The Journal of Julian Corsair,

An Uncommonly Good Man


Copyright© 2014 – Nicholas Hall



Julian Corsair – Chapter Nine – "Give me a young man in whom there is something of the old, and an old man with something of the young: guided so, a man may grow old in body, but never in mind." – (Marcus Tullius Cicero)


The sound of a vehicle traveling down the lane toward the house interrupted my reading. A quick glance at my watch indicated it was now two o'clock in the afternoon. Time escaped me, I fear, as I read the journal. Reluctantly, I set it aside, wondering what was going to happen next to Julian, experiencing such a delicate fellatio by Dr. Arnold, but I would have to postpone further reading. Adjusting myself, since reading the journal tended to stiffen me a bit (not my back or joints, but – well, my maleness), I rose from the chair and ventured toward the porch.

Curious as to who would be arriving for a visit, since I knew hardly anyone in the area, I walked out on the porch, and greeting me, coming up the steps, was Paul La Mont. His ever present smile and effervescence a beacon lighting the path before him, shining on me in such a manner I could do little but return the gesture, shyly I fear, but genuinely pleased to see him.

"Come on in, Pauley; and take a load off!"

My invitation to him was warm and sincere, but I immediately cringed, somewhat, considering my sexual preference; I didn't mean for him to really "get his load off" but probably wouldn't have objected or hesitated if he needed any assistance. I hoped he didn't perceive any innuendo in what I said. .

Pauley sauntered casually up the steps onto the porch and, to my offering a cold beer and a place to sit and enjoy it, accepted and sat in one of the chairs at the small table overlooking the lake. Still curious as to what occasioned his visit, I none-the-less retrieved two icy, cold bottles of beer from the refrigerator, brought them out, sat down, and handed him one. I opened mine, raised it in salute saying "prost," and tapped his bottle as he offered it in return.

"What brings you out to the `Rabbit Patch' on a Saturday afternoon and where's your sidekick, Danny?"

"Danny," he offered, "is home with the rest of his brothers and sister. I had some time, so I thought I'd drive out and have a chat."

I was most pleased he did. Watching him as he talked, dressed in a t-shirt, board shorts, and tennis shoes, I noted he looked almost like a freshman in college, although I was certain he was older than that, if his demeanor meant anything. In fact, now that I cogitate on it longer, I vaguely remember him years ago one of the first times I came up to the "Rabbit Patch" with Dr. J., Pauley was helping an older brother with the mowing and trimming. He was a quiet, thin, and very cute little shit with the same winning, magnetic smile he has now.

"How many brothers or sisters do you have?" I inquired.

"I'm the youngest of seven; an older sister and her husband live over in the Lake View, the county seat; a brother and his family in Madison; another brother in Green Bay; a brother and his family in Copper Harbor, a brother and his family here in Fox Creek and finally, another brother and family in St. Ignace."

According to Pauley, all of his brothers and sister were college educated and either professional people or small business owners. His parents were out of town and had driven to Copper Harbor to help his brother gear up his motel and restaurant for the tourist season. Although both were open during the off season as well, business was quite slow then, so only part of the motel was open and the restaurant had limited hours and menus, along with smaller a staff. His parents did more baby-sitting and telephone answering than actual physical work, but their help was greatly appreciated.

Draining my beer and noticing his was empty as well, I picked up his bottle, went to the kitchen and brought back two more. I was finding his company quite enjoyable and wished to prolong it. Settling back in my chair, crooking an eyebrow at him, I raised the first of the two paramount questions niggling in the back of my mind. Dr. Corsair once said I was so curious about everything, he and the rest of the professors couldn't teach me enough.

"Okay, Pauley; perhaps it's none of my business, but how did you end up here and not moved away like most of your siblings?"

I was fearful he'd reply in a negative manner, telling me it was indeed none of my business, but he merely shook his head in contemplation and smiled. "You already know I took over Dad's business, but you don't know I graduated from the University of Wisconsin at Superior a year ago with a Bachelor's Degree in Elementary Education. I was hoping for a position in an elementary school, but, unfortunately "Act 10" shot that all to shit! The drastic cuts in educational funding, the stripping of collective bargaining rights for public employees, and the elimination of seniority rules in contracts moved school districts to reduce expenditures, cut staff and programs, and not replace retiring teachers. There was a dearth of elementary teacher at that time and I just couldn't get a job."

"Yeah," I commented, "it's not who you know, but who you blow!"

Pauley looked at me, face somewhat askance, but made no comment on my remark, other than to continue; "Dad made me an offer and I took him up on it. This is my second summer at the job. Before you ask, yes, there is enough cash flow for me to live on. I have a number of contracts such as yours."

His contracts included several rural cemeteries, three resorts, and a large number of cottages or homes where he provided his lawn services. Home owners, either seasonal or year-around, and weekenders' cottages had their lawns mowed and trimmed prior to their arrival and periodically so they could enjoy the lake or woods. During spring he opened the cottages for weekenders and seasonal residents so everything would be ready for them when they arrived; such he'd done for me. In the fall, just the reverse was true; he closed them up for the winter including draining pipes or whatever else was needed. He was occupied in the winter with plowing snow from drives or, when the opportunity arose, substitute teaching at the some of the small school districts within relatively easy driving distance. All in all, he was quite busy and very pleased with the economics of the situation.

Pauley's father, Tom, started the business a number of years before as a means of giving his children, as they grew, a means of employment in an otherwise scarce job market and keeping them out of trouble. He worked for the county and when he reached early retirement age, took it and, according to Pauley, worked the home business as a supplement to his retirement income. Pauley was still in high school then, so he naturally worked with his Dad when not in school.

"The lawn care service paid most of my way through college; along with the scholarship money and grants Dr. Corsair helped me get. Without them, I could never have attended college. The rest of my brothers and my sister all qualified for government loans and received scholarships, but with just me left at home, we didn't really qualify for any."

Pauley took a deep breath, looked at his beer bottle, contemplating either his next remark or the contents of the bottle, I'm not certain. Reaching some conclusion in his mind, Pauley looked at me, saying, "You know, Matt, if it hadn't been for the Corsair Family Scholarship paying my room and board the last two years of school, I wouldn't have made it!"

Odd, I couldn't remember any `Corsair Family Scholarship' as part of the financial data and information I'd reviewed after Dr. J.'s death. Either I missed it, or it was another one of his methods of helping someone else. I suspect it was the latter, but I made a mental note to check on it. In any case, nothing would be said to Pauley or anyone else who benefited from Julian's generosity.

"I owe Dr. Corsair so much; he was always ready with encouraging words whenever I would get down and really kept my spirits up. I knew I could call him during the winter or stop by during the summer for a chat. I'm really going to miss him!"

I felt a tightness in my chest and my eyes began to moisten, knowing how he felt, only a thousand times more. Pauley quickly observed my sadness and changed the subject.

"How about you, Matt; here for the summer and return to work somewhere?"

"Here for the summer," I responded, "but returning to work is quite doubtful; `Act 10' did a number on me as well."

I unloaded on him my disappointment concerning my layoff, related my educational background (to which he responded "God, a PhD", as if it was a royal crown or something), my sorrow and grief over the loss of Dr. J. and how I came to own the "Rabbit Patch". During our ensuing discussion, we both agreed the political power structure in the state was raping higher education and held those with higher education degrees in little regard; and we both agreed it was a sad future if there weren't some changes made. By the time we finished, it was half-past four in the afternoon.

"You hungry?" I asked. "I have a couple of steaks we can put on the grill and I really enjoy your company, so please don't refuse!"

He smiled; "I'll not refuse, but I do need to freshen up a bit. Mind if I take a dip in the lake?" Before I could answer, he quickly changed his mind. "I don't have a swim suit with me so I better take a rain check."

Before you could say "Bob's your uncle and Fanny's your aunt" or "I'll show you mine if you show me yours," I quipped, "No problem; I'll join you if you don't mind swimming naked with another man."

Pauley stood, stripped off his clothes and started running toward the beach, his olive ass-cheeks flexing with each stride. I wasn't far behind him (not quite as firm and fit as he) and followed him into the water as he jumped off of the end of the dock. We swam, splashed, and frolicked in the water for about twenty minutes, when amidst laughter and light conversation we decided to call it quits. Leaving the water, I glanced at his equipment as it dangled in front of him, noticing his uncut cock, slightly darker color than the rest of his body, longer than mine and thicker, over snugged up nicely sized balls. A black forest of silky pubic hairs adorned the root and a small treasure trail led from his naval to his manly parts. The rest of his body was relatively void of hair.

Laughing, we reached the porch and I bade him wait while I secured a couple of older beach towels for us to dry with. While drying ourselves I thought, but I couldn't really be certain, he allowed his gaze to rest on my nakedness and zero in on my crotch. I quickly dressed before I threw a bone and embarrassed both of us.

After fixing a Brandy Old-fashioned Sweet for each of us, we set about preparing our dinner. The steaks were lightly salted, peppered, and a little garlic powder dusted on them before placing them on the grill. While they grilled, I tossed a lettuce salad, and Pauley complimented the meal with a plate of asparagus spears sautéed in olive oil, a small can of drained whole kernel corn, and diced portabella mushrooms and diced tomato added at the last so they didn't become overcooked. He seasoned this with just a touch of salt and Italian seasoning. Absolutely delicious! A bottle of domestic red wine and warm Italian bread dipped in olive oil to taste, completed our meal.

Relaxing, around the table on the porch, after finishing our meal, I asked the other nagging question I had. "Pauley, married, divorced, or what? Again, it's none of my business, but I'm just curious."

"I was never married," he replied. "although I came damn close to being trapped into one." Pauley shook his head sadly; "I was trying to prove to myself I wasn't what I knew, in my heart, I was, but lived a lie until I came to grips with it."

He let the subject drop there, looked at his watch, announcing, "It's almost eight o'clock and I should be on my way."

"Don't rush off," I insisted. I really didn't want him to leave. "At least help me with the clean-up and stay for an after dinner drink."

After we were done, I excused myself to take a leak. The beer, Old-fashioned, and the wine were beginning to flush my pipes and I needed to relive the pressure. When I returned, Pauley was standing in the living room with Dr. J.'s journal in his hand reading it very carefully and, if the tent in the front of his board shorts was any indication, really, really enjoying it! He was oblivious to my presence until I softly coughed, alerting him.

He looked up quickly, alarmed and embarrassed at being caught with the book, and hastily set it down.

Red-faced, ashamed at what he'd done, he began apologizing.

"God, I'm sorry, Matt. I had no right to pick up the book and read it. That was so rude of me. Please forgive me and accept my apology!"

Pauley was clearly distressed and dismayed looking up discovering me, standing quietly, observing his intrusion into what was not his and at the obvious long, stiff, cock sticking up in his shorts. A look of forlorn hope, not unlike those who felt abandoned, bereft of a future, disconsolate of any recompense in life, crossed his face, fully expecting a future or outcome or undertaking would be disastrous. My heart melted and my countenance softened, giving him a hint of my feelings, since it'd be the farthest from my desire to injure this seemingly innocent, beautiful man who'd stepped so daintily, yet willingly, into my life.

"Not to worry, Pauley," I remarked softly, hoping to assert my warm feelings for him without damaging a future relationship, "I really have nothing to hide from you and by the looks of you, you have very little to hide from me. In fact, I'm willing to share that journal with you so you may better understand me and my deep affection for Dr. Corsair. His journal has been so enlightening to me; assisting me in an understanding of what made the man who was not my father, become like a father to me; a light shining in the wilderness of life opening my heart, my mind, and securing my future. You already know I'm gay and make no bones about it. I think you're cut from the same cloth, but I need to hear it from you."

Pauley assessed me carefully with his eyes and his mind, hesitated a moment and stepped forward into my open arms. Laying his head on my shoulder, speaking softly, yet firmly, "Yes, I'm gay and proud of it and all because of Dr. Corsair."

Pulling him even closer, feeling his manhood begin to stiffen again as his crotch encountered mine, I thrust forward a couple of time with my own cloth-covered buckram, and asked, "Ready for another Brandy?"

He nodded gently against my shoulder, so I led him to the couch, seated him, and ventured to the kitchen to fix our drinks. Returning, I found him sitting on the couch, a warming, welcoming smile on his face as he accepted the brew from me and, when I sat down, scooted close to me so our legs and shoulders encountered each other and remained in place.

"Matt, as I've admitted to you, I am gay and have been since I can remember, although I refused to admit it to myself, doing everything possible to convince myself I wasn't, burying myself very deeply in a closet of my own construction. I didn't want to be gay so I denied it!

Pauley did all of those things he thought straight boys should do, including playing at sports (not very enthusiastically, he added), avoid lingering gazes either in the showers, locker rooms, or taking a piss, tolerated homophobic remarks, and dated girls; although never sticking with one for long or taking the ultimate step of sexual intercourse – until his senior year.

He was a good looking young man, in the height of sexual development, and drew high school girls like flies to an open buttermilk jug. The summer before his senior year, a family rented a seasonal cottage on one of the lakes in the area. Their oldest daughter and he met up while he and a group of guys were farting around at the local café. She latched on to him and at the heckling and teasing of the others, asked her out on a date.

According to Pauley, she just couldn't keep her hands off of him on their date, much to his distress. After the first date, avoiding her was a problem, although he did so on many occasions. The risk of exposing his sexual preferences to his buddies was too great, so he did succumb several times to taking her out. On the last weekend the girl and her family were going to be in the cottage before heading south some six hundred miles to their home, she finally took the last step when Pauley came to the cottage to take her for a coke. On the way to town, she bade him to pull off the road and begged him to fuck her!

Before he could say "no," she reached over, unzipped his pants and extracted his flaccid cock. Nuzzling her head quickly in his lap, she wolfed his dick into her mouth and with a tongue much more experienced than would speak an ordinary high school lass, quickly brought him to a full-blown, pre-cum leaking, erection. Seat belt unbuckled, a pull to the passenger side of the car, the passenger door open, she straddled his crotch, wiggled and jiggled his tool up and down and across her cleft in anticipation of a royal fucking, and before you could say "does a bear shit in the woods," Pauley dumped his massive load on the car seat, much to her disappointment since she never even came. Disgusted, she ordered him to take her home.

Five months later, his folks received a call from her Dad claiming she was pregnant, the results of Pauley's little shot in the dark, according to her, would be produced in another four months.

"If she was able to pull this lie off, I thought my college future was shot in the ass. Merry happy fucking graduation day to you, too; nineteen years old, a high school graduate, and accused of being father to boot! For some reason, fate I think, Dr. Corsair arrived at the `Rabbit Patch' earlier than usual that year. When he called to have the lawn done, I raced over- I needed to talk to him. I poured my guts out to him, admitting my mistakes in life and being gay. I remember so well when he smiled at me and said, `Welcome to the club, Pauley. I wondered how long it'd take for you to come to grips with it. Suddenly, I knew I wasn't alone and there was nothing to be ashamed of. The shame was trying to be someone I wasn't and deceiving others I loved. He changed all of that for me."

Dr. J. accompanied Pauley back to the La Mont residence and spent the rest of the day and evening chatting with Tom, Rosa (Pauley's mom), and Pauley. During the discussion, Pauley learned he was the only one in the family who didn't know he was gay. His parents realized, after much crying and hugging, why he did what he did, but that didn't solve the problem of the debt he incurred and his future plans. It was Dr. J.'s opinion the young lady in question probably had multiple partners that year, was angry because Pauley was unable to consummate the act, and wanted child support

Dr. J. offered a solution to all of the problems, if Pauley agreed to the terms. He'd hire an attorney to investigate the situation and bring resolution to it. The funds expended would be repaid by Pauley if Pauley would, one – attend college and two – perform lawn care services and other odd jobs around at the "Rabbit Patch" for five years to pay off the debt. As it turned out, the young lady did have a whole consort of willing, young attendees, and one had indeed left a bun in the oven; however, it was a "Danish" and that particular exchange student had returned to his native land, so she was seeking a chump. Wrong person to choose, Dr. J. acknowledged to the La Pont's and quickly brought resolution to the whole issue, without Pauley being subjected to supporting a child that wasn't his.

Pauley finished, took a deep breath, and with some trepidation, picked up the journal and said to me, "This may sound kinky, but can we sit on the floor and I'll read it to you?"

Didn't sound like such a bad idea to me, so I agreed and sat down with my legs spread apart, inviting him to sit between them. Pauley leaned back, his head resting on my chest, his back resting on my crotch, and began to read.


Dr. Arnold's tongue swiped around my piss slit and glans; his mouth pumped me about a dozen times, my balls tightened up, and I treated him with my best delicacy, spritzing his tonsils with three or four quick, somewhat watery spurts of young boy cum. God, it was great! I know then I had a penchant for older men in my life!

He stood quickly and was about to apologize for the liberties he'd taken with me, but I forestalled any comments from him by unzipping his fly, unbuckling his pants, and sliding them, along with his boxers to the floor. Leaning forward, I licked the head of his turgid, uncut five or six inch penis (I never measured it in all the years I knew him). I slowly vacuumed his most precious member, while jacking it with one hand and feeling his very low hanging egg-sized balls with the other. For some reason, it's been my impression, up to this point in my life, all older men's balls hang much lower and swing freer than a young man's – at least the ones I've had experience with. Whether they lost a certain tautness in their skin and hence the sagging or just the ones I sucked or fucked before were that way. At any rate, Dr. Arnold was no exception.

I felt his hips began to move as he slowly, carefully, and gently began to fuck my mouth. Before long, he grunted and shot two very thick, wads onto my tongue. Not a lot, mind you, but enough to know, even crowding seventy, he could produce. The taste was nice, somewhat sweet, and slipped down my throat quite easily.

He sagged forward, gripping my shoulders, and exclaimed, "My God, Julian, I have to sit down!"

I helped him pull his pants up and assisted him in walking to a kitchen chair so he could rest and catch his breath. Sitting on the floor in front of him, laying my head on his thigh, I reached over and began fondling his now very limp and spent man-piece.

"Julian," he cautioned, "it'll be awhile before that old cannon fires again."

Well, I could wait!

To be continued:


Thank you for reading Julian Corsair- Chapter - Nine – "Give me a young man in whom there is something of the old, and an old man with something of the young: guided so, a man may grow old in body, but never in mind." – (Marcus Tullius Cicero)

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Nick Hall


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