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

Copyright © 2011 by Dennis Milholland – All rights reserved. Other than for private, not-for-profit use, no part of this work may be reproduced, transmitted or stored in any form or by any means, other than that intended by the author, without written permission from the copyright holder.

Careful! This is a work of fiction containing graphic descriptions of sex between males and critiques of religion and governments.

Love It or Leave It

by Dennis Milholland

questions and comments are welcome. www.milholland.eu / dennis@milholland.eu

Forty-three

(Tuesday, October 18th)

Since sunlight is brightly visible, reflecting off the white façades across the Square, I assume that it’s before noon. But, as I wipe the sleep from my eyes, I couldn’t care less. When we arrived back home from London last evening, Raph and I asked for some time to ourselves. Accommodatingly, Seph gave us some supplies for the fridge.

I feel the familiar warm breath on my loins from behind. Then, the warmth of his lips curling over the stubble of my once shaved crotch. Readily taking in the eroticising scent of my man’s cock, as we adjust into sixty-nine. His salty taste and the sweetness of his natural lubrication send my head into a spin. The still loose skin of the sack surrounding his balls smells of testosterone-laced perspiration and tastes of salty skin. It tightens steadily, shifting his nuts up into his lower abdomen. I suck them out, making sounds not considered polite.

A finger is tickling my convulsing anal sphincter. An ear is resting on my upper thigh. His tongue teases my perineum, as I draw my other leg to my chest and slightly circle with my hips to demand access to my nether regions. His purring vibrates the length of my manhood, causing sticky moisture to ooze from the tip of my now inflexible dick.

I let my tongue circle his hole several times in rapid succession, sending his testicles back into his belly. Again, I return to sucking them out.

There’s a slight knock on the apartment door. We decide to ignore it. The knock turns to scratches, as if an animal were demanding entrance. As the door lightly squeaks open, the sounds of long-stemmed crystal glasses clearly ringing like miniature bells and the low whispers of men not yet quite intelligible.

My guess that Vince and Ron have brought over a bottle of champagne is confirmed just by looking up. Both are standing at our open bedroom door, mouths agape. The long-stemmed champagne glasses are still ringing due to Vince’s holding all four in one hand by their bases and quivering. “I don’t believe that I’ve ever seen anything so utterly intriguing.”

“You could join us.” is Raph’s brief comment before he returns to tonguing my perineum.

“No.” Vince sounds as if he is just short of panic. “I don’t know the first thing about what you are doing. Do you, Ron?”

“Nope,” Ron gurgles with delight. “but I think that I could play it by ear, as long as it’s with Raph. If that’s okay with you, Dan.”

I laugh out loud, since this is slowly becoming farcical. “Be my guest. You had him long before I ever did.”

“You what?” Vince, bordering on losing control, wheels around with glasses ringing more loudly. “When?”

Raph comes to the rescue. “Calm down, Vince. I was eight years old.”

“You’re a paedophile?” His face is approaching coronary red.

I fall back onto the bed. My dick has gone limp. And I’ll probably get blue balls from not getting off. “Ron was all of eleven, Vincent. That’s hardly a paedophile. Now, open the fucking bottle before it goes piss warm. And somebody, please, roll me a joint.”

“Uh, yes, of course.” He fumbles with the wire that holds the cork in place and pricks his finger. Ron takes it from him, sucks on the finger and hands the bottle to Raph.

Raph undoes the wire and eases the cork out as if he did this every day. But truth be told, this is probably his first time. I have to smile; it reminds me of the first time he sucked my cock. It certainly felt well practised.

When Raph hands back the bottle he wants to know what the occasion is. Vince’s high colour subsides slowly as he hands each a flûte. “I’m officially out of the military. Got the phone call from Mr. Ashton this morning.” He fills my glass first and then Ron’s. Raph comes in second last. Jealousy is apparently rearing its ugly head.

I raise my glass to propose a toast when no one else does. “To civilian life.” The others mumble the toast and drink. The real stuff tastes just like the fake stuff from New York State. Frankly, I fail to see what all the buzz is about. “So, why don’t you take off your clothes and stay a while?”

“Um, eh, mm, um.” Since Vince is not usually at a loss for words, I wonder what the problem is. “I can’t.”

“And why not?” Raph has his soothing voice in place. “We swam together naked in the moat, didn’t we?"

“Yeah.” His face is glowing again. “But that was different.”

“How is being naked in front of us at a swimming pool different from being naked in front of us here?” I fail to understand the logic.

He thinks about it, looks longingly at Ron for support. But he’s waiting for an answer as well. “Um,” His colour is high, once again. “Eh,” Then he speaks as if the sentence were one word. “I was virtually one-hundred per cent certain that it would not end in sex.” And then he sighs and drains his flûte à champagne.

“And that would be a bad thing?" I inquire, noticing a nice-sized bulge in his khaki, cotton-twill pants.

Again, he looks at Ron for help, and Ron accommodates his lover. “You want me ta tell ‘em?”

Vince is nodding his head that is so bright red, that I'm afraid that he could actually have a heart attack. "Vincent is a virgin." Ron kisses his cheek. "Well, not exactly. But for all practical purposes.”

When Vince refills my glass, I have to go for clarification. “That is totally silly, Ron. Being sort of a virgin is like being sort of pregnant.”

That did it. Vince starts giggling and quickly moves to snorting and then to outright laughter. He puts down the bottle and his flûte on Raph’s night stand and takes Ron’s head in his hands and kisses his forehead. “Dan’s right, you know?” He picks up his glass again, staring at it, not looking at Raph and me.

“Okay,” Ron turns somewhat defensive. “what would you call it?”

“Um, to start with, I wouldn’t say that mutual masturbation is having sex. Nor did most of the blokes in the army.” He drains his second glass in a single gulp. “I’ve done that.” He pours himself another, since our glasses are still  full. “I have never had penetrative sex. I’ve never stuck my cock in an orifice of another human. And I have never had any of my orifices penetrated by the sex-organ of another man.”

After setting his flûte onto his nightstand, Raph places his hands on Vince’s hips and pulls him closer. Slowly and with purpose, he unbuttons the cotton-twill trousers. Vince sighs heavily. Raph inhales the freshly showered scent and fondles the hard cock with his tongue through thick, double-ribbed underpants.

Vince drains his glass again and sets it next to Raph’s. The colour in his face is strikingly scarlet and he has started to sweat. His breathing is becoming more shallow and urgent. Raph lowers the trousers and underpants in one stroke and takes Vince’s swollen and pulsating organ gently into his mouth.

By this time, Ron is stroking his own, watching Raph's every move. And Raph is certainly showing both Ron and Vince how this is done. Pulling his mouth off the deep purple tip of the organ, his tongue goes to work flicking its way from the tip down the shaft to his balls. This has Vince looking as if he may pass out.

When Raph notices that Vince is becoming wobbly, he stands and tongues Vince’s open mouth while placing his sleek, muscled bare bottom on the edge of the bed to remove his shoes, cotton-twill trousers and underpants, leaving Vince only wearing his undershirt and sweater. Ever so gently, Raph, kneeling next to the bed, spreads Vince’s thighs and returns to his unfinished work.

From my vantage point on the bed, it looks as if Raph is still working the balls, so I roll over to take his throbbing cock. He tastes of Raph’s saliva and salty-sweet juices. He smells of coal-tar soap. When he jumps, tenses and lets out a guttural moan, I know Raph has found his hole.

In the meantime, Ron is struggling with his jeans. He hasn’t bothered wearing underwear. Slowly, he crawls on all fours from the foot of the bed. When he gets to Vince, he looks as if he is weighing his options. First, he kisses Vince deeply, but when Vince mumbles something, Ron sits up and straddles his face.

It’s clear that Vince is going to lose his virginity on all counts, when Raph places his heels onto his own shoulders. By this time, Raph has to be oozing a generous amount of juices.

As I give him a glance out of the corner of my eye, I know that he is giving the still virgin hole the necessary preliminary massage with the head of his cock and one thumb. Vince moans and gurgles, now sucking frantically on Ron’s rod.

The door’s light creaking the forces me to look back over my shoulder. Keith is watching, rubbing his crotch. I motion to my arse. And he quite naturally follows directions, unzipping his fly as he approaches. I apply spit to my hole and guide his cock in.

By this time, Vince’s moralistic mindset must have given up, since he is now rimming Ron. To my right, Raph’s cock throbs and oozes in time with the massage both of his thumbs are giving the almost deflowered orifice. I suck his cock briefly to get a mouthful of lube. His eyes have glazed over; he is flying on autopilot. And when Raph’s hands reappear on Vince’s ankles, I know the deed is about to happen. And when Vince gasps and pants 'Yes', I know for sure that he’s been undone.

I reach behind and pull the head of Keith’s dick out and lube him up with my saliva and Raph’s juices. He re-enters slowly to the hilt and seems hesitant to move. So, letting my teacher instinct have full reign, I move my hips in time with Raph’s lazy thrusts in and out of Vince.

Briefly, over my shoulder, I notice that Keith is trying to get to my neck to kiss me. The kid seriously needs cuddles and not just a fuck. I stand up, expelling him from me, undo his trousers and lower them to his knees along with his undies.

Lying on my back in the centre of the room on the Oriental carpet, I pull him gently onto me. His cock finds its way without coaxing, but once in, he doesn’t move.

“You have to pump back and forth, Baby Brother.” I whisper into his ear. And he commences gingerly. Feeling his cock rub against my prostate, I swivel my hips and whisper that he should pump harder. He complies, slowly losing his inhibitions.

I take his face between my hands to give him the kiss, he’s been longing for. At first, only lips, then his mouth opens slightly and admits my tongue. He gets the picture and sucks my tongue and starts pounding my hole as if there were no tomorrow. You just have to love animal instinct.

Heavy panting, raunchy grunts and guttural purring from the bed tell me that they are either close or have actually come. For me, I’m going to shoot after about two more deep thrusts from my novice lover. And, I’m there, which causes my anal sphincter to clamp tightly around Keith’s member. He squeaks, and increases the suction on my mouth, drawing air into his lungs through my nostrils. Then his last three hard, deliberate thrusts, pounding my perineum, forcing my balls even deeper into my lower abdomen, tell me that he is filling me, although he’s as quiet as a mouse.

I pull Keith into a hug with my legs still around his waist, leaving his cock in place until it softens and slips out of its own accord. I stroke his hair and rub his back, letting him hold on for dear life. Trying to dampen his post-coital tristesse, which will surely engulf him as it does most every man, when he has penetrative sex for the first time with another man, I whisper sweet sentiments into his ear.

Vince is right, mutual masturbation doesn't count. But what we just did is adult stuff, and Keith is still a very vulnerable kid. It crosses my mind that young people in England don't seem to grow up as quickly as we did on the East Side of Kansas City. After all, I’m not even two years older than him.

“You okay, Baby Brother?” I whisper into his ear. He nods without looking up. “Feeling a bit down?” He nods again without looking at me. “It’ll go away.”

“I don’t think so." He snuggles tighter into my neck and shoulder. His dick slides out of me, and I unlock my legs from around his waist.

“Do you want to talk about it?” I coax him to get things out in the open.

“All right, then." He rolls onto his side to look at me. I notice cum on his school tie, which I wipe off with my index finger and put it into my mouth. “I’m in love with a bloke, who will never be able to return my feelings.”

“How do you know?” I feel a premonition in the pit of my stomach that it might be Marty or me.

By this time, the three on the bed are listening. “Because he has a girlfriend. They’ll probably marry next year.”

“Do you know his girlfriend, too?” My question triggers hoarse laughter from Keith as he throws himself onto his back.

“Yeah,” He wipes his eyes with the backs of his hands. “she’s my sister.”

“Have” Raph's voice is just loud enough to hear, and he clears it. “you hinted anything to Clive?”

Again, the coarse laugh of Weltschmerz pessimism as expressed by a lanky lad of sixteen. “You must be joking, Raphaël.”

“Hardly,” Raph sits up on the side of the bed and sips the last of the champagne in his glass. "I know that he really likes you. And he gave me the sense that he doesn’t have any problems with queers. So, I’m sure you can at least talk with him.”

“I can’t.” He wipes his eyes again.

And before I can switch on my brain, my mouth offers: “Do you want me to have a word with him?”

“Would you?” He leans in and kisses me on the mouth. I also notice that his cock is again at full mast.

Of course, my head is nodding that I will, and the brain inside that nodding appendage is berating me with: ‘Let’s see how you keep your ass out of trouble this time, Jerk.’

So, I figure that if I go to gaol for having sex with a confused kid who may not be able to keep his mouth shut, I might as well make it worth my while. The look on his face is that of happy surprise as I straddle his cock and insert it. I get into my squatting position, where I have total control and away we go. And the three on the bed are paying close attention.

The second time around, it takes longer to squirt but is just that much more enjoyable, since it isn’t nearly as frantic. But when I finally do squirt, it is generally less in volume, and it consequently travels farther. And once again, Keith's school tie gets it. This time, the entire length.

“Don’t worry, I have several more upstairs.” He chuckles and smells it. “I think I’m going to keep this one as a souvenir, though.”

Raph finally wonders aloud about the obvious: “And why aren’t you in school?”

“I finished my three morning classes” He wipes his dick with his linen handkerchief, a potential second souvenir and pulls up his underpants and trousers. “And I don’t participate in sports on Tuesday afternoons. Rugby is too brutal and cricket too monotonous.” He unties his school tie and rolls it up and puts it into one of his blazer’s side pockets. “Uh, yes, before I forget it, Uncle Seph wanted me to ask about your being permitted to sit A-levels this year. You’ll have an interview with Mr. Bidwell-Stover tomorrow morning at nine. He seems to be rather optimistic, since I gave him your résumés in a nutshell.”

“Our résumés in a nutshell?” Raph is just short of laughing.

“Well, quite.” Keith seems a little surprised why this would be humorous. “My cousins, from a long line of Franco-Hibernian aristocracy, British subjects, reared bilingually in North America, excellently versed in French and English literature. Heavily involved in theatre.” Mr. Bidwell-Stover will probably want to interview you in French. He’s sweet, but his French sounds sort of like that of the Queen Mum after a bottle of gin. But please, do indulge him. He’s a pillar of the old-boys system. And it is rumoured, that if he likes you, your A-level results will be outstanding. He’s over the moon about meeting you.”

I look at Raph with raised eyebrows, and Raph looks at the ceiling to keep from laughing. Ron and Vince are dumbfounded. Ron is the first to regain his voice. “You really are aristocrats?” I shrug and Raph throws himself back onto the bed.

Keith apparently knows the family history much better than we do. Of course, he takes it seriously. “Very much so. Uncle Seph’s mother was my great-grandfather’s sister. They were direct descendants of Etienne-Jacques-Joseph-Alexandre MacDonald, Duc de Tarente, who was Marshal of France under Napoleon and Chancellor of the Legion of Honour under the Bourbon Restoration. Uncle Seph is named after him. And Uncle Seph would have been lord Mongrain-Bourke, the 9th Baron Bourke of Castleconnell, had he not--”

“--tossed it back in the Queen’s face.” Vince adds. “Yeah, we were there, when he did it. Amazing man. But I thought that it was some token or other for his service. It didn’t click at the time that he’s actually entitled to it. Now, I’m seriously impressed with our Seph. He tossed an inheritance back at this oppressive, class system. If that’s not the proverbial gauntlet.”

“That’s my Comrade Joe, all right.” All eyes are on Ron, since most everyone assumes that their relationship runs just a bit deeper than just political pals. “He came ta visit me at the hospital, after Dan broke my jaw for beating up on Raph. Then he’d come by the house every day for two months, until I could go back to school, and read funny stories about a man in Dublin called Leopold Bloom.” Ron admits somewhat shyly. “And years later, I’d run into him at meetings of the Teamsters' Local 41 and sometimes at rallies and events of the CP."

“CP?” Keith tries to decipher the acronym. “Christian Power?”

I smirk and Ron laughs. “The, uh, Communist Party.” Ron clarifies in a subdued voice, which is a natural reflex for anyone brought up under McCarthyism. “That’s why I’ve always called him Comrade Joe.”

Keith’s eyes light up with interest. “There actually is a Communist Party in the United States?”

“Apparently so.” Raph’s cynicism is shining through as he rolls a joint on the edge of the bed. “But, of course, that’s comparable to having Mormons in the Congo?”

“Mormons in the Congo?” Keith's expression is that of total confusion.

“In a nutshell:” I have to laugh about Raph’s analogy. “Mormons are a bunch of loonies, based in Salt Lake City, who believe that the Garden of Eden was in Jackson County, Missouri and that black people are descendants of Cain.” I take a toke off Raph’s reefer, and pass it to Keith.

Since he declines, I give it to Ron. Keith is still perplexed. “And there are people who actually believe that tripe?”

“The United States is full of them.” I inhale and hold for five. “They virtually own the entire State of Utah.” I take another toke and pass to Ron. “But other people’s crazy shit is just as weird. Like the Jehovah's Witnesses, who believe the Bible is the literal truth. They officially predicted the end of time in 1914, 1918 and 1925.”

“Oh, dear.” Keith’s acute critical thinking is on a hair trigger. “From what we hear, there are many Christian sects in America, who believe in the literal interpretation of the Bible.”

“Almost all of them say they do," Raph extinguishes the joint and gives it to me to eat, and turns his attention then to Keith. "but none of them really do. Dan’s got a sure-fire way to get rid of them, when they come knocking at the door.” He laughs sarcastically. And Keith looks at me grinning.

“I use the Bible.” I laugh because of the THC content of my blood stream. Besides, the absurdity of religion is purely laughable in its own right. “I get their attention by quoting some of the standard versus like John 3:16.”

“Which is?” Keith is intrigued.

“For god so loved the world that he gave his only begotten son, that whosoever believeth in him should not perish, but have everlasting life.” I let that sink in. “Then I ask them why an all-powerful being would have to victimise his own son, because he, god the father, fucked up and invented sin. Why doesn’t he just cancel it, if he’s all powerful?"

“Does that work?” Keith laughs. “I mean, critical thought is not generally their strong point.”

“Sometimes it gets them thinking.” I lay back down on the Oriental carpet, feeling the pressure of sex building up in my insides. “But then, I give them the whammy. I have them look up Mark 16: 17, 18 in their little Bibles and read the passage aloud. 'And these signs shall follow them that believe; in my name shall they cast out devils; they shall speak with new tongues; they shall take up serpents; and if they drink any deadly thing, it shall not hurt them; they shall lay hands on the sick, and they shall recover.’”

“You are wicked.” Keith laughs with delight. Raph is grinning broadly, because he was at our house, when I pulled this shit on some Jehovah’s Witnesses. Vince and Ron are listening but look as if they are not quite sure they shouldn’t condemn my actions.

“Then, I ask them if they believe the part of the Bible they just read.” I now have to strain a little to keep a double load of Keith's cum from running out of my backside. "Of course, they have to say that they do, or they wouldn't be worth anything as missionaries. So, when they do, I ask them to wait at the door, while I go get my bottle of hydrochloric-acid drain cleaner.” I stand up and leave for the toilet before anybody can react. Except for Raph, they’re all in shock, that I would do such a thing.

The relief, I find on the toilet is welcome, since it’s not just the cream that your partner pumps into you, which liquefies immediately, but the air that goes along with it. And when I come out of the toilet at the back of the corridor, I notice that the door is ajar. Probably how Keith came in without being noticed.

Upon arriving in the kitchen/dining area, Raph is standing at the small refrigerator with the door open. “Seph must have been here.”

I take a look in the fridge; it’s full. And Keith appears in the doorway to the sitting room. “No, that was me.”

“You went shopping for us?” I wonder, fairly astonished that a kid would do something like that.

“Uncle Seph said that you were going to keep to yourselves today.” He blushes. “And I remembered how utterly non-existent your stocks were, when you arrived, so I thought that you could use some things.”

“What do you get?” I go for my wallet on the counter, since I’m still buck-arsed naked.

“What do you mean?” Keith looks puzzled, as if I’d asked him something in Russian.

“How much did everything cost?” I stop to pick up my wallet from the counter that juts out perpendicularly forming a border of the kitchen.

“What does it matter?” The kid still doesn't understand that I want to reimburse him.

“So I can give you the money.” I must have an impatient expression on my face, since he starts explaining things as if to someone who is seriously non compos mentis.

“Why on Earth would I...” He lets his voice trail off, while thinking things over. By this time Vince and Ron are standing in the doorway behind Keith. “Oh, dear.” He moves to the side to make room for the other two. “I’m afraid we're experiencing our first clash of cultures. We don't do that sort of thing in family. We, uh, seldom mention the word, money, and never in connection with a sum. We all have allowances from various estates, and I’m sure that Uncle Seph is going to, or has already, set up something comparable for you.”

Ron looks at Vince, who is nodding. Raph and I are dumbfounded. Then I think back to my childhood, Dad would give me money for things but never ask for the change and never ask what I did with it. Just a while back, when he and Raph were talking up in my room, and I was going to get stuff for sandwiches, he wanted to give me money but after I told him that I had enough, he seemed self-conscious about having pulled out his wallet. Now, I know why.

“When we go to the pub. We buy rounds.” He looks at Ron and Raph in turn, since I apparently have a glowing light bulb above my head. “Each automatically buys his round; there is no mention of money. And you never, ever ask anyone how much money he has, neither in his wallet nor in the bank.”

“Wow.” is Ron’s reply. “It’s a lot different in Canada. We’re more like the Yanks, I guess. Well, not quite as crass as the Yanks, but you know what I mean.”

“And if I go shopping for you without being asked, it’s my note to pay.” Keith is sweet in his role as cultural consultant.

“Okay,” Raph puts a name on it. “we’ll teach you everything we know about sex and tutor you for your French exams, if you show us how not to get into trouble here. Deal?"

“Absolutely.” Keith beams, and I do believe to see a bit of lust in his eyes.

“What do you mean ‘how not to get into trouble’?” Vince has yet to hear about what happened in London.

Raph hesitates just a second too long with his answer, so Keith picks up the thread. “Daniel was virtually standing at the main entrance to The Scrubs.”

To judge by the expressions, no one except Vince has any idea what he’s talking about. “You’ll have to explain that.” Vince informs him.

“Wormwood Scrubs is the English Sing Sing.” Ron looks lost, so Keith elaborates. “Have you seen ‘The Spy Who Came in from the Cold'?” Ron nods. “The Scrubs was the prison, which appears in that film. Or at least, its main entrance does.”

“Okay.” Ron signals that he gets it.

Keith sighs. “Outside Earls Court tube station last evening, Dan was nearly arrested on charges of blasphemy, when he loudly called upon several deities to kill him, to prove the point that a god does not exist. He unfortunately included Jesus in the list, which is apparently in violation of some archaic law, since it is the Church of England’s deity of choice. Yahweh, Allah and Krishna apparently don’t count.”

“Wow.” is Ron’s comment again.

“Yeah,” I confirm. “I had no idea that blasphemy laws exist anywhere outside of a theocracy.”

“Some consider Britain precisely that.” Vince snarls. “Particularly, if you’re anything other than C of E.”

“RC, I take it.” Keith smiles at Vince.

“Was brought up RC, but I’m not sure, any more.” He laughs sarcastically and looks at me. “Not since I met Dan.”

“Hey, think about it.” I interject. “A week ago, you were an ordinary Roman Catholic virgin just like any other nun. And look at you now.”

“Hm, quite literally a fucking agnostic.” He chuckles to himself. “At least, there’s not much guilt to go with it.”

“There should be none.” All right, I suppose that some would consider me an atheist missionary. I consider myself, however, an advocate of reason. Then I subdue my assertive tone. “Of course, if you’re not willing to cancel dogma from your thinking altogether...” I let my voice trail off, when I notice four sets of annoyed eyes staring at me. “I’m sorry, Vince, it’s just that Raph’s and my best friend killed himself very recently, because he was convinced that god could never forgive him for being himself.”

Raph comes up from behind and lays his arms around me. He nuzzles the back of my right ear. It’s exactly what I need; he’s exactly whom I need.