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 23 (Wed., Dec 28, 1966)

When I heard: "Come on, Ladies, up and at 'em." I basically thought that I was dreaming, until the un-dimmed light went on. When I looked at the alarm clock, it told me that it was 04:00 in the morning. "Time to shit, shave, and shower. Come on, let go of your dick; it's time to get going." A stick or something was smacking the soles of my feet. "Formation in twenty five."

When I saw the 'Smoky-Bear' hat, I knew that Haruki was in Drill-Sergeant mode. I didn't say anything, grabbed my toiletry bag and moved quickly into the bathroom down the hall. The en suite was off limits. I took my morning piss, brushed my teeth, startling a little when I saw the mirrored image of the buzz cut he'd given me the night before. The shower was quick, and I returned to the bedroom.

Drill Sergeant Hernandez was standing in the doorway with a stop watch. I made our bed, using hospital corners, tucking the sides in tightly, just like he'd shown me the previous afternoon. And I hurriedly got into my fatigues and combat boots.

Haruki went to the bed and tossed a quarter up in the air. When the coin landed, it flipped over. "Good work, Gook."

Had it been anyone else, other than someone who qualified as a 'Gook' himself. I probably would have slugged him. I was that tired and annoyed. But since I knew, as he'd explained it to me, that this was part of the game, I simply replied: "Thank you, Drill Sergeant."

I put on my COAT, MAN'S, FIELD, W/HOOD with its LINER, COLD WEATHER; COAT, MAN'S, OG 107, buttoned in, and we headed out to the east-southeast. We double-timed down Washington Place, the length of Washington Square to Broadway and back through West 4th Street to Sixth Avenue and home.

At this hour of the morning, the only people we saw, were two New York City policemen walking their beat, who snapped to attention and saluted as we ran by, singing our dirty, racist cadence about Eskimo pussy being mighty cold. The tune, however, was quite catchy. The irony, of course, was that we were singing this shit on Broadway, albeit not in the theater district.

When we got back to the house, I took off the field jacket and, at Haruki's request, the combat boots as he did his. "That'll be enough Army shit for the day. How do you feel?" He bent over to pat Barney, who was waiting and wagging.

"Pumped." My adrenaline was flowing nicely. "Could probably do some damage if anyone pisses me off."

"Can you bring it down?" He asked me calmly.

"It'll take awhile." I followed Barney's lead and I shook my body to lose some tension, as we moved down the hall and into the kitchen.

"Sit down." He pushed me back onto the chair. "And look at that fly above the kitchen clock."

"I don't see any fly."

Haruki snapped his fingers and pointed. "Look at that fly." He insisted sternly. And sure as shittin' there it was, in the middle of winter, there was a fly sitting above the old clock. "Keep looking at that fly, and I'm gonna count backwards from ten to zero. And when I get to zero, you're going to be totally relaxed." His voice was rhythmic, and when he got to zero, I was relaxed and had lost the adrenaline rush and the accompanying aggression.

"Wow, Babe, how did you do that?" I was really very relaxed and felt nothing but peace.

"I didn't. You did." His smile was loving, and I couldn't resist kissing it. Just once. Quickly. He ran a hand across my buzz cut. "All I did was to suggest it. You took on the suggestion and relaxed."

"Is that what they call the power of suggestion?" I'd heard the catch phrase a couple of times.

"Scientifically, it's called hypnosis." Haruki started to count out spoons of coffee for the drip-o-lator. "But you can call it anything you like." The water came to the boil and he fed the aluminum tower on the top of the pot and waited for it to drip through the grounds.

"I've never seen anything like it." meaning that I actually wanted to know more.

"Yeah, you have." Haruki's smile was making me go hard. "You have even used it on me."

"When?" This, I needed to hear.

"Remember that picture of us in the love room?" He described it closer. "The one that Bartholomew kid took, when I won my first gold medal?"

I nodded and thanked him for the cup of coffee he set in front of me. "I remember just about everything that happened on that day. I was so proud of you."

"Do you remember what you did, just before I got into the starting blocks?" His smile went from getting me hard to almost making me want to cum. I must have looked blank. "You startled me by clapping your hands in front of my face, telling me to wake up and that I already had the gold cinched, and the other contestants should face the fact and just go home."

My memory of that bit was vague, but now that he mentioned it, it became clearer. "Yeah, I sort of remember that."

"What you did was to hypnotize me, and it worked. I won." He took a sip of his black coffee. "And you see it every day on Times Square."

"Huh?" This, I needed him to explain.

"The scam-scalper approaches the tourist gawking at the bright lights. The bright, flashing lights on Times Square have already dazzled and subdued the tourist who is more than likely from the Midwest and is seeing something like this for the first time. The scam-scalper bamboozles the tourist with two theater tickets for the price of one. He explains everything to the tourist in very quickly spoken New Yorker dialect. The scam-scalper only slows on the words he wants the tourist to understand, like 'just for you', 'smash hit' and 'sold out for years' and 'best deal in town', otherwise it's sensory overload. The tourist parts with his cash and never realizes that he got two worthless tickets for that very date but from the month before."

"Haruki, I have to know more about this." I wasn't excited, I was enthused.

"This afternoon." He smiled and my dick was starting to ache. "After breakfast and after we've had some hand-to-hand in the basement and love in the love room, directly following the nap and lunch."

"Hand to hand?" I wasn't sure what he meant.

"Yeah, I'll teach you some stuff they didn't at the dojo."

***

In the basement, Haruki had a gym with barbells and a large wrestling mat. "We'll have to be careful because of the low ceiling. But most of our work will be ground work, anyway." He threw me a jockstrap.

I sniffed it out of habit. Haruki laughed and shook his head. For my part, I was disappointed that it smelled of Tide.

We stripped and put on the jockstraps to keep the family jewels out of the way. Since I'd never done one-on-one without clothes before, I wasn't very sure of myself.

"Relax, I want to talk to you, first." He sat down on his heels in the traditional Japanese manner, smiled and motioned for me to sit across from him.

His voice was even, as always. "The main striking points used by traditional Judo, that you have learned for many years, are: uto, between the eyes, kasumi, the temple, suigetsu, the solar plexus, and sokei-bu, the groin."

I nodded agreement. "Yeah, those are the ones I learned."

"And exactly those points are useless in a close fight, be it in the jungle or in the barracks," He giggled. "unless you're fighting naked."

"Why would they be useless in a fight?" I didn't agree, since I'd actually used them defending myself.

"Because in a military setting, you're dealing with helmets, body armor and athletic cups, which the Army provides to cover up precisely those points." His grin was wide and sexy. "You wore an M-65 field jacket and liner this morning."

"Yeah, I see what you mean," I chuckled. "you'd really have to punch the solar plexus to get through the padding."

His expression told me that he was pleased that I was with him. "Then, add a sheet of body armor, which you won't be able to see, because those jackets are made to conceal it, and you'll break your own hand."

I nodded. "Yeah, I can see that."

"So, here are the points that you can get to, even with full battle gear." He scooted closer. The first one is where your nose joins the upper lip." He showed me on my own face. "The second one is just under the lower lip and just above the chin. Those two work fairly well." He slid up a little.

"Now, here are the ones that work like a charm. I call them 'the magic triangle'." He leaned in and only lightly tapped the spot between my jaw bones where the line from my earlobe intersected my hairline.

"Holy fuck." was my reaction. When he reached behind my earlobes and pressed with only one finger on each side: "Ouch." is all I could say.

Then, he smiled somewhat mischievously and tapped my neck on a spot midway between my earlobe and shoulder. I seriously thought that I was going to lose consciousness. And, then, I fell over. That much, I could remember when I opened my eyes to see him mopping my face with a cold washcloth and rocking me back and forth on his lap.

***

Upstairs, in the love room, Haruki put on Piano Concerto No. 1 in D minor by Brahms, and removed our jockstraps. His kisses more than made up for knocking me cold in the basement. The warmth, which he radiated added to the brilliant sunlight, coming through the manila-colored window shades, that he'd pulled down when we came in.

The room was drenched in yellowish light and Haruki's warmth and smell from the run this morning. He massaged my hole with his thumb as we kissed. Occasionally, he would tickle between my buns with his tongue, where he would leave globs of spit. The massage continued, until I was approaching, once again, an altered state of awareness.

Only after the music calmed a bit, and the piano and strings were softer than they had been, did I realize that he was whispering words into my ear. They were words of encouragement, hope, and, of course, love. He was planting seeds of positive emotions into my subconscious, embedded in the music.

With just a little more attention, he had me opened enough. He had also spread petroleum jelly on his cock and proceeded to enter, as the swelling music again washed over us. During the entire Adagio, he made mellow love to me, physically, emotionally, putting me into a semi-state of trance.

His penis massaged my prostate as his hands manipulated the muscles of my shoulders and back. He may well have been a virgin two days ago, but the feeling he was investing in this expression of pleasure could not be learned; it came naturally as part of this kind man's core. The love he was displaying was the reflection of what he is, not of what he had learned.

And when the Rondo came, so did we. He stayed inside me, and amazingly, he also stayed hard.