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 71 (Thurs., Apr. 27)
The weather deteriorated steadily as we approached Indianapolis. The cloud and drizzle did nothing to uplift anything, let alone our spirits. Since this would be our last duty-station before we got to Vietnam, other than the overseas replacement center in Oakland, we were hoping that this post would provide us with a few good memories, before we had to face the uncertainty of war.
Fortunately, the drive from Zanesville to here had only been some two hundred thirty miles and we weren't nearly as tired as we had been on the first leg of the trip. Nevertheless, our first priority was to look at our new base and then find somewhere to stay for the next couple of days.
But when we left I-70 in Lawrence and drove up Post Road, we were shocked. As far as the eye could see, there were miles upon miles of industrial estates, low-cost housing tracts and trailer parks.
Neither Gerry nor I had ever seen a trailer park. Of course, we'd both seen Levittown and the likes on Long Island, but never a trailer park. The idea of living in a metal box on wheels, gave military life, as now defined by Fort Benjamin Harrison, an entirely new dimension of being transient. It was less stable than my weird four weeks leading up to our reporting for duty.
Once Post Road crossed onto the base, however, the atmosphere changed drastically. The gas-station attendant, Jonny, had been right.
The tree-lined streets and sidewalks of this quaint fort were appealingly permanent, particularly along the very well maintained row of elaborate houses for field-grade officers, which was across the manicured parade field from the Bachelor Officers' Quarters and the main Post Exchange.
All of the red-brick buildings, on both sides, must have been built in the early 1900s and had large, white-washed wooden verandas with intricate trim work - well, except for the PX. In lieu of a veranda, the PX, which was contained in a single-storey, rectangular, red-brick building above a full basement, had a grand staircase of thirteen steps, leading up to the entrance, sort of like the old brownstones back in New York. One oddity, which Gerry pointed out, was that the sash windows on the left half of the PX were larger than the ones on the right.
As we drove by, the Post Theater, my heart twitched. Its glazed front porch, posing as an entrance, reminded me of our new home on Staten Island. The two didn't really resemble one another, other than they were glassed-in porches. But it made me realize that Gerry and I did have our own permanent home of record other than a temporary one in a summer home on Fire Island. It was silly, I knew that, but still, I found it comforting.
There also may have been a connection to why the thought of their bringing up Cam in a house-barge on Fire Island caused me to shiver. Maybe the metal house on a barge reminded me too much of the transient aspect of a mobile home, although the house on Fire Island wouldn't have been mobile other than in a storm surge. And, I wondered, if this wasn't a projection of my own desperate need for predictable stability.
***
The kind lady at the Welcome Center had recommended a motel on Pendleton Pike, after she'd informed us that we still had a couple of days before we could process in and that I wouldn't need to register my car, since I was on training status. We found the On the Move Motel with no difficulty. It was the only two-storey permanent structure for quite a stretch. Trailer parks were in any direction, in which we cared to look, with the one exception of a water tower, which couldn't be seen from the parking lot without falling flat of your ass, since it was virtually right on top of us.
We checked in, requesting a military discount. Our view from the second-floor picture window was of the trailer park across Pendleton Pike. The room was tacky, but the beds were clean, and the toilet seat had been sanitized for our convenience. Now, that was comforting, but I wouldn't wanted to have taken a lab sample of the carpet.
As soon as we brought up our gear, Gerry's stomach growled. "Feel like looking for something to eat?" I laughed, and he looked embarrassed. I pulled him to me for a hug. The idea hurt that I could have embarrassed him. "Are you okay?"
He laughed and stroked my cheek. "Why shouldn't I be?" He kissed me lightly. "You're here."
***
We pulled out of the parking lot onto Pendleton Pike and had driven several miles, when we realized that there was nowhere to eat. Slowly, the road morphed into Massachusetts Avenue. There were some more trailers, some wooden, clapboard houses, some railroad tracks to the right and mainly trees and grass on our left. Gerry's stomach growled again. I placed my right hand on his left knee. "Sorry, mein Schatz, but it isn't looking good, is it?"
"There has to be something in Indianapolis." Gerry's hunger was becoming more audible.
"We can always drive back to Aunt Gertie's." I teased, and he nodded, lighting a cigarette to kill the hunger.
***
After we'd finally arrived at the end of Massachusetts Avenue and it ended in East New York Street, I thought that there would have to have been someplace to eat in the center of the State's capital. That proved, however, to be a search for the proverbial needle in a Midwestern haystack. We found a ministries' mission, several law firms, the Indianapolis Star, a string of veterans' and war memorials, but no food. Laughing, but with a sense of sincerity, I told Gerry that it would be a crying shame if, on our Indiana state death certificates, the causes of death would be listed as starvation.
Then, like a double Fata Morgana, directly across the street from the Indiana State Capitol, we discovered a steak house and a drag bar. We parked on the deserted street, locked the Mustang and went into the steak house. The second the maître d' asked: "Would you gentlemen like the smoking or non-smoking section?" we knew that this was going to be expensive. And why shouldn't it be? It was the only place serving food within a twenty five mile radius.
After lunch/dinner, we looked at the posters at the Famous Red Door, which opened at eight, a time at which we would be in bed. However, we did decide that we'd check out this drag show at some point during our ten-week stay.
Gerry looked almost panicked at the realization. "Ten weeks in this place?"
"Just think, you could be doing airborne training at Fort Benning, Georgia."
"I'm not complainin'." He laughed and squeezed my arm.
***
The drive back to the motel seemed even longer than the initial drive into town. It seemed like the On the Move Motel was back over the Ohio border rather than in central Indiana. We picked up some imported German beer and Scotch at a liquor store on Massachusetts before we got back on the Pike. And at this motel, we did make use of the free ice.
Gerry was giving me his mischievous look, when he pulled me over to him. I set down my glass of Scotch. First, his tongue tickled my neck a little under my left ear. His hands were tugging at my shirttails just enough to allow his hands access to my back. Short fingernails drew circular patterns at the top of my ass cheeks. His moist tongue licked my lips and penetrated my mouth.
My cock was fighting for release from its denim confinement. Gerry's right hand went in for a feel, as his left hand fumbled with buttons. I helped him, and a warm hand pulled my cock free. The familiar tingling sensation took hold, and I became lightheaded. Again, his wet tongue licked, this time my foreskin. The shiver of its retracting over my glans, and exposing the underside to his tongue, made me gasp. Then, there was a knock at the door.
I pulled away from Gerry's mouth, and tucked my cock away, leaving my shirttails out to cover the bulge. Gerry was still on his knees and put his head in his hands, supporting it, propped on his elbows on the bed. He was mumbling incomprehensively, as I opened the door.
A woman from Indochina, possibly forty, wearing a shiny, plastic miniskirt with matching shiny, plastic stiletto heels and a skimpy tank top smiled at me seductively lifting her left leg slightly in a playboy-bunny-of-the-month pose. "Hi, G.I. you wanna make boom, boom?"
I wasn't quite sure what she meant, so I knitted my brow. "Boom, boom?"
"You know. Fucky, fucky?" She looked past me at Gerry. "You buddy pray?"
I took her lead. "Yeah, we're training to be Chaplin's assistants."
***
We hung out the sign, displaying the wish not to be disturbed. I finished my glass of Scotch, and Gerry downed his beer. I unbuttoned his shirt; he unbuttoned mine, and we slipped them off. I felt the form of his cock, when there was another knock at the door. "Management!"
I slipped my shirt on and opened the door. Not buttoning it, not covering the bulge in my pants and not giving the desk clerk time to say diddlysquat, I blurted: "What the Fuck do you want?"
"I wanna know what's going on in that room." She tried to look around me; I didn't let her.
"My Buddy and I are trying to get ready for bed and get some sleep. Isn't that what people generally do in a goddamned motel?"
"I saw a Gook slut, walking 'cross the parking lot in this direction, no more than five minutes ago." Her better-than-thou attitude came to a screeching halt, the second she actually gave me a good look. "Oh," She thought about what to say just a second too long. "I am sorry."
"As you fucking well should be!" My aggressiveness was showing, as Gerry came over and put his forearm over my shoulder.
"Tell you what, Lady." Gerry's voice was calm, but his slight accent told me that he was about to explode. "We'll be down to your desk in ten minutes, you give us our money back, and we'll ride off into the sunset. Deal?"
She nodded, looking totally ill at ease and left.
***
Since we knew that there was sweet Fuck all between On the Move Motel and Indianapolis, I turned onto Pendleton Pike driving in direction of New York. I had some bad adrenalin to burn off, and we had three days before we reported for duty.
Not very many miles up the Pike, as it were, we found magic. And the sight for my sore eyes was the sign, announcing 'Member - United Motor Courts' and 'AAA'. I'd heard about these, but had never seen one. Behind the Sinclair station, there were six separate cottages, arranged in a semi-circle, each with its own car port. The lawn in front was nicely trimmed and the gravel in the driveway had been recently raked.
We drove in and stopped next to the ethyl pump under the flat roof of the small, white stucco office, which sort of reminded me of the White Castle, back home in Staten Island, only with green trim. To my surprise, I saw a neatly dressed woman, possibly fifty, get up from the desk, when I turned off the engine and got out.
"Shall I fill it up?" To say that I was taken aback, would be an understatement. A white stucco, faux Spanish castle filling station, the attendant of which was dressed like Eve Arden as Miss Brooks, using impeccable grammar, is about to fill my gas tank while wearing a double string of pearls and the collar of her blouse flipped up. Camp didn't even come close to an accurate description. And when my voice refused to function, she smiled and asked if everything was alright.
"Uh, sorry." I must have really blushed, because she did, as well. "please, fill it up." I had to glance away before looking back. "Generally, I don't stammer, but you remind me of my Algebra teacher in high school."
She laughed, while she pumped gas. "In fact, I am an English Lit teacher in Indianapolis." She returned the hose to its proper position. "I'm just filling in for my husband, who has gone to eat dinner."
"Um, my Buddy and I," I motioned to Gerry. "are looking for a room with a bath for several nights, before we have to report for duty."
"You're military?" I nodded to affirm her question. "Excellent. Earl," She nodded toward the handsome man coming out of the large house behind a cluster of trees. "my husband, is retired Army. I'm sure you'll have a lot to talk about."