The Incredible Journey of Thomas Johnson

 

Copyright© 2017 – Nicholas Hall

 

Chapter Seven

“Among the calamities of war may be justly numbered by the

Diminutions of the love of truth, by the falsehoods which interest dictates,

And credulity encourages.”

(Samuel Johnson)

 

The Ruse Begins

 

We said little else on the ride back to the house.  I knew exactly how Jefferson felt; I’d not taken a cock that size in a long time and my own pucker strings were stretched as well!  I couldn’t say I was dissatisfied however, and by the manner Jefferson was humming a little ditty, I don’t think he was either. We both realized it was pure, plain lust; we needed to “spill our seed” as they would say in these times, and we did, with little commitment on either side, except to know we’d do it again and again and again, as we needed!

I wondered if Jubal, his brother, had the same proclivities or was it just curiosity when he made a precursory examination of my penis?  Apparently, Jefferson paid no mind that I was cut or he was so intent on ringing my bell with his clapper, he failed to notice the condition and structural development of my mallet!

Benjamin, Henri, and Antoine were home from school when we arrived, just exiting the barn when we rode up.  Once they found out where we’d been, they were clearly disappointed at not accompanying us.  I gathered they felt they should’ve been the one showing me Rock Creek and where they found me, but when Jefferson apologized and gave each lad a big hug and a nuzzle on the neck, they quickly forgave him. Of course, all three had to grab me and hug me as well!  Jefferson was their favorite, but the way they were clinging to me, I was fast becoming so. This was fine with me, but I hoped it didn’t offend Jefferson.  After my afternoon with him and the good hard fucking we both had, I was more than curious what was tucked away in those three little boy trousers, wanting to become as acquainted with those same tools as I thought he already was!

I ate supper with the family that evening.  I was interested in noting, although he apparently slept in his own house, all Mr. Chapman’s meals were prepared in the Doucet home.  The little boys, Benjamin, Henri, and Antoine while sleeping at Chapman’s, had most of their activities centered around Madame Doucet and the Doucet home.  Madame and Hannibal Doucet certainly treated Benjamin as one of their own; in fact no differently than they treated Henri and Antoine.

After supper, Madame Doucet motioned me to the side and said, “Jubal says Mr. Chapman requests your company in the morning after breakfast.”

I nodded my understanding and indicated to her I’d be there.  Tired, I thought about resting, but the little boys insisted I help them with their school work.  They ordinarily worked at the kitchen table so we had to wait for it to be cleared so they could.  Celeste, as she now insisted I address her, usually helped them and this was the most convenient spot to do so.  Even in my time and place, children still did school work at the kitchen table. It didn’t take me but about ten minutes to determine those boys needed no help at all and it was just a ruse to keep me near them.  I found working by lamplight somewhat taxing since I wasn’t accustomed to it, but the boys were quite comfortable, having known nothing else.  I thought, as we worked, the boys would be adult when electric lights became more common. 

As I’d help one, one or both of the others would find an excuse to lean up against me, bringing their bodies as close to mine as possible, as they’d ask a question, followed by a request to help them next.  Benjie was exceptionally tactile, wanting to touch some part of me while we worked or during his questioning.  His hand would rest on mine, or on my leg or around my waist.  Henri was really no less inclined in his personal contact and Antoine was right behind him.  I did feel, however, Benjie required more male to male contact than the other two.  Perhaps it was because Mr. Chapman was his father and apparently absent a great deal of the time, if the bits and snatches of conversation the boys were having as they worked was true.

As the evening grew deeper into night and the sky darkened, the homework was finished, and the boys, with Henri carrying an oil lamp, each gave me a big hug and a kiss (on the lips no less), said their goodnight, and left for the big house to go to bed.  I was tired, not only from my activities with Jefferson, but from just plain stress, trying to figure out how or if I could return to 1983 or how to make the best of the current situation if I couldn’t.

April 4, 1865

Morning came awfully soon I thought and was awakened, not by a cock crowing, but my growing cock being manipulated by a small hand inserted under my covers.  The warm hand slowly slipped up and down my turgid tree bringing it dangerously close to spilling all of its leaves!  I opened my eyes just as Antoine said,

“He wakes up just like Jefferson!”

Benjie and Henri just had to reach under the covers, placing their warm soft hands around my throbbing manhood, in order to confirm Antoine’s revelation.

“Ease off, boys,” I said hoarsely, “or I just might act like a volcano and erupt!”

The boys thought that remark was uproarishly funny and giggled and tee-heed as they watched me climb out of bed, naked and fully erect, to dress.  I begged a few minutes to go to the privy and told them I’d meet them at the barn.

I joined them after I’d taken care of business and was informed by Henri the first thing they did each morning and evening, was to feed and water Goliath, Bathsheba, and Zebulon.”

“Who might they be?” I asked.

Quick to answer, Benjie, spouted, “Goliath is the burro we use to pull our cart when we go to school or anyplace.”

“We sometimes use Bathsheba,” offered Antoine, “except now when she has a foal.” He pointed out the young burro prancing around in the big pen.

The three critters set up a happy sound when the boys were spotted. Goliath raced up to the fence, but Bathsheba and her foal, Zebulon, waited farther away.  Zebulon was spindly-legged and small.  His mother was patient while he kicked and jumped around the enclosure, but not far from his mother. Goliath, tail twitching, sounded a soft “bray” begging for food.

I laughed aloud and said, “Goliath in the Bible was big and strong.  I fear your burro is far from that.”

Antoine grinned replying, “Yeah, but our Goliath thinks he is and can not only whip anything, but fuck’m as well!”

“Antoine!” admonished Benjie and Henri at once.

“Well he does,” Antoine countered sheepishly. “His cock almost drags on the ground when he gets it ready and that’s anytime a mare is ready for breeding.”

I made no further comments, thinking that Goliath is not the only one around here with large equipment if my encounter with Jefferson was any indication!  The boys fed the critters and made certain the watering trough was full before heading for the henhouse.  The water containers were re-filled, feed in the long wooden feed beds, and some scattered outside in the yard.  The chickens were free-ranging, so Henri opened the door to the henhouse.  The chickens clucked, scurried around out through the open door, and began pecking at the ground for feed and grit. Antoine and Benjie gathered the eggs from the nests. They had a routine, each doing what needed to be done, and needed no interference from me, so I stood quietly at the doorway of the henhouse until they were done.

We washed up at the pump outside the house and went inside for breakfast.  After the boys left for school, Celeste accompanied me to Mr. Chapman’s, showing me the way through the connecting breezeway and summer kitchen.

“He’ll be in his study,” she explained. “He uses it for an office as well.”

Entering through a kitchen equally as well equipped as the one in the Doucet home, I wondered aloud why, since all of the cooking seemed to done at the Doucet’s. Celeste informed me this particular kitchen is used when Mr. Chapman entertains larger groups of people and at holidays, when he gathers the Doucet family, the hired hands, and the tenets for celebration. From the kitchen we walked into a large dining room, into a front foyer and hall with stairs leading to the upper floor. There were several doors off of the hall accessing other rooms.

“Parlor to the right,” Celeste said motioning toward one door, and walking farther, pointed to another door, just beyond the stairs, and she knocked.

Chapman answered with a hearty “come in” and we stepped in.  He was seated behind a wooden desk. Behind him were several large wooden filing cabinets and a door with a secure lock on it.  Two of the walls contained book shelves well stocked with material and one outside wall had several large windows, allowing the sunlight to light and grace the interior. A large parlor stove sat in one corner and the desk, as well as several small tables throughout the room, held oil lamps for light.  Large wing-back chairs and several straight back chairs adorned the interior as well. Two of the wing-back chairs sat either side of a walnut coffee table, where two cups and a coffee urn sat waiting for us.

He rose from behind the desk as Celeste left, extended his hand, and greeted me. He was clothed only in a robe or dressing gown some would say, and naked as a jay-bird underneath.  Evidently he was accustomed to breakfasting this way.

“Welcome to Chapman Farms,” he said, “please join me for coffee so we can visit and become better acquainted with each other.

I sat in one of the large chairs while he poured our coffee.  As he did so, the dressing gown gaped open revealing not only his large stomach, but his uncut cock and balls. His penis, about the size of a roll of quarters, poked out from under his stomach, the tip of it barely visible, the puckered end revealing only the end of the cock and part of his piss slit, resting on a set of large, hairy balls. The part of his exposed lower abdomen and fat thighs were quite hairy as well; overall quite a furry fellow, if I do say so! When he finished pouring our coffee he sat down opposite me and made no effort to conceal his manly parts from my view. Shifting to gain some comfort, I noticed his cock and balls wobble, settling in between his chunky thighs.  Mentally, I thought this man better watch himself or he’ll be heading for a cardiac.

“So,” he began, “Jubal informs me you’re to be his new tutor.”

 I nodded, replying, “So it would seem, Mr. Chapman.”

“Where, Mr. Jeansonne, did you do your academic work?”

“Here in Iowa, at Iowa City.” Of course, I didn’t tell him it was over a hundred years in the future.  I think that just might’ve confused the poor man!

“Your field of study?”

“Accounting and Economics, Mr. Chapman.  Economics is a rather new field for some parts of the country and involves the study of finance, money, and markets.”

We continued to visit concerning my college studies and as we did so, he studied me just as intently as I’d studied at the University. His questions were probing, digging deeply into my understanding of markets, government roles in the nation’s economy, the effects war might have on investments, and when he started winding down, seemed convinced my education was beyond the normal most university students would have.

“Besides accounting, have you had any bookkeeping?” he asked suddenly.

“Oh, yes sir, I have,” I replied. Actually, I’d taken about four or five semester hours of bookkeeping along with my accounting classes course as an undergraduate so I did know the rudiments of bookkeeping, but could do more than a fair job of accounting.

Chapman asked nothing further concerning my educational background, however his next question was one I’d anticipated and was prepared for.  I’d decided to play upon a very elaborate but simple prevarication; I’d use the war to explain my presence and what I did.

“I’ve puzzled,” he began, “why a young man such as yourself, well educated, in good physical condition, who speaks French quite well I understand, isn’t in the army serving the Union forces in this great war, unless he’s a deserter or serves some other cause.”

Chapman waited, fingers posed tip to tip in front of him, for an answer from me.

I smiled, a soft, almost secretive smile, and replied, “There are many ways to serve one’s country, Mr. Chapman, and not all need be in uniform.”

He quickly changed the subject; “Where are you from, Mr. Jeansonne? Any family waiting for your return?”

“Iowa born,” I answered and relayed a story about being an orphan, raised by a rich patron, providing me with an education, and introducing me to the power brokers.  Those connections allowed me to continue my education until I finished in 1863 after which I began my present position.

“As an orphan, there were those who thought I was clearly suited to do certain things,” I concluded and said no more on the subject.

Chapman looked at me strangely, but slowly nodded his head as he contemplated and assessed all I’d said.

“You carry no gun, my young friend?” he asked almost incredulously.

“No; they’re sometimes rather noisy.”

“I’m told,” he said carefully, “you do carry a rather odd looking knife!”

“Yes!”

“May I see it, please?”

I pulled the switchblade from my boot, where I’d secreted it earlier before coming over, held it in my hand, and with a flick of my wrist, snapped the blade open and locked it in place.

“Nice,” he said appreciatively. “May I have it to examine it?”

“Mai no,” I said quietly, “this I keep- it rarely leaves my person.”

Again, he nodded his understanding and asked, “Do you have any idea why Jubal’s tutor left so suddenly?”

I smiled the small secretive smile again, answering, “Perhaps Jubal had the answer- someone or a group of someone’s was after him. Perhaps he felt a need to move on.”

I paused, letting my words sink slowly in before continuing, “Who knows; he may’ve fallen in with bad company sometime in the past and was trying to hide from those who sought him and the bad company he kept.”

“Mr. Jeansonne,” Chapman began very seriously, “do you know the whereabouts of Jubal’s tutor?”

I could honestly reply, “No, I do not: I only know he is no longer here and possibly will never be seen or heard of again!”

Chapman raised his eyebrows at my last comment and again sat silently. After a moment, he asked, “Mr. Jeansonne, is your work about done here?”

I nodded solemnly. “Yes it is.” I meant what I said, since I hadn’t given up on returning to 1983 as yet.

“What will you do after this terrible war ends?”

Thinking aloud, I responded, “I suppose I will return to a teaching post somewhere.”

Chapman then said a very strange thing; “I think, Mr. Jeansonne, you are a very mysterious man; given access to many secrets and are trusted to hold them well, no matter what happens to you.”

I gave an ever so slight nod.

“Is this war about over, Mr. Jeansonne?” Chapman asked curiously, but seriously.

“Yes it is, Mr. Chapman, and will end very, very soon!” I replied solemnly.

“How soon?” he asked eagerly.

“Within the week, I should imagine,” I replied confidently.  Why shouldn’t I; Lee was going to surrender to Grant at Appomattox on April 9. I continued with apparent abandon, but not really, only Chapman was given the impression I was letting slip state secrets because I trusted him, “I trust you Mr. Chapman to hold to yourself what I’m about to tell you.  I’d hate to think of the consequences should word leak out!”

He nodded, giving me assurance he was as closed tight about it as a monk’s ass being quizzed by the Bishop.

“What I assume you do know is Richmond fell to Union forces yesterday, April 3.  What you don’t know is President Lincoln, resting on the SS River Queen, will make an unannounced visit to that city today.”

Chapman’s eyes widened, his jar dropped, and quickly composing himself, asked, “I don’t think I’ll ask how you know that.”

I shook my head slowly, “No, I wouldn’t ask if I were you. In fact, just to remind you, I’d say nothing outside this room.  You’d be in the same position as I might be someday or Jubal’s tutor; people who know secrets sometimes disappear!”

That was the clincher as far as Chapman was concerned.  His face whitened, little beads of sweat began forming on his forehead, and he licked his lips nervously. 

“I see,” he said in a shaking voice.  “I certainly wouldn’t want that to happen!”

Chapman hesitated again before asking, “If this war is going to end so soon, where and what should I be considering for investments and safe keeping of my funds?”

Scratching my head in apparent thought, I responded, “The answer to that takes more than just a quick answer over coffee. Just because a surrender is signed doesn’t mean the fighting is over.  Personally, if I were a man with the financial capital some people have, I’d keep some hard cash, such as gold and silver coin, handy and take advantage of every opportunity to increase my wealth!”

“Because,” I continued, “if, at war’s end, parts of this country go into a slump, a person with hard cash available could make some very sound and cheaply purchased investments.”

Our conversation was interrupted by the appearance of the young girl who’d accompanied Chapman when he arrived the day before.  Clad only in a short silky, almost see-though shift that came down to just above her hairless female parts, she wandered into the room and walked toward Chapman.  She was a sweet young beauty to behold and by the looks in Chapman’s eyes as she walked toward him, he thought so too.  I guessed she could be no more than eleven or twelve and not yet entered into puberty since I saw not a hair anywhere near her little girl slit!

Chapman patted his lap in invitation and she accepted it, settling down on his bare thighs as his robe parted, she dropped her legs over the outside of his, opening her sweet young cunt for me to see. She licked her lips, grinned, and with one finger, slowly, sensuously slid it up the short length of that delicate opening, a definite invitation to play.  Seeing nothing forthcoming from me, she reached around behind with one hand, sliding it under Chapman’s belly, and grasped his fat cock and maneuvered it between her legs so it poked up, just shy of touching that pink, moist entrance to her inner self.

He reached around in front and began twitching her young twat with his finger, preparing her for what she wanted.  Thrusting his hips, his hard stiff shaft came in contact with that small opening, the girl raised herself and using her hands, centered the fat stabber at her entrance, and with a satisfying sigh, lowered her small body down on it, impaling her body to his with his sex organ!

Fully seated within her young sleeve, he said, “Well, Missy, the way it feels in there, you and Jubal must have had a good time before he had to go to work.”

“Oh, yes, Mr. Chapman,” she responded joyously, “Jubal do like to have a good time again and again and again,” and began rocking back and forth, raising and lowering herself a bit each time!

Her remarks certainly identified Jubal concerning what sex he favored; perhaps both, only time would tell.

Chapman smiled at me as he met her movements with his own and said, “Unfortunately, Missy is going to be too old for me in another year or so once she grows some hair and begins her monthly’s.”

Looking at me, he said, “You’re more than welcome to enjoy her as well, if you wish.”

“No, I don’t think so,” I replied, standing to leave.

Chapman looked at me, smiled knowingly saying, “I gathered as much watching you with the boys.  Perhaps there are more attractive young people here who might interest you more and would be more than willing to bed you,” and winked.

As I walked toward the door, he brought me to a halt when he announced, “Mr. Jeansoone; I’d like you to stay here at Chapman Corners, move into this house, tutor the boys and be my accountant when your service is done.”

I turned to face him and he quickly added, “I’ll pay you quite well!”

I nodded responding, “I’ll consider it carefully, especially if my services are no longer needed or desired when this war ends.”

I then turned back to the door, leaving Chapman grunting and Missy squealing, hoping, as heavy as he was, he wouldn’t suffer a cardiac while fucking that sweet young thing!

To be continued.

***

Thank you for reading “The Incredible Journey of Thomas Johnson” – Chapter Seven

This is a work of fiction.  Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.  Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or locales is entirely coincidental.

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