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 68 (Fri., Apr. 21)

Gerry and I remained in the Orderly Room, straightening out the clerical mess, until we sewed on our PFC patches and were released for a week's leave before we were supposed to report to Legal Clerk School at Fort Benjamin Harrison, Indiana. Our telephone call to Gordon and Ju-Long was brief and from a pay phone from the Louisville airport.

We were travelling in civilian clothes and did not use military standby. We paid cash to buy the full-fare tickets, which didn't require any identification, as opposed to the cheaper military rates. Our duffel bags and uniforms were in two soft-sided suitcases, which we'd purchased at the Fort Knox PX.

Flying into Newark airport on United, we arrived just before noon on April 21st. The taxi ride from the airport to our home on Staten Island was shorter and cheaper than either of us would have thought.

Gran had a hearty lunch of steak and salad, waiting for us, since we had things to do and ground to scratch. I phoned Marv to see if he had the extra cash on hand at home, that I'd transferred into the escrow account, and he verified that he did. It was just under two thousand dollars, one thousand of which I needed to change into ten, one hundred dollar American Express Travelers' Cheques before the close of business at their branch office on West 44th Street in Manhattan. It was going to be a close call, because it was Friday, and we didn't want to have to wait around for Monday.

***

By the time Gerry and I got back to the house just before seven; we were ready to drop. We hadn't gotten past the glassed-in porch, when Ju-Long greeted us with: "Why does this field jacket stink, and what are those holes in the collar? Hell, it looks like you worked over the hood in the collar with a paper punch." He'd taken it upon himself to do our laundry.

We managed to come into the first living room, where I laughed and sat down in the green overstuffed chair in front of the fireplace, and Gerry set our stuff on the landing of the stairs,. "Ain't y'all ever smelt rattlesnake jizz?" Gerry ineffectively affected a Kentucky drawl but looked around for Cam, realizing he should have been a little more circumspect with what he'd said.

"It's okay, he's gone to bed." Ju-Long laughed. "But I still want to know what this is, and will it make everything else smell, or should I wash it separately?"

"Gerry isn't kidding." I laughed and got the hiccoughs. "It hic really is hic rattlesnake venom."

Gordon came out of the kitchen. "Did you pick up the car at Bailey's ?"

"Yeah, everything's ready to go. Ben got the registration, plates, and insurance." Gerry took the glass of Scotch from Gordon, and handed it to me, since it was the one without ice. "and you're sure it's not stolen?"

"I'm sure." Gordon seemed a little overwhelmed, as he handed Gerry the glass with ice. "I knew the guy who owned it. His mom just wanted to get rid of all his shit, since Matt won't be back."

Several sips of Scotch cured my hiccoughs. "Well, a '64 Mustang in perfect condition isn't something you get for two hundred and-fifty bucks every day."

"And his mom also gave Gordon all of his uniforms, including his field jacket. We'll save them, just in case you guys don't stay." Ju-Long said with a tinge of sadness, while taking the one from which Fort Knox's laundry could not remove the stench of rattlesnake. "It's in one Hell of a lot better condition than Gerry's. It only has a small entry hole. But other than that, it's as good as new."

"Get to the table." Gran yelled from the kitchen. "Supper's ready."

As we were slowly gathering in the dining room, Gordon handed me an envelope from the Department of Motor Vehicles. It was my New York driver's license, which was issued to replace my two-week old license from the Commonwealth of Kentucky. "Wow, that was quick. The ink wasn't even dry on my last driver's license."

***

I noticed an extra place setting at the table. Gran saw me looking. "Cyril hasn't arrived, yet."

"Is he your bootlegger friend?" I felt silly the second the question was out of my mouth. Who else would it have been?

Gran nodded with her mouth now full of pot roast. Gordon picked up the thread. "Yeah and he's made contact with the grandson of his old smuggling buddy, who passed away last January."

We resumed eating, while waiting for Cyril, the bootlegger. Since I'd never met a rum runner before, I had no idea what to expect. I was helping Gerry and myself to seconds, when the doorbell rang.

Gordon got up to answer it. Soft, unintelligible talking wafted in along with a springtime breeze, since Gran had left the top sash of the kitchen window open to let out cooking smells. A tall, slender, white-haired gentleman in a nicely tailored tweed suit entered and went directly to Gran. "Sorry for being late, Maggie, but I missed the ferry and had to wait twenty minutes for the next one, and only had a nickel left in change. Damned phones now cost a dime."

"That's quite alright, Cyril." She motioned to the seat next to hers. "There's plenty to eat, and it's all still warm." She explained, as she loaded his plate and introduced us.

***

We were still seated at the dining-room table, sipping on brandy and smoking. Gran and Ju-Long had cleared the table and were busy in the kitchen. We were passing around a joint, when Cyril made an astounding remark: "They used to manufacture marijuana cigarettes soaked in opium, back in the twenties, you know?"

"Times have really changed." Gordon took a sip of his brandy. "Tried one a couple of times in Saigon. It was a hit among some of the troops. Cost twenty five cents each, the same as a pack of cigarettes."

We chatted until Ju-Long and Gran rejoined us for another round of brandy. "So, what did you find out with the Mohawks?" Gran sounded tentative.

"They're making themselves a tidy little package with smuggling draft evaders and deserters into Canada." Cyril took a toke and passed the joint to Gran. "They're asking five hundred dollars per person."

That took my breath away. We only had a little over two hundred in cash. Then I had to chuckle to myself.

"What's funny?" Gerry wondered aloud, as the rest of them looked at me quizzically.

"Was just wondering if the Mohawks would accept travelers' checks." That lightened the moment, but when I said that paying that kind of money was out of the question, things got more serious. "We still don't know, if we can stay in Canada. So, if we do have to come back, that would be a thousand, right there. And we only have a thousand two hundred left." My spirits were starting to sink.

"Give me your honest opinion, Gran, Cyril," Gordon took charge of the conversation. "Do Gerry and I look enough alike to pass for brothers?"

Gran nodded and Cyril gave them a close look. "Indeed, you do."

"And is there any chance that Gerry can pass for twenty four?" A tear ran down Gordon's cheek.

"I suppose, in a pinch." Gran took another sip of brandy and raised her eyebrows questioningly.

"Good." Gordon got up and opened the long lower drawer of the buffet, took out a folder and sat back down at the table to shuffle papers. "Here's Mickey's birth certificate." He handed it to Gerry. "Memorize it; you're now Michael Alan Healy."

***

Gerry and I, along with Gordon, walked Cyril and Gran to the Grant City train station. Cyril seemed disappointed that he hadn't been any help. "Although it is a right bundle of money, somehow it doesn't seem as illegal as using someone else's birth certificate to cross the border."

I chuckled. "It's not like we're going to Canada on vacation." I put my arm around his shoulder and gave him a quick squeeze, "We're deserting from the armed forces." which startled him. "I would imagine that using improper documentation would be the lesser offense."

"Maybe you should reconsider and go to Canada after Legal-Clerk School." Gran suggested with a short laugh. "You seem to be a natural."

We saw Cyril and Gran off at the station and then laboriously climbed the stairs back up to the bridge. The evening was chilly, as opposed to the nice springtime weather this afternoon. And we were exhausted, making the cool air seem actually cold. Gerry yawned; Gordon laughed. "Tired, Mickey?"

It took Gerry a second before he realized that Gordon was talking to him. He nodded in reply, and I wondered how far Gordon wanted to take this charade fantasy. "Are you serious about coming with us to Toronto?" I also wondered if he was going to desert along with us.

"Yeah." He put an arm around my shoulder. "It'll be better that way with three of us in the car. It'll give them less time to concentrate on Michael, here. And there'll be two drivers."

***

Gerry and I hadn't been in the room all of two minutes, when we were out of our clothes and on each other. Our last shower had been in the barracks at Fort Knox, and neither of us couldn’t have cared less. Four weeks of nothing but quick midnight blowjobs out behind the barracks had taken their toll in one desiring the other.

Our kissing had an urgency, which I couldn't remember ever being there before. Our nerves were keyed up to a previously unknown pitch. My tongue in Gerry's armpits was getting a heaving response, triggering my own near-orgasm experience.

Seconds later, as my lips pushed back my lover's long foreskin, he was already in mid-climax. His deep-red corona pulsed into my mouth, causing my fluids to empty.

Although, our first orgasm was bordering on violent, it did nothing to ease our desire or to decrease our erections. I pushed Gerry back onto the bed and squatted on his cock.

His warm ejaculate was excellent for letting him slide smoothly into me. There was no gasping, only our soft grunting from earthy, carnal craving.

We wasted no energy by spouting off our mutual love; we were keenly aware of it. We knew without question that this rapture was eternal and that our greed for closeness to the other would endure to the end of our lives.

The slow, sensual rhythm of Gerry's hips, mirroring the movements of my squatting ass, gave us the assurance that words could not. I felt every inch penetrating me; every movement massaging my insides. Had I been superstitious, I would have called it magic. Had I not been as high on lust for my man, I would have simply called it extreme horniness.

His second climax caused his cock to swell, expanding my hole a little; mine caused my anal muscles to suck his cock further into me. The lightheadedness and rush of spewing seed played with my consciousness. My awareness was concentrated on this moment; this precise moment was the end all and be all of my existence. The next thing, of which I became acutely aware was that the sun was shining over our naked bodies, and I felt safer and more relaxed than I could have imagined, even yesterday.