Date: Fri, 6 Feb 2009 12:28:27 -0500 From: John Ellison Subject: The Landing - Chapter 6 This story contains situations and scenes of graphic sex between consenting males. All legal disclaimers apply. If this topic offends you, do not read any further; and ask yourself why you are at this site. This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to actual events or locations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental, although it may be loosely based on real events and people. If you are under the age of 18 (21 in some areas) and too young to be reading such material or if you are in a locale or country where it is not legal to read such material then please leave immediately and come back when it is legal for you to do so. We'll be glad to have you back. Copyright 2009 by John Ellison Additional works publish in Nifty in the Military Category: The Phantom of Aurora The Boys of Aurora Aurora Tapestry The Knights of Aurora Aurora Crusade The "Aurora" books are a series and should be read in sequence. A Sailor's Tale Constructive criticism is always welcome, and comments are appreciated. Flames expounding a personal agenda are not appreciated and will be treated with the contempt they deserved. Please feel free to send comments to: paradegi@sympatico.ca BUY CANADIAN . . . BUY AMERICAN . . . Do your bit and help save the economy. The Landing Chapter Six Labor Day dawned sunny and hot. I woke early, not accustomed to having someone in my bed. Beside me lay Sinjin, snoring softly, naked as a jay, with his morning wood all but poking a hole in the thin sheet that covered us. We had spent Sunday together, along with the Pegrams and the Conynghams and, since nothing happened, Sinjin decided to make up for lost time by spending the night with me. About the only interesting thing I can say happened was that Damian Lee, instead of scooting off immediately after church was over, stayed home, moping and in a foul mood. Damian Lee's presence was noted. It was the custom for us to have a huge lunch, for which we were required to dress. Lunch was always served promptly at 1:15, and God help me, or Damian Lee, if we were late. The meal was normally a happy affair, as it was the only time we all actually sat down together, and we could catch up on what each of us was doing. Damian Lee, however, looked thunderous, and was not his usual jovial self. I knew that his mood was based primarily on his getting his end wet on a regular basis, either from the latest bimbo he'd found to spread her legs, or from one of his scouting buddies. I suppose that I would be in a perpetual good mood if I was getting laid as much as he was. My parents put Damian Lee's mood down to teenage angst. I put it down to lack of nooky and enjoyed the rare roast beef, three vegetables, and pan roasted potatoes that we always ate on Sunday. After lunch I raced upstairs, changed from my Sunday clothes into shorts and a T-shirt (I went commando just in case) and as I passed Damian Lee in the corridor I grinned at him. He was on his way to the shower and was naked. His thick pecker was semi-hard, but looked forlorn. Damian Lee flipped me the bird, and called me a dirty name. I just grinned, thinking that if the silly ass had played his cards right I, or Sinjin, might have helped him into a better mood. Being Sunday, we didn't go swimming, as many families took advantage of the good weather to picnic on the banks of the river, and there would have been hell to pay if someone had come across a band of naked boys cavorting. When we finally returned home Damian Lee was sprawled on one of the sofas in the drawing room, sound asleep. Since he was wearing only his boxers, we paused to admire his junk, which had slipped the bounds of cotton and were on full display. Sinjin, knowing what went on in the Aerie, licked his lips and wondered if Damian Lee would like a wakeup suck. I gave him a dirty look and told him that all I needed was for my mother to come home from visiting her friends, or wherever she had gone for the afternoon, and find Sinjin hanging from the end of Damian Lee's dick! Actually I thought that if anyone would be giving Damian Lee a wakeup suck it would be me! He was a proud-hangin' boy and there's nothing like home cookin' to keep a boy happy. Leaving my brother, we went upstairs to my bedroom. I locked the door, stripped off, and grinned at Sinjin. He dropped his shorts and grinned back. I was tempted to say something cheesy, like "Let the games begin" but didn't. I just reached out and took his hardening pecker in my hand. We didn't get much sleep that night. ****** After the usual morning activities, including a hot session in the shower, Sinjin and I took off downtown, to see the show. Labor Day was the last major holiday of the summer holiday season, and the square was lined with booths and awash with bunting. Country folk had flocked to town and were offering preserves, baked goods, hand made quilts and wood carvings. The sisters from the convent had a booth, selling beautiful lace and embroidered scarves and blouses. Tables had been set up in front of the café, and the owner and his sons were busy serving heaped plates of barbecue. This being the South, barbecue had to be available and they were doing a land office business. Crazy Betsey had set up shop and was offering her fractured "creations", weather vanes and mobiles to the tourists. The first boat load had docked and the square was teeming with little old men and ladies dressed in baggy shorts, and hung with cameras. There was even a band, musicians from the military school, sweating away in gray tunics, playing Sousa marches. As we passed by the Inn we waved to Tony, who was dressed in a starched, white jacket and serving iced tea to the customers crowding the terrace. He ran down the steps and asked me if I was busy, because he really needed a tutoring session. I resisted the urge to give the lump in his black trousers a squeeze and assured him that I would call later. Sinjin and I wandered around, tasting the samples of jams and jellies, and cakes and cookies that the country ladies always offered, stopped and listened to Crazy Betsey yelling at a tourist who had dared to question the artistic merit - and the price - of one of her mobiles, and then walked on. I noticed that there was something missing and then I realized that there were no black folk around. Market Day, and Labor Day, had always been occasions when the races could mix freely. Sadly I thought that the divisions between the races had widened with the riot. The police car still guarded the bridge that led to Overbridge, and Stubby Richmond stood guard outside his store. It would be a long time before the square would be filled again with colorfully dressed, exuberant blacks, a long time before the divisions closed, a long time before we truly became Americans. ****** As Sinjin and I wandered about we noticed a new booth had been set up at the foot of the Court House steps. It was hung with red, white and blue bunting, and in front of it had been positioned three tall flagpoles, flying the Stars and Stripes, the Bonnie Blue Flag (the South Carolina State Flag) and the "Stars and Bars". As we drew near we saw that it was manned by cadets from the military school. All but one was wearing the uniform the cadets had worn for over a hundred years: Confederate gray, brass-buttoned coatees buttoned at the neck, starched white cotton drill trousers, and boots spit-shined to the next generation. I felt a small tremor ruffle my pecker. The cadets were all handsome as all get out, well built, with toned bodies and, as I grew closer, well-packed baskets. I began to think that perhaps attending military school might not be such a bad idea after all. The cadet exception was tall, very tall, and he was wearing, of all things, a doublet and kilt! The kilt, Confederate gray/blue, red, white and black, stopped at the cadet's knees. He was wearing knee-length, wool stockings into which was stuck a small dagger. The stockings were covered with gleaming white gaiters and his polished boots sparkled like black diamonds in the morning sunlight. The cadet appeared taller because on his head he wore a tall, black-feathered, red-hackled Busby, the light wind blowing from the river setting the feathers to riffling. I couldn't tell what color the cadet's hair was, for the hat covered his head, but I did notice a light dusting of fine, gold hair on his knees. It was impossible to tell if he had a basket; resting over his crotch was a leather and white fur sporran. I was intrigued, of course. The cadet was obviously a piper. Now, just why there would be pipers at a Southern school for boys, military or otherwise, I can't to this day say. I knew that there were pipers and drummers as part of the Citadel Band, so I thought that perhaps Parker-Semmes was merely emulating them. Not that it mattered to me. The cadet was a handsome, magnificent specimen and I wanted to get a closer look at him. So did Sinjin. He was curious about the kilt, as most boys would be. After all, wearing a thick, wool skirt on a hot summer's day was not something we or any other sane person did for that matter. While I admired the overall posture and beauty of the cadet, Sinjin was more interested in what he was wearing under it. Now, any true student of Scottish culture knows that a true Scot wears nothing under his kilt, except when participating in games - it isn't done to be running around, tossing the caber, and flashing one's junk at the crowd. However . . . I knew exactly what was under the kilt, or thought I did: white, issue, baggy cotton boxer shorts. Philip Charles, who was a cadet at the Citadel, had told me that the pipers and drummers were forbidden by regulations to appear in public with nothing on under their kilts. He also told me that the Pipe Major checked before every parade to ensure that there were no swinging dicks in evidence, and that decorum was maintained. As we approached the booth, a strange look came into Sinjin's eyes and I swear he licked his lips. "I wonder if he's a proud hangin' man under that skirt," he observed. "It's called a kilt, not a skirt," I shot back, "and you'd be well not to call it a skirt. Some folks get right testy when you call it a skirt." Sinjin shrugged. "I still wonder what he's got on under it." "You can always ask him," I replied impishly. "Ain't you curious?" Well, since I thought I knew what the cadet was wearing, no, I wasn't curious. If I wanted to see a cadet in white drawers all I had to do was to walk in on Philip Charles when he was getting dressed. I wasn't about to let Sinjin know, though. "If you're that interested, why don't you ask him?" I snickered. "Maybe he'll tell you." I knew this wasn't about to happen. A true Scot never revealed what he had on under his kilt, if anything. Well actually, he did, but in a way that might surprise some people. In the event, we walked into the booth and saw the tables filled with brochures, photos and year books. On one table was an architectural drawing of a building: the new academic building the academy would need to accommodate the new day boys. It was apparent that the academy was raising money for the new building and the cadets were there as bait, the cute factor I suppose you could call it. Little old ladies just could not resist a little boy in a uniform, and old men grew teary-eyed as well. Donations, if the level of the bills and coins in the glass jar on one of the tables was any indication, were generous. The kilted cadet, who seemed to be in charge, came forward. "Hey," he greeted us. He had sparkling, deep blue eyes, and the brightest, whitest smile I had ever seen. We "Hey'd" back. Sinjin grinned like a cat on heat as he drooled at the magnificent specimen of cadet. He stuck out his hand. "I'm Sinjin, uh, Saint John Tradd." "Cooper Marigny," I said, introducing myself as I stuck out my hand. "Pendleton Izard," the kilty said with a grin. He regarded me a moment and then asked, "Your daddy's the doctor, right?" I nodded. "One of them, yes." Pendleton reached up and, as he began to remove his feathered headdress, said, "Well, that makes us kin, I guess." I was not at all surprised that Pendleton and I might be "kin". Hell, in the South everybody is related, more or less, and the Marignys and Izards were hardly exceptions. I was aware that somewhere in our family tree there were Izards, third or fourth cousins, several times removed, but still in my world "kin", as somewhere along the way a Marigny had to marry an Izard. Bareheaded, Pendleton's dark blond, curly hair was soaked in sweat, and made darker by the trapped moisture under his hat. His hair was cut in the classic military way: high and tight at the sides and back, short on top. "My people lived here, before the War," Pendleton continued. He looked around and saw a pile of school T-shirts, appropriated one and vigorously rubbed his head and hair. "Damn, that thing is as hot as crotch!" He placed his hat on the table and looked at me. "They had to move away, so they went to Beaufort." I nodded. The Izards had lived in the Landing, and in fact their house had stood where the Tradds house was now. With the death of the last adult male in the battle for Atlanta, the family matriarch, without any male protector, and no income, had left town to stay with relatives. Their wartime visit had extended to permanent residency in the coastal city of Beaufort and they had sold the land they owned for a little hard cash to the Tradds. "So, I hear that some of you boys are coming to my school," Pendleton said. He looked at me. "You?" I nodded. "Yeah. My brother as well." I glanced at the starched and pressed cadets. "But we don't have to wear uniforms." Pendleton laughed. "You get used to them," he said, and then he shrugged. "At least we get to wear our own underpants!" At the word "underpants", Sinjin perked up, left off ogling the tight trousers of the cadets, and regarded Pendleton. I had a feeling that a discussion of what Pendleton had on under his kilt was about to happen. "So, Pendleton, are you a piper, you know, you blow the bagpipes?" Pendleton nodded. "Yes, and I'm also the Pipe Major." "I like your kilt," Sinjin said with a smirk. "Do all the pipers wear one?" "They do, and the drummers," replied Pendleton. "It's tradition." I saw Sinjin look Pendleton up and down, and I saw the leering smirk on his face so I gave him a "Don't you dare!" look. Sinjin ignored. "Is it true that you don't wear anything underneath your kilt?" he asked ingenuously. If I had not known than Sinjin was dying to get his hand under the kilt I would have sworn that he was asking the most innocent of questions. Pendleton was accustomed to the people questioning him about what he wore, or did not wear under his kilt. He also knew that tradition forbade him from revealing his actual state. He gave Sinjin an evil leer. "Maybe I have drawers on, maybe I don't," he said ambiguously. Then he added, "You'll just have to live in ignorance." Sinjin leered back and looked pointedly at Pendleton's sporran. Sinjin knew that under the fur and silver and leather and wool, and possibly white cotton, there lurked a pecker. He was as curious as a cat, and very determined to find out if Pendleton was a proud hangin' man. "Aaahhh, don't be mean," Sinjin wheedled. "I'm not being mean," responded Pendleton. "It's tradition not to tell." Sinjin, as did I, understood tradition. Hell, we lived in a world that was governed by tradition! Pretending to be defeated, Sinjin nodded his understanding. "Oh well, I guess we'll just have to guess." Pendleton was no fool, and he was aware that he was a handsome young man. He also knew that he was attractive to males. Sinjin, while a relative stranger, was smitten with him, and Pendleton knew it. He decided to have some fun, and take pity on the obviously horny Sinjin. "Well," Pendleton drawled, "If we were old enough to drink, I might . . ." He saw Sinjin look up hopefully . . . "I might see my way clear to . . ." "What? How, what do I have to do?" Sinjin yipped hopefully. The other cadets, who had seen Pendleton's act before, snickered. I wondered what he was up to, but figured that Sinjin had started it, and he deserved what he got, if anything. "If you bet me a bottle of good Scotch, I'd let you put your hand up my kilt," Pendleton said simply. Sinjin's face fell, then he looked at me and brightened. "Coops, your Daddy, he likes Scotch." "No way!" I growled. I wasn't going to pander to Sinjin's lascivious nature. If he wanted to get into Pendleton's pants - or up his kilt - I had no objection. However, I wasn't about to pay for it, and pay I would have if I'd snitched a bottle of my Daddy's hooch. I had no desire to have my butt whipped and be branded a thief when Daddy noticed the booze missing. Sinjin saw the stony look on my face and chose not to argue. At that moment, however, one of the other cadets sidled over. He wasn't all that tall, perhaps 5' 8" or so, with a stocky, well-muscled body that rippled under his tight, brass-buttoned coatee. He had dark brown hair, cut short, and a square, firm-jawed face. He also had the darkest, most sultry eyes I had ever seen on a male. He was a damned fine specimen of Southern manhood. Sinjin was stunned, but not so stunned that he had forgotten his quest to find what was up Pendleton's kilt. He gazed at the handsome cadet, his eyes taking in his firm, muscular thighs, and the compact, neat package hidden under his drill trousers. The dark-eyed cadet nudged Pendleton. "Go on, man, let him have a feel," he said with a grin. "Screw you, Jack," Pendleton snapped. "Not in your lifetime," the dark-eyed boy laughed. He turned to Sinjin and me. "Hey, guys. I'm Jack Mather." He stuck out his hand. After Sinjin and I shook his hand, Jack continued, "Actually, Thomas Jonathan Jackson Mather. I'm from Charleston, and I know your kin, Wade Hampton," he finished as he looked at me. I wondered, briefly, if Jack and Wade Hampton were close. Then I decided, from the broad smile on Jack's face that they were. "Lucky bastard," I thought. I really had no time to dwell on Jack's relationship with Wade Hampton, because Jack, still smiling, said to Pendleton, "You know you're going to do it, so knock it off." He gestured toward Sinjin. "You got the boy all hot and bothered." I looked at Sinjin, who was decidedly red in the face. I also saw that the front of his shorts was pouched out, and that a small wet spot had appeared in the khaki fabric, just about where the head of his pecker would be. I couldn't help myself, I giggled. Sinjin gave me a dirty look, but there wasn't anything to say. He was boned up big time! "I room with Pendleton," Jack said. "He ain't got much, 'cause the boy's a grower, not a show-er . . ." Sinjin and I looked at each other, and said together, "Huh?" effectively cutting off Jack's disclosure. Pendleton started to sputter. Finally he blurted out, "Am not! And you should talk!" Jack was unbothered by Pendleton's outburst. He turned to Sinjin and me. "Some guys are show-ers. They got big ole dicks hangin' down to their knees or seems like. The only thing is, their dicks don't get all that much bigger when they get hard." He grinned at Pendleton. "Now, this boy, he's a grower. It looks all sweet and little when it's soft, but it sure does poke up when it gets excited!" Pendleton, if anything, got even redder in the face. "Jack," he growled, "I'm warning you . . ." he began. "Oh, Pendleton, shut up. You know you like getting' your pecker felt." He suddenly reached out, grabbed Sinjin's hand and bent down, placing in on Pendleton's leg, just above the edge of his stocking. "Just run your hand up the side of his leg," Jack urged. "You'll find out what a Scotsman, even a transplanted one from Beaufort, wears under his kilt." Before Pendleton could react, Sinjin's hand moved. As I watched, Sinjin smiled. Then I saw Pendleton's sporran bounce and I knew that Sinjin was feeling a lot more than Pendleton's bare leg. "Well?" I asked as Sinjin's hand continued to explore. Sinjin, grinning like a very happy loon, withdrew his hand, stood up and beamed. "Well, it sorta feels like a warm, furry little mouse!" Jack guffawed. Pendleton looked thunderous, and I sniggered. "So?" "Well, he's not wearing drawers, and he's a grower for sure!" Sinjin announced triumphantly. Jack laughed even louder and clutched his stomach. Pendleton glared at him venomously and asked dangerously, "Don't you have anything better to do, Cadet Mather?" Shrugging, Jack looked around. "Not really." Then he looked directly at Sinjin, who was all but slobbering as Jack's smoldering eyes bore into him. "I suppose I could go and get the box lunches," he said presently. His eyes concentrated on the tent in Sinjin's shorts, and the widening wet spot. "Wanna come and give me a hand?" Jack asked. "I can show you the school as well." Sinjin's head bobbed rapidly. "Uh, yeah, I'd like that!" "Okay, come on. The truck's out back." As they left, I wondered which of them looked loopier, Sinjin drooling and flushed, or Jack, obviously boned now. Pendleton chuckled. "Um, Jack's going to, um, put the moves on your little friend," he said quietly. I laughed and said, "Pendleton, Sinjin isn't so little, and if anyone's in danger, it's Cadet Thomas Jonathan Jackson Mather . . . of Charleston!" ****** The trip to the academy was short, and Jack drove the truck with typical teenage abandon. Sinjin, still in the thrall of the handsome cadet, paid little attention to anything except the dark, smoldering eyes that glanced at him. Jack drove the truck around to the back of a large, red-brick building and parked in the loading bay. One of the cooks told him that he was much too early, and the box lunches would not be ready for at least an hour. Jack, who had known to the minute when the lunches would be ready, smiled and nodded to Sinjin. "Well, since we have to kill some time, why don't you come up to my room? I want to change anyway." Nodding dumbly, Sinjin followed Jack around to the front of the building, and they walked down a short graveled path to the first of two galleried barracks blocks. "This is the Seniors Block," Jack explained. "It's called Parker Hall and all the senior cadets live here." He waved toward a small group of buildings across the huge, grass parade square. "The classrooms and gym, and the labs are over there." Sinjin's eyes took in the scene. "Wow, this place is huge!" he exclaimed. "Not bad for just a hundred and sixty cadets," said Jack in an offhand manner. "I thought there would be more," Sinjin said as they entered the barracks and started walking up the wide, wooden flight of scarred and battered stairs that would take them to Jack's room. "We're supposed to have two companies, plus the band," Jack said as they entered the long corridor that bisected the second floor. He laughed. "We're understrength. I guess folks just aren't beating down the doors to get in." Once again he shrugged. "Of course, it costs a fair bit. Not everyone can afford the fees." Jack paused before a door at the far end of the corridor. "Well, come on in," he said, opening the door and gesturing Sinjin to enter. The room was larger than Sinjin had expected. In each corner was a bed flanked by a large wooden desk and a tall, wooden locker. The center of the room was dominated by a wooden table in which were piled books, small piles of paper and, or so it seemed, a pair of white briefs. "Sorry about the mess," Jack said as he began to unbutton his tunic. "We haven't been assigned a TAC yet, and with Pendleton being the Drum Major nobody bothers us." Sinjin noticed that only three of the beds were made. The fourth, bare springs exposed, sat forlornly in the corner. "We?" he asked. "Oh, yeah, I forgot about Miles." Jack stripped off his tunic to reveal the white T-shirt he wore under his tunic. "He's in Port Royal for his sister's wedding. Our other room mate had to leave and we haven't been assigned a new one." While he was speaking, Jack unbuckled the brass buckle of his white web belt and casually dropped his starched trousers to the floor. Sinjin gasped. He had been expecting the usual tighty whiteys, or white cotton drawers at the very least. Jack was wearing briefs, but they were the most vibrant, fire engine red in color, and piped with gold leg bands and around the full pouch. Jack heard Sinjin's gasp. "What? Is my dick showing or something?" Sinjin grinned. As a matter of fact, Jack's dick was deliciously outlined under the fabric of his underpants. He was obviously a grower, but very thick, with a clear, distinct circumcised head. "Oh no," Sinjin said hurriedly. "It's just that nobody I know wears red undies! We all wear white." Jack grinned. "I used to, but now that I'm here I buy my own." He deliberately reached down into his briefs, scratching and rearranging his jewels. Sinjin could feel his pecker rising beneath his shorts and cursed mentally that he'd gone commando. He was getting a hard on and he didn't think Jack would appreciate it. What Sinjin did not know was that Jack actually did appreciate it. He could see the tenting in Sinjin's shorts and smiled inwardly. Jack was very horny. He hadn't been laid since Miles had gone home. Of course, if he was reading the signs right, the handsome young civilian devouring his body with his eyes was also horny. "So, are you looking forward to coming here next week?" Jack asked, making no attempt to dress. He wondered if he should ratchet up the odds and then decided he should. He slowly pushed down the front of his briefs a little, revealing a patch of dark brown, almost black pubic hair. Sinjin's eyes grew wide. Jack's chest was hairless down to his waist, but he had a super treasure trail of curly black hair, and his legs, and Sinjin suspected, his taut, round buttocks, were covered with a heavy dusting of black hair. A slow groan escaped Sinjin's throat as Jack continued to push his underwear down. "We're pretty friendly around here," Jack said, his voice not quite a whisper. He moved forward and his hand gently squeezed the tent in Sinjin's shorts. "Are you friendly?" Sinjin nodded and reciprocated, gently squeezing the thick tube flesh in Jack's briefs. "I can be," he said with a seductive smile. "For the right guy." ****** As the academy van disappeared into the crowd, Pendleton chuckled and shook his head. "What?" I asked, frankly curious at his action. "Oh, nothing," Pendleton replied, as his hand slipped under his sporran and he began idly squeezing his parts. "Oh, come on, Pendleton," I protested. "You laughed and now you're squeezing your dick!" "Maybe I'm just horny," suggested Pendleton with a grin. "Bullshit," I retorted. "And even if you are horny, why would you snicker and look at Sinjin and Jack the way you did?" I was certain that Pendleton knew something, and was determined to know what it was. Pendleton gave me a long, searching look, turned his head back and forth to make certain that none of the other cadets were within earshot, and asked quietly," Is your buddy a `Friend of Dorothy'?" I stared at Pendleton. I had never heard the phrase before. Pendleton saw the look and, before I could protest, slipped his hand up the leg of my shorts. Now, given that a warm breeze wafting across the head of my pecker would give me a hard-on, it should not be surprising that my pecker rose up like a ballistic missile! Pendleton laughed softy. "Nice feelin' dick," he whispered. "No extra skin?" Before Pendleton could say "Shit" I reciprocated, sliding my hand deliberately under his heavy, woolen kilt. "We shouldn't be doing this," I warned. "Too many people around." Pendleton nodded, withdrew his hand, and motioned toward the back of the booth, where a small section had been partitioned off. His hand returned immediately up my shorts, and my hand returned to his kilt, quickly finding his very impressive length of warm flesh and low-hanging balls. We stood face to face, breathing heavily, feeling each other up. "Nice dick," I managed. "No extra skin?" Then I giggled. "Nope." "A proud hangin' man," I observed. "So, are you a `Friend of Dorothy'?" I asked. "And what are you talking about?" I began squeezing and rubbing the broad, curving crown of Pendleton's pecker. "Aaaggghhh, that feels so good!" Pendleton moaned. Then, with no warning at all, his body arched and he drew in a huge breath of air. His pecker pulsed in my hand and I felt the warmth of his semen flowing down the back of it. He jerked again, and then again, and then all but deflated. "Oh shiiittt!" he moaned as his pecker began to soften. "Oh shit! I am so sorry, Cooper." I too was almost there, and grunted loudly as the tingling feelings of impending orgasm set my balls and pecker on fire. I buried my face in Pendleton's neck and thrust slightly as my pecker exploded, spattering the inside of my shorts and covering Pendleton's stroking hand. "Jesus," I moaned, biting my lip to keep my groans down. When I had recovered, I leaned back against a long trestle table at one side of the little cubicle. "Damn, I never cum that quick!" I gasped. "Me neither." Pendleton laughed a sweet, gentle laugh. "But then I did say I was horny." I looked around for something to clean my hand with. Finding a piece of bunting, I wiped Pendleton's spooge away and handed the cloth to him. He wiped his hand and shrugged. "You okay?" he asked. "Sure," I said without rancor. I was very okay with what we had done. "You?" Pendleton nodded. Then he said with a snigger, "I guess we really are kin! We're too horny not to be." I nodded my agreement. "So, are you a `Friend of Dorothy'?" "Well, I like getting my dick sucked, and I like sucking dick, so yeah, I guess I am." "You guess?" "Well, I've fucked girls, and let them suck me," Pendleton began. "But I gotta be honest, I get a bigger thrill out of bein' with a guy. Most guys don't mind playing, if you get my drift, and I don't have to listen to them whine afterward, or buy 'em dinner!" I laughed and shook my head. "So that means we are both . . ." "Friends of Dorothy? Yeah, but not really." "Not really?" "Cooper, you don't get out of this one horse town much, do you?" "Well, no, but that's beside the point." "Yeah, I guess it is." Pendleton shrugged. "Last summer I did a course at Fort Benning, in Georgia. It was as hot as the hubs of hell, but I heard something one day." "About the `Friends of Dorothy'?" Pendleton grinned. "Cooper, there are a lot more faggots in the military than folks know about, or the Pentagon is willing to admit." He frowned. "There's a war on, Cooper, and the Army needs every swingin' dick it can lay its hands on. Being queer is sort of ignored now." "You're kidding? According to my daddy every queer the Army can catch is booted out with a Dishonorable Discharge." Pendleton broke into uncontrolled laughter. When he calmed down he said quite seriously, "There was a lot of dischargin' goin' on at Benning, but it sure wasn't dishonorable." I pondered that a moment and then asked, "Are you saying you got laid, on an Army post?" I drew out the word "Army" for everyone knew nothing such as queer sex would ever be allowed. Once again Pendleton burst out laughing. "Gawd!" he drawled. "You civilians sure are gullible." "It happens, I mean you actually . . ." He quickly interjected. "Cooper, I got a blow job every day I was there. I fucked three guys, so actually, yes I did." "Wow," I whispered. "Like I said," Pendleton continued, "there are more queers in the military than you, or the Pentagon, know about. At Benning they had a sort of underground newsletter, using a lot of false names, a lot of girly names for guys. It was very informative and let queer men and women know about parties, places and bars they could go to and be safe, which places Army CID were curious about, and so on. It was called `Friends of Dorothy', and everybody used it as a code to find out who was queer or not." Now I understood. Given my feelings, and what I had done with Sinjin, and the Conynghams and Tony, and what I had just done with Pendleton. I figured I was indeed a `Friend of Dorothy'. As for Sinjin, well, I wasn't sure. Sex to a young teenage boy is intoxicating and to be honest I thought he was just in the thrall of it. I admitted to Pendleton what I felt, although I did not go into details. He nodded knowingly. "Well, it's best not to spread the word," he said. "You gotta be discreet." "I am," I answered honestly. While Sinjin, and the others, knew that I had fooled around with Wade Hampton, and them, they did not know that Tony Ravelli and I had had sex, or that I had given Adam Blake the blow job of his life in the school bogs. I planned to keep them in ignorance. "Most guys play around a little," Pendleton informed me, "Especially when there are no girls around." He frowned. "Of course, even when there are girls around a lot of guys still play. With a guy there's no muss, no fuss, just two fellas given each other a helpin' . . . hand." He paused and waggled his eyebrows suggestively. "Or a willin' mouth," he finished. He had me there, but I wasn't about to admit anything to him. I laughed and said, "And you don't have to worry if she stops gettin' visitors from the country." This was the euphemism my mother used to explain why my sister went as crazy as a cooter every twenty-eight days. Wade Hampton said she was on the rag, having her period. Pendleton knew what I meant. "I know what you mean. I have two room mates because the other one, a really neat guy named Sean Gibbs Harmon, from Sumter, went home for Christmas Leave and porked his girlfriend. At Easter her daddy showed up with a shotgun and Sean left school." He sighed expressively. "Sean was a proud hangin' man for sure, and Jack moped for days until him and Miles went to the sinks together." He grinned widely. I knew what the sinks were. "They got it on in the shower? And who the hell is Miles?" "Uh, yeah, they did," said Pendleton. "Miles is my other room mate. He's not bad looking, tall and skinny, but a right proud hangin' man. He's a shower, but Jack doesn't seem to mind." I giggled and shook my head. Not even Wade Hampton, who apparently had had sex in every nook and cranny in Charleston, ever admitted to doing it in the shower. Then I had a thought. "If his name is Thomas Jonathan Jackson Mather, how come you call him Jack and not Tom?" Once again Pendleton laughed. Then he made a pumping motion with his hand. "You know?" he asked. I nodded, as I did indeed know. "When he first came to the academy Jack jacked every night, like it was goin' to be his last time. Sean started calling him `Jack' and Miles and I started calling him that as well, and I sometimes forget that his Momma calls him `Tommy'." The more Pendleton told me about his room mates, the more curious I became. Life at Parker-Semmes seemed very interesting. I decided to probe. "So, I guess you're a happy cadet," I suggested. "Well," Pendleton began, his face reddening. "Sean and I were close, and sometimes, when they're not in the shower, Jack or Miles will give me a hand. There's a couple of guys I have my eye on, but I'm takin' it slow with them. Don't want to scare 'em off, you know?" I didn't know, but pretended I did. "So, all in all you're a happy cadet," I asserted. "Yeah, but I don't get to visit Alnwick, which is a big ole plantation down on the Savannah River where the Carrolls live." Seeing my look of complete ignorance about what he was talking about, Pendleton told me that Miles full name was Miles Gregory Carroll, and his people were richer'n God and Jack and Miles had gone to Miles' home, Alnwick Plantation for part of their summer leave. Apparently Alnwick Plantation was quite the showplace. ". . . Both Miles and Jack showed up at Benning awalkin' bow-legged," advised Pendleton, a hint of jealousy in his voice. "And you didn't?" I probed deliberately. I wanted to know just how far Pendleton was willing to go and, while he had warned me to be discreet, certainly didn't seem too concerned about telling me things that I would have gone to my grave with. "I told you, I fucked three guys. They didn't fuck me." Pendleton then gave me a piercing look. "I'm a top." I nodded my understanding. Pendleton had a sign tattooed on his butt: "No Man's Land - No Entry." According to Wade Hampton, most "straight" boys didn't mind jerking a friend off, or sucking his dick. They drew the line though, at fucking, because that was "queer", and they weren't queer. However, Wade Hampton had also told me that some didn't pause when it came to fucking another guy. They would not reciprocate though; no way, no how. They were tops. The guys they fucked were bottoms. "Well, some mothers do have 'em," I said flippantly. Then my face grew solemn. I had never experienced anal sex, and was still determined that the first time I did it would be with Charlie Pegram. I suspected, rightly, that Pendleton was hinting that he would dearly love to have his pecker become better acquainted with my butt hole and decided to quash that idea. "I ain't fucked yet," I said with feigned reluctance, "but when I do, I'll be a top," I lied. Pendleton gave no hint of disappointment. He shrugged. "Like you say, some mothers do have 'em." "Yeah, they do," I replied. "But that don't mean I don't like a proud hangin' pecker." I liked Pendleton. He had made no bones about his sexuality, or about wanting me. For some reason his blatant desire made him all the more desirable to me. That he was exquisitely handsome helped. I regarded him briefly and then asked, "When will Jack and Sinjin be back?" "Well, not too long. All he had to do was to pick up lunch for the guys and . . ." He then let out a squawk because I had fallen to my knees and lifted his kilt. Pendleton was indeed a proud hangin' man. He wasn't huge by any stretch of the imagination, perhaps six and a half inches, but finely formed with a delightfully sculpted, circumcised glans. I regarded it a moment and then pounced. Thanks to Wade Hampton I knew what spot on Pendleton's pecker would give him the most pleasure as I suckled him. I found his circumcision knot and before I knew it he was grunting and thrusting, the sporran bouncing on the back of my head. I went down deeper to his pubes, and then returned to the head and he began hissing "Oh fuck, oh fuck!" like a boiling kettle. I reached up and grasped his balls, which were large and high-hanging, squeezing and fondling them until they began to draw upward. He let out a yip and grunted and I felt the warmth of his spooge filling my mouth. He tried to thrust deeper as he spurted like an out of control fire hose. I was not, and still am not, a deep-throatin' sucker, so I firmly grasped the pulsing shaft of his pecker as my mouth suctioned the head. Pendleton finished with one sharp, deep thrust and then pulled away, collapsing against the table and sending brochures flying. I stood up, licked my lips, and grinned. Then I burped! Embarrassed, I tried to recover: "Good to the last drop!" ****** When Pendleton's breathing returned to normal he reached out to feel my hard pecker. "Your turn," he offered. While I was tempted, I shook my head and pushed his hand away. I could hear people talking in the main booth area, and moving around. "Too dangerous," I said. "You can owe me." Pendleton protested. In his mind a gentleman always reciprocated, well, most of the time. I had blown him and therefore he simply had to blow me. I continued to play the reluctant virgin. It wasn't that I did not want him to suck my pecker . . . I did . . . but not here, and not now. There were simply too many people around that could walk into the little cubicle, all of them strangers! As the curtain closing the space off gave direct access to the front of the booth, I had a vision of a cadet suddenly pulling it back and exposing Pendleton on his knees with my pecker in his mouth! No way, no how did I want that to happen. With my luck my mother would be standing out there! I was saved by the timely arrival of the academy van, laden with box lunches. I saw that Jack had changed into his combat fatigues, the better to manhandle the boxes containing the lunches. Sinjin looked even goofier than usual. He all but floated into the booth. I noticed that he walked a little funny, clenching his butt cheeks, and that his hair was damp, as if he'd just come from the shower. Sinjin was smiling and his eyes were sparkling. "Hey Coops," he breathed huskily. Then his eyes drifted over to Jack, who was busily piling the box lunches on the table. Oh, yeah . . . I thought. Sinjin, you dirty little bugger! I leaned and whispered in his ear, "You did it, didn't you!" It was not a question but a statement of fact. Rolling his eyes, Sinjin nodded. Then he whispered back, "Coops, it was the most beautiful experience of my life! Jack is so . . ." He sighed happily. "We didn't fuck. We made love!" Never having been fucked, or been made love to, I wondered what the difference was. Of course I wanted to know all about what happened, chapter and verse, with as many details as possible. I knew that Sinjin would eventually tell me, but at the moment he was so wrapped up in Jack, and losing his virginity, I thought it best not to poke too deeply. The other cadets began to wander in, looking for their rations. I remembered that Tony Ravelli was waiting for a "tutoring session" and told Sinjin that I was leaving. He barely heard me, as he was sharing a rather dry looking sandwich with Jack, and staring into his eyes. Sinjin nodded vaguely and I left. I headed toward the Inn and as I approached I saw Tony, looking desperate, staring at me. As I grew nearer, Tony ran down the steps from the restaurant and all but bowled me over. "Jesus, Cooper, where ya been?" he demanded, rubbing the very obvious lump in his black trousers. "I've been so . . ." I interrupted him brusquely. "Tony, I told you I'd help you out." "Yeah . . . yeah." Tony was breathing heavily and for a moment I thought he'd cream his Fruit of the Looms. "Come on, my room," he groaned, pulling me up the stairs and into the main lobby of the Inn. I managed to break his hold and headed for the stairs. Tony pulled me back. "Screw that, we're taking the elevator!" Upstairs, Tony started unbuckling his belt as we all but scurried down the corridor to his room. He pulled me into his bedroom and before I knew it he was naked from the waist down, his trousers and black briefs a bundle of cloth around his ankles. His pecker, as hard as steel, and leaking precum, the head and skin below it crimson, was throbbing. He stood there, moaning as he played with his hairy balls. "Please, Cooper, Please . . ."