An Uncommonly Good Man 14

The Journal of Julian Corsair,

An Uncommonly Good Man

Julian Corsair – Chapter Fourteen –"Did you think the lion was sleeping because he didn't roar?" – (Johann Friedrich von Schiller)

Pauley set the journal aside, half turned his head to look at me with eyes begging, pleading with mine; eyes that filled with desire, affection, and caring; eyes which captured my heart and set a longing in me only he and I could end up satisfying. Turning, pressing his naked body up against mine, our hard, twitching sexes pressing head to dripping head, he and I kissed – as only committed lovers can and do! Wrapping my arms around him, holding him closely to me as I often wished I could while away from him, trying to meld his body into mine, our heat was so intense.

My penis throbbed, almost in rhythm with his, and dripped with anticipation. God, I was "hard as a chocolate frog" remembering a phrase Dr. J. used sometimes when he saw me parade down the hall in the morning on the way to the bathroom, my tented boxers pointing the way!

"Please," plead Pauley, moaning his wishes and desires into my mouth as we "Frenched" each other, "give me your babies, Matt." It was all he needed to say in way of an invitation.

"I want you as I've ever wanted anyone before," I whispered back, "but the condoms are in the truck."

"Do we need them?" he asked plaintively, "I want to feel you, your warmth, your baby-makers swimming in me, your hardness, not something synthetic. I've never done anything with another guy, not even a blow-job."

Frankly, neither had I since I moved in with Dr. J., other than some lube on my hand to ease the friction and quicken the release. It wasn't that I hadn't considered relationships, but I was very cautious, hesitant, in engaging in casual, unprotected sex. The AIDs epidemic frightened me and well it should've. Besides, I was so busy going to college, with an entire new world opened to me, I just didn't seem to have the time or the interest. But now, I did; boy was I ever interested!

I'd purchased the condoms before leaving La Crosse, hoping he was as ready as I to deepen our relationship and seal one to the other. My SDT tests came back negative every year at my annual physical checkup and I'd intended on keeping it that way until I met someone I could share my life with. This was `the someone,' so I answered, "I don't think we do."

I carefully maneuvered him over onto his back and began making love to Paolo La Pont. There wasn't a section on his front I didn't kiss, lick, nuzzle, or suckle as I worshiped his smooth, lithe, well-developed nakedness, causing him to wiggle, giggle, moan, and thrust up his hips as my mouth made contact in his erogenous zones. Rolling him over, I leaned back between his spread legs and gazed upon the most beautifully shaped buttocks since Michelangelo first carved his statue of David. Firm, well-proportioned, enticing, stunning, yet delicate, realizing descriptors do little justice to the ravishing sight set before me as a feast before a king. Parting those mounds revealing the object of my lust, my desire in the cleft, brought me forward, softly blowing my warm breath across the puckered muscle, bringing a twitch, a clenching of it before I centered my lips and then my probing tongue into its inviting center making Pauley scoot up on the bed in the process, experiencing for the first time the sexually arousing act of rimming.

Pauley squealed, "Oh, yeah!" and wiggled back up against my face as I began tonguing, prodding deeper, jiggling my oral probe inside him. I schooled copious amounts saliva where I next wanted to express my love, hoping it'd help lubricate his virgin spot. Bringing my head up, seeking more lubrication, but of a different type, I reached over in the night stand drawer where I'd placed some waterless gel, extracted it, lubed up my fingers as well as my rampant cock, and began preparing him for my offering. Using my fingers, first one, then two, then three inside him, I could feel him loosen up.

"This may hurt," I cautioned, expecting him to be tighter than a budgies butt, "but I'll go slowly. Tell me to stop if it becomes too painful or you change your mind," and gently, slowly began pressing the head of my dick up against his anal ring. Pushing, entering the constricted, tight opening, the glans pushed through and he clasped his muscle around my cock, behind the flared head. I kept sliding forward, finding the path, once negotiated, easier than I anticipated until my crotch and pubic bush rested up against his sweet mounds.

"That's nice," he murmured contentedly.

I was surprised he took it so well and so deep, remarking on it.

"Bought myself a dildo about your size," he giggled, "and I been practicing."

With that I began loving my boyfriend, massaging his prostate on each pass forward and back. When I came, it was hard, pulsing, bringing my ass cheeks clenching together trying to prolong and extract every bit of sexual high and juice I could from my orgasm.

Still twitching and hard as an oak tree, I relaxed on him trying to catch my breath, so intense was my efforts and rewards.

"It felt as though you pumped a pint and a half in me," he smirked happily. "I felt each hot spurt you fired up into my bowels."

I assured him it may not have been that much, although I was a "heavy cummer." We rolled apart, faced each other, and brought our lips together, sealing and committing ourselves to each other. Pauley was still stiff as a flag pole on a parade ground waiting for the flag to go up, so I reached down and gave the pole a few strokes.

"Now it's your turn," I announced and rolled over on my stomach, raising my butt slightly, inviting him to partake of me and release his boiling balls. For a `newby,' he gave as good as he got and was fantastic! The size of his cock caused some effort on my part getting it in and then seated (almost touching my belly-button from the inside, I thought), but once in, as he straightened and maneuvered each curve and bend, it felt beyond fantastic! He was a much heavier a cummer than me and his whole body shuddered when he unloaded with spew after heavy, thick spew.

Our night together was memorable; our love-making, not sex, couldn't be adequately described, so satisfying and loving it was. In the morning, we showered –together-, dressed and sat at the kitchen table having our coffee, enjoying the company of each other. I fixed pancakes and they must've been a hit. Pauley ate three of them, along with several slices of bacon, and polished it all off with a big glass of juice and another cup of coffee.

After we cleaned up the breakfast dishes Pauley said quietly, "I have to go to work." He hesitated, wanting to say more, so I said it for him, "You'll be coming here for supper, spend the night, and the rest of your life with me, won't you?"

The grin on his face as he nodded his head answered that question and any others we might've had concerning our future relationship. We settled into the "Rabbit Patch" as if we'd been there forever. Pauley and I thought there'd likely be some questions floating around the community concerning our relationship, but we thought we could handle it. It's a fairly understanding world in many ways, but not that understanding; there are still a few individuals and groups who walk around with their heads up their asses, unwilling to see and admit that you marry who you love.

I'd not had the nerve to tell Pauley what my life was before being fostered out and finally meeting and living with Julian Corsair. It was a period of my life I could never forget, having to struggle to survive and a period of my life I was very reluctant to speak about.

Our nights and early mornings, before rising for the day, were spent in each other's arms, loving each other, exploring our bodies, sharing our emotions and our day's activities, finally releasing our sexual desires and fulfillments in each other. Falling asleep with my front pressed up against Pauley's warm back, my cock buried deeply as it could go in his warmth as it dribbled the end of my latest contribution to his body was more than nice! Of course, waking during the night or in the morning, wiggling so he could better enter me, clamping down my particular muscle to milk his creamy goodness from him and into me, was just as awesome, if not more so!

Pauley suggested with the Fourth of July nearing, we host the La Pont family annual get-together at the "Rabbit Patch." Ordinarily, his family gathered at his parent's house, but this year, all of his brothers and sister, their married and unmarried children, would be coming home. It was to be the first time in about seven or eight years. The only two that didn't have to stay overnight would be his brother in town and his sister in Lake View. Obviously, there weren't enough beds to go around.

"If we cleared out the garage, we could use it for eating and a gathering place," he suggested. "The three cottages would house some of them. My brother from Madison will bring his motor home and I think a couple of others will bring their campers also. I could rig up electric hookups for them to use. There'd even be plenty of room for anyone who wanted to tent."

It sounded great, but I was a little hesitant, not unwilling, understand, but fearful, somehow of the experience. Pauley sensed my hesitation, then saw it reflected in my eyes, leaned over, pulling me closer to him, whispered, "Don't worry, they'll love you just as much as I do."

Hosting the event wasn't what was bothering me; it was having a family around- something I'd never experienced other than the elderly lady in the apartment across the hall who used to take care of me while mother was working the streets and living with Dr. J. I suppose this would've been the proper time to spill the beans, but I just couldn't! What would he think of me?

I finally smiled and agreed. "Great, it sounds like fun!"

The next evening, cuddled in between my legs after wetting my still twitching whistle with his soft lips while humming a tune or two, he continued reading of Julian's journal.

The newspapers, the radio, and the news clips at the theatre were well-filled with reports of Allied successes both on in the European Theatre of operations and in the Pacific. Although uplifting to the morale of the general American public, I'm certain it did little to console and comfort those who lost sons, daughters, husbands, fathers, or other family members in the terrible conflict. As our troops began taking back territory conquered by either the Germans or the Japanese, rumors began circulating of discoveries of terrible atrocities committed by the Axis Powers.

Junior High school boys (as well as girls) tended to listen to stories being told at home, whether true or not, and embellish on them, adding those little tidbits they sometimes do in order to impress their classmates. Locker rooms, after physical education class and showers, seemed to the place for "story hour." Tales of torture, rape, and mayhem having been committed on our men and women being held as prisoners of war and the general population of the countries attacked by our enemies, were grist for gossip. According to the lads in the locker room, when our troops liberated prison camps or towns, stories floated back home concerning some of the terrible things they'd seen and heard about.

One of my classmates, rather a bit of a bully and know-it-all, claimed he had it "for a fact" that when our men were captured, in order to make them talk, bamboo splinters were shoved under their fingernails and lighted on fire. If that didn't work, then glass tubes were shoved up their dicks and smashed with hammers so the men couldn't piss anymore. That made more than one naked boy shelter his shriveled dick with his hands and grimace at the very thought.

Not to be outdone, one of his buddies regaled us with stories of soldiers raping the women and girls in towns and when there weren't any available, taking the young boys and "fucking them stupid!" Whole companies of men would climb aboard a young guy, one after the other, until the poor kid was fucked to death. Then, according to him, the troops captured a bunch of young boys to take with them and fuck on a regular basis. When finished with them, the boys were shot. Most of the other boys in our class would stand open-mouthed in amazement, all agog at such a terrible deed. Although I did notice a couple would start to chub up while a few others would reach back and touch their butts just to make certain it was still there.

I wasn't certain how much was exaggeration and how much was true (later learning of the real and unimaginable atrocities committed, causing me great distress and anger), but I refrained from commenting at the time. Why the hell should I say anything about troops having sex with boys, I figured by then I'd let a quarter of the soldiers stationed at the Badger Ordinance Works fuck me (for money of course). Okay, that's a bit of an exaggeration in itself, but who's keeping track? Yet, all of the talk, the news reports caused me great distress, trying to imagine why anyone would brutalize another human being, torturing them, raping them with abandon and then take great pleasure or glee from their conquest, their denigrations of other humans. I tottered over to Dr. Arnold's one evening, for a bit of comfort and knowledge and asked him.

He thought a moment and, forming is words with care while holding me, "Julian, the human animal can be a terrible, vicious, mean, mother-fucker, wreaking havoc on cities, nations, and brutalizing the population to a point of annihilation. Why, I don't really know. I often believe they treat their pet cats and dogs better than each other. That's why," he murmured into my ear, "we must do something good to offset the bad; no matter how small an act of goodness we do, it still rewards someone else and us and the world will be a better place."

Geoffrey's letters continued periodically and sporadically. He couldn't tell me much, but what he didn't say spoke volumes. Some sorts of preparations were being made in England and I imagined it was for something big. He once mentioned bombing runs had increased over Germany, especially the lines in France and he was busy as ever, not only defending the Home Front, but providing escort to bombers. In one of the Saturday discussion groups with the gathering of minds from the university, sipping brandy, and posing questions to me, the general consensus was that the Allies were preparing for some sort of invasion of Germany, possibly through France.

In April, Darnell's mother, Doris, decided to marry her farmer friend and move out of Miss Harrison's house to live on the farm he owned. Darnell moved also; fortunately for him, his mother's new husbands large farm was just across the road from the one Darnell worked at (and where his girlfriend lived by the way) so it wasn't far to walk to work or fuck, for that matter. That left Momma and me alone in the house with Miss Harrison. I was lonesome for Darnell at first, although he rarely was home on weekends anyway, and Miss Harrison was concerned his grades would begin slipping without her tutoring. She didn't need to; Darnell's girlfriend was sharp and helped him, along with the baseball coach who was going to make damned certain his star pitcher stayed eligible.

Momma continued her forays into the community of men, engaging her expertise in those areas she felt most comfortable – usually on her back, so I didn't see much of her either. I was spending more time with Dr. Arnold and Miss Harrison, listening to the radio, reading, planning our garden in the upcoming summer, and laughing about how people were concerned with the "additional sunlight hurting the rhubarb." This was a standard joke in our house ever since President Roosevelt declared the United States would go on "War Time" or daylight savings time to save on electricity and energy. I used to chuckle every time I heard someone comment how the extra hour of daylight would ruin the crops, make the cows dry, or chickens fail to lay eggs. What nonsense, but good for a laugh!

When the weather was nasty and we couldn't work outside, Dr. Arnold would come over and Miss Harrison would pop a big bowl of popcorn, turn on the radio, and we'd enjoy the evening together. They were as close to a real family I ever had. About twice a week, I'd spend the night with Dr. Arnold, just to keep him healthy, he used to say. I don't know about healthy, but he still kept erect!

In June, after school was out for the summer, the newspapers and radio suddenly filled with news of an Allied invasion of the European Continent at some place called "Normandy" (another pin in my map). The discussion group wasn't wrong when they reached the conclusion that something was going to happen. Dr. Arnold, hearing the news, said simply, "The British Lion roared and Uncle Sam opened the cage for it."

The British, the Canadians, and the Americans landings at places with names like "Omaha," "Gold," "Juno," and "Sword" beaches became part of my lexicon as the troops rushed ashore, suffering terrible losses as they tried to establish their positions. Under the joint command of General Eisenhower, the landing was successful and slowly the troops pushed inland.

On the British home front, the Germans launched thousands of "flying bombs" or big, heavy, earth-shattering destructive rockets toward England, indiscriminately destroying homes, lives, and just plain country-side, but the RAF shot down a number of them before they hit, according to a short note from Geoffrey. Just the month before, in May, the British pushed the Japanese out of India, "the Jewel in the British Crown," to Burma.

Germany was being pounded by RAF and American bombers. Fighter escorts based in England flew with them, keeping the diminishing number of enemy fighters at bay as best they could.

To be continued:

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Thank you for reading Julian Corsair– Chapter Fourteen –"Did you think the lion was sleeping because he didn't roar?" – (Johann Friedrich von Schiller)

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