Date: Sun, 27 Mar 2005 19:44:50 -0600
From: troy161@hotmail.com
Subject: A Marine Called Jason, Part III

A Marine Called Jason
  Part III

By Jock
Email:   troy161@hotmail.com



                            Chapter Eight

I was promoted to Sergeant and there was a celebration at the Dragonfly with
the guys from the barracks.  Later I went to Toby's to celebrate. Toby
looked like he wasn't feeling good.
"What'll you have?" he asked rather quietly.
I gave him a blank look.  It was the first time he'd ever asked me what I
wanted to drink. He knew.
"The same," I said with a curious look.
He got my beer and instead of sliding it across the bar like he always did
he reached over and set it squarely in front of me. I saw a sad look in his
eyes and he glanced away from me a couple of times, like he was avoiding me.
I gave him another curious look and took a drink of beer, looking at him
over the top of the bottle.
"You...haven't heard," he said in a soft, flat tone.
"Heard what?" I asked.
Toby gushed the air out of his lungs with a pained look on his face.
"Heard what?" I asked, now with panic in my voice.
He still hesitated.
"Heard what?" I asked, and in those few seconds that lapsed I grew panicky.
"Jason's plane went down."
The air went out of me and the blood left my head, leaving me light-headed.
I felt dizzy and I slid up on the bar stool because my legs weren't going to
hold me up.  I felt sick to my stomach.
"My Godd!" I whispered.  "He...he's...he's not..."
Toby just shook his head.
I downed the reset of my beer and Toby put a glass of whiskey in front of me
and set the bottle beside it.
"I'm sorry, Brad.  I'm so fuckin' sorry.  He was a great guy."
I sat there staring into the empty glass, trying to breath and trying to
quell the sick feeling in my stomach.  I was going to loose it.  Toby poured
some whiskey to the glass and I downed it.
"Where?  When?" I asked, setting the glass down with a loud crack.
Toby looked down, shaking his head.
"They were on their way back, stopped for refueling and something went
wrong.  There were only two survivors."
I wanted to ask if Jason was one of them; if he was just hurt, but I knew
better. I put my hand to my head and closed my eyes tightly, fighting down
the emotions that threatened to burst free.  I could not loose control.  Not
there in Toby's.  Jason would expect more than that from me.
"He got to see his family," Toby went on in a consoling tone but if it was
supposed to be any consolation, it wasn't.  Not for me.
"Geezuss, all that guy did, and he went down in a goddamed airplane?" I
said.  I gulped down another drink of whiskey.
"Do you need to use my office?" Toby asked.
I shook my head.  "No," I said.  "No, I--I have to go someplace."  I poured
myself another drink.  I downed it and stood down from the bar stool.
"Brad...," Toby said.
I waved him off.  I exited the bar and sucked in the night air, pungent with
the odors of a city that didn't concern itself about air pollution.  It
smelled good to me.  It smelled like war. I walked hard in the direction of
the church. I needed God worse than I'd ever needed Him in my life and it
wasn't all for good and holy reasons. I was angry.  I wanted some answers
why this stupid thing had happened, and I had a few things to say to that
saint.  And the patron saint of military men...whoever he was...where the
hell was he?
I wasn't any more calmed down by the time I got to the church but I entered
with the reverence and respect that had been instilled in me as a boy.  I
was angry, but you didn't show anger and disrespect at the same time in the
house of God.  I took a pew in the front and knelt down, near the grotto of
the saint I'd prayed to for Jason's safety. I didn't look up at the statue.
Rather, I gazed into the flames of the dozens of flickering candles at the
saint's feet.  I didn't look up at the statue.  I didn't have anything to
say to him and if he had anything to say to me, he could have God strike me
down to get my attention.  I looked up at the crucifix instead...stared at
it for a long time...and felt a calm come over me.  I don't know what it was,
but the tension left me and I realized that it wasn't all anger, but grief
that consumed me.
I tried to fight down the emotions and the tears.  I didn't know why.  I
don't know why anybody does.  It's there and it's going to be there till you
let it out or it's going to hurt all the worse.  In my case I didn't let it
out, it escaped on its own.  I started to recite the litany of prayers I'd
learned as a boy but my shoulders slumped and I sobbed.  I lost it
completely. I heard footsteps coming into the church then someone moved into
a pew close behind me. I didn't realize how close till I felt a hand on my
shoulder.
"Hey, buddy...excuse me...Geezuss, what's wrong?" he asked.  His voice was
hard and deep. He got up and moved into the pew beside me.  He was intruding
on my space but I was grateful for his presence.  I was more grateful when I
felt his arm across my shoulder and saw that he was in uniform...combat
fatigues...and I didn't care that this soldier was seeing me cry.
"I know how it hurts," he said.
How did he know?  He didn't even know why I was hurting.
But he did.  "I lost my best friend a month ago," he said.
He wasn't a priest so I felt no need to confess anything about my feelings
for Jason, to explain the depth of my feelings. It went deeper than that
anyway, beyond the sex we'd shared.  The soldier was offering me compassion.
  After a few minutes though, I wanted to be alone.  When I began to regain
my composure he asked,  "Do you want to go have a beer?"
I shook my head.  "I want to stay here for awhile," I said.
"Okay.  I'll be at the Dragonfly.  I'll be there for awhile." He went up to
one of the grottos, lit a candle and knelt down.  After a few moments he got
up and left. He nodded as he walked past me and I wondered who or what he
had prayed for.
I sat in the soft dimness, letting the grief engulf me.  I didn't raise hell
with the saint.  I wasn't angry anymore.  Jason would've frowned on it
anyway.  He would've been embarrassed with my grief. But it was my grief,
not his. I sat numb for over a half hour, not even trying to grab any of the
thoughts running through my head.  I was just there, in a space with the
heat of the candles warming it; there for no real purpose or need to be
there and I didn't know why I was.  I suppose I wanted to feel the warm
embrace of an understanding being that would comfort me or make the awful
truth go away.  But I didn't feel it.  All I felt was numb, and my own
presence, very much alone, in an empty space.  Finally, I crossed myself and
stepped out of the pew.  I still didn't look at the statue of the saint.  I
wasn't angry, but he had a lot to answer for.
I wondered if it was too late to meet up with the soldier.  I walked the few
blocks to the Dragonfly. When I went in he waved me over and signaled to the
waitress to bring me a beer.
"I'm glad you decided to come," he said.
"I just needed a little more time back there," I said.
"Jack Burnside," he said, putting out his hand.
"Brad Courter." I sat down.
"I know it fuckin' hurts, man," he said.
"How did you know?" I asked.
"Because I just went through it.  I've still got the pain in the pit of my
stomach. It's going to be there for a long time.  How'd it happen?" he
asked.
"His plane went down."
"He was a pilot?"
"No, he was coming back from the states.  He was a Navy Seal.  He went home
to see his family then he was going to re-enlist.  He was a Navy Seal sniper
and he gets it in a damned plane crash."
"Me and my best friend enlisted and came over here together," he said.
"How'd you get past it?"
"You don't.  You deal with it," he said.
We talked for over two hours and I felt better, and maybe he did too.  We
promised we would stay in touch; meet up at Toby's.  He said he'd been to
Toby's once but he heard it was a gay bar.  I told him I'd never seen
anything out of place there and that seemed to satisfy him.  At least he
never suggested meeting anyplace else.
I went to Colonel Brown and requested to escort Jason back home.
"You knew Petty Officer Seaborn?"
"Yes, sir, very well."
"I'll see what I can do," he said.
Less than an hour later, he called me into his office. "Get your shit
together, you're the escort," he said. "Your orders are being cut. I'm
giving you some extra time so you can go see your family while you're there.
You'll need to go over to his unit and pick up his personal stuff.  Take one
of the Jeeps."
"Yes, sir."
"And Courter, go through his stuff carefully, make sure his mother doesn't
get something she shouldn't see," he said.
"Yes, sir."
I drove to his unit, showed the LT my orders and he had someone, a young
PFC, show me to Jason's bunk and foot locker.
"You need anything, let me know," the  PFC said.  "You want some coffee?"
"Yeah, thanks."
He came back with a cup of coffee.
"You need anything else, let me know."  He came back a few minutes later
with a form on a clipboard.  "LT says you need to list everything and sign
for it," he said.
I began making the list, in detail; his shaving kit, shorts, socks,
T-shirts, a few letters and pictures, a watch, a choker necklace, the
presentation boxes containing his ribbons. It didn't surprise me that there
wasn't anything in Jason's locker that his mother shouldn't see, except I
confiscated four condoms.  She didn't need to have those but I did list
them. I even noted on the form who the letters were from and if there were
any pictures in the envelopes. On the very bottom of his foot locker, tucked
under a pair of athletic shorts and a jockstrap I found an envelope with the
words, "In case of my death see that this letter is delivered Cpl. Brad
Courter at Intel."  I felt a chill holding the letter in my hand. It was a
moment or two before I could bring myself to open it.

  Buddy,
I hate to put this burden on you, but you're the one I want to
  handle it.  If you can't do it, I'll understand, but I'm asking you.  I
  won't get sappy, but I want you to know that you've been the best
  buddy I ever had; like the brother I never had.  I know, I've got a
  brother, but you're a lot more of a brother than he is.  Don't try
  to make my folks understand any of this.  I don't expect them to.
  You do and that's what matters, that I and what I stood for are not
  forgotten at this time.  And I know you will make sure that what I
  stood for is honored. I'm not sure mom or my dad will want the
  flag.  If they don't, you take it. It does not go to my brother!   He
  would probably burn it, and it would only mean more to their cause
  that it covered my casket.  Being with you was great, in every way.
  You taught me a lot and you gave me a lot. I only wish I could have
  given back just a fraction of what you gave me but you knew I
  wasn't built that way.
Take whatever else you want of my stuff.  I would like for you
  to keep the ribbons, my discharge papers and DD214 unless my dad
  and mom ask for them, which I'm sure they won't. There's another
  sheet attached to this letter that authorizes you to take care of every-
  thing, including the final arrangements. Didn't want to include it here
  because what I've said here is none of anybody else's business.

I turned to the other sheet.

This will authorize you, Brad Courter, to make all of the final
  arrangements. You know what I want; full military honors.  And
  that's not just for me; I want it because it will honor the rest of the
  guys who are still fighting and dying over here.  I want my death to
  mean something, Brad. It has to mean something, otherwise what
  the hell was it all for?  To back up this authorization, my GI insurance
  is made out to you.  After you've paid everything, go out and have a
  beer ON ME, then give what's left to my parents.  It's been a hell of
  of a ride, Marine, and I'm honored that you were there with me. Take
  care of yourself.  Stay safe, and say hello to Toby for me.
                                                            Your buddy,
Jason

I stayed knelt beside his foot locker for a moment to regain my composure.
Then I inventoried the stuff on the shelf and the stuff hanging on the rack
at the head of his bunk.  It was mostly uniform shirts and pants.  I found
the PFC and told him I was finished and asked if he could get me a duffle
bag to put everything in.  I couldn't find Jason's duffle bag.
"Do you want to go through the stuff and verify my list?" I asked, handing
him the clipboard.
"No. If he trusted you, I do," he replied and signed off on the sheet.
In addition to the ribbons and the condoms, I took a pair of his briefs, a
T-shirt, the choker necklace, two pictures that he was in, his athletic
shorts and jockstrap; all things that meant more to me than they could ever
mean to anyone else.
We flew out on a C-130 and began island-hopping back to the states.  I sat
with Jason's casket all the way. We were met in San Diego where we
transferred to a civilian plane headed for Indianapolis. There was some
hassle over me staying with his body on that flight but I won out.  I stayed
with his body every leg of the journey except in the hearse. In
Indianapolis, along with the waiting hearse, there was also a military sedan
for me to drive. So I followed on the drive to his hometown, a small town
called Attica. I showed the funeral director the letter but told him I
wanted the family to be there to help make the arrangements were made.  I
was there only to see that he had full military honors. He said he would
call Jason's parents to make an appointment.  From the funeral home I found
my way to Jason's parents' house.
I was welcomed and treated with cool respect. I thought they might be angry
and would have liked to take it out on me.  The four of us, Jason's mom and
dad and his brother, Allen, went to make the arrangements.  They wanted us
to all ride together but I was reluctant to leave the military sedan.
Jason's brother was an ass.
"Does that make you feel proud?" he said, indicating my uniform as we stood
aside while the funeral director was talking privately with his parents.
"Damned proud," I said, unflinching. "He was a good man and a fine soldier."
"Well, I guess this isn't the place," he said and let it go.
His parents pretty much accepted the fact that Jason had asked me to make
his arrangements and they seemed okay with it, especially when they saw that
they were making most of the decisions.  I wanted them along. His brother
was another story. The casket was picked out and we were back in the office
where the funeral director explained that he would acquire a flag and
arrange for an honor guard.  That's when Allen interrupted.
"Look we don't really want all the military honors, the uniform, the guns,"
he said.  "We would like to simply put my brother to rest in peace."
I looked at his parents but I couldn't tell whether they agreed with their
son or not. I was hoping they didn't and would speak up.  When they didn't
say anything, the funeral director did.
"I'm sorry, but I have a letter that the deceased wrote to Sgt. Courter
stating his wishes and requesting him to be in charge of the arrangements,"
the man said, "even so far as to making him beneficiary of his life
insurance."
"Well, now, that's interesting," Allen said.
"I can't disregard your brother's instructions," the funeral director went
on.
"For your peace of mind, I've already signed the insurance money over to the
funeral home," I said in as kindly a voice as I could muster.  "He will
return the unused portion to Mr. and Mrs. Seaborn." I would have been
dubious about doing that but the couple obviously knew and trusted the man.
I didn't mention the cash I'd kept out of Jason's personal stuff.  I wasn't
stealing it.  He told me to have a beer on him, and that's what I had to do.
Allen glared at me.  I looked at his parents again but got no clue what they
were thinking.  Finally, his mother spoke up.
"You know better than anyone what he would have wanted," she said to me.
"He made his wishes known," I said simply.
"There is the decision whether to have an open or closed casket," the
funeral director said.
"Open," Mrs. Seaborn said, without hesitation.
"Open at the wake, but closed for the funeral," her husband put in.  She
patted his hand in agreement.
When the arrangements were made I started to excuse myself and leave the
family alone.
"Where are you going?" Mr. Seaborn asked.
"I was going to get a room at the motel," I said.
"You'll do no such thing," Mrs. Seaborn said with indignation. "You can take
Jason's room. He would be honored."
It would have been impolite to argue so I went back to the house.  Allen
dropped his parents off and left.  Mr. Seaborn was waiting on me and met my
car.
"I'll get your bag," he said.
"No, that's all right, I'll get it."  But I stopped in mid-motion when I saw
the firm determined look on the man's face.
"The Marines didn't teach you to respect your elders?  I said I'll get your
bag."
"Yes, sir," I said and backed off.
I followed Mrs. Seaborn up the stairs with her husband behind me with my
bag.  He set the bag down at the door and she showed me into Jason's room.
"Make yourself at home. The room is just like Jason left it...he was just
here, you know...," she said. "We thought he would..."  She stopped again,
choking off her words.  But then she quickly recovered.  "We thought he
would want to use it for a little while when he got back, before he went on
with his life."
I thanked her quietly but profusely.  It's not what I'd planned but I was so
grateful for her hospitality.  When I was alone, I stood there in the middle
of the room.  It was eerie; comforting and disturbing at the same time. The
room seemed to wrap itself around me, as Jason had done so many times. It
was easy to imagine him there; I could almost feel his presence. I tried to
imagine the day that he walked out of the room to become a Marine, expecting
to return and find everything just as he'd left it; and when he did return,
he would find that nothing was as he'd left it.  The first thing to catch my
eye when I walked in was the weights and the workout bench that took up
about a fourth of the space. I walked around the room taking in every
detail.  The bed that he'd slept in such a short time ago was wrinkled where
he'd sat on it, I suppose, to put his boots on.  There was still a towel
draped over the barbell from where he'd worked out last, I'm sure while he
was home. There were several pictures of bodybuilders stuck to the wall. A
football sat cocked against the pillow. A bulletin board displayed a dried
boutonniere, some concert ticket stubs, some old newspaper clippings from
the sports page, several pictures of him and his team mates as well as
pictures of him and various girls.  There was a concert poster on the closet
door.  His clothes hung in the closet, including his athletic jacket.  It
hung heavy with medals.  I wondered if he felt the same about his athletic
honors as he did about his military medals...no big deal. Probably so.
Oddly, there was a GI Joe doll standing on his dresser, barefoot, no shirt.
I couldn't help noticing the striking resemblance.  I would learn later in
conversation with his parents that he had patterned himself after GI Joe.
Mrs. Seaborn called me down to supper, she called it, not dinner.
"You take Jason's chair," she said, pointing to a chair at the opposite end
of the table from her husband.
I felt uneasy about it but I didn't argue.  Whether it was meant as a
gesture of hospitality or honor to her son, these people were not to be
argued with.  The three of us made casual and pleasant conversation during
supper.  I wondered but didn't ask where Allen was.  I thought he should
have been there to comfort his parents.  He was, after all, the surviving
son.
"You've probably gathered that Jason and Allen didn't see eye to eye on
things," Mr. Seaborn said.
"Allen and Jason never saw eye to eye on anything," Mrs. Seaborn said,
laughing softly.  "Sometimes I wondered how they both ended up in the same
house.  You would think one of them was an orphan," she joked.
"Jason was very proud of his brother, being in law school," I said.  I
wanted them to know that.
"We were very proud of Jason," she said.
"He would be glad to know that," I said.  I steered the conversation away
from matters of war and military as best I could and began asking about
Jason when he was a little boy and a teenager in high school.  I noticed
that it was a much more relaxed conversation.  I offered to help with the
dishes after supper.
"Oh, my, no," Mrs. Seaborn said, throwing up her hands.  "The kitchen is my
domain, I would never allow the men-folk in there."
"So Jason never had to do dishes?" I asked light-heartedly.
"He did plenty of other things.  He was a hard worker at anything he did,"
she said.
So Mr. Seaborn and I retired to the living room.  Surprisingly, he didn't
turn on the television as I expected he would, if only as a focal point to
ease the tension.  Instead, he sat down, cocked one leg over the other and
started talking.
"Tell me about my son," he said.  "We never really knew him after he joined
the navy."
"I can sum it up in a few words.  He was the best fighting man and the
bravest man I ever met," I said.
He nodded.  "That doesn't surprise me.  He was never one to let a wrong go
unnoticed and he never waited for somebody else to do something about it.
If he saw it, or heard about it, he took care of it."
I was trying to walk a fine line, trying to talk about Jason without getting
into details about what he did.  I wanted Mr. Seaborn to know, but Jason
wouldn't have wanted me to talk about it on his behalf.  I wanted to offer
his medals but Jason had been specific that they should ask for them.
"Tell me about my son," the man said again, this time with a firmness in his
voice that wasn't to be ignored, a tone that demanded answers to questions
unasked.
I dropped my head like a little boy being chewed out.  "He was a Navy Seal,
you knew that," I said, looking back up at him.
"What do Navy Seals do exactly?" he asked.
"I'm a Marine so I don't know exactly, only that they're the most highly
trained and the toughest fighting force in the world."
He sat quietly, looking at me, his eyes unwavering, as if he were waiting on
me to continue. I was about to tell him that his son was a sniper but just
then Mrs. Seaborn came in from the kitchen to join us.  I was glad for her
presence.  She turned the conversation to Jason's boyhood again and that was
much easier for all of us to talk about.
It got late and the conversation waned and I excused myself to go up to bed.
"Let me know if there's anything you need," Mrs. Seaborn said.
I undressed and hung up my uniform, trying to imagine Jason there with me;
like two high school boys.  Something compelled me to dig out his jockstrap.
  I stood naked in front of his workout mirror and pulled it on.  For that
brief moment, I was Jason, stuffing my manhood inside his worn jockstrap.  I
was Jason stretching out on the workout bench to do some bench presses.  I
quickly came back to the reality that I wasn't Jason when I couldn't push
the barbell up off the rack. I didn't bother the plates on the bar.  I left
them the way he left them.  I was awash with emotion as I got in his bed.  I
tucked his football against me and cried.
The next day I drove downtown, parked and walked around, trying to absorb
what Jason felt when he was a teenager.  I went in and out of a couple of
stores; a clothing store and a sporting goods store and it was easy to see
him there.  I drove up to the school and walked out on the football field.
"Can I help you, mister?"
I turned to see a burly youth walking toward me.
"I was just looking around," I said.
"Did you go to school here?......play football?" he asked.
"I played football, but not here," I said.
He snapped his fingers.  "You're the escort for Jason Seaborn," he said.
"Yes.  I just wanted to see where he played."
"Would you like to see the locker room?"
"Yes, I would."
We walked across the field to the school, the boy chattering about Jason's
athletic prowess.
"He was ahead of me in school," he said.  "Everybody looked up to him.
Especially the freshmen and sophomores.  He was a great athlete."  He
chuckled softly.  "The guy was a stud.  Everybody wanted to be like him."
He led the way into the locker room and showed me Jason's locker.  It still
had his name on the door.
"Another guy, Patterson, was using the locker but he never took Seaborn's
name off the door; he put his name below Seaaborn's name and he left his
helmet and jersey right where Jason left it," he said as he opened the door.
"When we heard he was killed, Patterson moved his stuff out and ripped his
name off the door.  It's Seaborn's locker now and that's the way it'll
stay."
I was overwhelmed by the boy's almost hero-worship of Jason.  Jason would
have been impressed, too, if a little embarrassed.  The way the boy went on
talking about him, it was obvious that Jason had attained legendary stud
status in his old school.  I thanked the youth for his time and the tour.
"I'll see you at the wake," he said.
The honor guard arrived at the funeral home for the wake; a seven-man
contingent of Marines in full dress from Terre Haute. I supposed that was
okay with Jason, that they were Marines instead of navy. I took my place at
the end of the casket, standing at attention, back out of the way from his
parents.  One of other Marines positioned himself at attention at the other
end. The rest stationed themselves around the room, standing at parade rest.
  I had a hard time not looking at Jason lying n the casket.  He looked so
damned handsome in his uniform, his chest covered with ribbons, and I was so
damned proud of him.
It pissed me off how many people ignored us in uniform.  I spoke or
acknowledged people only if they spoke to me first.  I wondered where his
brother was.  Maybe he wouldn't show.  I was appalled and really pissed when
he showed up wearing a black arm-band.  He was with four other guys, all
wearing arm-bands, with two girls who had black ribbons in their hair.  I
motioned for one of the Marines to take my place at the casket and I went to
meet the "protestors" before they could move into the room.  I motioned his
brother into the small ante-room next to the office.
"Give me the armband," I said.
"We're all wearing them."
"Those other cowards can do whatever they want.  You're his brother."
"Who the hell do you think you are to order me around?  I have the right to
express my feelings in any way I wish."
"Not here," I snapped in calm anger.  "You know, Jason told me he was proud
of you and he understood why you couldn't be proud of him.  Well, I don't
understand and I'm not even going to try.  This isn't about you or your
asshole cowardly friends.  This is a military service to honor the bravest
man I ever knew.  Now give me the arm band, or I'll take it off of you."
"You wouldn't dare," he said, laughing nervously.
"Watch me," I said in a low, even tone.  "It won't be pleasant," I added.
He hesitated then took off the armband.
"Wise choice," I said as I stuffed it in my pocket.  "You can have it back
after the wake," I said.
"Fuck you. There're plenty more where that came from."
"Don't show up wearing one at the funeral tomorrow," I warned.
"I don't know why my brother put you in charge of the arrangements in the
first place," he growled.
"I think I'm looking at why," I said.  "He didn't trust you.  And obviously
with good reason."
It was apparent that Jason had impacted a lot of lives in one way or
another. It didn't surprise me that a lot of girls were at the wake; a lot
of very sad, emotional girls crying on each other's shoulders or with their
heads buried in their boyfriends chests.  In my perverted grief, I wondered
which or how many of them had lain under his muscular athlete's body and
known the awesome pleasure of his huge cock inside them.  There were a lot
of his high school buddies there, too, even more studly with tears running
unashamedly down their faces. What did surprise me were the younger kids,
some barely in their teens, who I'm sure Jason never knew. You were a hero,
I thought; more than you know.
I took my place at the head of the casket again. Allen and his friends came
through the line like other mourners, not as his brother. I considered it an
insult. He paused at the casket with a look of sad contempt. I wanted to
smash his face in.
At one point Mrs. Seaborne took two young men up to the casket and she
turned to me and asked what all the medals were for.
		"The boys want to know, and I would like to know, too," she said.
		I approached the casket with her, and her husband joined us.
	"I can explain them, then they are all listed on his discharge papers," I
said. Then I went on to explain the ribbons. "That is the Expert Rifleman
Medal, that one is the Good Conduct Medal, that's the Purple Heart, Bronze
Star, Silver Star," I said, pointing to each one. "That one is the Republic
of Viet Nam Gallantry Cross,  Distinguished Pistol Shot, Distinguished
Marksman, Republic of Viet Nam Campaign Medal, the Viet Nam Service Medal,
that's the POW Medal, Combat Action Medal, Navy/Marine Achievement Medal,
Overseas Service Ribbon and the Navy/Marine Commendation Medal."
	"Wow!" one of the boys said.
	"He was a real marine," the other said.
	"My goodness, we had no idea," Mrs. Seaborne whispered.  "We didn't know he
was a POW.  He never wrote us about that."
	"He was captured but was held for only a short time. He said he was treated
okay," I said.
	"Thank God for that!"
	"Well, you can thank him partly, he escaped," I said with a kind smile.
	"He never wrote us much, period," Mr. Seaborne said.
	"He wasn't much to talk about what he did," I said.  "For him it was just
another day at the office."
	When everyone had left, the funeral director excused the honor guard and
gave Mr. and Mrs. Seaborne some time at the casket.  Allen stood with them
for a moment then left.  I stood to the side, fighting back more emotions
than I thought I could handle.  These were the last moments I would ever see
him.  Then Mrs. Seaborn put her hand out to me and pulled me in close to the
casket.  She squeezed my hand and sobbed quietly.
	"He was so young," she whispered, patting his hand.  "He was only seventeen
when he went in.  We should've never signed the papers."
"He wouldn't want to hear you say that," I said, putting my arm around her
frail shoulders.
Again, after the wake, Allen didn't show up at his parents' house.  I didn't
ask why, or where he was.  It was better that he wasn't there.  I was more
at ease my second night in Jason's room.  I felt like I belonged there.
It was the biggest funeral I ever attended.  They held it at the school
gymnasium because the funeral home was too small. The procession from the
gym to the cemetery was so long that they had people directing traffic and
parking in the little country cemetery at the same time other cars were
still pulling out of the school parking lot.
Wisely, Allen didn't show up wearing his arm band.  His friends weren't so
considerate. The priest gave a good sermon.  He obviously knew Jason as a
boy and he made it personal.  He even made us laugh. At the end he extended
the invitation on behalf of the family for everyone to go to the church to
eat.  He extended a special invitation the military contingent.
Allen looked angrier than sad standing with his parents at the grave.  I was
having a tough time keeping my composure.  I almost lost it, as much from
rage as  from grief or sadness. When the firing squad fired the
twenty-one-gun salute, one of the peaceniks actually turned his back to the
casket when the salute was fired.  I managed to hold my rage in check.  It
was not the time or place to vent it.  I could see the anger on the faces of
the other marines.  Allen glared when the flag was presented to his mother.
She took it warmly and held it to her breast. Her husband put his hand over
her hands on the flag. The guy who had turned his back walked away as the
flag was being presented.
I waited for the priest to say his final words then I stepped back and
followed the peacenik who was walking across the cemetery.
"Hey, scum-bag," I called quietly.
He stopped and turned around with a surprised look.
"Hold up, asshole," I said.  We were far enough away from the grave site
that no one could hear me. I half expected the guy to run away.  I don't
know if it was defiance or fear that kept him from it.
"That man in that casket won you the right for you to wear that arm-band," I
said.  "The least you could do is honor that service and show some respect
for his parents."
"I'm only trying to stop more of them from coming home in a casket," he said
angrily.
"That arm band is going to stop the war?" I scoffed.
"This wasn't the time or the place for it," someone said from behind.
I glanced around and there were four of the marines.
"Wherever we can be heard is the time and place for it," the young man said.
"If this wasn't a cemetery, I would tromp your sorry, cowardly ass in the
ground," the other marine said.
"I'll bet you're good at it. I'll bet you're all good at it," the youth
said.
"I'm damned good at it," one said.  "I just wish I could show you how good I
am."
I intervened before things got out of hand. "Guys we need to keep this
dignified," I said.  "You're making a scene.  Go back with your unit."
Grudgingly, they walked away.
"I suppose you expect me to thank you for saving my ass," the youth said.
"No, you don't thank me for a damned thing," I snapped.  "You owe your
thanks to the guy in the casket.  I just want to say, I hope you don't live
around here, because if you do...well, you see, I'll be here for a couple of
days...if you see me, run.  Run like hell, otherwise, they're going to be
hauling off body parts."
I think he got my point.  He blanched.  I walked off, leaving him standing
there looking pale as a ghost and went back to the grave.  His brother was
walking with his parents to the limo. The workers stood back a respectable
distance and waited, as if they were waiting for me to leave.
"We're waiting for you to give the okay, Sergeant," one of them said.
I nodded for them to go ahead. I stood at attention and saluted as the
casket was lowered into the ground.  When it sank out of sight into the
gaping maw of the grave I dropped my salute and turned. The men of the honor
guard was waiting for me as well.
"We thought we would wait and see if you need us to hang around," one of
them said.
"No, it's taken care of all it can be," I said.  "Are you guys going to the
funeral dinner."
"We were waiting to see if you are."
"Yes.  I think his parents would be honored," I said.
"Then we'll all go."
"Just keep your cool," I warned.
"We will, Sarge."
We didn't mingle at the dinner, but stood aside, being inconspicuous as
possible in full dress blues. For the most part the younger people avoided
us while the older people came up to us with their gratitude and respect.
One exceptions was the young athlete I'd met at the football field.  He came
right up to me with his hand out.
"Dammed impressive service," he said.
"Yes, it was."
"He would've had to be proud of that."
"No more than I was proud of him," I said.
"Too bad his brother is such an asshole," he said.
"Jason didn't hold that against him."
"If I ever join the military...and I expect I will...he, and guys like you
and him will be the reason," he said.
"Thank you, for both of us, and the Marines would be proud to have you."  I
looked him up and down, openly.  "And I don't think you would have any
trouble handling the Marines."
I and the other military excused ourselves early from the gathering at the
church.  Mrs. Seaborn thanked each one of them and hugged and thanked me for
bring her boy home.  Mr. Seaborn was able only to shake my hand. I was
surprised that Allen had the decency to come over to me as I was nearing the
door where the honor guard was still waiting.  I don't think they trusted me
to stay back by myself.
"Despite our differences, I thank you for seeing my brother home," he said.
"I did it for him," I said coolly.
"I see how much you hate me, but some day soon, you'll see that we were
right."
"You know what?  I would rather come back like my buddy back there than to
ever see the day you are right," I said. "Just one more thing.  The flag
that draped his casket; if it were ever to disappear and catch on fire...as
long as it takes, I will hunt you down, along with every one of your asshole
friends, I will cut your balls off...if I can find any...and I will feed
them to you.  I hope you hear me, mister, because a Marine does not make
idle threats."
He cocked his head back in surprise then quickly turned and walked away.
The honor guard escorted me to my car.
"You want one of us to stay?" one of them asked.
"No, I can handle it from here," I said. I headed back to the house to get
my bag.  I wasn't staying.  I didn't want to be there in the house a moment
longer than I had to.  It was over and it was suddenly too painful and I
didn't think I would feel Jason's presence there anymore.
I left a note, thanking them for their hospitality and for their son.  I
drove back to the cemetery to say goodbye before I left town. As I was
standing at the grave letting my thoughts ramble at will another car drove
up.  It was Allen.  I cringed inside.  Shit, couldn't he give it a rest?
But then I saw him carrying something on a hanger.  It was Jason's athletic
jacket.
"I expected I would find you here. Mom and Dad want you to have this," he
said.
I took the hanger.  It was heavy.  I couldn't say anything for a minute.
"You don't have to say anything," Allen said.
"No..."  I stopped him before he could walk away.  "Thanks. And thank your
parents for me."
He nodded and walked away.  Somehow, I hated that there might be a thread of
decency in him.
Another car had driven up and two burly young men got out and came over to
the grave.  I'd seen them at the funeral but they weren't in suits now. One
wore a school athletic jacket.  The other one looked like he should've been
wearing one.  We nodded and spoke; we all felt uneasy.
"You were his buddy," one of them said.
"I still am," I said. "I'm guessing you were team mates."
"Yeah," he said, eyeing the jacket.
"His brother brought me his jacket," I said, holding it up.
"He had more awards than I did," the one guy said, laughing.
"He had more awards than anybody," the other one put in.
The other one nodded.  I could tell he was having a tough time being there.
"He was a hell of an athlete," the one said.
"He was a hell of a man," I said.
"You would know that better than anyone," he said.
"No, I think you did too. The Navy didn't make him a man; that started back
here," I said.
"I wish we knew more about him, as a Seal.  But none of us were much on
writing letters.  And the times we did see him, he didn't seem to want to
talk about it."
"He was never much on talking about it," I said.  "Just know that he was the
bravest guy I ever met."
The other guy seemed to be oblivious to what we were saying.  It was awkward
for all of us.  If we'd been in a bar, I thought, we could've talked more
easily over a few beers.  That gave me an idea.
"Listen, in his last wishes, Jason told me to have a beer on him.  Do you
guys want to join me?"
"We couldn't get served," one said.
I swore under my breath as I realized that I couldn't either, and neither
could Jason.   It angered me that he was old enough to be laying in the
grave but not old enough to walk in and have a beer in his own hometown.
"I guess I can't get served either back here," I said.
"They would probably serve you, being in uniform."
"Yeah, you could get a six pack and we could drink it right here," the other
boy said.
It was a good idea.  We drove downtown to a bar they showed me and I went
in.  All eyes turned on me as I walked up to the bar.  I told the bartender
what I wanted.
"We're not a package liquor store, I can't sell you a six pack to walk out
with it," he said.
"I'm not old enough to get served either," I said cockily but I didn't move.
  I stood my ground, letting him know that I intended to walk out with a six
pack.
"Fuck it," he said as he got an empty carton from under the bar.  "You
brought Jason Seaborn home, didn't you?" he asked as he filled the carton
with six cold beers.
"Yeah."
"This is on the house," he said as he set the six pack on the bar.
"No, he told me to have a drink on him; he left the money, I have to pay for
it."
"Okay, give me a buck.  That'll pay for one of them; the rest are on me."
"Fair enough."
Me and the two boys...Bill Denny and Frank Houston...drove back to the
cemetery.  We sat at the head of Jason's grave heaped with flowers and
popped a beer can.  We were quiet at first, most of the way through the
first round of beers.  Then Bill started talking and Frank joined in.  They
told one story after another about their escapades with Jason and soon had
us all laughing.  I told some stories about me and Jason and answered their
questions.  I even told them he was a sniper when they asked what he did.
"No shit!  Dam, he always did have balls," Bill said.
"More balls than anybody I knew," I said.
"Fuckin' nerves of steel," Frank put in.
"And a stud," Bill added.  "I think he fucked every girl in the county who
wanted to be fucked."
"Shit, he fucked one of their mothers," Frank said, laughing. Then his tone
changed again.  "Did he, uh...take many of them out over there?"
  I knew he wasn't talking about girls.
"Yes, but I don't know how many.  He would never say," I said.  "He was
good. Best they had.  I could tell you one big target he took out but you
wouldn't believe it."
"We would believe anything about Jason," Bill said.
"Yeah, tell us."
"He took out Dhin," I said.  Bill didn't know who Dhin was.
"He was the president of Viet Nam for awhile," Frank told him.
"He took out the fuckin' president of Viet Nam!?" he blurted in disbelief.
Then he broke out laughing.  "That is the damndest thing I ever heard.  Who
would have thought...fuck, I can hear it now, at graduation...And the most
likely to take out the president of Viet Nam is....Jason Seaborn."
"Is this being disrespectful or what?" Frank asked as we were popping the
second and final round.
"Hey, we're not pissing on his grave," Bill said.
"Is it being disrespectful?" Frank asked me, in a more serious tone.
"No," I said.  "He would be sitting right here with us if he could."
"Yeah, he's smiling and shaking his head and saying, what a bunch of dumb
fucks," Bill said.  His voice choked and I saw his eyes tear up.
"I'll bet he tore through the woman in Vietnam," Frank said.
"Yeah, he was the horniest fucker I ever saw," Bill put in.
"He did his share of damage," I said.  "He was the only guy I knew who never
had to pay a prostitute."
"They gave it away, huh?" Bill said, laughing.
"To him," I said.
"He should've been charging them," he said.  "Dam, he was hung."  He looked
at Frank.  "Remember how he was hung?"
"Who could forget that?  Hell, we didn't know if we were in a locker room or
a horse stable," Frank said.
"God, I'll bet he tore up some pussy with that thing."
The conversation with the two big hunks was turning me on and I was
surprised and impressed that they were talking so intimately about Jason.
But it was nothing; I didn't believe there'd ever been anything between
them.  I had the fleeting thought of trying to get something going with
them. But if they didn't go for it...well, them knowing that Jason's best
buddy was gay...it would've somehow degraded Jason's memory.
It felt good to be with the two athletes who knew Jason as well as I did but
from a different time and in a different way.  But it was time to go and we
stood up and gathered up the beer cans.  The boys took them and crushed them
into little pieces then we stood together in silence.  The sun was going
down and it seemed a perfect time to say goodbye.
Suddenly, Bill let it go.  He put his face in one hand and sobbed.  His
broad shoulders shook with his grief.  His team mate put his arm across his
shoulder and pulled him in tight as tears rolled down his face.
I stood at the grave for a few more minutes. I thought the boys needed to be
with him now more than I did.  Finally, I came to attention and saluted.
The boys put out their hands in turn and we shook hands.
"Take care.  We're behind you all the way," Frank said.
"Thanks," I said and I walked away.  I knew it wasn't good-bye.  I didn't
know if it ever would be.  The two boys were still standing at the grave
when I drove out of the cemetery.
I headed to Indianapolis to catch a plane.  No, I didn't go visit my family.
  It was an eight-hour drive and I didn't want to go. There was just no
reason to.  I felt guilty but I didn't want to see them.  I didn't know how
I would explain it to Mom and Dad but God help me, I wanted to get back to
Viet Nam where I belonged; where I could be with Jason's memory.
When I arrived back in country, the first thing I did was go to Toby's.  As
usual, he had my beer on the counter before I got to the bar.
"How'd it go?" he asked.
"Very impressive, but I never want to do that again."
"How'd his parents take it?"
"It's hard to say.  I think they were numb the whole time.  His brother, on
the other hand...."
"I didn't know he had a brother," Toby said.
"I didn't either till just before Jason left to go home," I said. "The guy
was a first-class prick and a certified asshole all rolled into one.  He and
some of his friends wore black armbands to the wake."
"No shit!"
"Well, the brother didn't.  I asked him not to and he gave his armband to
me."
Toby laughed.  "Yeah, I'll bet it was real easy to convince him," he said.
		I sipped my beer and Toby watched me.  "Are you okay?" he asked.
		"Don't even go there," I said.
		"Okay."
	"I can't handle it yet," I said.  "I don't know if I ever will."  I quickly
washed down the choked sob in my throat. In my mind I had gone where I'd
told Toby not to go.
"Listen, I don't want to intrude on your thoughts or your life, but...well,
if you ever want to be with someone who knew him, to talk or...anything...I'm
here."
His meaning soaked in and I nodded with a forced smile.  "Thanks."
I gradually got back into the swing of things.  In the natural scheme of
things the body makes its demands, for nourishment, sleep, even sexual
urges...and in time they take priority over emotions.  My sexual urges made
themselves known and the need began to build up.  I went to Toby's a few
times but never made any contact.  I didn't really go there for that reason
but I figured if it happened...    Then there was always Toby's standing
offer.
Back in the barracks I began to take note of a couple of the guys I'd been
living with for all those months.  One especially...Tom McCord, who had a
drop-dead sexy butt that he didn't mind showing off. His entire body was
something to show off.  He never wore a towel in the latrine.  The other
guy, Randy Jones, it was his cock that drew my attention.  He was legendary
hung; thick, veiny, long with a generous collar.  I often wondered if he was
as big as Jason.
I dreamed up one scenario after another.  The one that I dwelled on was of
me eating Tom's tight, round ass while the Randy fucked me.  I didn't make a
move on either of them, though. I knew I was in great and dire need for
sexual satisfaction when I awoke from a dream about Jason and realized I'd
had a wet dream!  I was covered with come.  Shit, I hadn't done that since I
was a kid.  I woke up just as it was coming to an end, the stuff was till
warm and lying in the thick globes and ropes.  There was nothing handy to
clean it off.  I quickly smeared it all over my abs so it wouldn't run down,
then headed for the shower.
A few minutes later, Tom came into the latrine.  It was early for anyone to
be up.  I had a reason, I wondered what his was. He took a piss then stepped
into the shower and on one three down from me.
"What're you doing up so early?" I asked.
"I couldn't sleep."
Great, if he was awake, I wondered how much he'd seen of my little fiasco.
"That must have been one hell of a dream," he said with a sly grin.
I flushed with embarrassment and tilted my face up into the shower to wash
it away.
"I haven't done that since I was a kid," I said.
"It was a fuckin' whitewash," Tom said.
"I wonder who else saw."
"Anybody who was awake.  It was pretty hard not to notice," he said. "That
means only one thing, you know."
"What's that?"
"You're damned hard up."
"I guess so," I agreed.
"I've noticed you don't go out much since your buddy got it.  It's been a
tough time.  Do you want to go have beer sometime?"
"Sure," I said.  "Do you know Toby's?"
"Yeah.  I know the place but I usually hang out at the Dragonfly.  The girls
are prettier there...If that matters to you," he added.
I looked at him and he was looking right at me and in that moment I think we
had a private understanding.  I had only to decide whether to be leery and
act ignorant or trust him and jump on it.  I chose the latter.
"Maybe it doesn't," I said.
"I've heard too much about Toby's," he said, his eyes unwavering.
"Me too, but I've never seen anything out of line there," I said.
"I hear they watch the place.  There's just as much going on at the
Dragonfly," he said.
"I expect so if the girls are prettier."
"I thought that didn't matter to you," he said.
"Sometimes it does."
I was a little uneasy yet heady with the way the conversation was going and
for the first time I was thinking about sex with another guy without feeling
guilty about it.
"I've noticed you noticing my butt," Tom said.
I was taken aback but tried not to show it. "You've got a mighty fine butt,"
I said casually.
"Interested?" he asked.
"Are you offering it?"
"It's all yours."
I couldn't believe it!  "Where do you go?" I asked.
"To a little place that passes as a hotel, out on the edge of town. It's
almost in the country. Six rooms.  A lot of guys go there."
"And nobody watches the place with guys going in and out?"
"A lot of them bring girls.  Those that don't, there are two daughters that
serve as a good front."
We picked up a pass and headed out together. There was a sense of relief in
not going to Toby's for a change.  A sense of freedom, like I was breaking
away from the pain that haunted me day and night.  Somehow I knew Jason
wouldn't mind that I was doing this.  It would be what Jason expected me to
do.  It was what he would do. I thought about Steve...we'd both had him. We
took a cab but Tom told the cabbie to pull over while we were well in town
and we walked the rest of the way.
The place was small and rickety. I wondered how they had six rooms.  I found
out.  Tom paid a woman some money and she gave him a six pack of beer. He
led the way upstairs to a room no bigger than my space in the barracks.  We
walked right in, without benefit of a key.
"No keys?" I asked.
"Naw, they don't mess with locks."
"That means anybody could walk in?" I asked.
"If that bothers you, you have to put a chair against the door, but most
people don't care one way or the other," he said.
There was a cot against the wall and a chair and table with a bucket of
water and a metal wash basin and some towels.
"It's not much," he said as he pulled his shirt off.  "That's the reason
they don't watch the place.
"I don't think I'm going to mind," I said, eyeing his muscular upper body.
Tom was naked first. He laid out across the cot on his stomach, his legs
cocked apart with his butt turned up so inviting it made my mouth water.  In
that moment I became Jason...I was going to do the fucking... and the guy on
the bed was me.  Except that I crawled between the guy's legs and buried my
face in his butt.  Jason would've never done that.


                                                               Chapter IX

I finished my tour in country and extended for six more months.  Don't ask
me why.  It was just something I had to do.  The job wasn't done and maybe I
thought I could make a difference in six more months.   Maybe I wanted to
honor my buddy by serving part of his re-enlistment that he never got to. I
didn't go home as I could have. I went to Hawaii instead.  It was nice and I
met some really hot, horny guys, but I missed Jason so much it hurt.
Jason's death took something out of me.  The hate.  I didn't hate the VC
like I did before. They were still the enemy and I remained diligent in my
job of getting information out of them but the intense hate was gone.  Maybe
it was because the VC hadn't killed him.
One day I found the roll of film I'd used up taking pictures of Jason.  I
stood at my locker holding the film cartridge tightly in my hand.  I didn't
know how it got buried in my shit or how I could have possibly forgot to get
it developed.  The next problem was where to get the film developed.  I took
them to a civilian photo shop and told the man that I was having them
developed for a buddy of mine.  I also told him the nature of the pictures
and said we'd taken them so he could send them to his girlfriend.  The man
gave me a leering smile and nodded and said he understood.
When I went back to pick them up, the man smiled even wider.
"He very big," he said.
"Yeah, wouldn't you hate to be his girlfriend," I said.
I stopped at a little park on the way back and found a secluded bench.   I
was nervous opening the packet of pictures.  My breath went out of me and a
sudden dull pain  manifested itself in my chest. I gazed at the picture on
top, of Jason, shirtless, in his combat fatigues and boots and web belt.  My
Godd, he was beautiful.  In the next one he was his briefs.  How well I
remembered that bulge; his manhood so heavy that it pulled the briefs down
in front.  The next one, he was naked.  In all his glory naked.  Big,
muscular, so damned good looking, and....my eyes fell last at his
man-hood...HUNG.  His cock was a work of art in itself.  I lingered over each
picture till I'd sucked the very essence of him into my being.  I think I
was trying to bring him to life inside my own soul.
The next picture, he had a hardon.  I had to laugh at the way he posed to
show off his huge cock.  I remembered that I'd said I needed a wide-angle
lens.  He joked back that the pictures would be something to show my
grandchildren.  He was stroking his cock in the next one.  The pictures I'd
taken from the back made me want to cry, he was so gorgeous.  Such a
magnificent butt! My mouth watered as I remembered the hours of pleasure I
had derived with my face buried between those beautifully rounded, taut
muscles and my tongue boring deep into his tight hole. His last pose was
sitting on the chair with legs spread apart and his heavy balls hanging low.
  He had his thumb pressed against the base of his cock to make it stand up
straight and tall.  Dam, he was HUGE!
I went through the stack of photos several times before I put them away.  I
had to sit for a few minutes while my hardon went down. Jason would have
laughed at that.  Now I didn't know where I was going to keep the photos.  I
could use the same story I'd used with the photographer if somebody happened
to find them but I didn't want to cast suspicion on myself and I wasn't sure
the Colonel would buy that we'd taken them to send to Jason's girlfriend.  I
devised a way of hiding them.  I put them in a sealed envelope and that
envelope in another sealed envelope and wrote on it, "In case of my death,
see that these pictures are sent to the address on the inner envelope.  The
address was one I'd taken from the Jason's personal stuff.  It was a bold
and risky thing to do but I didn't much care of some ex-girlfriend received
a mysterious envelope from a deceased ex-boyfriend.  I taped the envelope to
the underside of my foot locker tray.  About once a month, I tore the
envelope off to look at the pictures again.
Somehow, word got back to the colonel...he was a bird colonel now...that I
hadn't gone to see my family.  He called me in.
"Is there a problem back home, Sergeant?" he asked.  "You never took time to
go back to see your family when you extended."
"No, sir, there's no problem," I said.
"Well, its damned odd behavior," he said.
"I got a taste of what they think of us back there when I took my buddy back
to bury him.  I don't need the crap, sir," I said.
"Does your family feel that way?"
"I don't really know for certain, sit, but they never give any indication
that they're proud that I'm over here.  I have to take it that they don't
support our efforts."
"Well, it's your choice, Sergeant.  I just wanted to see if there was
something that I could help with."
"I appreciate your concern, sir."  I said.  "You know what, sir?  After
seeing the mood back home, I would've buried my buddy over here if there was
a place. He would've been more at home here."
"I expect a lot of them would.  It's just too bad we don't have something
like the cemetery at Normandy over here."

I extended for a second six-month tour.  Again, I didn't go home to see my
family.  Toby cautioned me to go home for good after my second extension was
up before I ended up like he had.  I didn't see how that would be so bad.
I'd heard that a lot of guys were taking their discharge and staying in
country.  My life was pretty much run-of-the-mill Marine issue...do the job,
eat, drink, sleep and have sex.  Not necessarily always in that order.  I
couldn't get past Jason's death.  I missed him every minute of every day and
night.  The nights were the worst because there was time to remember. More
than once buried my face in the pillow and quietly cried myself to sleep. I
missed him so much it hurt.
One night I met up with Jack Burnside at Toby's; he was the soldier who came
up to me in the church when Jason died.  He recognized me right away and
came up to the bar.
"Hey, how's it going?" he asked, putting out his hand.
"Still hanging in there," I said.  He had big hands, and the way those long,
thick, strong fingers wrapped around mine sent a chill through me for some
reason. He asked if he could join me and took the stool beside me without
waiting for answer. I bought his beer.
"I thought you steered clear of Toby's," I said.
He shrugged. "I decided to take a chance.  I've heard some interesting
things about the place."
I thought it was an odd thing to say.  Maybe he was trying to tell me
something.  I didn't pursue it but I left my options open and let my guard
down. He asked how I was doing...really, like he was concerned how I was
doing.
"I'm doing okay," I told him.
"I remember you were taking it pretty rough," he said.
"It's still rough," I said.
"I know how that is. Just don't work to hard trying to get over it.  Let it
work itself out," he said. "Its hard teaming up with anybody else, isn't it,
when you loose somebody that close?"
"Yeah."
"I never did...still haven't," he said.  "Its like I'm lost out here
somewhere."
"Sometimes I feel like a zombie," I said.
"Yeah, I know what you mean...like you're not really alive, just going
through the motions.  Makes it easier when you can talk to somebody who's
gone through the same thing."
I nodded.  He was sounding philosophical, which surprised me.
"Hey, I've got a place if you wanta come with me," he said.
Another surprise.  I couldn't gauge what was behind his invite but I was
curious enough to want to find out.
"Sure," I said, and downed the rest of my beer to indicate that I was ready
to go.
He hailed a cab and gave the driver an address.
"Where is this place?" I asked.
"I'll show you."
We drove through the GI district of Saigon.  When the cabbie pulled into a
dark alley and stopped I began to get the jitters.  It was a better part of
town but it was still a dark alley.  Jack paid him and we got out.  The cab
sped away like he was running away from something.  He let us through a tall
wooden gate in a small but beautiful garden.  It was almost surreal, so
peaceful and serene.
"Right up these stairs," Jack said, leading the way along a path between
well manicured bushes.  Up the stairs he unlocked the door and held it open
for me to go in first.
"Welcome to my little corner of Saigon," he said as he closed the door and
locked it.
"Your little corner?  This is not a hotel, is it?"
"No. It's a place I keep to get away from the insanity out there," he said.
There was absolutely no trace of the war.  It was a large room with
comfortable, not-cheap furniture, with wall hangings and sconces with
candles. There was a state-of-the-art stereo system, and built-on shelves
holding a small library of books. In one corner was a kitchenette and beyond
that I could see a bathroom.  Jack opened the French doors that opened up
onto a balcony overlooking the garden.
"This is damned civilized," I said.  All the while I was wondering how he
managed to have such a place...how he afforded it.  But maybe he came from
money.
"It's a place to come," he said.
"This is all yours?" I asked.
"Well, it's rented," he said.  "Everything in it is mine."
"It looks like you're planning on staying awhile," I said.
"That's a distinct possibility," he said.  "My time's up in about three
months and so far I haven't found any good reason to back to the world.  I
didn't like what I saw when I buried my buddy."  He handed me a drink.
"I know.  I didn't either."  I told him about my experience with Jason's
funeral.
"I can top that," he said.  "My buddy's mother is an anti-war activist and
she wouldn't allow a military funeral.  No honor guard, not even in his
uniform.  He was buried in a suit.  Not even a flag.  I wasn't even allowed
to wear my uniform.  She wouldn't let the minister make any mention of his
military service. She erased the whole time he was over here; that entire
part of his life.  His dad and older brother fought her on it but since she
had custody when he was growing up the judge gave her say-so.  I was so
damned pissed...and hurt.  I was hurt for his dad and brother. Both of them
were in the marines. I went out to the cemetery with them before I left, in
uniform, along with some high school buddies...guys we played football
with...and my rifle. We planted flags on his grave and I gave him a
twenty-one-gun salute. One of the guys brought his trumpet and played taps.
We gave him a proper burial.  I doubt the flags stayed on his grave very
long but the guys said they would see that he always had a flag even if they
had to take one out there every day."
"Geezusss, what a bitch."
"I didn't even tell her goodbye when I left.  Hell, I practically grew up in
that house, but I didn't know who the fuck that woman was.  He would have
been so ashamed of her."  He paused, or stopped, and quickly chugged the
rest of his beer.  "God, I miss him," he whispered, swiping his eyes with
the back of his hand.
I was tearing up too.  Then out of the blue he threw me a curve that hit me
right between the eyes.
"Do you want to go to bed?"
I was taken aback, not completely sure how he was asking the question. He
saw my surprised look.
"I'm taking a big risk here but I think we're in the same boat," he said.
"If not, I'm just offering you a place to sack out for the night.  If
so...well..."  He stood up and pulled his shirt out of his jeans.  "I'm going
to bed.  If you want to join me...I won't kick you out of bed."
I set my beer down and followed his tight bubble-butt over to the bed.
"Wow. I never had a come-on like that before," I said.  "What made you think
we're in the same boat?"
"In the church...I could tell you lost more than a Marine buddy.  Loosing a
buddy tears your guts out, but man, your heart was breaking."
He stripped off his clothes and stood and watched me undress.
"You top or bottom?" he asked boldly.
"Either...both," I replied.
"Good, so am I.  This oughta be real interesting."

My second extension was coming to an end and Toby said we should celebrate
before I left.  I thought he meant buying me drinks for the night, or maybe
going out on the town.
"Be here at closing time," he said.
I showed up, ready to celebrate.  But when he was done cleaning up he didn't
make any move to leave the bar.
"Let's go upstairs," he said.
Shit! I knew Toby lived up over the bar but I'd never been up there. My
heart suddenly started thumping.   If this is what he meant by
celebrating...Dam, Toby was such a stud!
"I need to shower first," he said.
I'd already showered and he didn't invite me to join him so I waited in the
tiny living room, on the couch.  The bed was in a small alcove and the rest
of the living room was taken up by a set of weights and a workout bench.  He
came out a short time later with a towel wrapped around his waist.  He
looked sexy as hell.  He was HOT.
"I didn't ask if you wanted to shower," he said.
"No.  Well, yeah, but you didn't ask me," I joked.
"Fucked up there," he said.  "But I'll make up for it."  He stepped over my
legs to get to the bed and the towel came off.  It dropped and swirled to
the floor when he was standing right in front of me.  I don't know, maybe he
made it happen, but there he was in all his naked, studly, muscular glory.
"Are you going to get naked, or am I supposed to get dressed?" he asked.
"Don't bother getting dressed," I said.  I stood up and started taking my
clothes off.  Toby went over and sat back on the bed, his shoulders against
the headboard and his legs spread out with his balls hanging down to the
mattress.  He was hung like he was built.  Bulky solid.  Heavy-looking.
Thick.  Dam, he made me hungry.
When I was naked I stood hesitantly for a moment.
"Lucky bastard," Toby said.
"Huh?"
	"Jason.  He had that at his beck and call," he said, nodding to my
nakedness.
"Pretty much any time he wanted it," I admitted. But I was surprised and
confused at Toby's remark.  "I was the lucky one, though."
"Dam right.  He was a stud."
"More than you know," I said.  "Or maybe not..."
Toby shook his head.  "It never happened," he said.
"It probably could have.  He thought you were pretty hot," I said.
"I would never come into that tight circle you guys had," he said.  "There
wasn't room."
He was pulling on his cock.  He patted the bed and I had to step over him to
get to the other side.  By the time I laid down, I swear, his cock was hard.
  Standing up between his legs like a club.  He wasn't as big as
Jason...hell, nobody was as big as Jason...but he was thick.  I mean
beer-can thick.  His cock looked like a tall beer can with a head so big
that it looked blunt.  A network of thick, bluish veins added to the look of
virility. Shit, his cock was muscular!  I reached over for it.  I couldn't
get my hand around it any more than I could get my hand around a beer can.
		"Dam, I don't know if I can even get my mouth around that," I said.
		"Is that the way you want it?" he asked.
		"For starters, yeah."
		"Okay, but I'm open to anything," he said.
I bent over.  His cock stretched my mouth something terrible.  I could
barely take him.  The head was like trying to stuff a baseball in my mouth.
I did what I could, lapping my tongue all around, swiping up the ball juice
that ran copiously out of the wide opening.  I mean wide.  I was able to
drive my tongue into the opening and dip the stuff out.  Dam, he tasted
good.  I like ball juice better than come; the juicy stuff before the thick
globs got mixed in, and he had plenty of it.
I sucked him and drooled and played with his balls.  I slipped my fingers
into the beginning of his crack, using my drool to work my way into the
crevice.  He didn't stop me but he didn't spread or offer me any
encouragement either.  After a few minutes I raised up.
"I'm doing the best I can," I said.
"You're doing great."
"I could take it better the other way."
"Are you sure?  Well, maybe so, after Jason."
"He was huge," I said. "About twice as long, but he wasn't this thick.  I
never saw a cock this thick before."
"You still wanta try it on for size?" he asked.
"Yeah.  Hell, I can't walk away from a challenge."
"How do you want it?  On your back or on your stomach?"
"How do you want it?" I asked.
"On your stomach, but it goes in deeper that way.  But what the hell, deep
shouldn't be any problem for you, after Jason."  He twisted around to get
some lube out of the drawer of the nightstand and I stretched out on my
stomach.  He had a condom too that he held up like he was asking if he
should use it.
"It's your call," I said.
"Good."  He tossed the condom aside.  "I hate `em.  They're all too tight."
"No wonder," I said, as I reached out and worked the lube all over his cock.
  He gave me some more on my fingertips and I put it in my hole.  He
positioned himself between my legs and I lifted them onto his shoulders.
"Fuck!  You've got an awesome ass," he said as he squeezed my butt muscles.
"I've wanted this ass since the first time you talked into my bar."
"Why didn't you say so?"
He laughed.  "It was pretty much occupied," he said.  He set the head of his
cock against my hole and pushed a little. "Are you sure you wanta do this?
It's gonna be awfully tight."
"You've been in tight places before," I said.  He started to say something
else but I cut him off.  "Hey, you're talking to a Marine, I'll handle it,"
I said.
It was a lot of bravado on my part.  I was always apprehensive just before
getting my ass plugged but this time I was approaching scared.  Toby was
going to pry my ass wide open.  I closed my eyes and sucked in a quick
breath of air as he pushed harder.  I was ready.  I wanted it.  I opened my
eyes and let them rake over his incredibly-muscled body; that would heighten
my desire even more.  I reached up and squeezed his pecs then his tits.
"Ohhhhhh," he gasped. "Fuck...yeah...squeeze `em...pull `em...Ohhh, yeah,
man, here...goes...!"  With that he entered me.
"Oh, Geezusss!!" I exclaimed.  I froze.  "Fuck!"  It felt like he had truly
shoved a beer can through my asshole.
"You said you could handle it...are you sure?" he asked.
I cringed under the excruciating pain.  "Goddam!" I gasped.
"I can take it out," he said.
"You fuckin' take it out, you're gonna have a real fight on your hands," I
said.
He pushed harder and I winced and started gasping like I was in labor. I was
sucking in air like a steam engine.  I should've been getting used to it but
he deeper he went the thicker his cock felt.  I hadn't noticed that he was
thick at the bottom but he was sure prying me open.
"You okay?" he asked.
"Oh, Fuck...don't even ask!" I gasped through nervous laughter.  "Just give
it to me...all the way...shove it in me and let's get it over with."
He obliged.  He didn't slam me but he gave one hard, serious shove and his
cock was embedded in my guts like meat in a sausage casing.
"My Goddd!"
"I'm not pulling out now," he said.
I tried squeezing my asshole around his cock but he was so big I couldn't
feel it doing anything.
"You tell me when you're ready," he said.
"Ready for what?"
"Ready to be fucked."
"What the fuck are you doing now?" I blurted.
"Waiting for you to get used to it," he said.
The banter helped.  I squeezed harder and was greatly relieved when it
started not hurting so bad when I did that. I could finally feel my tight
sphincter muscles contracting around his cock.  I had feeling again, and it
was feeling good. His girth was stretching me all the way in so that it
didn't matter that he wasn't as long as Jason.  Without asking or waiting
for me to say so, he started fucking me.
"Ohhh, go easy...easy, man...it feels like you're pulling my ass inside out."
He fucked me easy but with great determination, not to be put off by my
whimpering.  His cock was like an electric prod emitting tiny shock waves
all the way in and out.  He had me trembling.  He was good.  He was
incredible.  Godd, he was making me feel things that even Jason hadn't made
me feel.
"Geezusss," I gasped softly.
"You okay?"
"Awwhh, yeah...Fuck, I'm okay...fuck me, man...Godd, your cock feels
incredible.  Fuck me.  Just leave me an asshole."
Toby was good; talented, and long winded.  He had the moves and staying
power that are rare among men.  I didn't know what the big O was all about,
but Toby had me on the verge of something with every throb and move of his
cock.  I hadn't felt anything like this since Jason.
"You getting close?" he asked.  "You look like you're about to come."
"I've been close for a long time.  I've been close with every stroke of your
cock. I don't know what's holding me off."
"I can take you over the top if you want," he said.
"Take me anywhere you wanta take me," I said breathlessly.
He started driving his cock into me at odd angles, twisting his hips,
lobbing his cock around inside me.  He pulled back till just the head of his
cock was lodged in my ass and the thick, gristle rim pulled on my ass
muscle.  It felt wonderful.   He used cork-screw motions that drove me
crazy.  The blunt head of his cock hit and rubbed against my prostate which
made me want to scream.  He was fucking me with a steady, determined pace,
working me up, pushing me toward insanity when suddenly he slammed into me
like a pile driver with a loud gushing groan.
"Aw, Shit!......Fuck, man, I hope you]re close...cause I'm gonna come... I
can't hold it back...I'm gonna come...!"  His entire body bulged and flexed
like a mountain of muscle and shook and seconds later he was pumping heavy
loads of come inside me.  Fuck, the stuff was hot!
I wasn't quite there. I willed my climax but it just wouldn't happen.
Sensing my frustration, Toby fucked me like a madman to try to get me to go
off.
"It's okay, man, I don't have t come," I gasped.
He pounded my butt a dozen more times then slowed down.
"Fuck, I'm sorry," he mumbled.  "I had you close...but all of a sudden my
trigger tripped...your ass is so hot and tight and alive, I couldn't hold
off."
"Its okay, don't worry about it," I told him.
"Don't you worry, I'll make it up to you.  I'll get you off," he declared.
He hovered over me till his powerful arms were shaking then shoved himself
up.  He reared back on his haunches and I started to lift my legs off his
shoulders but he grabbed me by the calves and held me there.  He watched
intently as he extracted his cock from my ass.
"Dam, you are wide open," he said.
"I don't doubt it, with that beer can cock of yours."
He pushed my legs toward me, tilting me in half with my asshole aimed right
straight up.
"That is hot, looking right down in your asshole," he said.  "Fuck, I can
see your inner muscles moving.  Squeeze your asshole."
I squeezed but didn't feel anything happen.  Toby laughed.
"It ain't closing up," he said.
"Are you sure you didn't fuck me a new asshole: a larger size?"
I saw him flick his tongue out to wet his lips.  He wouldn't...Not
Toby...hell, he was practically straight.  Most guys at the bar thought he
was straight.
"I said I would get you off..."  His words trailed off and he wet his lips
and I shivered at what he was going to do.  Suddenly he buried his face in
my ass and drove his tongue into my gaping hole.  Deep.  Deeper than anybody
had ever tongued me.  It felt like a small cock darting around inside me. I
groaned but I choked on it and it didn't come out.  I pressed my head back
into the pillow and clawed the sheets.  I felt my asshole relax and opened
even wider to welcome his tongue.  I felt his hot spit drooling into my ass
and he washed it all around the delicate inner muscles.
"Oh, Geezusss, Toby!" I moaned.  "Ohh, yeah...tongue it...eat it, you big stud
...oohhnnnn...awww, you're getting me there...so close...so fuckin'
close...don't stop, man...don't stop Toby!.....I'm comin'....!"
I came so hard the bed shook.  I shot off so hard my head ached from the
blood pounding in my temples. I sprayed myself...come all over my face and
neck and shoulders and my chest and in my mouth and nose and pools of come
in my eyes. My Godd, where was it all coming from!  Toby kept tonguing me.
He had me so far over the top that I couldn't take any more.
"Aww, please..."  I grabbed his head in both my hands.  "Fuck, man, you
gotta stop!  I can't take any more...fuck, man...let up on it...!"
He raised up, reluctantly, and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.
He laughed when he saw the come all over me.
"Let me down...let my legs down...I gotta get my breath," I gasped.
He pulled my legs down and laid them on either side of his hips.  My ass was
still wide open and I felt his come drooling out.  I tried to tighten the
muscle but I only squeezed air.
"That was wild," Toby said.
"That's an understatement," I gasped.
I was groping for the sheet to wipe the come out of my one eye.
"You made a real mess," he said. "I never seen anybody come like that."
I got myself cleaned off and let my arms fall at my sides.  Toby moved from
between my legs and lay beside me.
"That was fuckin' wild," he said again.  "Did Jason ever do anything like
that for you?"
"No.  With him it was pretty much a one way street."
"I would've thought so," he said.
"I thought it would be with you, too," I said.
"Going one way all the time is boring.  How come you thought that?"
"You're so damned straight-acting...nobody in the bar would believe this."
"I'm straight-acting?"  he scoffed.  "You're straight as a ramrod.  And
Jason... nobody would believe he would go for anything like this."
"Jason really was straight," I said.  "He just liked having sex with other
guys."
"With one guy, mostly," Toby said.
"I liked to hope so......but I was never sure," I said.  "You know something
I always wondered about?"
"What?"
	"I wondered if he ever made it with any of those Vietnamese boys he met up
with on the way."
"Geezuss, he would fuck those little guys a new asshole."  He rubbed his
hand across my stomach.  "The celebration isn't over.  The fireworks have
just started," he said.
I couldn't believe that night. We did everything together. What I did for
him, he did for me and I reciprocated. Godd, he was insatiable, and as
virile as Jason.  His cock stayed a club the whole night. Towards morning he
was whining that it'd stayed hard so long that it was aching.  My cock
wasn't sore but my ass was numb from the repeated pounding he gave me.
Neither of us wanted to stop but we ran out of night and were running short
on morning.
"We'd better knock it off and give your asshole a chance to close up," he
said.
"I need to see if I can walk," I said.
We lay together and talked and caressed each other and Toby checked my
asshole every now and then with his fingers.  Toward the end, he used his
thumb and smiled.
"Aw, I can feel it squeezing my thumb...you're closing up," he said.
I fondled his cock till it was hard again.  I gaped at it in disbelief.
"Goddam, I don't believe I took that thing."
"Look what you've done.  What're you going to do now?"
"Anything left in your tank?" I asked, fondling his balls.
"There's always more where that came from," he said.
"I want it."  With that, I hovered over him and went down on his cock.
Toby gave himself up to me one last time. It was almost nostalgic. His
muscular cock fairly bolted thick streams of come into my mouth.  I savored
it for a moment then swallowed it.
"Are we going to go have breakfast like civilized men, or are we going to
keep acting like a couple of wild animals," Toby joked.
"It's gotta end sometime," I said.
Over breakfast Toby talked about Jason.  He drew it all out of me and I felt
better for it.
"Is this a therapy session?" I asked.
"I don't know, is it making you feel better?" he asked.
"Yes."
"I'm the only one you can talk to about it who understands," he said.
"It's the first time I've let it out...all of it," I said.
"Are you sure you want to go back and get out?"
"I'm not sure about anything, but I think it's time," I said.
"Why don't you stay?" he said.
"Like you stayed?"
"Yeah, you can make a life here."
"Not if we don't win this thing," I said.  "And I'm not all that sure
they're going to let us.  Naw, I need to go back and see what's there."
"You saw what was there."
"I saw some decency among a few people," I said.  "If I don't find what I'm
looking for, maybe I will come back."
"You're not going to find that," Toby said.  "He's gone, Brad...you're not
going to find him no matter how hard you look."
I dropped my eyes and started to choke up.  It was a cruel thing to say to
me, but maybe it needed to be said.  Finally, I looked up again.
"I'm still going back.  But we'll keep in touch, okay?"
"Right."

I did consider enlisting in the Navy and becoming a Navy Seal but I didn't.
Honestly, even as a marine, there was a tiny part of me that doubted that I
had what it took to become Jason. I didn't have his steely eyes and his big,
brass balls.
I got out, went to see my family for a brief visit then set about getting on
with my life.  I was drawn to Indianapolis.  It was a big city but close to
Attica and Jason.  Maybe Toby was right, maybe I was still looking for him;
and I knew where he would always be, and I took comfort in that.  I found a
good job as a warehouse manager and began looking to buy a place of my own.
My choice of a real estate agent was a fluke.  He turned out to be gay.  He
saw it in me but I didn't see it in him at first.  Hell, I was looking for a
place to buy, not a sex partner.  He revealed himself to me one day when he
was showing me a place.
It was a place in the country between Indianapolis and a small, upscale
suburb called Avon.  It was well into the country, located in heavily wooded
hills back off a winding lane. A small stream cut into the back of the
property for several hundred yards.  The house was a big, old farm house, on
its way to being run down but with a lot of potential. There was a barn,
complete with hayloft, and horse stables and some other outbuildings.  I
envisioned myself becoming a part-time farmer.  There was still some
furniture left in the house; a big kitchen table and chairs, an old cabinet
that I deemed to be an antique, and some chairs and tables and a huge woven
rug in the living room.
"There's not enough land to farm, but you could raise farm animals, and a
big garden," Bill was saying as we stood in the barn
"I guess that's close enough to being a farmer," I said.
"You could do about anything out want back here," he went on.  "Its very
much out of the way, secluded to a fault up here on the hill. You could have
loud, wild parties and nobody would ever know."
"I'm not really a party guy," I said.  "At least not loud, wild parties."
"Ah, the more intimate type," he said.
I laughed.  We went back inside for me to take another look through the
house.  My mind was already pretty much made up but I wanted to go through
again and inspect it for any serious faults that I'd missed before.  I found
nothing new and the ones I saw were fixable.
"I think I'll take it," I announced in the kitchen.
"Great.  I'll get the paper work started."
"How long do you think it'll take?" I asked.
"Well, since there's no one living here, occupancy can be immediate.  It's
just the time to get the loan approved and the papers shoved through the
system.  I'm very good at that."
"When can we start on the paper work?" I asked.
"Right now, if you want to come back to my office," he said.
"Fine," I said.
I took a moment to look around the kitchen again.
"Makes you want to celebrate, doesn't it?" Bill remarked.
"Maybe I will when it's mine," I said.
"I could think of a thousand ways," he said.
I glanced at him, thinking it was an odd thing to say.  He caught my glance
and in that split second of eye contact, as most often happens, something
clicked.  We both hesitated and neither of us made any move to leave and it
was awkward for a few seconds till Bill spoke.
"You're new to Indianapolis.  I could show you places to go celebrate," he
said.
It came to me in a flash and the words came out.  "How about right here?" I
said.
Bill smiled, still hesitant.
"I've been admiring the way you're put together," I said.
"Likewise.  And I've got a soft spot for marines," Bill said as he laid his
brief-case on the table and moved toward me.
"Oh, and where would that soft spot be?" I asked smartly.
We undressed each other and I found his soft spot and he offered it to me.
I fucked him bent over the kitchen table.  He wasn't Jason...he never could
be, especially in that position...but he was a cute, live, warm, responsive
man of muscle and I needed that. I fucked his eyeballs out.  He was a wreck
by the time I finished. He lay sprawled across the table, limp and gasping.
I saw the puddles of come on the floor and come still draining out of his
cock.  My own come...two loads of it...was draining out of his asshole.
"My Godd!" he said as he struggled to raise up.  "I've never been fucked
like that in my life!"
"You've never been fucked by a Marine, then.  There's more where that came
from," I said cockily.
"I'll take it! Shit, you're not even breathing hard!" he exclaimed.
"That's the marine training," I said.
Bill and I got to be real good friends after that.  He showed me around
Indianapolis even though he knew, he said, that expanding my horizons would
leave him out in the cold.  He took me to the two gay men's clubs and bath
houses, several gay bars and The Unicorn, a male strip club.  I was grateful
but as soon as I knew my way around I began to venture out on my own.  For
brief moments I forgot about Jason, but he was always there, inside me.
Every man I met was gauged against him and none of them measured up.  And I
had my pictures.  I had three of them...the more decent ones...enlarged and
framed and they hung in my bedroom.
I made the trip to see my family again when my mom decided to have a reunion
over Labor Day weekend. It would be good to see my grandparents and aunts
and uncles and cousins that I hadn't seen in years. And my brother and his
wife and kids.
I was taken aback when I saw Brian's kids.  Melanie was a knockout at
fourteen and Hunter was a stud.  Melanie was gushing friendly and full of
questions about the war and Vietnam, the country and the people.  I though
that unusual for a fourteen-year-old. It took awhile to get around to Hunter
because he was making the rounds, making everybody laugh, and I was getting
reacquainted with people.  We ended up sitting across from each other at a
picnic table to eat.
"Geezuss, what happened to you?" I said as I looked him up and down.  "Last
time I saw you, you were about this high."
"I guess I grew up," he said.
"And out," I said, clapping my hands around his broad shoulders. "Well,
shit, no wonder," I said, nodding to his plate heaped with food.
I learned that Hunter was eighteen, starting his senior year.
"What sports?" I asked.
"Football, baseball, wrestling.  I tried out for track and basketball but
I'm too heavy and I don't have the speed.  I played soccer this summer," he
told me.
"Well, it's good to know that all of that isn't going to waste," I said,
indicating his muscular upper body.
"Oh, I make good use of it," he said, laughing.  "Hell, I've got it, I might
as well use it."
"Meaning...uhhh...somehow, I don't think that was referring to sports," I said
quietly with a suspicious grin.
Just then a car drove up and a drop-dead blonde got out, wearing shorts and
a top that barely covered and contained her tits.
"Speaking of which....." Hunter said as he got up from the table. He went to
meet her then brought her back to the table and introduced her.  "Angie,
this is my Uncle Brad.  This is Angie," he said.
I stood up part way and took her hand that she offered me.  We chatted for a
moment then she headed off to see Hunter's mom.
"Dam!" I said softly.  Hunter laughed.  "You were speaking of....?" I said.
"Like I said, I try to put everything to good use," he said.
"She is obviously very comfortable around the family," I observed. "How long
have you been going with her?"
"About a year.  And yeah, I try to make her real comfortable," he said with
a mischievous grin.
It was a fun day.  I couldn't get my fill of Hunter.  He was funny and he
was great eye candy. If my brother only knew what was going through my mind.
I was jealous as hell of Angie the way he hung on her, his arm around her,
his hand slipping down to her butt from time to time and hers on his butt
when they thought no one was looking.  Evening came and I needed to get on
the road.  I began the rounds of telling everyone good-bye.  My mom and dad
walked out to my car with me then Hunter came up.
"Hey, maybe I'll come for a visit over Thanksgiving break," he said.
"That'd be great.  I've got plenty of room," I said.
That scenario, of the big hunk staying with me for a couple of days, whetted
my appetite and gave me something to look forward to.  I got the house in
order and fixed up a room for him.  It wasn't the room I'd planned on fixing
up for the spare bedroom but his coming put a new perspective on things.
I'd planned on making the room fartherest down the hall from my room into a
guest room, which would give a guest more privacy. I didn't really want to
offer Hunter privacy so I fixed up the room right across my mine.
Come Thanksgiving, my mom wanted everybody home but Hunter had already
planned to come to visit me and I told her I couldn't go back on my word.  I
couldn't pass up such a golden opportunity.
It was unseasonably warm for Thanksgiving.  Warm enough that he drove up
with his windows down. I took him through the house and showed him his room
then walked him around the place.
"This is an awesome place to bring women," he said.
"That's an interesting observation," I said.
"Come on, don't tell me you don't have women up here.  Heck, you probably
had to run them off with a broom like a bunch of chickens before I got
here."
"Well, it's not quite that good," I said.
"I'll have to bring Angie with me next time."
"Not a good idea," I said.  "I'm not ready to face off with mom or your
mother and dad on that issue if they found out," I said.
We wolfed down sandwiches and Hunter helped himself to a cold beer and set
one out for me.
"That's not a habit with you I hope," I said.
"Naw, I can take it or leave it," he said.
"Unlike sex," I joked.
"Unlike sex," he agreed. "You got a girlfriend, Uncle Brad?" he asked.
"No one steady," I said.  "Nobody that I introduce around."
"Oh...sneak her in and sneak her out," he said, laughing.
"Well, I haven't been in circulation very long," I said.
"Crap!  You were a Marine.  You never got out of circulation," he said.
"Okay, civilian circulation.  The girls are different back home. And by the
way, there is no such thing as a "were" Marine.  Once a Marine, always a
Marine."
"I stand humbly corrected," he said. "You got a lot of that Viet Nam pussy,
I'll bet."
"My share, I guess, like anybody else," I lied.
After lunch we walked back around the barn and headed back through the
woods.  It was up and down hills till we went up to the highest point
overlooking the small creek.
"Nice," Hunter said.  "Is it deep enough to swim in?"
"No.  Wading or just playing around in the water."
"I'll bet you come here a lot," he said.
"Yeah, it's a great place to wind down."
Hunter stepped aside, not turning completely away from me and undid his
shorts to take a piss.  I didn't make a point of looking but he didn't make
a point of concealing anything and I was taken aback at what he hauled out
of his shorts.
"Dam, Hunter!" I exclaimed.
He laughed.
"That's huge!"
"It gets the job done," he said nonchalantly.
"I'll bet it does."
Since he was so open about it, I didn't feel awkward about looking.  He
finished pissing and milked his cock several times and shook it but he
didn't put it away.
"You done looking?" he asked.
		"Yeah.  Geezusss, I'll bet you go over big in the locker room."
		"Girls or boys locker room?" he joked. He still didn't put his cock away.
		"I would bet you can't even get your hand around it," I said.
	"This way, I can," he said as he put his hand around it and squeezed his
fingers to touch.  "I can barely touch my fingers when it's hard, though."
Then he knocked the wind out of me.  "It's okay if you wanta touch.  Do you
wanta see if you can get your hand around it?"
I didn't know where he was heading, if anywhere, but he asked so casually
that I felt okay in touching and it was an invitation I couldn't resist.  I
reached out and wrapped my hand around the thick hunk of meat.  It was
already pretty solid and beginning to grow and I barely touched my fingers
around it.
	"Dam, Hunter, how big does it get?"
	"Pull on it a few times, you'll find out," he said jokingly.
	I didn't pull very hard but I squeezed and milked it and gave it enough
attention that it was responding without making myself appear to be anything
beyond curious. As his cock expanded and hardened, extending through my fist
and spreading my fingers apart I knew I had to let go before all was lost.
He was my nephew; I couldn't let it go past this display of curiosity.  I
let go and his cock hung out and lolled up and down in a wide arch. We stood
watching as it got bigger with each pulsating throb.  Hunter watched
himself, I gaped at him.
"How big is gonna get?" I asked again.
"I don't know for sure. Over nine inches, I know, last time I measured it.
I'll take these off so you can see it full length," he said. With that he
undid his shorts and let them drop and shoved his shorts down, exposing his
manhood fully.  It swung upward with a powerful throb and quivered, hard as
rock, as if it were glad to be free. "There it is in all its glory, along
with a matching pair of balls," he said proudly.
I thought he shorted himself with the nine inches and the thing was thick as
hell.  It was youthfully smooth, without the gnarled look of thick veins.
Neatly cut, the broad, meaty head stood out proudly at the end, flared back
almost menacingly, the hood swelling out with each throb that brought the
big cock quivering up at a sharp angle.
"And Angie can handle all of that?" I asked.
"If I take it slow and easy.  Once I get her stretched to fit, she handles
it okay."
	I was practically drooling, wishing he hadn't shoved his shorts down.  His
hiking shorts and his briefs were down around his ankles now, and he looked
too naked.  From the side view I took in his high-set, rounded, tight,
bubble butt.  I ached to touch the smooth, hard muscles. I wanted
desperately to get in there with my tongue. Curiosity, I kept telling myself
over and over.  It couldn't go beyond curiosity. I could stand and look and
be curious, but no more. But it turned out that Hunter had other ideas. It
turned out that Hunter had a broad range of experience that I hadn't
guessed.
	"Wanta see if you can get your hand around it now?" he said with great
pride as he put his hands on his hips.
I nearly choked.  Was he just being bold and cocky or was he coming on to
me?  Whether it was an invitation or a challenge, I couldn't resist. It was
still only curiosity, I told myself.  I reached out and wrapped my hand
around his cock as far as it would reach.  Even when I squeezed, I couldn't
touch my fingers around the hard shaft.
"Geezusss, Hunter!" I gasped.
"Yeah, sometimes I don't believe it either," he said as he added his hand
below mine around the long shaft.  "Look at that, both hands around it and
we don't even cover the head."
"Now you're bragging," I said.
"Looks like fact to me," he said cockily.
I was weakening.  Literally, my legs were threatening to buckle under me and
I would be on my knees; where I longed to be, but I didn't dare.  I had
already allowed things to go to far.  Hunter moved his fist up and down the
shaft a couple of times and my own hand followed.  Then he removed his hand
and I was left holding his cock all by myself.  In the next couple of
seconds I had to decide whether to let go of his cock or play my hand.  In
those next couple of seconds, his cock throbbed in my fist, rendering me
helpless and I started moving my hand back and forth on his cock.
"Aww, that feels good, Uncle Brad," he said huskily.  "Somebody else's hand
always feels better than your own."
"Have you had very many hands wrapped around your cock?" I asked.
"Sure, plenty of girls, but never another guy.  Ohhh, you can squeeze it
harder when you jack it."
His words reduced the situation to what it really was.  I was jacking him
off, no two ways about it.  My own nephew...my brother's son!  Godd, Brian
would kill me if he ever found out.  I moved my hand up and down the long,
thick shaft, pulling the sheath back hard off the head.
"Aww, yehhhhh, that feels good when you stretch the skin like that," he
moaned.  "You can squeeze my balls, too, if you want."
I let go of his cock and cupped his balls in my hand.  They overflowed my
hand.
"Dam, you've got balls like a young stallion," I said.
"Do `em both, my cock and my balls at the same time," he said.
I didn't know exactly when he had taken charge...probably from the
beginning...but I took his cock in one hand and his balls in the other. I
didn't know whether it was innocence or bold arrogance but he made no bones
about letting me know what he wanted me to do. I wondered if he would ask me
to suck him.  There was precome oozing out the wide slit, just a wink
glistening in the bright sunlight, then more than started to run down the
head.  I wanted to lean down and lap it off but he flicked it with his
fingertip and then surprisingly, licked his finger.
"Fuck, man, I don't know why I do that; I just don't like to see it go to
waste.  I wish I could take my come when I jack off, but I don't like the
taste of the real thing."
"Maybe it's an acquired taste.  You should practice," I joked.
"Precome doesn't taste so bad," he said.  "You ever taste your own come,
Uncle Brad, when you were a kid?"
I laughed.  "Yeah.  Who hasn't?"
"Did you like it?" he asked.
"Actually, I didn't mind the taste," I admitted.
He watched my hand on his cock for a moment, thrusting his cock through my
fist.
"You wanta jack me off and taste mine?" he asked.
Oh, Fuck!  Where was he taking me?  I wondered if he even knew.  I hesitated
and I think it shook him back to reality.
"I was out of line with that," he said quickly.
"No, its okay," I said. "In fact, I think I can do better than that, if you
want me to."
"Better than what?" he asked.
"Better than my hand."
I honestly didn't think he knew what I was getting at, from the bewildered
look on his face; as if jacking off was the greatest thing anybody could do
for him outside of fucking Angie.
When I wet my lips his expression changed and I think it started to soak in.
Before he had it completely figured out, I was going to my knees.
"Aw, Mann...you're gonna...!" he whispered as he realized what I was going
to do.  He turned to face me squarely, his huge cock bobbing up and down.
"I don't know if I can get my mouth around this big fucker," I said.
"Aww, try...please try," he begged.
I thought my jaws might lock but I got my mouth around the baseball-sized
head.
"Awwwhhhhhhhh!" he moaned aloud, tossing his head back in sheer pleasure.
"Ohh, fuck, that feels incredible!"
I massaged the head thoroughly with my tongue and the precome ball juice
flowed freely. Godd, he tasted good.  I loved ball juice and his was tangy
with freshness.  The young guys always are.
"Ohh, Fuck, Uncle Brad...Godd, I never knew you did this.  If I did...shit,
look at all the time we've wasted."
I backed off of his cock.  "We didn't waste any time," I said.  "I haven't
seen you for a long time and I wouldn't have touched you back then if I had.
  You were underage."
"I wouldn't give a fuck about that if you didn't," he said.
I went back on his cock and began sucking him while I pulled on his balls.
I pulled hard, with my fist wrapped around them, pulling them down in the
sack.
"Ohhhh...OHhhhhhh!" he cried.
I eased up on his balls, thinking I was hurting him.
"No, go ahead, pull on `em," he said.  "Fuck, it feels good."
He stood with his hands on hips, easing his cock in and out of my mouth.  I
reached up under his shirt and flattened one hand over his rock-solid abs
and on up to squeeze his pecs.  He put his hand over mine to hold it there.
My other hand was wrapped around his hard, round butt.  He pulled his
T-shirt off and tossed it on the ground.  Standing there like that, naked
and so muscular and handsome, he was like a young forest god and I was the
slave doing him homage; worshipping his magnificent body.
There was no way I could take his cock down my throat when it was hard but I
made a mental note that I would do it when he was still soft, and I would
show him the joys of fucking another man.  I would show him all kinds of
joys.  Before, at the reunion, I would've thought that he might deck me if I
tried anything; I was thankful that he was such a sexy-hot and horny
teenager that I knew now that he would be receptive to about anything I
offered.
"Awww, Uncle Brad...awww, you don't know how good that feels...using your
tongue like that...Geezussss, I can't believe anything could feel this good.
  Ohhh, suck it...suck it, Uncle Brad...you're gonna make me come, and
you're going to get to taste my come.  The real thick stuff."
I didn't know if he was that close but I was alert for the signs.  He wasn't
that close; he lasted for another half hour or so, although he moaned
several times that I was going to make him go off. The more I played with
his butt the hotter he got and the more I had to have it.  In lustful
desire, I got off his cock and turned him around.
"W-what're you....Ohhhh...OHHHH...Awwwhhhhhhhh!"
In those utterances I kissed his butt, then licked the crack of his ass,
then pulled his butt muscles apart and tongued his hole.  He must have been
already close because within seconds, he was loosing it and I almost lost
his precious load to the woodchucks.
"Awwwhhh...Oh, Goddd...OHhhh, GOddd...Awww...Awwwh, I'm gonna come!  Don't stop
doing that...I'm gonna come, Uncle Brad!" he practically screamed.
I gave his asshole a few more lashes with my tongue then turned him around,
just in time to see his first spasm that sent a huge thick, long rope of
come sailing up in the air.  It looked like a white whip lashing through the
air till it landed with a soft splat and draped down the side of a small
tree.  His second blast hit me in the face but I captured his cock in time
for the third and everything that followed.  It was a lot.  He filled my
mouth with hot, thick come.  I slathered it around the head of his cock and
the stuff kept coming.  Finally, his body was lurching and his legs were
shaking and he was choking on his gasps.
"Oh, Fuck!" he gasped.  "Ohh, Uncle Brad...Fuck, you got it...you got it
all, man...there's no more!"
By his tone he was begging me to stop.  I hung on for a minute or two longer
than reluctantly pulled back off of the rubbery cock. I looked up at him as
I swallowed his come.
"Aww, you're swallowing....you're fuckin' eating it!  Fuck, that's hot!"
I leaned in and sucked his cock in my mouth one more time to get the
drippings that lingered in the meaty tube, then I wiped my mouth with the
back of my hand and stood up.  He helped me to my feet but we were both so
shaky that we collapsed to our knees.
"Geezusss, I never had anything that felt so good," he said. "And you eat my
load...Fuck, that's the hottest thing I ever seen."
"Part of your load," I said.  "The best part is hanging over there on that
tree."
"I couldn't get turned around in time, and I couldn't hold it back...fuck,
what you were dong to my ass....Godddd!"
"Next time I'll take your load and hold it in my mouth then give it back to
you," I said.
He frowned.  "I don't know if I wanta do that," he said.  "I don't know if I
could.  It'd be like...kissing you."
"Look at it as mouth-to-mouth," I said.
He laughed like hell at that.
We tumbled back and lay in the thick, cool grass till Hunter was
recuperated.
"This is gonna be a great Thanksgiving," he said.
"I didn't plan on cooking a turkey," I said.
"Here's your turkey," he said, grabbing his big cock and waving it around.
"And a couple of hot potatoes.  And even some nice warm, thick gravy you can
work up.  Heck, I'm coming back for Christmas vacation, and every other
chance I get."
"I don't want anyone to get suspicious.  You dad would kill me if he ever
found out about this," I said.
"He's not gonna find out, and who would ever suspect me or you either one?
You're more of a stud than my dad."
"Yeah, me and your dad both got good genes," I said.
"I wonder if all of our genes taste the same?" he joked.  "I should be
ashamed to admit this, but...well, I've fantasized about...doing stuff with
my dad," he said.
"Don't even go there," I said.
"Why not?  I tried it with you," he said.
"I'm your uncle.  You can get by with it with an uncle."  I didn't know how
serious he was but he sounded awfully matter-of-fact talking about it.
"Okay, but if he ever gave me any inkling, even a tiny hint, I would be all
over him like flies on shit."
"Just be sure, Hunter.  Dam sure. Don't want to fuck your relationship with
our dad," I said sternly. Suddenly it hit me what the boy was saying.  HE
would be all over his dad.  I had to wonder, did he have leanings in my
direction?  I didn't ask him.  I would find out in good time.  If the
feelings were there, they would come out.
"Can we do this again?" he asked.
"Sure. As often as you like," I said.
"Maybe I won't need that guest room you fixed up for me," he said with a
grin.
"Where do you intend to sleep?" I asked with a mischievous grin.
"On top of you," he replied without a flinch.
"That could be very painful."
We were looking at each other and his was searching for something in my
eyes.  Then, true to his bold nature, he asked, "Would you let me fuck you,
Uncle Brad?  I mean, do you think you could take me?"
"It'd be a tight fit," I said.
He broke out in a wide grin.  "Aww, Fuck, Uncle Brad, I can't believe we're
talking like this.  Can we do it now?"
"No.  Tonight, in the bed," I said.
"Aw, shit, I can't wait!"
We didn't wait.  At least not till nightfall.  We went back to the house and
went right up and tumbled into bed.  Yeah, he fucked me and I took him, and
yeah, it hurt like hell...he was almost tender with me, but he was so damned
big...but I wouldn't have traded one thrust of his big cock for any less
pain.
Hunter came back at Christmas for a few days, all of which we spent in bed
or in front of the fireplace, and most of that time was with his cock in my
mouth or in my ass.  I never got any reciprocation from him.  I didn't care;
I just wondered what was going on in his head; if he was having any more
thoughts about his dad.  I drove the distance to a couple of his football
games and afterwards we drove out in the country and had unbridled sex.
"Do you like sweaty jocks, Uncle Brad?" he asked one time.
"Jocks or jockstraps?"
		"Both."
		"Yes."
		"Next time I won't shower after the game," he said.
He kept me wondering like that.  He had too many ideas, I thought, to be one
hundred percent straight.  But if he wasn't, he wasn't being gay with me.
Maybe it was just youthful, horny curiosity.
I advanced in my job, quickly became general manager of six warehouses.  The
pay was good. I was enjoying Indianapolis and fixing up my place, and
especially Hunter's visits.  Then one day I got a letter that wasn't like
the regular mail I received.  It looked foreign.  I opened it and began to
read.  By the second line I knew what it was and I felt a chill go through
me.

Dear Mr. Courter;
        I am writing this with the help of Sister Marie; she helps me say
what I want to say properly.  I was born in December, 1967.  I am now
seventeen years old.  My mother's name was Ling Dwang.  My father, I
believe, was Chief Petty Officer Jason Seaborn, a Navy Seal who was in
Viet Nam in 1967. I understand he was killed in a plane crash. My mother
disappeared in the fall of Saigon.  I was taken to the orphanage where I
still live.  Sister Marie gave me a letter that my mother gave to her,
stating
that Officer Seaborn was my father.  I also have a letter signed by him
in 1967 acknowledging that he was most likely my father.  He writes in
the letter that you were his best friend and that if I ever needed anything
to contact you. I hope you are still at this address or that my letter will
follow you to your present address. I would like very much to come to
the United States if you could help me do that.  I don't feel like I belong
here.  Please let me know if you get this, even if you decide you can't or
don't want to help me come to the America, which I will understand.
                                                          Very kindly yours,
                                                                     Jason
Seaborn, Jr.  "Jase"

There was also a note from Sister Marie.

Mr. Courter:
      When Jason recently began to ask questions about his father, I
decided it was time to give him the letters identifying his parentage.
I implore you to seriously consider and do all you possibly can to
bring the boy to the United States.  As his sponsor if at all possible,
if that will fit into our life, or if not, at least to initiate the
paperwork
and see it through the channels of red tape.  You see, Jason is not
considered to be Vietnamese.  He is Amerasian and looked down
upon in this present society.  He belongs nowhere, he is not accepted
among his peers.  He is very lonely and lost, which is bad for this
time in his life as a teenager.  The place he will be accepted is on the
streets, dealing in drugs, or worse, in the booming sex industry that
has sprung up here.  He is an exceptional boy in every way but I fear
that may not long be so. I have included the phone numbers of places
you should call to begin this very urgent and worth-while mission.  I
beg you, please save this boy's life.  I/we at the orphanage have done
nearly all we can do.  He will soon leave us.
                               Most gratefully,
                                          Sister Marie.


                 The End