(This story takes place in the 1920s. The "official" depression hadn't started yet, but in rural areas of the United States, nobody even noticed when the stock market crashed. It was kind of like today -- rich people doing fine, everybody else in trouble.

If I take a little extra time getting started, bear with me. There will be plenty of the stuff other writers warn you not to read should you happen to live in the wrong neighborhood, but all of us know which neighborhood this is!)

Moonshine

Part One

My name is Thomas Calhoun. Before I went to the War, I courted Lettie Jane Harrison. She never gave me no hope, really, but I figured I was in love with her. I thought maybe I could come back a hero, and I could win her hand.

Well that never happened. By the time I got back, I couldn't even get hard anymore. The docs said I had a touch of shell shock, which is what they called it those days when you'd been in combat and seen your friends killed all around you and your head kind of froze up, in a way. They gave me some kind of medal, but I never felt like any sort of hero. Anyway, Lettie Jane had got married to young James McEntyre. His father, old James, owned the sawmill.

I didn't stay in Monroe. I drifted around some years. Dishwasher, farmhand, whatever. No keeping a job. Hard to keep a job when you have to get drunk every night just to get to sleep. Any loud noise, it was like I was back in the trenches. Then I got the letter from the lawyer. I was next of kin to my dead mama's newly dead brother, and I owned a farm. It was out where the mountains are steeper and the people are poorer. Jeffer's Gap, I figured, would suit me as well as anyplace. I got a cabin and some fields and woods, and I had the promise of my veteran's bonus someday. It wasn't much of a farm, but it was private.

Looking around, I saw Uncle Morton grew mostly corn, but also some barley. There was a malting shed, so I guessed he was malting the barley. It was out in the woods I found the still. And before he died, Daddy taught me to make 'shine, just like his daddy taught him and Uncle Morton. So that's what I did. I made 'shine.

I was in town the first time things started changing for me. I had a few jugs of 'shine to sell, and I was waiting for Mr. Edsen, the storekeeper, to finish with a customer so we could talk in private. The old biddy left with her can of sardines and cotton thread, and I was up at the counter smiling and winking when these young boys, two of 'em, come in looking at the penny candies.

Ir was summer, so they was dressed pretty much the same as all the local boys dressed in summer, in bib overalls. Barefoot, no shirts, just the bib overalls, and every pair two or three times a hand-me-down. I looked down at the boy pushing in next to me to see the gumballs, His overalls were way too big for him, so I was looking right down them at his naked little body.

Dammit, my peter started waking up. It was more than a little confusing for me, but the sight of that smooth, hairless, kind of dirty little body was giving me a feeling I hadn't felt since before the War. He was a towhead, with a light scatter of freckles across his nose and cheeks. Maybe eleven, twelve years old. Boys didn't grow up so fast in those days, so he had a real little one pushing out from under his soft belly.

His bottom looked even softer than his belly, and I really really wanted to slide my hand down those baggy overalls and touch it. If I could have, I'd have slid my face down those overalls. "What the hell," I asked myself, "is going on? What am I thinking of?"

Then the other one scampered over, with his bowl-cut brown mop and turned up nose. His bib overalls were not that much oversized, but one of the straps was broken, so I still could get a look down his pants. I had to put my hand in my pocket and get myself arranged so the storekeeper wouldn't notice.

It looked like they really wanted gumballs, but they had just one penny between them, and they were arguing about how to cut a gumball in half. My hand already being in my pocket, I pulled out a penny and put it on the counter. "You give 'em one each," I told the storekeeper. "They looks like good boys."

Just how good they looked to me, I didn't say.

..........

"Nice a'ya," the storekeeper told me. "Not that they're exactly good boys, but they ain't that bad. The towhead's daddy got kilt in the War, and his mama's real hard up. Takes in washing. The mophead never even met his daddy, but his mama's got a man who's a real good customer for your moonshine. Farmhand out at the Woodses."

"The 'shine's real good this time, Mr. Edsen. How about an extra two bits a jug?"

"Good? Don't mean mophead's stepdaddy will pay me any more for it."

"I said good, Mr. Edsen. Good enough so you can water it."

I have to say this for Edsen. After he took a taste, he gave me four bits more than usual. It was real good 'shine.

The boys were waiting for me outside. "Hey, mister! Can you spare another penny so we can get some licorice?"

I don't know what got into me, but I said, "I've got a whole nickel if you're willing to work for it."

They were willing, no questions asked, and happily followed me back to my place partway up the mountain. "What're we gonna do, mister?" asked the towhead.

"Cut wood. Split it if you're strong enough."

"I'm strong enough," the towhead insisted. "I split wood for my ma."

"Carry water from the creek," I continued. "And if you're good, and I think I can trust you, you can work here again."

"You can trust us," Mophead insisted. "We won't tell you're making 'shine."

I stopped walking, and turned to look at him. "Who says I'm making 'shine?"

Mophead turned a little red in the face. "Well, mama's friend Jimmy Bob says you make the best 'shine in the county. Even the sheriff buys it from Mr. Edsen."

I shook my head. "Well, you boys don't tell nobody else about that. And not about anything that goes on at my place, got that?"

I could tell you I wasn't sure why I put in that second remark, but I'd be lying. My peter was as hard as the staff Moses used to break open that rock and let the water out.

..........

They worked hard. They sawed and split wood. Yes, it took more swings with the hammer on the maul than it would have took me, but hell, I wasn't doing it. They piled the split wood near the shack that covered the still. I was thinking if I could buy some extra corn and barley from a neighbor, I could make a lot more 'shine with them helping me.

It wasn't the thought of the extra cash keeping me hard, though. I just kept looking down those bib overalls and wondering how I was going to get inside them. Well, anyway, I knew how to get a better look.

"Time to fetch water, boys," I said, gathering some leather buckets. "I'll show you where there's a nice deep spot in the creek." They followed me to a spot where there was a little waterfall into a pool, and where I liked to take a dip from time to time.

"Come on," I said, "let's get the sweat off." I unlaced by boots and pushed them off. Then, I shrugged out of my shirt. I turned my back as I dropped my trousers so they wouldn't see how hard I was. Maybe, I thought, the cold water will get it down. I slipped into the pool under the falls.

For the boys, getting naked was a lot easier. Towhead just pushed his arms through his shoulder straps and his oversized overalls dropped right off him. Mophead only had the one strap, but he had to hop a little to get his overalls over his big feet.

"Here I come," Towhead shouted, launching himself straight at me. I caught him as he hit the water, and pulled him up against my body. Whatever the cold water had done to deflate my peter was undone instantly. Mophead followed a couple of seconds later, and I managed to catch him too. My hands were holding those juicy boy bottoms as they squirmed up and down. Had the water been just a little warmer, I might have spit my wad right then, but I didn't.

I almost did again, though, when Mophead grabbed my straining erection and exclaimed, "Wow, he's got a giant woody! Get behind him, Johnny," (which apparently was Towhead's real name) "because I'm gonna ride it."

I wasn't sure Johnny actually had that much idea what his friend was talking about, but he swung onto my back and held onto my shoulders while Gabe (which turned out to be Mophead's real name) pulled my peter between his legs and started pumping his body back and forth. I was lost. I grabbed his bottom with both hands, and did some pumping of my own. I don't suppose it was more than ten seconds before my white wad floated to the surface of the pool.

As I was catching my breath, Johnny, still hanging from my shoulders, pushed his mouth near my ear. "Uh, do you think we can carry the water and get our nickel now, mister? My ma might be waiting dinner."

"Don't worry," Gabe said in my other ear. "We keep quiet."

,,,,,,,,,,

I guess I was kind of waiting around for them to come back the next day, and I didn't do much except get a fresh batch of mash started and drink up some of what could have been profits. It got worse as the day went on. Somebody was shooting squirrels or something, and those sudden loud noises from the shothun gave me those bad feelings again. My place was on the east face of the mountain, so even if it was summer, dusk came early. I was frying up a couple of sausages on the stove when he stuck his head in. Chimney didn't work so good, and it was summer anyways, so the cabin door was open. It was Mophead. Right. Gabe.

"Can I come in?"

I guess he could of told he was welcome by the way my pants bulged out the front, but I still said, "Sure. Wanna sausage?"

He grinned like I'd made a joke. Yes, I didn't know it, but I'd made a joke. Because he said, in a kind of girly voice, "Oh, a sausage be real nice." We both kind of chortled a little as I tossed another sausage in the frypan, along with some extra lard and some potatoes.

"Ain't you supposed to be home?" I asked.

"No point in it," he answered. "Jimmy Bob's getting a good drunk going. Mama'll tell him stop. Then he'll smack her a couple times and head into town and get his ass thrown in jail. I don't have to be there for that. Could I stay here with you tonight?"

"You sure it's alright?"

"It's alright. And anyways, I'm the best little cocksucker in the county.

He probably could have heard my heart pounding from across the room, but I kept frying up our supper.

,,,,,,,,,,

We ate our sausage and potatoes, and he took the dishes away to the washbasin. I just sat there at my little table, wondering what would happen next. What happened next was he crawled under the table and rubbed his face against my peter, which had been hard so long it was starting to hurt.

"You got to drop your pants yourself," he said. "I can't get 'em off you if you're sitting on 'em."

I was kind of undecided between yanking down my pants and getting sucked right then and there, or maybe holding off and making things more comfortable for both of us. My peter wanted then and there, but it lost.

"Come on out from under there," I told him. "I'll like it better if we can just, well, maybe hug a little first." It was embarrassing to say, but I added, "You know. Maybe some cuddling. If it's okay with you."

So a minute later we were naked, under the light summer cover on my bed, wrapped in each other's arms, Gabe laid out on top of me, rubbing our peters one against the other. Something got into me, and I kissed a line of little kisses down his soft cheek and onto his neck. I heard him gasp -- then he squeezed me tighter, and I felt some tears roll out of his eyes and down my face.

"I'm sorry," I said, with all sincerity. "I never meant to make you cry."

"No," he answered, "it just felt so good. Nobody kissed me in years. Not even Mama. You could do it some more if you want. I mean, it just felt so good."

I did it some more, licking a little, enjoying the salty taste of him. After a little while, my mouth found his mouth, and my tongue poked its way inside, but he held his tongue back so I couldn't reach it. "Come on," I said, moving back a drop, "let me taste your tongue."

"You wanna lick my tongue?" he asked, sounding confused.

"Why not?" I replied. "Weren't you planning to suck my cock?"

It took a little time, but not very long before he was pretty good at what the guys back in the Army called "French kissing." I don't know if the French invented it, but if they did, I'm glad we liberated them from the Boche. Somewhere in there I moved my peter between his legs, and he kept flexing his thighs around it. The head stuck out, though, and wasn't getting much action, and I started thinking about how much better it would feel if Towhead was there to suck on it and keep it busy.

Maybe he was reading my mind, but just then he said, "I'm gonna suck you now. I'm gonna suck you real good."

"Uh, well, uh huh," I answered.

He scooted down, sat on my legs, took my woody in one hand and my balls in the other, and went at me like I was an all day sucker. I'd turned off the lantern, but there was moonlight coming through my little window, and it was lighting up his face as he bobbed up and down on me. The look of that little tilted nose and mop of brown hair with the tips of his ears sticking out, and soft, soft lips and tongue working my peter like it was a big piece of taffy, it was a sight to behold. I wish I could have beheld it longer, but I couldn't hold myself back. He swallowed the whole thing.

I had been sucked by a few authentic Paris whores on the way to the trenches, but none was any better than Gabe. None came close.

(Next part: Why Gabe says he's "the best little cocksucker in the county," despite some talented competition; also, Billy demonstrates an interesting new use for the feather duster. Say hello to heedon@tormail.org)