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 84 (Thurs., July 13, 1967)

We'd spent the rest of Wednesday and the first half of Thursday settling in to our new surroundings and trying, with varying degrees of success, to get acclimatized. Dark clouds were quickly moving in from direction of the Mekong Delta to restrain the noonday sun from brightly shining into the dining room and to empty all at once, violently flushing the streets, giving the city an atmosphere of newness. The first huge drops had already started, lulling us into post-repast drowsiness.

Our lunch had been several types of tropical fruit on homemade shortbread, covered with coconut cream with a dash of rum and served with sweet Vietnamese coffee. Linh was certainly worth his wages, if not his weight in gold.

The telephone's sudden ringing put an abrupt end to our noon-time lethargy. I picked up the phone and proceeded with my French-style answer. "Saïgon 20.606. Qui est à l'appareil?", inquiring as to who was on the line.

"Is'at you, Lou?" The voice from the American South was not only unknown but unfriendly.

"And who might you be?" Instead of an answer, I got the dial tone. "Fucker!"

"Who was it?" Gerry asked blurry-eyed.

"Some pushy-ass Cracker." I tried to bottle up my attitude problem. "C'mon, let's clear the table and go take a nap."

***

When I came fully to my senses, the rain had stopped and a cock was gently slapping my nose. I opened one eye and saw blond pubes, smelling of perspiration and Ivory soap. I took my first lick. It was predictably salty with a hint of sweetness. Since it was bobbing about, desperately struggling to contain itself within the confines of its own skin and leaking profusely, I took it into my mouth, to initiate the ritual of release.

As was becoming usual for sex with Gerry, there wasn’t any hurry. He licked under my balls, once again exploring and discovering the core of my sexual being. I let my fingertips tickle his anus; he gasped and purred, telling me of pending satisfaction.

I was once again on a discovery trip. His erogenous zones were virtually everywhere, only differing in intensity, perceptible by his varying muscle tension and vocalized reactions. His body was covered in a fine blond down, except for a patch of curly, damp, now dark-blond pubic hair. His scrotum was pulled tight, despite the heat. His balls descended and retracted on both sides of his engorged shaft, which was encased in velvety skin, giving his rock-hard tube a teddy-bear soft exterior.

Since I was so close to climax, and my hormones were clearly my master, I did something I'd been wanting to do since waking, this morning. My tongue disappeared into his sweaty hole. He was able to open it on demand, which told me that it may well push him into ecstasy.

His reaction testified to extreme pleasure. He jolted and shot; I spasmed and shot. He sucked in my juices, as if he had been dying of thirst. Between gulps, he growled with sexual gratification. His system sent projectiles of semen over the edge of our double bed and onto the tiled floor.

Aftershock set in, and he shot again with my face fighting the muscles of his cheeks for the right of my tongue to stay lodged in his hole. And then, he went limp, but was still panting, purring, while holding my head in place between his widely spread legs.

***

When I first woke, I thought I'd been dreaming. But then I heard the sounds, which were coming from outside the bedroom door, from the living room. They were sounds of muted scuffle. I nudged Gerry, who was then instantly awake. We got off the bed as silently as possible, pulled on our black cotton trousers and stealthily opened the door.

Someone had overwhelmed Linh, who was tied up, with his mouth taped shut and had been shoved onto the couch. He had, what looked like a scrape over his left eye, and appeared to be only barely conscious.

We spotted a balding, swarthy Caucasian man, maybe in his early fifties, not terribly quietly rummaging through the drawers of the china hutch in the dining room with his back to us, probably assuming that, other than Linh, he was alone. I went softly to the doorway from the entry, while Gerry blocked the archway to the living room.

And not giving him a chance to know that we were there, I lunged soundlessly and hit him from the side with the heel of my right hand, pushing his surprised chin to his left with a cracking sound. Either, I'd fractured his jaw or had broken his neck. And quite honestly, I was fine with either or both. When he went down, the fact that he hadn't dropped to the floor in freefall, told me that he was at least still semiconscious. This was a warning to be vigilant.

Gerry untied Linh and tried as gently as possible to remove the tape from across his mouth. Luckily, the tape wasn't very good quality and came off Linh's sweat-moistened face relatively easily.

While Gerry was tending to Linh, I dragged the intruder across the tiled floor, around the table and chairs, into the living room and dumped him on his back on the floor. Our uninvited guest was recovering from the surprise hit but was still bleeding slightly from the left corner of his mouth.

He feigned regaining consciousness and scrambled. And since I'd been anticipating exactly this move, I laughed out loud as I grabbed his gullet. My grip on his throat must have been enhanced with a good amount of adrenaline, which caused him to cough violently. I relaxed the grip; again he tried to struggle. So, I straddled him.

Actually, it was an odd sensation, when I felt the butt of his pistol press against my asshole. I was instantly hard and worked the grip around my entry, before my better judgment took over. I reached between my legs and extracted an M1911 Colt pistol, standard Army service issue from his belt.

I held the gun under his nose and wondered if nobody had ever told him that he could blow off his own balls by carrying this thing in his belt. I was in the process of asking politely. "Personne ne t'a jamais dit--"

"--Speak English, Gook." he snarled dismissively. And before I could control myself I'd cocked the pistol and was holding it at his temple, ready to fire. Only a split second had elapsed between my wondering if I could pull the trigger and my actually doing so.

The emotional mix of regret and relief at the click of an empty chamber resulted in my anger welling up inside me to the extent that I pitched the gun and slammed my fist into the man's face over and over and over, again, until I could no longer differentiate the bloody mass of torn tissue in his face from the pain in my hand.

Gerry was holding Linh on the couch, both with a look of horror. Obviously, they had just gotten a full-fledged glimpse of my darker side, which had been smoldering just beneath the surface for many years as bottled-up frustration, fueled by a lifetime of racial slurs and having been treated as not-quite human.

Still astride the either unconscious or possibly even dead man, I needed a cuddle. The look on my face must have been distressed because I was also in a state of horror from the realization that I'd just cum in my pants.

***

Since neither Gerry nor Linh were responding, I went to the bedroom to retrieve the telephone number of Gordon and Ju-Long's friend. Gordon had told me that if I ever needed anything, this was the guy to contact. Jules' kind voice answered on the second ring.

I explained who I was and what had happened. He told me to meet him in front of the Neptuna swimming pool at number 59 Tu-Do Street in five minutes. He was waiting under the crazy sign, when I got there. And the first thing that struck me was that Gordon had been right. He looked like the brother, I'd never had.

When I stuck out my bloodied hand, his double take told me that he'd noticed the resemblance, as well. "So, you're Ben?"

"And you're the famous Jules Landry. Gordon and Ju-Long talked about you a lot." I teased.

"There's certainly not that much to talk about, I assure you." Even though he denied being interesting, he blushed. The guy has an aura of irresistible innocence. "Do you know the man, who attacked you?" I shook my head as we started walking toward Lê Loi. "And is he still in your apartment?"

"I'm pretty sure that he is. I think that I might have killed him." Tears were now streaming down my cheeks.

"Don't worry." He stopped for a brief moment to blot my eyes with his handkerchief. "I'll make him disappear." I must have looked totally puzzled. "I pay plenty of protection for just such moments." Now, he turned his attention to my right hand, looked a little concerned, ducked into Pharmacie de France and returned with an alcohol swab and a plaster, then proceeded to doctor my hand.

***

We arrived at the apartment, and no one had moved. The man was now conscious but still on the floor not moving. Gerry and Linh were still cuddled on the couch. The second Linh saw us, he jumped over the arm of the couch and threw himself at Jules, sobbing bitterly. This was also the second when I realized that everyone in Saigon knew everyone else. Only the Americans were unknown and unknowable, even though they acted as if they owned the place.

Suddenly exhausted, I plopped down on the couch next to Gerry. I tried to take his hand; he shook his head, removed his hand and said nothing.

Having watched this, Jules asked Linh if there was anything to drink. "Maybe a cognac?" He motioned at Gerry and me.

"Get us a Dubonnet and gin, please. Lots of ice and a twist of lime." Linh nodded, and Jules looked pleased.

"I'm glad to hear that you speak Cantonese, as well." He sat down on the other side of Gerry. "But your friend, seems to be in shock." He patted Gerry's knee and switched to slow, deliberate English, which he'd obviously learned as an adult and with which he'd had little practice. "You are a soldier, are you not?"

Gerry nodded. "But I'm not used to seeing my partner react like he did."

"You must know that he was protecting you and Linh, do you not?" Jules put his arm around Gerry's shoulder to hug him quickly, then he let go.

Gerry turned to me and started to relax by letting out the tension in heavy sobs. "You scared me."

"Did I, mein Schatz?" I pulled him close. "I didn't mean to."

"Fuckin' Faggots!" came the gurgling sound from the floor. The man was trying to get up.

This time, it was Gerry, who reacted. He kicked the man's arm out from under him. "Stay put, Shit-Stick, unless you wanna broken arm, too?"

***

Linh brought the drinks. They were exactly what we needed. Jules was the one to start questioning the man. "What is your name?"

"Fuck you!"

"You must have a large family, we hear that name a lot." Jules remarked, handed Gerry his drink, went to the telephone and dialed. I had no idea what he was saying, since it was rapid-fire Vietnamese. But it did make Linh blanch.

"Who did you call?" Gerry, having seen Linh's reaction, didn't really sound convinced that he wanted to know.

"The local chapter of our friendly Viet Cong." Jules took his glass from Gerry and raised it to the man on the floor. "Santé, Amerloque."