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

Copyright © 2015 by Dennis Milholland – All rights reserved. Other than for private, not-for-profit use, no part of this work may be reproduced, transmitted or stored in any form or by any means, other than that intended by the author, without written permission from the copyright holder.

Careful! This is a work of fiction containing graphic descriptions of sex between males and critiques of religion and governments. And last but not least, Nifty would like your donations.

Farewell, Uncle Ho

by Dennis Milholland

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

Chapter 21 (Mon., Dec 26)

Haruki had lain very quietly, long enough that I thought he'd gone to sleep. Then, his voice was so low that I almost couldn't understand him, since his mouth was being muffled by my chest. "Would you do me?"

I smiled to myself, appreciating his honest attempt to please me. "How about if I made love to you?"

He raised his head to look at me. "Would it be? Love, I mean?"

"I think we can call it that." His hair was in a moist tangle, and I ran my hand through it. For me, there has always been a sensuous aspect to male perspiration, which I find hard to resist. My nostrils were filling with his fine, delicate scent.

I carefully rolled him off and onto his side. He kissed me hesitantly on the cheek, testing the waters. When I returned his kiss, the tentativeness evaporated, and he proved his expert abilities in this fine art of emotional expression.

When I travelled with my kisses down his body and took his semi-erect penis into my mouth, he repositioned himself to be able to take mine. At first, he was cautious and unsure of himself. That was understandable, since this hadn't originally been part of the deal. He cautiously retracted my skin and lapped the glans with his tongue.

I savored his seminal fluids mixed with butter still clinging to his rod. Some had even run onto his balls, which I quickly swiped with my tongue to remove the gooey, greasy mixture. This man, once just a high-school pal, was quickly moving in to fill the void in my heart. I was enjoying the thought, the physical and emotional feel, as I wiggled my head between his legs and parted his almost perfect globular buns.

He gurgled, as does a happy newborn, as my tongue made contact with his virgin hole, which, in turn, quivered at the wet touch. The longer my tongue explored the sensitive skin, the more relaxed he became and the wider his entrance. Once the color of his inner hole went from rose to deep purple, I knew he had opened enough.

I gently removed myself from his warm mouth and repositioned us to doggy style. The middle finger of my right hand dipped quickly into the butter mug and applied the slippery substance onto and into him, while my left hand caressed his back. When my second finger entered him, the happy gurgling sound resurfaced. I didn't have to ask whether he was enjoying this.

When the third finger had collected more butter from the mug, I told him to cough, as I inserted the third digit. I knew he was enjoying being opened like this, since he never once tried to clamp his sphincter shut.

Once he was nicely dilated, I smeared more butter onto my now aching cock and gently, easily slid it into him. Although the initial process was agonizingly slow for my own dick, I felt very protective of this slightly built man who had once loved to playfully tickle me no end in our freshman gym class. Yes, I had to admit that I did, in fact, love Haruki. It wasn't that lustful, skyrocketing, fireworks-exploding, type of love, it was the mellow warmth in the pit of my stomach kind of love. It was the kind of love that went well with homemade cookies and freshly baked bread.

Haruki's wiggling his ass, already at the base of my dick, brought me out of my thoughts. With a sigh of contentment, I started our shared journey into yet unexplored sexual emotion.

Holding on to his hips, I slowly worked the intensity from initial watchfulness up to orgasm-inducing fervor. Of a sudden, he arched his back, contracted his sphincter around the base of my own pulsing organ, and shot a thick load against the mahogany headboard. Again, there were no sounds from him other than his panting and light, infant-like gurgling. For my part, my cock had started filling him the moment his anal muscles clamped around its base, as if never to let go.

When we collapsed onto the bed, I reached up with some paper towels to remove the globs from the headboard. "Not good for the finish." I declared and he blurted out a laugh.

"Did you make love to me, or did you fuck me?" His voice was again quiet.

"I'm still inside you." I pumped a bit, but it was going limp. "What would you call it?"

"It felt like love," He pulled off and turned to kiss me. "but I didn't want to be presumptuous."

I pulled him to me. "Yeah, it was pretty much as close to making love as I've ever gotten." I cradled him in my arms. "I do love you, Haruki. And I think that I've wanted to make love to you ever since the first time you tickled me in PE."

"For me, this is a dream come true." His warm breath on my ear felt good. "It made me belong to you, belong with you. It didn't feel like the first time in either direction; it just felt right."

"You do know, this will make my going away just that much harder, don't you?" I presented a weak attempt at being reasonable.

"So, does that mean," He laughed with a wicked tension in his voice. "that you're gonna move back to the Earle until you leave to make things easier?"

"Naw," I tickled him and made him fart. "think I'd rather deal with heartbreak than bedbugs."

***

When we got to the kitchen, Barney was on his doggy bed, licking his boner. "If he could teach you how to do that, it would make life in the barracks a lot easier." Haruki joked in passing. He returned the earthenware pot of butter to the pantry and removed a metal drum, which had 'flour, strong, white' written on it. It was a real indication that this had, at one time been a military household.

"Can I help?" I offered while still watching Barney.

"Yeah," He smiled and pointed toward the table. "take a seat and just keep me company." He got out a mixing bowl, a wooden spoon, and a measuring cup. He measured flour into the bowl. "Have you given any thought to what you want your MOS to be?"

At once, I felt lost. "Okay, Haruki, I don't function well with abbreviations."

He laughed as he put a packet of something into the flour along with a pinch of salt from a wooden salt cellar marked, 'salt, sea'. "Yeah, I seem to remember when you didn't know what SOB meant and asked Mrs. Morrison for her ideas on the subject." He laughed, glancing at me. "MOS means: Military Occupational Specialty, which means the job you want to do."

I gave him a rundown about what Marv had told me, and expressed my wish to stay as far from the fighting as humanly possible. In the meantime, Haruki was heating water and milk, and nodded his agreement that being in a JAG office would keep me out of trouble. Of course, I had to ask what JAG meant.

"It means Judge Advocate General, so the Army lawyers and their legal clerks are all in the Judge Advocate General Corps." He stirred in olive oil and the warm milk. "So, your MOS will put you to work in the JAG Corps, since this Marv guy turned you into a pothead, disqualifying you from serving in the ASA." Now, he was gradually adding the warm water and stirring with the wooden spoon for what it was worth.

"Can I, at least, do that for you?" I stood and walked up behind him. Barney had his eyes on me, probably remembering me as the guy who dropped food.

"If you want." He left me to stir and sat down at the table and brought out a tobacco pouch, a black mass, which looked like a bouillon cube. Only when he fished the papers out of the pouch did I realize that he was going to roll joints. "And this Marv guy, where did he get his information?"

"He's a Major in the Army Reserves. A JAG officer, of course." I was feeling aggressive talking about the Army and was beginning to feel the stirring in my arm muscles.

"Whoa, Ben," Haruki jumped up to stop me. "settle down. I said stir, not clobber it to death. You really don't realize how strong you are." He dusted the counter top with flour and kneaded the dough. "Does talking about the Army make you sort of lose control?"

I nodded, and Haruki folded the dough over and placed it into a clean bowl and covered it with the tea towel, which he'd wrung out under the warm-water tap. He gently took my arm and moved me to the table.

"You know what, Chūgokujin?" I shook my head to reveal that I didn't have a clue. "Tomorrow, we'll work on getting you squared away for basic. I'll teach you all the shit you should and should not do. And before you go, I'll have taught you how to fuck with the military mind."

"How do you know that stuff?" In my eyes, Haruki was taking on a new dimension.

"That's why I was never around during the summer vacations." He lit my joint and then his. "My dad always sent me off the summer camp from Hell for Army brats, down in the jungles of the Ozarks, near Fort Leonard Wood, Missouri." He took a long toke. "Look, I've been doing this military shit all my life.

"But first," He blew me a kiss. "we're gonna get wasted, have our pizzas, take Barney for a walk, then go back upstairs and fuck our brains out."

***

The pizzas, he'd made two, were absolutely delicious, Haruki was definitely marrying material. He was kind, considerate, intelligent, and I was going to miss him like Hell, when I went off to boot camp. Barney's walk turned out to be an abbreviated one. He turned a snow bank at the corner of MacDougal yellow and Haruki collected his steaming feces in a plastic bag, which he deposited in a trash container in the park. For some reason, the hanging tree had lost its attraction.

We got back inside, went to the kitchen to get Barney 'squared away' as he put it and retired upstairs. He dimmed the lights. Yes, he had a dimmer switch in his bedroom, which he purportedly inherited from his parents. And we undressed each other and got into bed, listening to Beethoven's piano sonata no. 14 in c-sharp minor.

He led the kissing and petting to the music, which made me only want more, more of him, more of his tenderness, more of his love. He applied more butter from the mug and entered me gently from the side, which I had only seldom experienced, since most guys fuck only squarely from the front or the back. The exciting part about this position was that he pressed against the side of my prostate with his slow and deliberately tender strokes. Then, without cumming, he pulled out and greased me up and placed me inside him.

When I asked him, why he didn't cum, he said because, this way, we could last all night and enhance the pleasure. For having been only recently deflowered, he had obviously given sex a lot of theoretical thought.

He got off me, when the sonata ended, and changed the LP. He put on the first movement of the Long March Symphony by Ding Shande. I have to admit that I'd never, theretofore, had sex while listening to modern Chinese classics. But the music was good for riding.

We fell asleep during Frédéric Chopin's Nocturne in C-sharp minor and slept next to and on top of, underneath one another, to awake again to no music and to make love in continuation. Everything was peaceful until the phone rang, which Haruki answered from the extension in the bedroom.

Since I understand not even a syllable of Japanese, except for Chūgokujin, I had no idea what the heated conversation was about until he hung up. "Bad news, I take it."

"It was my mother," He giggled and kissed me. "wanting to send some friends from Hawaii over to stay here, so they can go stand in the cold on Times Square for the New Year."

"Okay," I kissed him back. "what did you tell her?" I knew by the way he was now giggling that he'd been a naughty son.

"That Dad had booked the place for a bunch of his drunken Army buddies, so they could go stand in the cold on Times Square to welcome in the New Year."

I laughed at what he told me, although I felt that he was getting back. "Does it still hurt that they didn't bother to call on Christmas, or did you just not want to see her?"

"Yes, it still hurts, and it's been hurting for a long time." He snuggled up to me, and I drew him close. "They have always been too wound up in their own affairs to be concerned about me, or anyone else for that matter. But I have absolutely no desire to see her."

"But isn't this house at least part hers?" I was wondering if she didn't have a right to just show up.

"No, the house is mine, not theirs." He giggled again, and I knew that he was going to tickle me. But I inadvertently glared at him, so he didn't. "I inherited it from my Cuban grandfather, who thought that his son was a total piece of shit for serving in the Army of a colonial power." He laughed and did tickle me, after all.