The Journal of Julian Corsair,

An Uncommonly Good Man


Copyright© 2014 – Nicholas Hall



Julian Corsair – Chapter Thirteen –"I believe especially in being warm-hearted in love, in fucking with a warm heart. Its all of this cold-hearted fucking that's death and idiocy." – (D. H. Lawrence)

I packed a travel bag with enough clothes to last a couple of weeks; anticipating what I needed to accomplish might take that long. Pauley understood, if I finished my tasks earlier than that, I'd be home, post haste. Kissing Pauley's lips and neck, I whispered, "I'm going to miss you so!" Hearing him respond, "Not as much as I'm going to miss you" heartened, yet saddened my inner being. I could only bring to mind Shakespeare's "parting is such sweet sorrow" from "Romeo and Juliet," finding it totally inadequate in expressing how I felt at that moment in my life!

My eyes flooded with tears, blurring my vision, but a quick swipe cleared them temporarily, as I drove my pickup truck down the lane to the county highway and headed south. Traveling cross-country over state and county roads until I entered U.S. 51/I-39, set the cruise control, and set my sights on La Crosse. Relaxing, yet vigilant, cognizant of the traffic around me, my trip became a matter of making the right turns, motoring on the correct highways and Interstates until mid-afternoon found me in La Crosse and at my old house.

Unlocking the front door and entering, the familiarity of the house I'd called home for ten years enveloped me, but didn't smother me. This was the home I'd shared with Dr. J. and he was no longer with me. He'd understand it was time to move on with my life; my home was now at the "Rabbit Patch" on the lake, with Pauley. Looking around, I realized I'd have to begin the process of "sorting" again. The final decision to rent out the house fully furnished was easier, I thought, than having to outright sell it. If I could find the right renter, preferably someone younger, perhaps with a family, to enjoy the house and property as I had, so much the better. In fact, that's exactly what I intended to do – gay, lesbian, straight, transgender – made no difference to me. There were a number of realtors in the area doing property management, for a fee of course, and a call to Mr. Thompson, my attorney, would secure one for me.

After depositing my duffle in my old room, I called my accountant to make an appointment the next day with the individual who'd be handling my financial accounting. I'd promised Pauley I'd call when I arrived, so it was next on my list. Just hearing his voice gave an instant hard-on. Unfortunately, he was sitting in his parent's living room, so he couldn't whip out his delectable dong and stroke it while I muttered all sorts of nasty things I could do to him if I were there in person. I, on the other hand, was alone so I suffered not the same audience problems, thus brought myself to a significant, howling orgasm. He knew damn well what I did and muttered softly into the phone, "You're going to get yours when you get home."

Well, I hoped so!

I mixed myself a drink and began again the task of evaluating what I wanted to take back to Fox Creek with me and what I mean to leave. The furniture would stay, except for Dr. J.'s easy chair, his desk and chair, and filing cabinets; the shelves of books, reference and reading, would go with me; the appliances, except for upright freezer, would stay, as well as all of the small kitchen appliances, and the lawn care equipment including the riding mower would stay here. It'd be a job emptying the pantry, packing the dishes, kitchen utensils, pots and pans, as well as the contents of the various cupboards. The bedding, which I'd previously planned on donating, would go with me since I now had the three cottages to keep supplied. Pictures on the walls, on dressers, and elsewhere would now accompany me. His clothing would require close scrutiny to ensure some document wasn't tucked away somewhere before donating them.

There definitely was more here than my pickup would carry, so contracting a moving company to cart it all would be another chore in the next couple of days. Most moving companies or specialty stores offered boxes for purchase. I wouldn't have to scrounge around supermarkets hunting for packing boxes. I wandered back to the kitchen to fix another drink and realized it was past six and I was growing hungry. Rather than eat alone, I decided to dine at one of the local riverside restaurants in the downtown district.

The riverfront parkway is a pleasant place to relax or just enjoy oneself; walkways and bikeways meander along the riverside or lounge on the park benches dotting the grassy areas. Boats, big and small, including large tow boats with long strings of barges being pushed in front of them, often can be seen chugging up or down river. If a person has a mind too, there's a small sternwheeler excursion boat offering rides up and down the river. Across the river, at Pettibone Park, the beach and beach house looked inviting and serene. In the summer, when the river is decent and the weather is hot, the Park and beach got quite a workout, as I remembered.

One hot summer afternoon, just after finishing my Master's Degree and preparing to leave for Iowa City to begin my doctoral studies, I headed to the beach for swim. Dr. J. was out of town, up at U.W.-Stout, leading some focus groups on the economy for a couple of days and I had the house to myself.

The sun was warm, the beach nice, and the water cooling. I swam a bit, sunned awhile to dry, and headed to the changing room to shuck off my swim togs and slip into shorts and t-shirt for the drive home. I paid little attention who else was in there other than noting there was a mixture of young and old, fathers and sons, and a hodge-podge of younger lads.

Walking to my pickup truck, towel over my shoulder and swim trunks in hand, a voice from behind me shouted, "Hey, can you give me a ride home?" Turning, I saw a young Asian boy running toward me. He looked young, sounded older, was five foot or so, give or take an inch, weighed maybe ninety pounds, and clad only in a half t-shirt and a very, very skimpy blue nylon bikini which left little to the imagination. If I were to first venture a guess, I'd have put him at twelve or thirteen years of age, but as he came closer and a glance at the package wobbling beneath the blue covering, it was obvious he might just be a little older.

Captivated by the bright, smiling face of the very attractive bronzed-skin, black-haired and eyed lad, his lithe frame dashing toward me, I couldn't help but wonder what he was up to. Furling my brow when he came close, I looked him over and remarked, "I don't know who you are or where you live; why would I give you a ride?"

"Well, I know you, he responded, "and I only live a couple of blocks from you. Why give me a ride? That's `cause you're a nice guy and would do anything I asked."

Cheeky little shit!

"Adam Chi," he spouted next, with a smile and a wink. "You're Matt Burroughs and live with Dr. Corsair, Economics Professor at the U."

Now the name was familiar; his mother was a professor also, teaching courses in World Geography, World Resources, and a couple of others. She was an excellent instructor and I'd taken the World Resources class from her in my sophomore year. She was married to Dr. John Chi, a professor in the College of Business. Taking a chance, I jerked my head in the direction of my pickup truck, inviting him to accompany me. He scooted ahead of me, making certain I got a great view of his barely covered buns wiggling underneath their scant nylon covering.

Buckled up in front seat of the truck, he wiggled around until the belt scooted up a little higher on his tummy, leaving his package unmolested by it. He definitely was older than I first assumed.

"How old are you, Adam?"

"Fifteen," he grinned, "just right for the plucking!"

Was this kid coming on to me or what? I could feel my shorts begin to bulge. Damn! I wished now I hadn't gone commando and at least wore a jock strap. If I continued to swell and grow, His Majesty was going to sneak out into the courtyard for some sunshine.

Adam saw it, reached over, and with his small hand, gently grabbed the head, and pulled Mr. Stiffy from his lair. "Nice," he murmured and leaned back in his seat.

I damn near ran off the road when I looked over at him. Adam had his blue bikinis pulled down in the front and looped under his nicely shaped balls, his five inch teen-boy, circumcised cock pointing toward the heavens! Was he on the horn or what?

God, what a quandary, riding along in my pickup truck with a horny fifteen year-old boy in the front seat, slowly stroking his rampant dick! It was then I remembered where he lived; it was indeed just a few blocks from us as he said. Dr. J. and I'd been invited there for some faculty social event a couple of years previously, but I didn't recall seeing this little nymph about the house. Perhaps he was entertaining the boys living on frat house row that evening!

He looked over at me, licked his lips, thrust his cock up between his fisted hand a couple of times and announced, "You should be good for a couple of good deep fucks by the looks of that post-hole digger of yours,' and grinned lasciviously at me.

That clenched the deal; I detoured our house, and stopped the truck in front of his.

"What?" he protested indignantly, "You don't want to fuck; how about a couple of blow-jobs then?"

When I didn't respond, his dick started to soften, and despite his pleas that sticking him was what he really wanted and could give as well as receive, he found it was to no avail. No way was I going to prong that boy, no matter how much he begged! It's hard to say how many unsecured deposits had been made in his little tight night drop, and I was taking no chances. I'm not into unprotected, indiscriminate sex with strangers, especially under-age strangers, and he definitely was trouble looking for a place to happen!

By the look on his face, I was certain he was fearful I was going to spill the beans to his folks concerning his recreational pursuits, so I reassured him. "Not to worry; mum's the word, enjoy yourself elsewhere," and as he started to climb out, I reached into the console and handed him a box of condoms. "Use them!" I instructed.

I often wondered whatever happened to Adam Chi; nothing bad I hope, he was a good-looking kid, but horny as hell. I rose from my perch on the park bench, returned to my pickup, and drove back to the house. A call to Pauley reassured me all was well at home and with the world; he was patiently awaiting my return.

The appointment with the accountant, Esther Yeager of Darlington, Yeager, and Burnsides, was interesting to say the least. I, apparently, was a major client and rated one of the senior partners to handle my financial matters. Dr. J. had extensive investments beyond what had been disclosed to me at Mr. Thompson's office previously. His investments not only included stocks, but investment properties, including two farms in Iowa and the house where I lived in Iowa City when doing my doctoral studies at the University of Iowa. Ms. Yeager confirmed Julian had been donating his bank director's salary to the Initiative Fund in Fox Creek and, no, there was no Corsair Family Scholarship Fund. She checked back through her files and verified Dr. J. had written the checks for Pauley's college studies from his own bank account. It was a secret he kept and one I intended to keep as well. Out of curiosity, I requested a listing of those young people Julian had assisted over the years, if it were possible for her to do so.

We reviewed Dr. J.'s previous year's income tax filing and the supporting documentation needed to develop the completed tax forms. All of his investments, stocks, bonds, and certificates of deposit were listed. I was surprised how extensive his portfolio was. When I questioned how he accumulated such wealth on just a professor's salary, Ms. Yeager replied, "As you know, Matt, he was a very clever investor and seemed to have an innate ability to identify and then conjecture which investments would succeed and which wouldn't. There were very few instances when he wasn't correct. Dr. Corsair did his homework before he committed on anything. He always told me to buy when the little guy is selling and sell when the little guy is buying."

According to her, however, when Julian entered into his relationship with Dr. Andrews, he brought his expertise in and knowledge of the world of finance and Dr. Andrews brought the financial resources to make it work. Dr. Andrews, an only child from "old money" parents out east, inherited all they had when they both passed away. He was savvy enough to preserve it through the Great Depression and "stashed" enough cash so when certain promising properties became available through bankruptcy, he purchased it. When he passed away, all of it went to Julian.

Dr. Andrews and Dr. J. both subscribed to the belief that to those who had plenty, had a responsibility, an obligation, to give back to the community and to those who fared less well, so they made substantial charitable donations as well as personal financial contributions (anonymously) to those in need as well as contributing their time and talents. We reviewed the list of organizations and non-profits she made contributions to on Dr. J.'s behalf and at my suggestion removed several I felt didn't live up to what I thought was acceptable and added one of my own; Heifer International, an organization making farm animals available to people in poorer countries and areas of the world, and I increased the contribution to The Salvation Army, an organization that fed me and gave me shelter at those times in my life when I really needed it.

After lunch, we resumed our discussions and were joined by Mr. Barker, the investment manager I'd met earlier (again, in Mr. Thompson's office) who handled Julian's (now my) portfolio. He was eager to discuss my investments and propose some strategies to grow them. I squelched any attempts to persuade me to seek higher rates of return by increasing the high risk portion of my investments by telling him I was basically a "risk adverse" person and I desired no more twenty-five percent of my portfolio in moderate risk and no more than ten percent in high risk.

"That means you'll have sixty-five percent in relatively low or moderate risk and low to moderate return investments," he stated as if questioning my strategy.

"But," I responded, "all safe and generally preserving my principal. Mr. Barker, there's no way in hell I'm going to spend all of this if I live to be two hundred. I see no need to accumulate additional wealth beyond a fair return; anything else, borders on the obscene."

Ms. Yeager would have all of my income, including all dividends, direct deposited in Fox Creek for me. The accounting firm would continue to pay my bills, including charge cards, send me a monthly statement, and make changes as I directed. I'd keep sufficient cash funds available in Fox Creek in separate checking account and savings account for my immediate use. Ms. Yeager thought I'd probably use the savings account to draw cash more than the checking account and I was certain she was correct. She also began searching for a health insurance provider for me since my state health insurance was discontinued when I was laid off. The COBRA costs were higher than I desired and she assured me she could find me a better policy. I was paid up for thirty days more, so she said she'd expedite the search.

The next day I stopped at the bank and closed the accounts, transferring the balances to my accounts in Fox Creek. I also emptied the two safe deposit boxes we kept at the bank, intending to secure a larger one when I returned to my new bank. Fortunately, my name was on the signature card and listed as joint owner on the boxes, so there was no problem there.

At the end of a week and a half, I had the house sorted and packed in boxes I purchased for that purpose and contracted with a moving company to transport everything to the "Rabbit Patch." My daily calls to Pauley were my refuge, my security, reassuring me, reminding me how much I missed him and desired to hold him, love him, and take us both to the ultimate fulfilling of our relationship.

The "Rabbit Patch" was a welcome sight when I arrived around four that afternoon, but even more welcoming with Pauley standing on the porch waiting for me. I'd barely brought the truck to a halt when he dashed from the porch. Pauley jerked open the truck door and before I could say a word, he stepped up, gave m e a big hug, saying, "I really missed you," and kissed me; a deep, tongue-in-mouth, penetrating, fucking-turn-me-on-like-a-horny-hound dog kiss.

Our reverie was interrupted with the arrival of the moving van. It didn't long for the movers to unload the cargo either on the porch or in the garage as I directed them. The most difficult part of the unloading was moving the freezer to the kitchen where it'd be accessible. Luckily, the kitchen is a large one, so there was plenty of room.

Pauley and I headed to our room, not to sleep but to become "reacquainted," making certain everything fit as it did before I left and, after our very personal intimate, orgasmic reunion, Pauley pulled forth Dr. J.s journal and comforted me with his presence and voice.


Geoffrey's short presence in my life altered my thoughts and my actions toward others and how I viewed relationships between the males of the species. He'd taken a young lad on the cusp of teen-hood and demonstrated what "making love to someone" was really like. As he took me and him to the heights of sexual ecstasy more than once that night through patient, gentle, and sensual attention to every erogenous zone on my body, he remarked (about the second time up and down the orgasmic elevator), "sure beats buggering someone in the bogs, doesn't it?" Now there were two new words for me, but it didn't take long to suss them out.

What I'd been doing was pure, unadulterated "fucking for cash" with no emotional attachments, other than the cold cash I received, although I did have to admit to him I rather enjoyed some of it. There were other times it was nothing but cold-hearted fucking! Geoffrey thought there certainly was nothing wrong with taking our pleasures in life, as he pleasured me as well, but one really had to be selective with whom we gave our hearts to.

"He really fancies you something fierce, you know," he commented as he finished giving my hard little horn a series of joyous toots. I thought he was speaking of Darnell, who by now this particular Saturday evening, I figured was buried up to his pubes in snatch.

"Who?" I questioned.

"Dr. Arnold," he countered. "Treat him right, Julian; you won't find anyone better or who wants you more than he does at this time in your life and his."

Flight Lieutenant Geoffrey Alistair Bentley-Hughes, of His Majesty's Royal Air Force left on that Monday morning to continue the battle against those forces who'd taken his mother, father, and home and I returned to school with a new insight on the world, men, and love. The world was, in his words, "all sixes and sevens, but we'd get it all sorted out." I really believed he was right, although there were times I just wasn't so certain other people heeded his advice.

I started laying back and spending more time with Dr. Arnold and was continually rewarded with his gentleness and concern. He never forced himself on me, preferring I offer myself to him, which I did. Given the opportunity, he was just as sensual a lover as Geoffrey had been, but a lover who really wanted me. I continued to service some of the more attractive soldiers in the area, but with less frequency and for more money. I also continued to be invited to a monthly gathering of friends of Dr. Arnold's who spent Saturday evenings in deep discussion over world affairs, finance, politics, and life in general. Not once did any of them object to my presence.

There were some terrible battles fought in the fall of 1943 and the new year of 1944 didn't start out much better with landings at Anzio and the Battle of Monte Casino in Italy bringing more pins to my world map. It was becoming quite a ménage of colored pins, giving me cause to wonder if it really would "all get sorted out."

There were changes coming about, subtle changes, but recognizable if one had a friend overseas flying fighter planes and a wealth of information available from some very brilliant minds who gathered at Dr. Arnold's once a month. This war, although seemingly in the midst of heinous destruction and losses of life, just could be winding down. For someone like me, who also gauged how things were going by what was happening in the street trade, it really was apparent since there were fewer new soldiers around town and the Ordinance Works seemed to changing gears somewhat. I couldn't put my fingers on it (in my case my ass or pecker, depending what was paid for), but my ass was due for a rest and I knew it.

To be continued:


Thank you for reading Julian Corsair – Chapter Thirteen –"I believe especially in being warm-hearted in love, in fucking with a warm heart. Its all of this cold-hearted fucking that's death and idocy." – (D. H. Lawrence)

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. 

Nick Hall


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: