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 59 (Wed., Mar. 22)

A huge surge of regret overcame me as we stood in front of the butt-ugly, red-granite sandstone, and brick building on Whitehall, looking at one another. We were standing directly on the spot on Water Street where I'd thrown down the backpack at Gerry's feet, and as a result, he'd tripped and fallen, skinning his hands and cheek on the concrete sidewalk. All he'd wanted was a little closeness, and I'd interpreted it as possible aggression. My reaction had been so unnecessary, that I was now on the verge of tears.

"I can't tell you how sorry it makes me feel--"

"--don't, Lover. Let it go." His thumb wiped the tear from my cheek. "I love you."

"Hey, you two Faggots gonna--" The overgrown kid didn't know what hit him. I did, however, find it a little disturbing, but just a little, that, as I spun around, my backhanded fist connected with his lower jaw, making it snap and hang lopsided.

"--whadya do dat for?" He was bleeding slowly from his mouth, which he helplessly held with the same hand that was grasping his draft notice. The draft notice was turning red with blood.

"Just keeping your ass outta Nam." Actually, I hadn't meant it to sound so benevolent. For the first time in many a year, sarcasm had failed me.

As he went off into the green-walled insides of the Army Building to look for medical help, the bright-red Wagoneer came into view, moving up Whitehall from the direction of South Ferry. Gerry's guess was that they'd been to Staten Island.

Gerry and I piled into the backseat with Cam and the Bandit, a friendly dog with a mixed ethnic background. The radio was set to WMCA, and the announcer was introducing number eight on the weekly chart, "Spanky and the Gang with Sunday Will Never Be The Same". Gordon switched off the radio to make introductions.

"Call me Gran." Mrs. Clark waved from the front, smiling at us over the seat.

"Call me Cam." ordered the smiling face only inches from mine, and he gave me a big sloppy kiss on the lips. Gerry, on the other hand, was being licked by the Bandit, probably smelling Buster and Jock's dog on him. "And are you Ben or Gerry?"

"I'm Ben," I cuddled him closer. "and that's my guy, Gerry."

"Are you and Gerry in love like my dads are?" The little guy wanted to know.

"Yes." I confirmed his suspicions.

He pulled back to look at me with a sad face. "Guess I'll have to keep on looking, then."

That got a roar from the front, which made the Bandit stop licking Gerry's hand to see what was happening. After the laughter died down, the conversation lulled, and Gordon switched the radio back on. Dionne Warwick was asking Alfie what it was all about.

***

"I'm glad that you could talk some sense into them." Gran sipped her Irish Coffee, while the rest of us drank whisky straight. Since Cam had already gone to bed, the Bandit was sleeping in front of the fire. "I always regretted that my silly son had Ju-Long circumcised."

"My parents didn't have anything to say about it." Ju-Long passed the joint to his grandmother. "The military hospital in Olathe did it without asking them."

"I would sue for damages," She tried to talk without air, exhaled, and passed the joint to me. "if I were you."

"That could endanger his disability." Gordon added and waved off the joint, as did Gerry.

"What, first they cut off your dick, and then they get your leg without any consequences." She was becoming increasingly belligerent . "Makes you wanna run right out and find the next recruiter to sign you up, doesn't it?"

"I signed up under Kennedy, before Vietnam turned violent." Ju-Long became defensive and turned his head away from his grandmother.

"That's downright stupid." Gran laughed contemptuously. "Signing up for a war before it becomes violent is like signing up for the priesthood before the Pope turns Catholic." She snickered and waved off the joint.

Although their family spat was none of my business, I'd had enough dope and booze not to care. "So, do you care for Cam a lot?"

She nodded. "I was a Kennedy supporter, but it will never be that way, again. Johnson is a total shit." She said but laughed when she realized that I meant her great-grandson and not Camelot. "Yes, I do, whenever I can soften these two up enough to let him come home with me."

Ju-Long smiled at me. "There's a degree of spoiling that we have to correct every time he comes back from her place." He let go of his hard feelings and patted her hand. "Even if it is Gran's privilege to spoil him."

She then gave me an intense look. "So, I understand that your parents consider circumcision a barbaric custom."

I nodded my head and Gerry joined in. "Where I was born and lived as a kid, no one was circumcised."

"And my father threatened the NYU Medical Center with the lawsuit of the century if they so much as came near me with a scalpel." I added. "And when I was home in France," I said it because it was now significantly true, and secondly, because it made me feel good. "the only people I saw who were circumcised were these two Moroccans, with whom I palled around. Other than Moslems and Jews, virtually no one else is."

"You're French?" Gran sounded surprised. I nodded in the affirmative. "And where were you born, Gerry?"

"Like my name says: Germany?" He chuckled along with the rest.

"Then what in Blue Blazes are you two doing in the American Army?" I offered her a cigarette, which she accepted. "You weren't drafted, were you?" She was looking at Gerry.

"I joined before the draft got me." He took a cigarette. "But all men living permanently in the US on their eighteenth birthday have to register for the draft, whether they are American citizens or not."

"And a school friend of mine." I lit the cigarettes. "who is half Japanese and half Cuban spent the war years with his mom in a concentration camp in an Arkansan swamp. And he told me that they were drafting guys right out of the camps, during the war. And those who refused to go, were tried and put into federal penitentiaries. Of course, those who did go, were used as cannon fodder in Europe." That more or less stopped the conversation.

That is, until Gerry added: "Wow, not even the Nazis pulled shit like that."

***

"What would be a reason for you to leave me?" Gerry's morbid curiosity came to the fore, once again.

"I really can't think of any, Lover." I told him honestly, while removing my socks. I got up off the bed to take him into my arms. "And if there is anything I can do to make you more secure, I'll do it."

"It's not that I'm insecure in our relationship," His kiss was sloppy but brief; his cock was inflating. "but there always seems to be someone wanting to start something, the minute we hold hands, or when I brush a tear off your cheek, or something."

"They're usually bullies," I inserted his hard dick between my thighs below my balls. "who've had to take shit from other bullies. So, they erroneously think that they can beat up on Queers."

He stroked his dick in and out of my thighs. "When is the shit going to end?"

"When we leave the country." I stated matter-of-factly. I looked into his worried face. "What? You wanna come back here, when we get out of the Army?"

He placed his head on my neck and stopped pumping his cock. "To tell you the truth, I haven't given it any thought."

"You know, I really want to go home to Europe." I held his head to me. I took a deep breath of his scent. "I'm even going to learn German, while we're in Vietnam." I felt his tears tickle their way down my chest.

"I love you so much, that I'm afraid something terrible is going to happen." Gerry held me tight enough that I had trouble breathing.

"Do you want to go to Canada?" The question even surprised me. He looked impish. "Do Germans need a visa?"

He shook his head slowly. "I don't think so. Do you?"

"No." I thought about it for a second. "The question is how do we get across the border without getting arrested, like Pierson did."

"I would imagine that Pierson didn't have a valid travel document." Gerry asserted, pulling me onto the bed.

"And of course, we do. However, we do not have valid visas for the United States stamped in our passports. Nor, do we have valid sailing permits, allowing us to leave." I snuggled up to his side. "So, that pretty much excludes us from being able to cross at a normal border crossing point."

"I'd bet that Moffett could tell us how to get across the border." Gerry kissed my forehead and played with my hair. "But the question is: can we trust him?"

At that, we let the conversation die down, as our dicks demanded attention. Gerry inched his way down, kissing my nipples and tummy. His lips found my aching cock; he licked it like a lollypop. As he sucked my dick, he worked the skin back and forth across the sensitive glans with his mouth. His purring was pushing me toward the edge.

When I spun him round to keep myself from cumming and in order to increase his sensations, I got between his hard mounds covered with soft, almost white fluff, to dive into with my tongue. Gerry's natural backdoor scent was a mixture of sandalwood and crushed almonds. He tasted of roasted chestnuts. My thought was: if only we could bottle this.

His entrance relaxed as my tongue played with the folds of flesh. Gerry's perineum was highly sensitive, making oral stimulation all the more enjoyable for us both. When I would brush my tongue the length between his hole and his balls, his hole would close. Then when my tongue went the other direction from his sack to his asshole, it would open.

The amount of clear, colorless, viscous fluid oozing from our cocks told me that it was time to apply some to his entrance and proceed. As I placed his heels on my shoulders, I saw that his eyes were already glazed. He was starting to pant and purr at the same time. This was always a clue that he was approaching sexual Nirvana. His hole let me enter with only slight, steady pressure.

When I got balls deep, he told me of his love. When on a sexual high, he would always speak German. I answered him with a whispered: "Ich liebe Dich auch, mein Schatz." telling him of my love for him. I still didn't know enough of his language to tell him that I loved him more than life, itself. But someday, I would.

Due to the sensual angle, in which nature had placed his asshole relative to the root of his cock and to his prostate, pleasure made him unable to move. It was as if sexual union through his bottom released some special narcotic, a veritable love potion, into his blood stream. Even slow pumping with his legs spread by holding onto his ankles was enough to get him under my absolute control. And the more we did it, the more he would let himself become vulnerable.

As opposed to women, about whom I'd heard, there was no way he could fake this altered state, since it culminated in his having both an anal and a penal orgasm without the slightest manipulation of his genitals. And there was no way he would let someone whom he didn't completely trust thrust him into this accelerated arousal. For this reason, our intimacy continued to grow.

The wonder, which we were about to experience never ceased to amaze me. Our eyes could never part during the high flight of pleasure. His entire body tensed, shuddered as if experiencing extreme cold, all the while looking into my eyes, albeit unfocused. His penis pulsated, spewing his seed, while I spent mine inside him.