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 64 (Sat., Mar. 25)

The atmosphere during the walk down to the White Castle and at breakfast was very subdued. In an attempt to get Gordon to talk, I told him that breakfast would have to be on him, since Gerry and I had to conserve cash for our flight to Louisville, tomorrow. This wasn't really the case, but I wanted to get a reaction. I was hoping that we could get to the root of his being tight lipped.

"No problem." He said with a slight tinge of sadness. "And I'll get the bridge toll, when we drive over to Brooklyn to your lawyer's. You want me to lend you some money?"

That was not the reaction I wanted. I held the door open as we left. "No, thanks. Gordon, please, tell me what's wrong?"

"What do you mean, 'What's wrong'?" He tensed, displaying his put-on look of innocence, for which neither of us were about to fall.

"Come on." I tisked. "Last night, we both heard you cry yourself to sleep."

He turned red in the face. "You guys don't miss a trick, do ya?"

"And that's why my guy was gonna be a counterintelligence officer, Drill Buddy," Gerry laughed, patting me on the back. "until your government lost its shit and made him a foreigner."

Gordon's eyes spoke volumes. He shook his head. "I don't want you guys to get upset or something." He offered us each a cigarette and lit them. "In fact, it wasn't really anything." I blew smoke rings; Gordon tried, and when it didn't work, he tried again and got it. "Everything was right on the money, as long as you guys were making out." He tried another smoke ring, and it worked on the first go. "But when you guys got into sucking each other, there was no resemblance to my memories of how Mike and Eddie did it. You guys were going at it like porn stars." He flipped his cigarette into a storm drain.

"How do you mean?" I wanted details.

"Mike and Eddie could never have done it like that." His eyes were glistening. "You guys sounded downright filthy. Hell, our old man would a killed both of 'em, if he'd caught 'em carrying on like that."

Gerry looked at me, grinned and growled. "Yum, filthy." He threw his left arm around Gordon's shoulder. "How do you keep from making sounds, when it's so tickly tingly?"

"It's not that tickly tingly." Gordon stated; Gerry looked incredulous.

And I remembered something from school. "Wow, that's right." I put my own cigarette out on the ground before we crossed the railroad bridge. "A kid in school, whose parents were Moslems, had to get circumcised after he was in puberty. And he told me the difference in feeling is like lightly running a finger across the sole of a foot before you're cut and across the top of your foot after you've been done."

"No shit?" Gordon seemed to grow sadder. "I always knew something was missing, but I didn't realize how much or what. Is it really that intense?"

"Definitely." Gerry looked serious and glanced at me for verification. "I've even almost passed out a couple of times from the intense pleasure."

"Yeah, same here." I confirmed. "And I find sex a lot more pleasurable with an intact partner, when I'm getting fucked."

"Aw come on." Gordon spewed. "It can't be that much different, if you're on the bottom."

"That's what you think." I stopped to put my own thoughts and feelings into words. "When Gerry fucks me, it's like with Lon and his dad, the tip of outside skin stops at my hole, and only moist mucous membrane enters me. That's why we have such great lubrication; it's moist and slick, like the lining of your mouth.

"But when Marv, Haruki, or Sean would fuck me, I needed loads of lube because there was no slack skin, and it was rough. Their knobs are covered with skin as tough as calluses. They would rub me raw, and Marv even has pubic hair on his shaft, which scoured my tender hole like a Brillo pad."

"You do realize, that I won't be able to look your lawyer square in the eye, now that I know he's got hair on his dick." Gordon chuckled with a deadpan face, indicating that he'd been trying to be funny but was somehow lacking the necessary oomph.

***

I was now starting to appreciate the Verrazano-Narrows Bridge, wondering why no one had thought of building it earlier. But when I remembered that it was built by Bob Moses, at whom I was still pissed off for that asshole's having demolished Penn Station, one of the most exquisite examples of Beaux-Arts architecture in North America, and for destroying Fort Lafayette, which had been built during the War of 1812, so that this very bridge would have its Brooklyn-side tower on an actual island, my enthusiasm evaporated exponentially.

Despite my being pissed off about Penn Station and Fort Lafayette, Moses' last bridge did make getting to Avenue T in Gravesend from Staten Island one Hell of a lot easier. Then I pissed my own self off for having just rated personal convenience above what should have been national monuments. Having felt that, though, this was no longer my country, and, as far as I was concerned, they could destroy what they wanted with their so-called progress. And the fact that I was no longer a New Yorker, regardless of how many houses I bought, pissed me off even further.

So, by the time Gordon asked me, which way would be the best route to take, I was being awkward. "How the Fuck should I know?"

"Whoa, there, Trooper, that--"

"--sorry, Gordon." I forced my voice to become much more congenial. "I'm pissed off about Robert Moses and Mayor Wagner."

Gordon laughed. "I know what you think of Bob Moses, but what did Bob Wagner do?"

"For starters, from what I understand, he tried to rid the city of Queers before the World's Fair opened in '64," I growled and lit a cigarette. "and then created the fucking New York City Landmarks Preservation Commission way too late to save Penn Station and Fort Lafayette. It's a fucking wonder that he didn't let Moses sell the Statue of Liberty for scrap metal."

"Couldn't have, anyway. It's federal property." He lit his own cigarette that Gerry had just given him. "So, how do we find Avenue T?"

"It crosses Ocean Parkway right after Avenue U. Then, just a couple of blocks to the west." My voice quality had returned to normal. Gerry blew me a kiss and a smoke ring.

"Typical directions from a pedestrian." Gordon smirked and glanced at me in the rearview mirror. I smiled and flashed him the bird. "I'm not complainin', Ben."

"What would you have said?" I demanded to know.

"Beltway in direction of Coney Island and get off at the Ocean Parkway exit. Then travel north on Ocean Parkway and turn left on Avenue T."

"That does nothing to improve precision." I sneered.

"But it's much more butch." Gordon laughed.

"Yeah? Well, we'll see who gets fucked, tonight." I gave off a gut laugh, and Gerry gave me a helpless look.

***

We pulled up in front of Marv's house, shortly before noon, hoping to get this over with, so we could go to lunch back at the White Castle. But before I got to the top of the five steps, leading up to the front porch, I could see a note taped to the beveled glass of the thick door. When I got closer, It read: 'Next Door'.

I went back to the curb and motioned to Gerry and Gordon to come with me. Since Marv was at Bat's, this was going to take longer than planned. As we proceeded up the drive, I saw that only Bat's Land Rover was parked there, meaning that his wife was probably gone for good. I sighed with relief, but then tensed once again at the thought of seeing Lon. Oddly, I was looking forward to seeing Bat but not his oldest son.

The moment I knocked on the back door, it flew open, and Bat whipped me into a bear hug in the kitchen. "I have missed you, Ben." His warm breath on my neck made me go hard in an instant. "I miss you more than Lon."

I drew back a little, mainly because he could still work his magic on me, and I needed space. "Where's Lon?"

Bat released me. "He dropped out of NYU and joined the Marines shortly after you left." Bat then looked over my shoulder and motioned to the drooling, open-mouthed Gordon and Gerry. "Come on in, it's windy out there."

When I saw Bat almost swoon over Gerry, who'd this morning put on our black-leather highway jacket over a white t-shirt, with his left thumb tucked into the top of his jeans and who was giving us his bad-boy look out of sheer shyness, I intervened. "This is Gerry Helmstedter, my partner." Now, I watched Bat cringe and then give Gordon the eye. "And this is Gordon Healy, our Drill Sergeant."

"Nice to meet you, Sir." Gordon stretched out his hand, which Bat took in both of his. And I waved at Marv standing in the doorway to the living room.

Bat grinned slyly. "Since I work for a living, too, Sergeant," He increased the pressure on Gordon's hand. "call me Bat."

"It's a pleasure to meet another soldier. Army?" Gordon managed a smile to cover up his drooling.

"Work for a living, my ass." Marv came closer with two documents with a blue backer, obviously the sales contract. "I'm the only sorry schmuck who does any work 'round here." He first gave me the contracts to sign, then Gordon his hand. "I'm Marv Brandstifter, not an enlisted man."

The second Marv said his surname, Gerry snorted inadvertently, trying to suppress a laugh. "Sorry, I didn't mean to--"

"--you think my name's funny?" Marv was grinning, so it was obvious that he wasn't upset. He got closer to Gerry, who now resembled a sun-burned James Dean, since all eyes were on him.

"It's just that it means 'arsonist' in German. Quite a name for a lawyer." Gerry was glancing at me for help.

But before I could move, Marv moved in even closer blocking my path; he became slightly aggressive. "And how do you know that?"

At a loss for words, Gerry just said meekly: "I was born in Bergen-Belsen."

As if struck by lightning, Marv's face became pained; he grabbed Gerry into a full-body embrace, swaying from side to side. "Bubeleh, I'm so sorry, I had no idea." Tears were streaming down Marv's face, strained from grief. "I'm so sorry."

"Du host 's nisht gevust." Gerry kissed Marv's forehead.

"What did Gerry say?" Gordon asked me in Cantonese. I shrugged.

"That Marv couldn't have known." Bat told Gordon in English.

"You understand Cantonese and German?" Gordon was stunned.

"That was Yiddish, and yes I do. On a good day, I can even do Mongolian, when I want to." Bat said off the cuff, chuckled and pulled Marv into a close hug.

"But why the odd combination?" Gordon was still astounded.

"Survival package for Brooklyn." Bat chuckled and kissed the back of Marv's head. "Iz ya gut, mayn prinz."

At that, Marv let Gerry go and swiveled around to bury his face in Bat's chest.

"You guys up for lunch?" We all nodded. "My treat." Bat was talking over the top of Marv's head. "Chinese? "

"Ben knows just the place." Marv pulled away from the cuddle, still struggling for composure. He retrieved the signed copies of the sales contract from the breakfast bar, across which Bat had been sprawled, when I'd fucked him for the first time almost four months ago. Marv cleared his throat. "Can we stop by the Church Street Post Office on our way?" He inserted the documents with his cover letter into a manila, cardboard-reinforced envelope and wiped his eyes with the back of his left hand. "These babies have to be on their way to Florida."

Bat went to the closet in the front room, getting his flannel jacket, since spring was definitely upon us and thick coats were no longer necessary. "We'll drop by the main post office on 8th Avenue, then we can go to the Haymarket at the Statler-Hilton," He took the envelope to let Marv put on his jacket. "I'm afraid that we won't be able to stop near the post office on Church because of that huge demolition site in Radio Row. The new name for the project is rumored to be the World Trade Center."

"Didn't know that they'd finally found a site." Gordon confessed. When Bat looked puzzled, Gordon pointed to his scar. "Was on paid vacation in Southeast Asia."

"Yeah, uh," Bat was uncharacteristically slow on the uptake as to what he'd meant and started to stutter. "well, yeah, um--"

"--yeah," Marv intervened. "Governor Nelson and brother David at Chase Manhattan, along with the Port Authority have now gone officially megalomaniacal." His mood was improving proportionately to his sarcasm. "Thirteen square blocks are being torn down for office towers supposedly taller than the Empire State Building." He chuckled. "Wonder if thirteen is going to be the City's new lucky number."