down the street bordering the river, the warm, late afternoon sun soothing my body, still a bit stiff and achy after a busy, but very profitable Friday, the night before, I noticed a differently dressed soldier sitting on one of the park benches overlooking the river. His uniform was blue, quite unlike the olive drab or brown our troops wore and his hat was cocked at a funny angle on his head. Curious, I slowed, turned, stopped, and dismounted.
I approached him carefully and cautiously, in such a way as to not let him mistake my intentions, for I certainly had no criminal acts to commit on him and, if the truth be known I had no desire, at that point in time, to engage in a liaison with him. I hesitated, thinking perhaps this stranger, in a far-away place was just lonely, lost in his thoughts, and not wanting to be disturbed. He said nothing as I sat down, not acknowledging my presence, lost in his own world, I surmised, thinking of a home or sweetheart he'd left behind or remembering some encounter enjoyed.
Clad only in my shorts, t-shirt and tennis shoes, I continued to sit quietly, but I did stretch out my legs, tightening my shorts to better emphasize my almost teen package – just in case he was interested. He finally turned, noticing me, but still saying nothing. I finally stuck out my hand, introducing myself.
The young soldier smiled, finally, and returned the greeting, "Flight Lieutenant Geoffrey Alistair Bentley-Hughes, of His Majesty's Royal Air Force."
He wasn't army after all; he was a fly-boy, from England no less! That explained his uniform and funny accent. He pronounced "lieutenant" as sort of "left-tenant" and it amused me.
Naturally, I was gob-smacked with curiosity, wondering why he was here, in Prairie du Sac and why he was sitting here alone. He couldn't tell me much, only that he and some fellow officers were here as guests of the United States Army to learn about the munitions being manufactured at Badger Ordinance. He and members of his group were given a twenty-four hour pass to relax and enjoy the area before leaving on Monday from Madison to begin the return journey home. The other lads decided to take advantage of some of the more, shall we say, available women in the area (I'd bet Momma was somewhere flat on her back at this point with an English cock shoved in deep and her paramour moaning his delights as he dropped his bombs in her target), but he chose not to join them.
For some reason, I felt a kinship with this fly-boy, not really sexually (although he was a handsome dark-haired, blue-eyed devil), but in a different way, almost as if we shared a common interest or future. As we visited, I decided he was more educated than the average enlisted men I ordinarily encountered who were eager for a quick dive bomb, exhausting his ammunition, and retreating before I could fire off a saluting salvo. No, this man was sensitive, interesting to visit with, and just as interested in what I had to contribute in return.
Darnell was gone for the weekend, preferring the company of his girlfriend to me and working on the farm besides; Doris, his mother, recently took up with another eligible farmer and was spending the weekend with him and, if I was guessing correctly from what he'd just said, Momma was gone also. It was just Miss Harrison and me and knowing her as I do, she'd invite Dr. Arnold over for supper as well. She wouldn't mind a bit if I brought a stranger, especially a lonely service man, home with me to join us for supper and the evening.
Out of the blue, I asked, "Are you hungry?"
Nodding, he responded, "Right-O; but I was thinking about pippin' into one of the local pubs for a pint and a pork pie or something."
Well, I had no idea what he meant, so I just shook my head and invited him home to supper with us. He readily accepted when I informed him Miss Harrison planned on making a beef stew, loaded with fresh vegetables, and baking powder biscuits, followed by home-made apple pie. It took a minute for me to explain that biscuits were not cookies and he inquired if they were like scones. Never ate one of those in my life, but they sounded pretty close to a biscuit to me, so we settled on that.
Miss Harrison was delighted to see him and immediately called Dr. Arnold to join us. He brought along, bless his soul, a bottle of scotch whiskey and a bottle of gin. I hoped, against all hope, I'd be allowed to have a sip, but no luck! Geoffrey took his scotch "neat", which I discovered was "plain", no mix or ice. Was I excited, sitting there as they had their before dinner drinks? You bet I was; the opportunity to visit with and learn from a person from another country so far away almost overwhelmed me. I thought what a wonderful way to learn!
Geoffrey was indeed a learned man, educated and a teacher at one of the smaller universities, majoring in history. He joined the service when the war broke out and chose the RAF. He was promoted from Pilot Officer to Flight Lieutenant, the rank he presently held and was a fighter pilot, flying Hurricanes defending the Home Land and escorting bomber attacks against the Germans.
"Flight Lieutenant," Dr. Arnold asked hesitantly, "would you mind terribly if I invited some of my university colleagues who reside in the area to join us after dinner?"
He minded not one little bit, so Dr. Arnold busied himself on the phone while Geoffrey finished his drink and I helped Miss Harrison set the table.
During out meal, which he savored delightfully, commenting he'd "not tasted anything this delicious in so ever a long time," we learned he was from Coventry. Coventry was the location of large metal working industries, producing cars, bicycles, airplane engines, and, at the Coventry Ordinance Works, munitions.
"Didn't that area received a terrible drubbing from the Germans with terrible losses of life and property?" Dr. Arnold asked.
"That it did," Geoffrey replied, "the Jerries laid waste to the lot I'm afraid. I lost my Mum and my Dad there in 1942." He was silent for quite a long time before continuing, "My two lads and daughter escaped with my wife by making it to an underground shelter; Mum and dad weren't so fortunate; getting caught in their house when the bombs hit."
Coventry was a city of almost 238,000 people and on November 14, 1940 five hundred fifteen German bombers attacked the city. Two-thirds of the cities buildings were damaged or destroyed and over five hundred sixty people killed with many more wounded or injured. The Germans attacked again in April of 1941, killing and injuring hundreds more. The final German attack was made in August of 1942 and it was this attack that shattered his life.
"The family is up country with my wife's sister, and should be safe until this damnable war is over," concluding his discourse.
"How about some apple pie?" Miss Harrison interjected, bringing some relief to a sad commentary on the war.
That evening, sitting amidst a gathering of retired and non-retired university professors (both male and female) and Miss Harrison, was one of the most enjoyable, delightful, and intellectually stimulating events I'd ever experienced in my young life. Although they were basically interested in the effect of the war and Geoffrey's impression, including how it impacted education, their discussion covered a gamut of subject matters, ranging from history to economics and politics. I wasn't excluded from the discussion, in fact, there were times when one of them would look at me and pose a question or problem that would stimulate my young mind to evaluate, discuss, and then question one of the professors for more information. They all seemed delighted I should do so and complimented me, encouraging me to delve deeper in each subject at my leisure.
Geoffrey seemed extremely pleased and looked at me proudly, almost affectionately, bolstering my confidence and my eagerness to please him. The evening was growing late, the scotch and gin were gone, as well as some additional provided by our visitors, and Geoffrey rose, stating, "My, the hour is late and, gentlemen and ladies, I must leave. I thank you, Miss Harrison for your hospitality, but I must be off."
"Nonsense," Miss Harrison snorted, "there's an extra bed in Julian's room and he'd be pleased to have your company. You'll not leave my house until I've fed you breakfast and fixed fried chicken for noon luncheon tomorrow."
So it was decided; the others left and I led Geoffrey upstairs to my bedroom. "If you need to use the bathroom, it's down the hall," I informed him. He did and so did I, but I waited until he finished and returned to the room. He waited until I returned to prepare for bed. I began to strip, watching him as I did so, wondering what he slept in, if anything.
"I usually sleep in my smalls," he stated.
I had no idea what "smalls" were until he explained it was his underwear. "Not me," I stated confidently, "I just let it all hang out and sleep nudie," and dropped my shorts and boxers. I wasn't bashful; he wouldn't be the first man that ever saw my cock and wouldn't be the last.
Geoffrey stared at my naked body, my almost teen uncut cock wobbling about below my sparsely decorated pubic area, and dropped his shorts. He unveiled one of the most perfect examples of man's delight I'd ever seen; a nicely sheathed uncut penis of more than average size when flaccid; the head covered with a helmet of smooth delicate skin at the end of a shaft that was hairless, perfectly tubular with pronounced veins visible just beneath the surface, ready to pump blood to that organ so it might complete the task it was designed for.
Before I could comment on the loveliness before me, Geoffrey said softly, with admiration, "Cor, you're a beauty, you are, Julian," and stepped toward me, his cock starting to lengthen, the head slowly slipping out of its sanctuary, peeking out in anticipation, preparing for action.
Confused, I stuttered, "I thought you liked women only since you were married and all!"
Smiling, he nodded his head, saying, "You're only half right there, Julian; I like girls and boys, especially young lads with your beauty. May I join you in bed?"
Does a dog shit in the neighbor's yard? Did my own cock spring to immediate attention, extending to its now five inch height, to salute this lovely fly-boy?
Geoffrey taught me more about male-to-male sex that night than I'd learned over the years I'd been sucking guys cocks and letting them fuck me. After he finished loving my face, my body, and my penis, swallowing my offering as I thrust and grunted a load, he rolled me over on my tummy and started doing something I'd not had done before; lavishing his attention on my tiny, round pucker and my cleavage with his lips and tongue!
"What a beautiful bum," he commented once he decided I was sufficiently lubricated and slowly slipped that magnificent monster into me, splitting my ass cheeks like a ripe peach. Geoffrey slowly, easily, lovingly rocked back and forth for almost an hour until I felt him swell inside me and began pumping a copious amount, in spurt after spurt, of his seed deep into my bowels, sealing me to him forever. Although finished, he continued to lie on my back, kissing my neck, nibbling my ears, and kissing my lips. I could feel his cum leaking out around his still stiff cock, dribbling down my perineum, over my balls, and onto the bed sheets. I don't think he really got completely soft all night as he lay there, sleeping the sleep of the innocent, the satiated, in a complete and satisfying post-coital bliss. Three more times during the night and the next morning, Geoffrey pleased both himself and me.
Miss Harrison fed him a breakfast of bacon, eggs, and toast and, true to her word, a Sunday dinner of fried chicken with all of the trimmings. Dr. Arnold volunteered to drive him back to the Ordinance Works and before he left, he gave us his mailing address, plus the names of his boys and daughter, and where they were living- "just in case."
"I'll write," I promised and I did. Geoffrey answered each and every one of my letters, when he could. I looked forward to each and every letter from him. Through his letters, he introduced me to his boys and daughter (and sent a couple of pictures), indicating how proud he was of them and hoped one day I could come to England to meet them and have dinner with him, but that was never to be!
To be continued:
Thank you for reading Julian Corsair- Chapter - Twelve - "Gracious Lord, oh bomb the Germans. Spare their women for Thy sake, and if that is not too easy we will pardon Thy mistake. But, gracious Lord, what e're shall be, don't let anyone bomb me!" – (John Betjeman)
If you enjoy my stories and the many others found on this free site, please consider a donation to Nifty. It is your donations which make all of our stories free and available for you to read and enjoy. Other stories of mine may be found under "Nifty Very Prolific Authors." Thank you.
The Literary works of Nicholas Hall are protected by the copyright laws of the United States of America and are the property of the author.
Positive comments are welcome and appreciated at: firstname.lastname@example.org.