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 56 (Sun., Mar. 19)

We hadn't gone to bed unusually late, but since yesterday had been so full of things, like graduating from basic, traveling out to Fire Island, we fell into a deep sleep, hugging one another closely. I mentally went over what Gordon had talked about on our drive, as I dreamed.

We took the Verrazano-Narrows Bridge rather than fighting cross-town traffic in Manhattan. This was the first time I'd been across it, since I was in France when it was opened in '64. I only remembered having to cross from Staten Island to Brooklyn once in my life. That had been back in the mid-50s on a bright-red ferry with my school class on our series of five-borough excursions.

As it turned out, Gordon was from Staten Island. Not without a little pride did he point out that Staten Island's Todt Hill, where the iron mines had once been, was the highest point of the entire Atlantic coast of the United States.

He also told us about his childhood on Fremont Avenue in Grant City, How he and his buddies and one of his brothers, Mike, would act out scenarios pretending to be pirates in deep woods, less than a block from his house. When I mentioned that Gordon was good at describing things, he claimed that was a result of his Special Forces training.

He and his childhood buddy, Barker, would sneak through the Moravian Cemetery to the back, by where the Vanderbilt family mausoleum was, on the southern edge of the golf course of the Richmond County Country Club and collect golf balls in a bucket and sell them for a nickel each back to the country club. He described how he'd sucked Barker off, while they were collecting lost balls.

In the summer months, the woods between the mausoleum and the golf course were as dense as any of the single-canopy jungles in Vietnam, according to Gordon, although the vegetation was totally different. Anyway, he and Barker were looking for golf balls, which entailed a lot of bending from the waist while rummaging through the underbrush. At one point, Gordon's left shoulder came up against the back of Barker's jeans. and without even straightening up, Barker told him that he would suck him, if he reciprocated. They agreed; Gordon went first.

He told us how he couldn't get Barker's fly open, because the buttons were backwards when he was facing them. So, he stood up and turned Barker around to undo them, as he would his own. With his nose buried in Barker's neck, he said that he almost popped a nut in his pants; his buddy smelled of roasted, buttered almonds.

Gordon had to laugh while he was telling us about getting Barker's pants down. For some reason, Barker wore suspenders and a belt. But when he got back in front and pulled his jeans down, he was wearing, at the age of twelve, Hopalong Cassidy pajama bottoms under his jeans. Barker's groin was still hairless and his circumcised dick looked like a little kid's. However, when Gordon put his lips around the kid's cock, it grew to full-blown and sort of shot after seconds into Gordon's mouth. It tasted watery and briny, like snot at the start of a runny cold. He had to hold the kid until he got his breath. That's when he told Gordon that he had blown a wad for the first time.

Barker got dressed very quickly, adjusting himself, and ran off telling Gordon something about having to go home. There he stood with ten golf balls and a hard-on, and he felt betrayed.

"Come on, Guys," Gordon's voice jolted Gerry and me into the present. "you missed breakfast and you'll miss lunch, if you don't come down now."

***

When Gordon threw back the heavy drapes in our bedroom, the bright noonday sunlight came rushing in, making us blink. As I threw my feet over the side of the bed and got up, Gordon briefly took hold of my morning wood, only to hurry back down stairs. "Looks like someone is torn between horniness and loyalty." Gerry casually remarked, as we dressed.

"Would you have a problem with it, if it went any further with them?" I turned from the window and the view of the row of cabins and cottages, anchored on short stilts in sandy scrubland leading down to the ocean only a hundred yards or so from the house.

My Gerry's smile faded. "I'm not sure." He became pensive. "Don't you think that we should draw up some ground rules?"

I maneuvered around the bed to pull him into a close embrace. "That, I believe, would be a very wise idea."

***

After lunch, Ju-Long and Gordon were getting ready to make the rounds of the cottages and cabins, which Ju-Long had to check twice a week, since he had to supplement his disability pay, and sources of income were very limited on the island during off season. Gerry and I tagged along, and since virtually no one else was around, we walked hand in hand through the sunshine.

"Don't get too comfortable with that." Gordon laughed as he looked at our intertwined fingers. "If they see that at your next duty station at Fort Knox, they'll boil you alive in oil."

Ju-Long pivoted on his foot to see what he was talking about. "If not drawn and quartered." He laughed along with us.

"Fuckin' Gook Faggots." A voice came out from between two storage shacks. "Ain't it bad enough that the likes of you are takin' over Brooklyn, but ya have ta come here to infest Saltaire, along with it?" The man in his mid thirties, who belonged to the voice, emerged from the shadows.

"You looking for some shit, Asswipe?" I offered as response, and moved quickly in his direction. "You think Gook Faggots won't mop the boardwalk with your butt-ugly face?"

"You wouldn't fuckin' da--" That's when the middle knuckle of my right hand made contact with the pressure point in the left side of his jaw, as my left hand drew his head closer. Then to make it look good, I performed a simple Ogoshi for pageantry's sake, sending him ass over ten cup across my hip, even though he was already out. His slack body bounced as it hit the timber surface.

I walked back to Gerry, took his hand and started off along the boardwalk. Ju-Long looked stunned, and Gordon was grinning from ear to ear. "You can't just leave him lying there." Gordon informed me sarcastically.

"And why the Fuck not?" I grinned back at him. "He wanted to mess with a Gook Faggot, so, he found one to mess with." I laughed. "Maybe he'll learn something."

"You sure as Fuck didn't learn that in basic." Ju-Long glared at his man. "Or did he?"

"Naw," Gordon laughed. "basic was just a formality for these two." He pointed at Gerry. "He took ROTC in high school and at Columbia. And that one was trained by the fuckin' French Foreign Legion."

"Ugh!" came from behind us. Our anti-GooFag aggressor was trying to get up.

Thought I'd inquire as to his well-being. "Want some more shit, Cunt Muncher?"

"You that Green Beret they're all talkin' 'bout?" He adjusted his jaw.

"No." I answered truthfully. "But just think what he woulda done to you." I laughed, but decided that it was none of his business that Gordon was the one they were obviously discussing. I moved closer to him and extended a hand to help him up.

"Stay away from me!" He sputtered.

"That's no way to talk." I still had my hand extended. "I'm trying to help you." But I slowly withdrew my peace offering, seeing the hatred in his expression, when I felt an almost uncontrollable surge of anger. "By the way, that's: 'Stay away from me, please, Sir'." I barked.

"I ain't gonna call no Slope Nelly Faggot, Sir." He was still trying to get up, when his ass fell back onto the boardwalk with a thud. Gerry dropped with his knee in the guy's gut. He picked up the man's head by its hair, despite all the pomade, and slapped him briskly several times across the mouth. "Get off me! I ain't got no gripe with you." My Gerry slapped him harder.

Gerry pulled the head closer. "That's what you fucking think." Then a very mischievous grin blossomed in his handsome face. Gerry lifted his knee, as if he were getting up, and let himself drop again, but this time onto the man's groin.

We left him moaning and squirming. "Do you know him?" I was looking at Ju-Long, who was balancing himself on his crutches, looking back, but Gordon answered that they didn't.

Ju-Long chuckled mockingly. "But the sad son of a bitch doesn't know that he isn't in Saltaire but in Kismet. Probably a day tripper." He stopped and once again looked back. "But there's also a mental hospital over in Bay Shore." His laugh had a sad ring to it.

"So, this is Kismet." I chuckled, glancing at the ferry that was getting ready to pull away from the dock. "And Saltaire is where?" Gordon pointed at a group of houses over to the east, while Ju-Long tried the locked door to see if the shop was secured.

"And how many settlements are on the island?" My Gerry wanted to know, shielding his eyes from the afternoon sun, as he scanned the horizon.

"Seventeen in all." Ju-Long told us, returning to the group. "But please, don't ask me to name them." He stopped and looked at me appraisingly. "Why did you beat that guy up?"

Wow, what a question. "Let me give that some thought for a second." I took Gerry's hand, as if that were going to ground me. "Uhm, ever since Pearl Harbor day, since December 7th of last year, I have had to stop being the obedient son, the good patriot, the self-sacrificing childhood friend."

"Give me some instances." Ju-Long's intensity grew.

"I told my mother about my attraction to men; she threw me out of our home because she interpreted my being Queer as showing disrespect toward her and Dad, whereas it has nothing to do with them.

"I am no longer an American, even though I was born in New York of a natural born American mother. The State Department has just revoked my citizenship for having voted in the presidential election of the other country, to which I owe allegiance since birth, due to my father. And if I weren't on active duty right now, they would deport me. And it's the same with Gerry; if he hadn't been on active duty when he turned twenty one, he would need a visa, which would require him to return to Germany, even though he knows no one there, and apply for a visa through the embassy in Bonn.

"And finally, somewhere around eight weeks ago, I lost two lifelong friends, or people whom I'd considered to be friends, because they showed me that they don't really care about me and were willing to sacrifice our friendship to attain their own selfish goals. All this, along with how Gerry's foster parents and ex-fiancée acted toward us about our being together, has made me unusually aggressive. I actually have dreams of killing people, and they aren't nightmares. My taking-shit tolerance is presently just above zero on a good day. Does that answer your question or even make any sense?" Gerry squeezed my hand, and was nodding almost imperceptibly his agreement.

"It does, in fact." Ju-Long nodded as Gordon picked up the narrative. "And how about you, Gerry? Do you feel this deep-seated anger, too?"

"Yeah, it's like a compulsion to destroy something or somebody, in order to get rid of the built-up tension. It makes me grit my teeth, clench my jaw, and my genitals tingle, until I either get a grip or really do break something or hit somebody." We chuckled a little, to cover up the fact that we all knew exactly what he was talking about.