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 98 (Sunday, July 23, Monday, July 24th, 1967)

The drive up to Jules' villa seemed to take longer than the drive down. Of course on the drive down, Gerry and I were not being imposed upon by Linh. And at the moment, it was difficult to tell whether Linh was just down and needed comforting or possibly making a more intentional move on Gerry. And, for me at least, the important question was: Was Gerry going to reciprocate? But maybe it was just me, just my feeling left out. Time would tell.

My depressed mood lasted throughout dinner. I was managing a standard fake smile, while my attention drifted in and out of the conversations of the others, not participating in any. Having finished the first round of Cognac and dope, I excused myself to go to bed.

Gerry was in the kitchen, helping Linh. They were silently washing up, Linh washing, Gerry drying. "Good night." I said in English, not waiting for an answer. And there was none, as far as I could hear.

The climb up the stairs was marked by the uneasy feeling in the pit of my stomach. Gerry was acting strange, and I had no idea, why. I thought about going back down to ask him point blank, but I was in no mood for drama. There seemed to be a pattern of relationship drama in my life.

I'd always found personal drama unacceptable. That's why the thought of returning to Paris and hooking up with my two Moroccans seemed suddenly appealing. They had always been even tempered. But, of course, they didn't take relationships between men seriously.

My heart started to ache, when I thought of Gerry. I intended to discuss whatever the problem could be, when he came up to bed in an hour or so. But he never arrived. And I fell into a fitful sleep, my heart aching.

***

Dawn was breaking, shining somewhat pink through my eyelids, when I felt someone tickling my left ear. I knew where I was. I was still clothed and felt a little clammy, lying on the very spot on the bed, upon which I'd let myself drop, the night before. I knew that it wasn't Gerry, next to me. The aroma wasn't his. I turned onto my side and kissed Jules square on the lips. To my surprise, though, when I opened my eyes, Urs was lying behind Jules, cuddled to his back. Both were still dressed.

"Do you know where Gerry is?" I whispered.

"Next door," Jules replied in a whisper. "in Linh's room." He pulled me in tight toward him.

Urs scooted in closer, unbuttoning my shirt with one hand. I straddled Jules hips, leaning down to kiss Urs. His scratchy beard turned me on. Neither Jules nor I had one of any significance. Again, the blond hair and scratchy morning beard reminded me of Gerry. Again, my nerves set me on edge with sadness.

While Urs was undoing my trousers, I was listening for telltale sounds from Linh's room. It didn't sound like sex, though. They were just the sounds Linh made every morning, getting ready to go to the kitchen to bake bread and make breakfast. His footsteps were now on the stairs, only his.

Urs had managed to get my semi-hard dick into his mouth. I maneuvered off Jules and got to Urs' cock. The guy's name was derived from the Latin word for 'bear'. Now, I knew why. His was the kind of dick, you just had to suck, while realizing that it would never fit in your ass.

His member had blue veins under pale, milky, translucent skin. His glans was fiery red at the tip and purple at the ridge. Under his skin, he was slick with natural lube. He tasted mildly of Gruyere.

Due to the monastic celibacy of military life, I supposed, was why he blew an enormous load down my throat after only the third stroke. It tasted like walnuts. His gurgle reminded me of a little kid; his deep, gratified sigh did not.

When I was moving onto Jules' throbbing cock, I felt a tongue at my hole. I didn't have to turn my head to know who it was. The scent of warm milk, surrounded my senses like a welcome, warm blanket. Gerry aimed his cock at my core and gently worked his way in.

Noticing that my guy was back, Urs tensed. Gerry, must have given him permission to stay, since the bear relaxed and began playing with my balls.

Jules, on the other hand, tensed and shot, when he heard Gerry speaking German. For the first time, ever, I realized that German could work as an aphrodisiac, in a very masculine sort of way. Maybe, it had to do with fear.

The second Gerry bottomed out, his right hand connected loudly with my ass cheek. It sent a deep shiver through me, reflecting something somewhere between punishment and love, though tending toward love. He plowed my ass several more times, then slowed, letting his strokes become sensual. Keeping his dick inside me, he flipped me onto my back, raising my ankles and leaning down to give me a deep kiss, drooling, groaning into my mouth, while he came in my ass.

***

Tensions had lifted. Breakfast was upbeat. Jules and Urs were planning a game of golf at Dalat Palace's course, across the lake from the two large hotels. The golf course was considered challenging, due to the fact that it was on a terraced hillside. Wade, Yvette, and Linh were planning a picnic up on Lang Biang mountain, across the valley. Gerry and I had decided to take an extended hike down the mountain, in front of our house, through Dalat city and up around the golf course but not quite to Lang Biang.

Those were the plans. During our second coffee, the friendly Montagnard gentleman, who wore only a jockstrap type of loincloth, fashioned from a long, narrow strip of white silk and who carried a loaded French semi-automatic MAS 49, slung over his shoulder, and who gave me an instant hard-on every time, knocked and announced "Monsieur le capitaine pour monsieur le docteur."

The paunchy O3 from the deep south, whom I'd seen only briefly at our office, pushed by our friendly Montagnard and entered the house uninvited. "Which onea y'all's Specialist Loughery?"

"I am." I got up from the table, moving aggressively toward the fatigue-clad officer. "And who the Fuck are you?"

That got a gasp from Yvette and Urs, a smirk from Gerry and Wade and a thumbs-up from Linh. Guess the uneasiness between him and me had lifted. Jules was next to me with a less than friendly demeanor. The captain wasn't sure how to react. "I'm, uh, Captain, uh, Duvet from the, uh, SJA, Saigon."

"And why are you barging into my friend's home, looking for me?" I got closer, unaffected by the double bars of rank. Didn't know, but maybe he'd thought that they would work on me like a crucifix was supposed to on a vampire.

He uncouthly placed his bulky Samsonite briefcase on the table, harvesting hostile glares from all round. Urs cleared his throat. "I suppose you would also place your boots on someone's breakfast table?"

Apparently, Captain Self-Important actually noticed Urs' uniform for the first time, as he fished out my TDY orders. "Are you FWMF?"

Urs' left eyebrow rose questioningly at me. "Free World Military Forces." Urs looked surprised but said nothing, so, I grabbed the opportunity. "No, he's a Brigadier General in the Swiss Army." I figured that I could get away with this huge amount of bullshit, since Urs' insignia of Specialist Officer was one gold diamond and Linh had just steam-cleaned and pressed the uniform.

Captain Less-Self-Important snatched his briefcase off the table, putting it onto my empty chair and went board stiff, saluting Urs. "Sorry, Sir." Urs returned the salute but didn't bother getting up.

"Uh, Sir," I could hardly keep from laughing. "You don't address a General Officer with 'Sir' but with 'General'.”

His glare was so sharp that it could have snagged Superman's spandex panties. "Do you have a habit of hanging out with Generals, Soldier?"

'Fuck you!' I thought. "Sort of." I said and nodded toward Gerry. "Helmstedter and I arrived in country on Air Force One together with General Xav Paulson, to name just one."

***

"Go on and take it." Urs said removing his toothbrush from his Swiss-Army shaving kit. "Got several of them back at the hotel."

"Thanks." I glanced at Gerry, sitting on the bed. It looked like he could lose it at any time. Jules was sitting next to him, looking worried. As I retrieved my toothbrush from our joint mug, it dawned on me that Gerry and I had never been apart since our induction on January 10th.

He looked at me with a questioning glare. This was the first time we would be apart, and also the first time for either of us to go anywhere near actual combat. So much for the relative safety of Saigon that had been promised us, back at Dix. And so much for the leave, they had taken from us in New York, and again from me, now. We weren't supposed to have to report for another fourteen days. I had to laugh, when the acronym for 'fun, travel, and adventure' promised by the Army's recruitment posters, displaying pictures of uniformed soldiers in Heidelberg, the Riviera, and Tokyo, and which had morphed into 'fuck the army', during those long winter's nights of wallowing in the frozen mud of South Jersey, during basic training. I laughed aloud.

Gerry looked perplexed. And all I had to say to set him off, as well, was: "FTA".

I was about to grab him for a hug, when the lawyer's assertive voice intruded into our bedroom from the doorway. "You do know, Soldier, that that is a court-martial offence."

"You do realize, Sir," I swiveled toward him, just able to keep from decking him. "that I'll be the one responsible for typing up the court-martial promulgation orders."

***

The Huey had set down on the empty field behind the small, gated colony of villas. Needless to say, it was being watched by everyone, who knew it was there. It was being guarded by the available crew, and four MPs from the Dalat MP station. M-16s at the ready.

"We had your khaki Class As removed from your billets." Captain Duvet informed me, "They're hanging in the chopper."

"And who let you in?" This ought to be good.

"One of your landlords."

He stopped, with grass reaching to his knees, letting the morning dew turn his fatigue pants an even darker green than when he'd arrived. I let out a loud "Bullshit!" in his direction, since my voice had to compete with the loud whine of the turbine's starting up.