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 45 (Wed., Feb. 8, Fri., Mar. 3)

The first three weeks of basic training crept by with a virtual kindergarten-like supervision by various Drill Sergeants, not necessarily our own. They would even come through during the night, so there was no sex, not even the quick blowjob in the latrine. That is, of course, with one big exception.

During week three, on Wednesday, the 8th of February, Gerry's twenty first birthday, we were in the middle of a snow and ice storm, and I was on fire guard duty from 0200 to 0400, and Moffett had been on from midnight to 0200. So, I arranged for him to stand guard at the latrine door while I took the sleepy Gerry into one of the stalls and gave him a blowjob.

I had to creep into Gerry's room without waking Pierson. Moffett closed the latrine door, drastically reducing the light in the corridor. And putting our training to practical use, I low crawled from the latrine, across the darkened hall and into Gerry's room. Luckily, the squad leaders were required to sleep with an open door.

It was a three-man room, in which Gerry slept in the middle, single-tier bunk. I slithered up on the left-hand side, listening for any changes in Pierson's light snoring, across the room. I let out a hissing sound and lightly pushed and pulled the springs of Gerry's bunk from underneath.

He awoke from his normal light sleep and I motioned toward the latrine and slithered back out. Since I was fully dressed, my dark-green fatigues did hide me quite well, as opposed to Gerry's white boxers and T-shirt. So, he waited until I'd crawled to my destination and got up and walked out.

Moffett reopened the latrine door, while I took Gerry by the hand into a cubicle. His dick was already poking out the boxers' slit, semi-hard. But the second his sleepy brain checked that something cool was about to happen, semi-erect went to battering ram.

He had only been less than three seconds in my mouth when I thought I was going to drown. I had no idea that a man's body could store so much semen. And I didn't know that I could drink it down quite that quickly.

I was licking the last bits off Gerry's dick, when we heard Moffett's stage whisper. "Good morning, Drill Sergeant."

"Haven't you been relieved yet?" It wasn't the voice of our Sergeant Healy.

I spoke out of the stall. "I'm here, Drill Sergeant. I'll be out in a second." Gerry was cum-dazed and therefore unable to think and was starting to panic. I motioned for him to stand on the commode. He did.

I flushed the commode, undid my brass belt buckle and jangled it for effect, opened the door and walked calmly to the washbasin. The Drill Sergeant was luckily still standing in the corridor and not inside the latrine. "You weren't praying to Lord Onan, were you?", which is Army-speak for jacking off.

It was early, but not too early for a touch of wit. "Naw, Drill Sergeant, I'm an atheist."

He looked confused at first, wondering if I didn't know what he'd meant. Then he looked sour, thinking that I was getting one over on him. It was a strain, but I managed to keep an innocent face. Obviously, he concluded that I was just a dumb Chinaman, shook his head and walked off.

Moffett waited for the glass door to the stairwell to shut before he lost it. He was sputtering and trying to go into hysterics quietly. Gerry came out of the stall, when he heard Moffett. "Damn, that was close." Gerry whispered.

"Danger must excite you." Moffett pointed at Gerry's hard cock, sticking out of his shorts. Moffett looked at me. "Do you mind?"

I sort of knew that this was going to happen, eventually. And Gerry had an expectant, evil grin. And after all, it was his birthday. So, I nodded. "Go for it, Moffett. But you owe me."

***

Weeks three, four, and five were the weeks that were devoted to our weapon, the M14. My dick was hard the entire time. The well polished wooden stock had the same slight taste of creosote and linseed oil as did my Lincoln Logs, that Bat Khan had given me for a birthday present when I was a kid. I would lick them, when no one was looking, wishing it was some part of Bat. And now it was the stock of my weapon that got the attention.

The night fire range was the ultimate climax on Friday night of week five. I managed multiple orgasms, one of which was while Gerry fucked me in the woods behind the quartermaster's tent. And it wasn't even my birthday.

Once we had finished firing, we had to gather and turn in our brass to our company Quartermaster, who was seated in the large mess tent, counting out the empty cartridge cases and entering the number behind our respective names. Then, we could help ourselves to hot cocoa, to get the winter-night's frost off. Instead, I invited Gerry out back to relieve ourselves in a manner not covered in our Basic Training Manual, since a trench tool was not required.

We got a good twenty yards from the tent, and I let my several layers of pants down, just below my crack. Gerry pulled his pole out of his fly. When he lifted my shirttails, I was using the small bottle of gun oil, we'd been issued for our weapons, on my hole. It proved to be excellent lubrication.

I leaned forward slightly and he inserted his cock up to the hilt. My hole had been longing for this kind of attention for more than a month. Gerry's torso was pressed against me. My outstretched arms, holding onto a tree trunk were balancing the two weapons, lying across them. I was licking and sniffing the stocks of the M14s, while Gerry licked my neck and slowly, patiently fucked my butt.

When he noticed what I was doing, he groaned quietly and exploded inside me. The entire scenario caused me to go into erotic overload. Since it was impossible for me to contain my cum; I tensed and squirted my load, pulse after pulse inside the layers of my trousers to join the cum from an earlier orgasm I'd had while firing, lying on my belly. The march back to the barracks was going to be sticky, but I had the entire weekend to clean things up.

***

Then, the big weekend arrived. The weekend of week six. The weekend of the three-day pass. And although the pass started at 0000 hours on Friday morning, there was no bus going toward the City until around ten.

When Gerry and I went out for our 0400 run, we passed two Drill Sergeants, one of whom was Healy, coming to work. They just stood there, watching us, dumbstruck, wondering why we would use the first morning of our three days off to do PT. Then Sergeant Healy did something totally out of character, he waved at us. Of course, we waved back. He yelled: "Meet me in the Day Room at 7." We both showed him thumbs up.

"Think he's going to put us on detail?" Gerry wondered out loud but didn't seem worried.

I patted my breast pocket, where I kept my French passport and the postcard size, three-day pass. "I'm off duty until reveille on Monday. He can fuck himself."

***

When we finished the run at about 0530, we noticed that our stamina had improved immensely during basic. We were hardly winded despite our smoking. When we ran past the Orderly Room, all the on-duty Drill Sergeants and the First Sergeant were watching and applauding. Gerry took a bow, while running in place, and they cheered.

As I approached my bunk, I saw Moffett's shoulders heaving; he was lying on his stomach with his face buried in his pillow. This is when I decided that Gerry and I had an obligation to take Moffett along with us to the City. Of course, we'd planned non-stop sex accompanied by loads of drink and other debauchery, until we had to return on Sunday afternoon, late. But, when all was said and done, we could also have a threesome.

I lowered my mouth to the level of his left ear. "Alvin?" He looked up, startled, his eyes totally bloodshot. "Come with me to have a shower, and we can talk about going to the City."

"Naw, you and Gerry, you need to be alone. I'll stay here." Moffett's voice didn't reflect self-pity; he sounded wounded.

"Like fucking Hell you will." We looked up to see Gerry, wrapped in a bath towel, coming to collect me. "Get that tight, bear-wrestling butt out of bed and go get cleaned up!"

***

We arrived in the day room just before seven. All three of us were wearing our 'Uniform, Class A, service, green, winter' for the first time. Sergeant Healy was already there, wearing his green beret and not the Campaign Hat and inspected our uniforms. Of course, there were a few adjustments; that was his job. But since his overall appraisal was: "Lookin' good." we relaxed and started to feel that we were actually on our own time.

"Here's the deal, guys." He cleared his throat. "Pierson and I are driving into town." I laughed at his use of 'into town', but then I realized that he was from New York City, just like the rest of us. I'd grown up with most everybody I knew, using that distinctive accent, so I hadn't noticed it, until he said something like 'driving into town', and we all knew that he wasn't referring to Trenton. "So, five clams each will get you there and back in my POV, so you don't have to wait for the bus."

"Yo, you're on, Drill Sergeant." Moffett was the first to agree; the rest of us gave our approval.

"When do we leave, Drill Sergeant." I wanted to know so I could pedantically watch the clock.

"Right after chow." He looked at us appraisingly. He obviously had some trust issues. "We have to sign out in the Orderly Room, and then we can hit the road." He then looked at me, not aggressively, just as he would any of us. "And I want you in the front seat, not behind me."

Whoa, Haruki was right: 'the Drill Sergeant is not your friend.' I was really taken aback, speechless as it were, but my Gerry picked up on it. "You afraid that he'll slit your throat, Drill Sergeant?"

"What are ya, fucking nuts?" Sergeant Healy looked confused and hurt. "I'm Special Forces, language qualified in Cantonese." He lightened up, realizing the misunderstanding. "I wanna talk to him, and I can't turn my head very far." He pointed to his glaring scar.

"Shit, I'm sorry, Drill Sergeant." Gerry's face was blazing just as red as the Sergeant's scar.

"You're okay, Helmstedter. Shit can happen." Our Sergeant laughed. "And another thing," He not quite whispered. "once we clear the main gate, I'm Gordon, not Drill Sergeant."

Maybe Haruki was wrong, after all. Maybe a Drill Sergeant could be your friend.

***

Gordon's Chinese was amazing, although he admitted to being a Monterey Mary, having attended the Army Language School at the Presidio of Monterey, but he had also been on assignment, mainly in Cholon, Saigon's Chinatown, to win the hearts and minds of the Chinese community in Vietnam. He told me that he would give me the address and phone number of someone with whom I would have a lot in common. He was half French and half Chinese, like myself.

Almost two hours on the dot had been the driving time between Fort Dix and West 48th Street in Manhattan. We unloaded in front of Hotel President, and Pierson got into the front. Gordon told us that he would pick us up at exactly this spot at exactly 2000 hours on Sunday.