The Journal of Julian Corsair,
An Uncommonly Good Man
Copyright© 2014 – Nicholas Hall
Julian Corsair – Chapter Eight – "Its `most enough to make a deacon swear." – (James Russell Lowell)
The next several days, after Pauley and Danny visited the "Rabbit Patch" to mow the lawns, were quite busy for me. I needed to go the local post office in the small rural community of Fox Creek, nearby, so I could change the address from Dr. J.'s name to mine, again having to prove I now owned the property. Since I was going to be here for a while, I needed the mail delivered. I also needed to fill out appropriate papers to have my mail forwarded from La Crosse to here. Although the town wasn't very big, with what little I knew of it, it sported a grocery store, bank, a couple of taverns, gas and service station, a sports shop where bait, tackle, and other items were sold, a boat and recreational vehicle service, a building used as a community center, and a few other small shops. The small, rural, woodsy community could provide the basics, but for anything else, one had to travel to the county seat.
The county seat, Lake View, some thirty or so miles from the "Patch," not only held the seat of government offices, but was a relatively large (for the area, understand) area retail shopping center with a couple of big box stores, and a myriad of other businesses and grocery super markets. Almost any business I needed to conduct was there.
The court house was my first destination; there I had title transfers to verify so I was confident the property was actually in my name and the taxes would be charged and sent appropriately. The last thing I wanted to do was lose the "Rabbit Patch"" for failure to pay back taxes. I found it wasn't as simple as just walking in the front door of the "Patch" and taking over. There were many papers to sign and, of course, I had to submit proof of ownership, including the Julian's death certificate and verify my identification, along with the certified letter my attorney had submitted to the county legitimizing my claim and ownership pursuant to the conditions of the will.
I left there for a branch bank of the one I banked with in La Crosse. I hadn't been happy with it while living in La Crosse and contemplated a change. Once arriving at the branch in Lake View, I was convinced I wanted a change in banks. Although it was a relatively large regional bank, with several branches scattered about the state, it just didn't have the warmth or familiarity I wished in a bank. It just lacked the personal comfort I wanted. In fact, the staff was rather cold and standoffish. However, I established my current residency with them and was told there was no need to; I could access my accounts just as easily here as at home. This, I knew already; no "glad to have you here;" "we're sorry to hear of your loss;" or "kiss my ass" even. I needed to shop for a more customer friendly bank, and soon!
The electric power company visit transferred the service to my name, the telephone company hesitated not one moment to do the same, and the satellite provider spent some time with me explaining how I could upgrade to a faster internet connection (it came via satellite), expand the "package" to receive more programming, and how a "wi fi" router would work up here and the various strengths of the signal broadcast, if I chose to purchase one. I did, all of the above, in fact. My lap top would suffice for anything I wanted to do for now, but there was an electronics store in the Mall if I wished to purchase a computer for the desk at the "Patch". I probably would, but not this day.
After lunch, I decided I needed to do some grocery shopping. The pantry needed stocking with the essentials, including flour, pancake mix, sugar, and various seasonings and spices, and I did need a variety of canned vegetables and fresh, along with cream, milk, eggs, bread, and fresh meat and poultry. A full grocery cart and some one hundred and fifty dollars later, once loaded in my truck, I headed back to the "Patch", relieved of some mental burdens and cash as well. I was thankful I was having my unemployment check electronically deposited. Instructions to my attorney and fiduciary to have life insurance death payments and all other revenues deposited in the same manner meant I didn't have to deal with the bank on a regular basis.
By Friday evening, I was absolutely worn out; not only physically, but emotionally! I would suppose a good part of it was finally coming to terms with the loss of my mentor and father-figure, Dr. J. All of those years I relied on him to take care of all of the everyday chores and arrangements, such as those I'd been doing all week, now rested on my shoulders. His journal lay unopened on the lamp table alongside the chair in the living room, patiently awaiting my return and continued exploration.
I showered before bed, working away the day's dirt and grime and people smell. It may seem strange to some people, but if you've ever confronted a classroom full of college freshmen students day after day, you know how much they can be a bit "ripe," if you know what I mean. The room generally exudes those very identifiable odors of unwashed pits and crotches, cologne, hairspray, clotted blood from those young ladies experiences their menses, dried and fresh cum in "twink" and" tween" pants, and once in a while, especially on a Monday, the smell of sex! Therefore, once I began teaching, I showered at the end of the day.
Saturday morning I was quite rested and ready to tackle the day- in a most relaxed fashion; I'd busted my nuts off in the previous few days and I wanted to relax and enjoy the "Rabbit Patch." I brewed a pot of coffee and when it finished its "gurgle, gurgle, drip, drip" into the carafe, poured myself a big mug full, topping it off with a healthy dose of half and half. Slipping on a pair of tennis shoes and board shorts, I wandered down to the lake and dock to sit, enjoy the morning sunrise greeting the day. The lake was calm, the sunrise spectacular, and I immersed myself in the beauty of it all!
I noticed, as I sat on the end of the dock, my feet and lower legs dangling from the edge, the clarity of the lake water, the fish swimming around in the shallows and around the dock, and the recently cleaned and raked beach. Beach? Now when did that happen? The only explanation would be when I was flitting in and out this past week doing my errands, Pauley must've been here and did that. It certainly looked nice and inviting. In fact, it looked so inviting and the absence of any other people who might observe me, I slipped off my shorts and slid into the water, au natural, and had a morning swim.
If you've only used a municipal swimming pool or private one at home and never had the opportunity to enjoy a dunk in a lake naked, you miss how the lake water envelopes you like a natural, non-chlorinated blanket of deliciousness; how your balls and cock float, almost weightless and seemingly detached from, but still really attached to, your pubic region until you reach down and give them a hoist or two just to check; or the tingling, surging, action of the water giving you an erotic, fluid massage bringing you to a full-blown erection. Ah yes, such an enjoyable experience, but having no place to stick the stiff stick or someone to pump the pony for me, I sighed a bit in frustration, but pleasure.
Wallowing back to the dock, I stood, my elbows resting on the structure, in waist deep water, reached over for my coffee cup, and stood quietly, allowing my tumescence to wither and the warming sun with its magic rays dry the droplets of water from my back and shoulders. Standing quietly, I felt a light "peck, peck" on the hairs of my legs. I remembered, if one stood quietly in a lake full of fish (especially pan fish such as sunfish) the little devils will attack the hairs on your body, evidently viewing the wavy objects as prey or worms. Suddenly one started rooting around in my pubic bush and another began nibbling on my foreskin, either thinking that particular hooded covering over my male protuberance was a large worm or trying to peck loose some sort of treat hidden inside. Either way, I wiggled quickly, frightening and sending the piscatorial predator scooting, and lifted my body from the lake onto the dock
Stretching out, I allowed the increasing strength of the sun to finish drying my body while I finished my coffee. Once done, slipping on my shoes, I strolled, empty cup in one hand and my board shorts in the other, back to the house, my pieces parts dangling, wobbling, and jouncing with each step. Quite nice, thank you very much!
After breakfast, I stripped the bed, gathered and sorted out my laundry, and began the wash. While the washing machine was chugging away, I ran the vacuum cleaner and cleaned house. Settling in my chair, once the housework was done and the last load of clothes was in the dryer, I picked up the journal to renew my reading. Although it was close to noon, I elected to skip lunch in favor of an earlier (perhaps four or four-thirty) dinner. A nice package of rib eye steaks resting in the refrigerated case at the market the day before, begged to be taken home, so I intended on grilling one for my dinner and freeze the rest.
Once we settled into the routine of a new school, it was a great year for Darnell and me. Granted, there were only a couple of months left, but what "the hey"! Darnell's grades were much better than when we lived in Milwaukee. Miss Harrison claimed it was a change in the "cultural environment." I think it was the fact he discovered baseball, that all American sport, or should I say, baseball discovered him. Darnell was making new friends and slowly losing some of, but not all, of his shyness. One day, during physical education class, while playing a softball game, Darnell caught a fly ball behind second base and without hesitation, fired that sucker toward home plate. If the pitcher wouldn't have ducked, he would've been beaned and dropped colder than witches' tit in Alaska. The catcher, quick on the trigger, caught the ball and tagged another kid trying to steal home. The catcher rubbed his hands and shouted, "Jeez, Darnell, did you have to throw it so hard?"
The physical education teacher was also the head baseball coach and took Darnell aside and asked him if he knew how to pitch. Well, I hope to kiss a duck's ass and blow feathers from my eye teeth; you damn betcha' Darnell could pitch! I once saw him grab a chunk of concrete from the street and bat a squirrel down from a telephone wire running overhead. The squirrel was knocked senseless. Darnell felt bad about it, but before we could help the poor creature, an alley cat pounced on it and dragged it off.
"Fuckin' cat!" Darnell shouted after it. Didn't bother the errant cat one fucking bit, I noticed.
Anyway, the coach invited Darnell to the ball diamond after school to throw a few pitches. Be damned if Darnell didn't make the team! He loved it, but it also meant keeping up his grades in order to be eligible to play. I think that may've been the "cultural environment" Miss Harrison referred to. Or, it could be the cute little gal in his History class that batted her eyes at him. Yep; Darnell discovered girls. He decided they were just as much fun, or more so, than boys and was completely, totally, besotted with her. Well, it disappointed me somewhat because I lost my partner in the street trade, but the trade wasn't all that great in Prairie du Sac right now.
Baseball and a girlfriend didn't stop Darnell and me from sleeping together or giving each other a good fuck- at first! Darnell knew just how to insert himself, thrust with just the right speed, wiggle his nice long cock around until he really started to rub my love button, until, as he clenched his ass cheeks together and his balls snugged up tight to his crotch, with a series of convulsive shudders, he'd empty his load deep in my guts as I shot several wads out on the sheet or into my hand. If I didn't get a load off, he'd swing me around and with a very talented tongue working over my glans and in my piss slit, would work me like a professional flute player in a symphonic orchestra, blowing just the right notes, in the right sequences, bringing an eruption from my dick in pleasant, surging song.
As time moved on and Darnell found someplace else to stuff himself on a regular basis, our trysts became less frequent. Any satisfaction I'd have would be by thumping up and down on my love stick with my hand or in the street trade. There were plenty of workers in Prairie du Sac at the Ammo Plant making powder or "nitrate" as some referred to it, or those in the construction crews building the plant, so you'd think there'd be plenty of traffic wanting a nice, warm boy to fuck or suck. The problem was, most of the workers in the plant were women and that gave the construction boys plenty of opportunity to fire their rockets for nothing. No sense buying a cow when milk's so cheap! As I looked over that construction crew, there were some that looked pretty tough and I was working alone, so I tended to avoid them. I suppose I could've scouted about for some of the high school boys or local men, but Prairie du Sac was a small town and people tend to talk and not forget. I certainly didn't want to shit where I ate, that's for certain.
The military, however, was a different story; those lads weren't local, but were from all over the United States. Standing on the corner downtown on a warm Saturday evening, it soon became apparent there were those among them who much preferred to suck, fuck, be sucked or fucked by someone of their own gender. There were even those who really, really preferred pre-teen or teen boys. Military pay wasn't all that high so the lads couldn't afford much for their recreation. Well, welcome aboard boys, I had just what they wanted - on all counts! I was soon adding cash to my stash.
Miss Harrison contacted one of the local farmers and had the large garden out back plowed and disked, ready for planting. Darnell and I, along with Miss Harrison and Mr. Arnold, planted the garden and tended it. I really enjoyed working in it, especially if Mr. Arnold helped me, which he often did. While toiling together, I learned he'd never married, was a retired professor from the University of Wisconsin-Madison, had a PhD in Economics and Finance, and returned to his small home in Prairie du Sac after his retirement (previously used only on weekends) to live. The small home was the original family home where he and his three brothers were raised. When his parents were both gone, he bought out the property from his brothers. Mr. Arnold and I struck up quite a friendship, but he still made no moves on me, as much as I wanted him to.
A couple of times per week we'd walk down to Lake Wisconsin on the Wisconsin River to go fishing. We caught a variety of fish including some walleye, catfish, bullheads, crappie, sunfish, and carp.
"Most people throw the carp back," Mr. Arnold explained as I pondered one of the large fish flopping around on the bank, " not realizing or caring, if properly smoked or pickled, they are really quite tasty and, in today's world of rationed foods, a nice non-rationed source of protein."
So we kept the carp also, smoked them in the small backyard smoker Mr. Arnold had, pickled some and stored in jars in the fruit cellar, and snacked on the results of our efforts under one of the apple trees in the yard.
As summer evolved, there were more soldiers on the street and business picked up, for me that is. Working alone had its hazards, but most of my action was on a Saturday night. One warm Saturday night, I hooked up with a young soldier and he had the bucks for a fuck. We ducked into a back alley; I dropped my pants, and bent over, giving him access to his prize. I quickly swiped my hole with some Vaseline to ease his entry and felt the head of his prod nudge my hole and start opening me up- and open me up he did! Never had I been opened that wide or deep by anyone previously with a dick as big as his. I hurt like a "sum-a-bitch" but gritted my teeth and stifled any cries of pain. He wasn't a bit gently and rough-fucked me until I was really sore. When he came, I felt him spray four or five large, thick, and sustained jets of man-juice into my bowels. Pulling out, it felt like his helmet pulled my asshole out with his fat prick.
I pulled up my pants, he tucked his "anaconda" back into his pants, he left one way and I left for home in the other direction. The next morning, still sore, I walked gingerly out to the garden to check it out. Mr. Arnold, sitting under the apple tree, drinking his morning "joe" walked over to join me. We stood quietly, saying nothing, until he looked at me and asked, "I noticed you're walking with a limp – have a bad night with someone?
I nodded, without thinking, answering his question, suddenly realizing and disgusted with myself for acknowledging what I did sometimes at night. Shit, I was worried he'd think less of me and was terribly embarrassed. On a second thought, he already knew or he wouldn't have asked the question he did.
"Want me to look at it, Julian?" he asked in a caring voice.
I nodded again, he put his arm around me, and we walked over to his house and into his kitchen.
"Drop your shorts, Julian, while I get some ointment from the medicine cabinet."
I did as he instructed and when he returned he noticed I was free-balling it and just laughed, "Saves on laundry, doesn't it?"
Before I could respond, he instructed me to bend over and spread my butt cheeks so he could take a look. His hands gently caressed each smooth mound, his fingers then slipped up and down the crevice, gently touching my pucker, before traveling down between my thighs and cupping my young, but maturing balls. I heard the ointment jar lid unscrew and soon felt a finger coated with a glob of the slippery stuff spreading it around my sore pucker. He massaged it in and then, getting another heavier dollop on his finger, inserted it to the third knuckle up my love chute and massaged my insides, twitching my special spot with every pass. The finger then began moving in and out and in and out, but stopped just before I shot my load.
Mr. Arnold withdrew the finger, turned me around so my now very turgid, dripping cock was level with his face and after wiping his finger on a towel, reached up a and ran his hand across my lower abdomen, through my sparse boy-cock-hairs, around my backsides, and under my balls, commenting, "Beautiful, just beautiful- you're such a lovely boy, Julian; just as beautiful as I knew you would be."
To be continued:
Thank you for reading Julian Corsair- Chapter Eight - "Its `most enough to make a deacon swear." – (James Russell Lowell)
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