Date: Mon, 20 Feb 2017 14:12:51 -0700
From: Mack Marek <mack.marek42@gmail.com>
Subject: Uncle Louis chapter 2

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The brakes screech as I slow to a halt and a dust cloud rises above the old
dirt driveway.

I peer up at Louis' old, dilapidated house. I know he does his best to
maintain it, but he mostly does odds-and-ends jobs and he doesn't have the
money to patch everything up. The wood is weathered, worn, and splintered,
and loose shingles scatter the sinking roof.

It was built over a century ago, before our southern, rural town had
electricity or indoor plumbing. It's been retrofitted since, but cheaply,
with old knob-and-tube wiring and copper pipes. Inside, it's just a
single-room with a small bed, kitchenette, and tiny bathroom walled off
with plywood boards.

It sits on the edge of town, on a half-acre lot. Apart from the small
garden out back by the shed, not much grows on the plot: scattered clumps
of wild grass interspersed with dirt.

I break my gaze as he leans in to kiss me. Our lips press together and I
close my eyes and try to make the moment last forever. I run my finger down
his smooth scalp and wrap my hand around the back of his neck. And then he
releases, gently detaching my grip, and clambers out of the cab. I trace
the outline of his body as he makes his way up to the house, glancing back
once and locking eyes. He smiles, then disappears inside, and I shift gears
and pull away from the house. As I turn back onto the main road, I take one
last, longing look in the mirror as his home fades in a cloud of dust.

I lug my pack and tent inside and toss them on the floor, collapsing on the
sofa. I flip channels aimlessly, but nothing captures my interest. I power
it down and doze off.

I wake to my phone buzzing. It's dark, probably 8 or 9 o'clock. It's my
mother calling.

"So, how'd it go?" she asks.

"Went great. I think he's a little lonely." I pause. "I feel like we
connected some. I'm gonna make sure to visit him time to time."

"That's great, honey. I'm glad you're spending some time with him. Thank
you for doing this."

She thinks that I did this out of some familial obligation. "It's no
problem. We had fun, and we're going again next year," I reassure her.

We make small talk about work and our Fourth of July plans, but I cut her
off, too exhausted to continue the conversation. I strip down and shuffle
into the bathroom. Steam clouds the room as I wait for the shower to heat
up and brush my teeth.

I step into the hot stream and I feel it soothe my aching muscles and wash
away the smell of campfire. I stand under the jet, falling into a trance,
and the world melts away around me. I close my eyes and picture Louis
stepping into the tub with me, wrapping his arms around me, and my hands
explore his lower back while his tongue explores every crevice of my
inviting mouth.

Before I know it, my knees are buckling and I'm shooting ropes of cum down
the shower drain. The fantasy doesn't fade, though, like it usually does
when I jerk off to porn. Because he's real, because he's not some character
I made up to satisfy my desires, but a complete human being. I don't have
to project onto him; he is beautiful just as he is. As I soap up, I imagine
it's his hands running along my thighs. As I crawl into bed, I imagine the
blanket is his warmth, his body encircling mine. I drift off to sleep
thinking about the life I want to have with him.

The day crawls along slowly as I work on constructing a set of custom
cabinets. I enjoy my work, but it can be tedious with big projects, and for
once I'm aching to leave. For the first time, I'm itching to see someone.
After an eternity, I clock out and jog to the truck excitedly.

I hop out and practically sprint to the door, banging on it. Louis doesn't
answer. I circle the small house and find him rummaging through the shed.

I sneak up behind him as he sorts through some rusty old tools and wrap my
arms around his big torso. He jumps in surprise. I plant a hickey on the
side of his throat and feel him relax in my grasp. "Jim..."

He tries to turn around but I hold him in place. I press my hardening
crotch against his jeans and slide my hand into his pants, feeling around
for his stirring snake. Wrapping my hand around it, I feel it grow and
stiffen. I carefully unzip his fly and give it room to stretch out. With my
other hand, I gently knead his balls while I stroke him. He gasps quietly.

He strains his neck to the side and I meet him halfway, burying my tongue
in his mouth as I squeeze his furry balls tighter and quicken my stroke.
With one last tug I release testicles. I pull back his foreskin and with my
available hand, I collect some of his dripping precum on my fingers. Then I
reach up, popping them into his mouth, feeding him his own sweet, delicious
nectar. His tongue slithers around my fingers, savoring the taste.

His body starts to quake and I know he's getting close. I extract my
fingers and push them back into his jeans, sliding them between the elastic
lining of his boxers, and push them against his sphincter. He starts to
squat slightly to open up and let me in, and I slide them up inside him,
probing for his prostate. I feel the familiar ridges and run along them. On
cue, he shouts with pleasure and I pull back his foreskin and hold him in
place as he begins ejecting seed onto the dirt floor. Holding his cock
still, I ram my fingers furiously against his spot and a fresh wad of semen
sprays his work boots.

I've been so lost in pleasuring him that I haven't realized that I've been
furiously humping the small of his back, until suddenly I feel the point of
no return. I groan, half in pleasure, half in regret, as I lose my load,
the thick load soaking my underwear, a stain flowering my jeans, excess
running down my legs.

As the energy drains me and my hand drops out of his ass, he finally turns
to face me. Then he gets down on his hands and knees, lapping up the
droplets oozing through the denim of my crotch. His half-erect cock hangs
out of his unbuckled pants.

An unfamiliar voice breaks the silence and my stomach turns as my pleasure
liquefies into fear. "Hey Lou, need to borrow your shears, mine's busted,"
a deep, gruff voice calls from behind me.

My head swivels in time to see Louis' closest neighbor, Brian, round the
corner. He stops dead in his tracks when he sees us.

Louis scrambles up, struggling to stuff his engorged penis into his pants,
fumbling clumsily. I just stare stupidly, petrified.

Brian pulls a 180 and disappears beyond the house. "W-wait!" Louis shouts,
stumbling after him, but he's gone.

What have I done? I fall backwards, sitting awkwardly on the barn floor,
resting my head against the harsh wood grain. We've been discovered.

Louis is coming back. I just look up at him sadly. My reckless lust has
ruined us. My eyes are stinging and I swallow painfully.

He sits down next to me. "It's okay," he whispers, his voice breaking, and
we both know that it isn't. Everyone knows everyone in this town, and in a
matter of hours, word will have spread to everyone. My colleagues. My
friends from our school days. My ex-girlfriends. My sister. My own mother.

And that's just me. But I'm his fucking nephew. Louis will be pegged as a
child molester. After all, he's never married and lives like a hermit, and
that's suspicion enough on a poor old man in this town. My mother will
think that we've been doing this since I was a kid. No doubt, she's going
to conclude that his perversion made me gay. Dread washes over me as
everything plays out in my head.

"I'm so sorry, Louis," I bellow, and I'm crying so hard I'm shaking, and he
just holds me in his arms and I bury my face in his chest.

He runs his hand along my bare scalp as I fall apart on him and we stay
like that for a few minutes, before I muster the strength to stand. We head
into his old house and sit together on the edge of his bed in silence.

My phone rings and it's my mother again. She knows already. I ignore it and
a minute later she calls again. I toss the phone and it bounces against the
far wall before clattering onto the old, scratched wood floor. The case
protected it and it keeps buzzing, the floor amplifying the vibrations.

I get up and grab it. "Hello?" I say shakily. I lock eyes with Louis, still
on the bed, and he looks defeated.

"What did he do to you on that camping trip? Has he touched you before?!"
she yells into the phone and I hastily pull it away from my ear. "Honey,
please come home and we can talk," she pleads. "Stay away from him!"

I know that I have to go. I don't know how any of this could get worse, but
it could.

I'm so scared for him. In a backwards old town like this, who knows what
people could do to him. "Okay," I say quietly, drying my eyes, and I hang
up.

"Come on," I say, gesturing towards my truck. "You can't stay here."

He nods and I'm not sure if he understands that he might even be in danger,
but he looks lost and obeys.

We drive in silence and I smuggle him into my house quickly, trying not to
be seen, and kiss him lightly on the forehead before locking the door
behind him. I clamber back into the truck, resolute to face my fate, and it
feels like I'm outside myself, observing, as if my driving is an automatic
process. When I pull into my mother's driveway, I feel as if I'd left home
only seconds ago. I march up the steps, my whole body buzzing with anxiety.

I knock only once before the door pulls open, and I know she's been waiting
for me. She pulls me in in a tight hug and starts crying, and I just stand
limply and let it happen.

"What has he done to you? Oh, I'm so sorry, baby," she cries.

"Mom. Mom," I say with surprising strength, and I hold her back, grabbing
her shoulders. "I did this, not him. It's not his fault."

"Oh Jim... you're blaming yourself. It's worse than I thought. Oh God, and
I left you alone with him when you were just a boy... Jim, I'm so sorry."

"Mom, you don't understand at all. Mom!" She was crying and looking at the
floor, and I shook her until she looked up at me. "He never touched me, I
swear. Not once.

"This camping trip... it's the first time that anything happened. And it
was all me," I stammer. I falter, knowing that it isn't going to get
through to her.

She's sobbing, clearly not hearing any of it. "Jim, it's important that you
don't put this on yourself. I know you don't see how he's hurt you... we're
going to get you help. It's going to be okay. Oh, my poor baby..." and she
breaks down again.

I think about Louis, and I think about my father, and I pity her. I want
her to know the truth, about how all this happened, but he's gone now and
it would do no good to tell her, it would just bring more pain. I hold her
in my arms and rock her gently and in my mind I know that I will have to
choose between her and Louis, between everyone and Louis. And I choke up
because I know that both paths likely end in misery.

There's a furious knocking on the door. "Anna!" a woman shouts. My mother
breaks the hug and opens the door. It's Jessie, the middle-aged white
mother from next door.

"Anna, turn on the TV!" Without waiting, she pushes past us and into the
living room, grabbing the remote from the coffee table. The screen flickers
to life on the local news channel.

"Oh, Jesus..." I steady myself against the wall.

Louis' house is engulfed in blaze. Forks of fire lick out through burst
windows. As firefighters douse the old home, I watch in horror as part of
the roof caves in. "No, no, no," I whisper, while my mother watches in
silence.

The north wall collapses and with it the house tumbles down to its
foundation. Drywall snaps like twigs as I watch helplessly. Smoke billows
out, shrouding the blue sky in blackness.

I throw myself through the front door, my mother calling after me. The sun
is shining, the weather is beautiful, and the world is collapsing around
me. I stumble into the cab, fumbling with the keys, as she runs down the
steps, chasing after me. I kick it into gear and floor it, peeling out of
the driveway violently, and speed down the road. Black clouds of smoke loom
in the distance. Neighbors stare at me from their front lawns as I tear by.

"Jim?" my next-door neighbor asks, and I ignore her, dashing up the steps
and throwing open the door. I slam it behind me, the deadbolt clicks, and I
slide down onto the floor. The sun is setting now, and orange light streams
through the windows. Louis doesn't react to my entrance and sits still on
the couch, staring emptily at the TV as he watches his home of almost 40
years, everything he owns, turn to ash.

The room is so silent that I hear the blood pounding through my head.
Finally, he breaks it. "Who did this? Why?" he asks quietly.

"I did this," I confess, and guilt wracks me, but I'm all out of tears so I
just sit there stupidly.

"No. We did this," he corrects. The TV clicks off and I hear him rummaging
through my cupboards. He meets me at the door with a bottle of whiskey.
It's my favorite, Maker's 46, normally reserved for special occasions, and
savored. Instead, I chug half the bottle. I hand it back and he takes a
sizeable swig himself.

He holds out his hand and pulls me to my feet. He walks me to the bedroom
and we lie down on the mattress. I roll over onto my side and spoon him, an
arm wrapping around his big, burly chest, my legs curling up against his,
and we lie there until the booze puts us to sleep.

My alarm jolts me awake at 5. I quickly silence it, before it wakes Louis.
I'm not even going to bother calling in sick; no doubt, my boss, and
everyone else, already knows they won't be seeing me.

My head is pounding. I feel my way to the bathroom in the dark and guzzle
water from the tap. Then I clamber back into bed, praying for less fitful
dreams.

I wake to the smell of sizzling bacon. As the clock swims into focus, I
realize it's after 8. I stretch and walk into the kitchen, where Louis is
making breakfast.

I'm surprised to see something so ordinary, after a day when it felt like
the world would stop turning. He seems to have read my mind. He turns to me
and says, "Life goes on." He hands me a plate of steaming bacon and toast,
and I'm grateful for his strength.

The doorbell rings. "Police," a stern voice shouts, and the all-familiar
dread seeps into my body again.

I go to the door and hook up the chain, then open it a crack. "Yeah?" I
grumble.

"We're looking for your Uncle Louis," the young man asserts.

It's Jeffrey, one of my best friends when we were little. He talks to me
like a stranger, and I see a flicker of disgust in his eyes. My dread
transforms into white-hot hatred. He's emanating an aura of judgment. I'm a
pervert to him, or worse, some goddamned victim.

"His house burned down last night, but we didn't find him," he says
matter-of-factly. "Although, I don't know, maybe there's just nothing of
him left." He sneers at me cruelly. "Can I come in?"

"You got a warrant?"

"Come on, man. He's a fuckin' rapist, Jim. The fuck's wrong with you?"

I slam the door on his face. Louis is chewing his bacon monotonously,
despondent.

"We're both wrong," I say, and he looks up questioningly. "'I' didn't do
this, and neither did 'we.'"

I pause, collecting my thoughts. "They did this. Loving somebody's not a
crime."

I gesture at the door. "Look at how they hate us. What the hell have we
done to them?" I cry. "Fuck. These are people I grew up with."

Louis looks up at my longingly. He looks aged and tired. His eyes are
bloodshot and the wrinkles are more pronounced. "We can't keep doing this,
Jim. You got a life here. You got a family, you got a job. I've got nothing
to lose. Just let me go."

"I won't."

"Come on. I'm just a lonely old man. I'll be fine. I've been fine on my own
for decades. They'll harass me for a few weeks and then people will forget
about me and move on. This is your life."

"This is our life," I reply, gaining volume. "And if I go back to 'my
life,' I'm just living a lie. I'm tired of pretending. This is who I am.
This is who we are. I'd rather leave everyone behind than pretend that this
never happened."

He nods. He knows I'm right, he knows that I couldn't go back even if I
wanted to. What am I supposed to do, keep going on half-assed dates with
women? If anyone will even date me now that our secret's out. Tell my mom
she's right, that Louis was a mistake? She'll have me see some fucking
shrink. Things will never be normal again, and they never could be. Because
now I'll be missing a piece. Before I didn't know I was incomplete, that
I'm part of a whole.

I cross the distance between us and run my hand along the side of his face.
His expression softens and he closes my eyes. I gently close my lips around
his and I relish the exchange of warmth between us. I reach down and lift
up his shirt, pulling it over his head, revealing his beautiful, full
figure, and trace his soft curves with my calloused hands. I reach his
shoulders and start to massage them, kneading the tense muscles, and I feel
him melt in my hands. I feel his fingers working his way up my shirt and I
lean back to let him pull it off, then I press up against him again,
feeling our chests lock together, working my hands down the length of his
fuzzy back as I push my tongue into his mouth again.

I slide his pants and underwear off in one smooth motion and, still kissing
him, I knead his glutes with my palms. Slowly, I lower myself until level
with his growing penis and take him into my mouth while my hands keep
moving lower, massaging his tense thighs. As his dick grows in my mouth, I
let it slide in until my nose is buried in his pubes and his gut rests
gently against my forehead, and I inhale his musky scent again, feeling at
peace.

His hands clasp behind my neck and I relax, letting him thrust at his own
pace, and finally I feel happy again, I know that we will make us work no
matter what, that we will leave the world behind and be together.

I open my eyes and strain to gaze up at his marvelous naked body, and I
make eye contact. He looks down at me, smiling, and his chest expands as he
takes a deep breath and closes his eyes. He holds my head still and slowly,
slowly fucks my face, letting his cock glide over my tongue, his head
drooling precum. I let it collect in my cheeks and swish it around my mouth
before swallowing as it builds up. As he pushes back in, I press my lips
around his foreskin, and as his cock slides in it stretches back the layer
of skin, exposing the naked, slick head, which I tickle with my tongue.

He continues at the slow pace, but shortens the length of his thrust,
keeping the tip in my mouth instead of down my throat. It's pleasant and
sensual, and I'm calm, able to breathe and enjoy the view of his face, the
expression of pleasure spreading across him as he watches his nephew bob up
and down on his glorious tool.

At this pace, it takes some time to build up, and as he gets closer I can
tell he's fighting the urge to go faster, but he doesn't. Instead, I hear
him groan loudly, and a load pours slowly from his cockhead, pooling on my
tongue, a continuous stream instead of a volley. Cum oozes out of his
throbbing head and I lap it up delightedly, savoring the silky consistency
and salty flavor of his precious seed, still maintaining eye contact. I let
the warm liquid fill my mouth up to the brim before I start to swallow the
excess, using the rest to coat the sides of his meat, to use as a lubricant
as I jerk him with my tongue, and his cock spasms in my mouth as his orgasm
comes to an end.

Finally he pulls his limp cock from my mouth. As it exits, I squeeze it
with my lips, draining the last of his spunk.

He lies down flat on his back on the cold linoleum, his legs bent up in the
air. My tongue, still coated with semen, digs into his sweet, sweaty ass,
and he squirms on the floor.

I reach up from the floor for the kitchen counter, fumbling around blindly
until I find what I was looking for. Pulling down a bottle of lotion, I
tear off my pants and lube up my aching cock. He looks up at me grinning.

I get on my knees and then I lift him by the legs until he's level with me,
his ass thrust into the air, and I press my cockhead against his blinking
hole.

I slide it the rest of the way in, and it opens up, inviting me, then
tightening against me, and I feel him already trying to milk the load out
of me.

Holding him up and fucking him is straining, and I feel the sweat beading
on my forehead and chest. I see he's sweating too, with moisture beading
under his hairy tits, where his gut is compressed against them by his
arched back.

I can't keep this up much longer, so I quicken my pace to finish fast. As I
do so, his cock springs to life again, still moist from my spit.

We stare into each other's eyes and he says, "I love you," and suddenly I'm
over the edge and dumping into him and pistoning him as fast as I can and
his cock is going off again, only I'm holding him up so it's raining down
on him, splattering his face with his own jizz.

A projectile hits his left eye and he yells in pain, and then he starts
laughing, and as he laughs his body jiggles under me and I'm laughing too,
a half-laugh, half-moan as I unload another volley into his ass and another
of his spurts lands square in his open, laughing mouth.

I'm finally done and the last of my energy is sapped and I collapse on top
of him. Our wet bodies stick together and we fall into a passionate kiss,
and everything smells of sweat and cum. After a while, I roll off of him
and we get up.

We hop in the shower together to rinse off and we lock in a tight hug while
the water runs over us.

Life will never be the same, and I'm okay with that. As we dress, a plan
forms in my mind. He's a jack of all trades, I'm a master carpenter. We'll
do what he once fantasized with my father. We'll go out on our own. We'll
build ourselves a house, leave the world behind forever if that's what it
takes.

All we need is each other.