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 55 (Sat., Mar. 18)

My subconscious might have heard Gordon's calling us to get cleaned up for dinner, but, for some reason, had decided that it had to have been my mother. "Don't make me fuckin' come up there." No, my mind revised its previous evaluation. That couldn't possibly have been Bernice, not even on a bad day. Then Gerry stuck his tongue into my bellybutton. No, this definitely was not at the apartment, above the piece-goods store on the corner of Allen and Canal that I'd called home for so many years. No, I realized as I forced myself into the state of quasi-responsiveness, this place really did feel like home. We were on Fire Island.

As my feet hit the floor, Gerry stuck a lit cigarette into my mouth. That completed the waking-up process. Seldom, had I had this amount of difficulty getting up. The bed was so inviting; the house was so comfortable; the felt house shoes were a brilliant idea; then, I realized that there were no ambient sounds. We got dressed in t-shirts and jeans, before going downstairs.

When we got there, Ju-Long made us each a drink. That was when I noticed that he wasn't using crutches but was standing. "Wow, it didn't register, before."

He laughed, a little self-consciously. "Yeah, so far, I only wear it around the house." He busied himself setting the table, so Gerry and I pitched in.

"He's still practicing." Gordon told us from the gas stove, where he was stir frying something that smelled absolutely delicious. "He's only had the prosthesis for less than a month."

"And where's Cam?" Gerry wanted to know.

"He'll be back on Wednesday, along with Gran and the Bandit." Ju-Long informed us, laughing at our puzzled faces. "Bandit's our dog."

"Gran," Gordon laughed outright, facing us at the range behind the breakfast bar, as he worked. "is Ju-Long's very eccentric, paternal grandmother, who lives in Pelham, up just north of the Bronx, and comes to stay with us four, maybe five times a year for a couple of days." He chuckled. "In fact, this is her house."

"And you said the house is built on a barge?" Gerry looked out the double window in the dining room to where Gordon's car was parked. He waved at someone then faced us again.

"Yeah, that was my dad's doing." Ju-Long took over explaining. "Back in March of '62, she had been planning to spend a couple of weeks out here, when on Ash Wednesday, the day before she'd been planning to leave, that Nor'easter hit. Her two-storey wooden house was totally destroyed. Since she didn't want to move to Hawaii, and Dad didn't want to worry about her, he insisted that she either sell the lot or build a place that would withstand that kind of storm."

He passed back to Gordon, and I wondered if Gerry and I would function the same way as a couple in five years or so. "And she had an architect friend design this, what she calls the Long Island Express."

"As in the train?" I wondered.

"No, that was the name they gave the 1938 hurricane." Ju-Long explained. A timer interrupted our talking, and Ju-Long got a pair of tongs to remove four potatoes, wrapped in foil from the embers in the fireplace, over in the living room.

Turning off the stove, Gordon continued: "This is a steel-frame house, bolted and welded to a 60 by 40-foot barge." Gordon arranged the stir fry onto dinner plates next to the opened potatoes, which Ju-Long buttered. Gordon sprinkled chives over the sour cream. "The outside walls and roof are corrugated steel, covered by steel siding, bolted to the steel frame. Whether it would actually float or not, is pure speculation, since it's never been tried. But we feel safe enough, and are sure that it would withstand a hurricane, even worse than the one back in '38." And he handed the full plates to us across the open counter into the dining room. Before he joined us, he hurried to place another log onto the fire.

After we sat down, "Oops, hold on." Ju-Long straightened his back, "Almost forgot grace." and looked kindly at Gerry. "Would you--"

"--would be glad to." Gerry scooted his chair, got up and went to the door, to which he was the closest of us four. "She that friendly lady who waved from across the street?"

Gordon and I looked at each other for a second and erupted in snickers. Now, I knew for certain that the NONE in the line for religious preference on my Gerry's dog tags, actually meant what it said. When he realized what Ju-Long had meant, he sat back down, blushed beet red. I took his hand, but still had to laugh. "It's okay, mein Schatz, I wasn't all too sure what he was asking, either."

"Didn't mean to embarrass you Gerry, sorry, just thought…" Ju-Long now glared at his man. "Thought you said that he's devout Catholic."

"No, Sweetheart," Gordon was still sputtering. "that was Moffett, the guy who passed out, when he saw your leg."

***

After dinner, Gerry and I washed the dishes. Due to the still unknown capacity of their new septic system, Gordon showed us how to conserve water and power, since the hot water and electricity were made in the engine room from bottled propane gas. And each bottle had to be transported from mainland Long Island by car or boat. He showed us how to wash everything with the same water. First the glassware, then the plates and cutlery and finally the pots and pans. Then we were to rinse them with one sink full, rather than under running water. Also when we showered, he told us how we should get wet and turn off the water while we soaped up and then turn it back on, when we wanted to rinse. This was going to take some getting used to.

Ju-Long also told us to stay away from the deer. We weren't to feed them, nor were we to pet them. Of course, telling two guys from the City, whose only experience with wild animals was limited to watching Disney animations, selecting from a menu, or fighting rats with umbrellas during garbage-collectors' strikes for a place at a bus stop, not to go near deer because they had tics, which could spread, among other disquieting things, Lyme disease, was seriously preaching to the choir.

And we were also informed that if we were to go out with the Bandit, between 17 March, which was yesterday, and Labor Day, we had to keep him on a leash of less than six feet in length, avoid the beaches, except at the lighthouse, keep him away from the deer, tics, poison ivy, and collect his shit in plastic bags, which had to be disposed of in the proper Park-Department receptacle.

"Of course, cigarette butts are a no-no. "Gordon said as if joking.

Having thought that we didn't take him seriously, Ju-Long added: "He's not kidding. Do not smoke in the brush or in the Sunken Forest. And you're not allowed to walk on the dunes."

"We get it." I wasn't really pissed off, just all these regulations were so intrusive.

"I saw you put a pass on the dashboard, when we got off the causeway." Gerry sounded a little less irritable than I did. "What was that?"

"We have to obtain permission every year to drive on the island." Gordon answered. "But it's free for members of the military."

"Don't get me wrong." I ventured to address the issue. "Gerry and I are more than happy that you're letting us stay here and letting us use this as our address, but don't you find all the rules oppressive." I took another drink of gin and tonic. "It's like being in basic training, except that you don't have to drop and give a park ranger fifty." And as I said that, the sadness of what had happened to Moffett's park ranger flooded over me.

Gordon laughed wholeheartedly. "But they do wear Campaign Hats."

"It didn't used to be that way here." Ju-Long informed us in a tone just shy of defensive. "It was last summer when the first park rangers showed up." He lit a joint and took a long swig of his highball. "In 1964, LBJ fucked up twice." We all chuckled more than just a little. "He staged the shit in the Gulf of Tonkin and he signed the National Seashore Act."

"Okay," I laughed because everyone knew that the Tonkin-Gulf Crisis was America's official start of the Vietnam War, but I'd never heard of the other. "what's the National Seashore Act?"

"You're not interested that the Crisis in the Gulf of Tonkin was staged?" Ju-Long shook his head.

"How do you know?" I wondered, not really seeing the importance.

Gordon answered for him. "Because the North-Vietnamese Navy doesn't have any PT boats. They have about thirty gun boats and thirty patrol boats, all from the Red Chinese. But no torpedo boats. Nonetheless, according to LBJ, the USS Maddox had been attacked by three torpedo boats of the North-Vietnamese Navy. Didn't happen - never existed."

Oddly, this didn't surprise me, but it didn't seem to register, either. "And the National Seashore Act?"

Again, Gordon answered: "It turned almost the entire island into a National Park. We have to get permission to drive from a public road to our own house. The days of campfires and parties on the beach are over for good. Last summer, our first back from Nam, was also the first green and grey Gestapo controlled season. Shit, I've had more fun on rainy Monday mornings, taking my mom to work in the kitchen of the ladies' tea room at Schrafft's."

"So, that was where you found out you were Queer?" Gerry laughed and took my glass and his to the kitchen and set them in the sink.

"Naw, that was after school, one day, sometime during the seventh grade." He took his and Ju-Long's glasses to the kitchen, as well, and slapped Gerry on the ass in passing. "How 'bout yourself?"

"At the Reception Center is where I found out for sure." Gerry said playfully, Ju-Long gasped and looked at me. I nodded.

"Bullshit." Gordon laughed and sat back down next to his partner on the three-seater and raised one eyebrow, skeptically. "I knew the minute I saw you and Ben together."

"No, I'm serious." Gerry sat down next to me again and draped his right leg over my left one. "I was engaged to be married to a certain Harriet Scranton, who dumped me when I joined the Army."

"So," Ju-Long passed a cigarette to Gordon and lit it for him. "Ben was your first guy?"

Gerry nodded a little self-consciously, I took his hand and squeezed lightly and took up the thread. "He got threateningly close to me at the induction station." He and I both chuckled at this understatement that didn't require any explanation for the others. We already had our private moments, which were no one else's business. "And he would go jogging with me every morning at four."

"You know, it's odd." Gerry gave me a cigarette and lit it but didn't take one of his own. "He reminded me of a soldier who took care of me, back in the old country." Of a sudden, tears were flowing down his cheeks. He wiped at them hurriedly. "You tell them, Ben. I just can't go through this again."

"Before they found his mother's cousins, and he came to America, a young British soldier, who'd been one of the liberators of the camp, would look after Gerry." I summarized. "He'd told Gerry, that he would adopt him, but the soldier had to get married and turn twenty one, first."

My Gerry was trying to laugh through the tears. "And Ben's protectiveness reminded me of how that soldier would watch over me." He now sat up and reached for a cigarette. "But when Ben took that butcher knife away from Evans, I knew I had to get to know this guy, even better."

"Butcher knife?" Gordon's sonorous voice boomed like when he was in Drill-Sergeant mode.

"Yeah," Gerry wiped his eyes again quickly. And since I'd related an episode of his life, he was more than welcome to tell this episode. "Evans came back after getting dumped by his girlfriend over the phone." He fished out his hanky to blow his nose. "So, Evans had this huge-ass butcher knife and was threatening to hurt some guys in the barracks. And Morales, one of our guys from East Harlem, was trying to talk some sense into him, but he wasn't listening." Gerry flipped ash into the ashtray as a means of punctuation. "Then, Cool Ass, here, shows up, as if he pulls this kinda shit off every day, walks up to this pretty strong, crazy guy wielding' a fucking butcher knife and takes it away from him as slick as a whistle. Then, instead of slapping' the holy shit out of Evans, he cuddles him. That was the moment I knew that I wanted the same."

***

When Gerry and I finally got upstairs and under the patchwork quilt, he kissed my forehead. "Did I embarrass you, down there?"

"Don't be silly." I reassured him by pulling his ass closer to my cock. Although the knife story got bigger and more heroic every time Gerry told it, it didn't bother me, as it would have a couple of months ago.

"Du, Schatz?" This was the first time, he'd addressed me this way. I pulled him even closer to acknowledge that I was listening. "Would you make love to me?"

Since the honey was on the nightstand, I got a huge glob on my middle finger and put it into my mouth and went muff diving. As I spread his cheeks, the mixed scent of musk and honey made my dick inflate to beyond the point of aching. It wanted immediate release; I wanted to please my Gerry. I blew the glob of honey into his rectum, past the sphincter, and smoothed it with my tongue, as it melted.

His gasps and soft purring told me that we were on course. His slowly opening rosebud indicated that he would soon be ready. Taking my time, I slid up his back, which was covered in gooseflesh. My tongue reached the nape of his neck at the same time my cock greeted his rosy parts.