Date: Sat, 24 Jan 2009 18:23:15 -0500
From: tommyhawk1@aol.com
Subject: The American Pilot

			    THE AMERICAN PILOT
			   By Tommyhawk1@AOL.COM
		      WWW.TOMMYHAWKSFANTASYWORLD.COM
			WWW.TOMMYHAWKSROGUEMOON.COM

     In my home village in France in late summer of 1943, when a knock came
at your door late at night, it can only mean trouble. But the trouble would
be more if you failed to answer it. The Boches would smash down your door
and beat you about the head with clubs for making them go to the trouble of
breaking your door down. So I staggered to my feet, hastily pulled on a
pair of pants and a shirt, yelling at the midpoint of this, "Who is it?"
     "It is Marcel, hurry!" came the hoarse whisper, filled with
fright. Marcel was outside after curfew on the street, of course he was
frightened. And I was frightened to answer the door, but not as frightened
of that as I was of the Boches finding him there knocking!
     So with my pants untied and my shirt unbuttoned, I went to the door
and opened it quickly.
     Marcel was not alone. With him was.... "What are you doing, bringing
that American here?" I accused Marcel. "You know the Boches are watching
me!" They knew Marcel was in the Resistance, they only suspected I was. Of
the two, I was the one in the greater danger. Him they would simply kill
upon sight. Me, they would want to know what I knew about the Resistance,
and my answers would not convince them at first, and perhaps never at all
while they tortured me.
     "He needs a place to stay." hissed Marcel, and he looked about with
fear. The American simply stood there dumbly, as if he were as safe as he
had been back in America.
     "For the love of God, come inside!" I said. "He cannot stay here! I am
being watched! If they find me harboring a downed American flyer, they will
make sure I die very, very slowly!"
     "You are wrong." Marcel said. "They received information not long ago
that you were not a part of the Resistance."
     "What information could that be?"
     Marcel smiled, a smile without humor. "A letter we arranged for them
to have, one condemning you to death as one who refuses to support the
Resistance."
     I realized it then. "You expected this flyer?"
     "We anticipated the need, and prepared you to be able to shelter him."
Marcel said. "As well as be able to use your shop for messages."
     I muttered a few choice curse words in French. The American chuckled,
I guess he understood them. Trust an American to know only how to swear in
French! "Very well, he can stay. You understand that he will have to stay
in this room at all times."
     "I understand." the American said to me in heavily accented but
perfectly understandable French.
     "Then understand that staying in this room means that you keep
complete silence at all times." I said to him directly. "No playing the
radio when I am not here, no staring out the window at the traffic, no
singing to yourself to pass the time. No hammering, no building, no turning
pages of books very loudly. Silence."
     "I understand, and I thank you." the American said.
     "How am I to feed this one when I can barely feed myself!" I snarled
at Marcel, but he was looking carefully out the door. Instead of answering,
he slid out and I hastily closed and barred the door, for fear the Boches
would see my small candlelight.
     And I was left alone with the American. Regretfully, I said, "I have
some bread and cheese if you are hungry."
     "Yes, thank you." the American said.
     I cut him a slice of cheese and one of bread, and gave it to him. Then
I went to the bottle of wine I had, poured myself a glass, looked at
him. "I suppose you would like some wine, as well."
     "Please." the American said. I snorted and poured a second glass for
him.
     "I appreciate your helping me like this." the American said. "By the
way, my name is Larry."
     He would have continued like an idiot and told me his full name but I
stopped him. "You may call me Jean." I said sharply. "No last names, it is
dangerous enough that you are here. We don't need any more names."
     "If you want." Larry said. "I was only going to give you my name."
     "And have me give you mine." I said. "And if you were captured, and
forced to tell them where you were hiding and who hid you...."
     "Oh." Larry said, smiled sheepishly. "So that's why Marcel had me
blindfolded for part of the trip. I don't even know just where I am."
     "And it will stay that way until the Americans can arrange to rescue
you, or the Resistance can figure out a way to help you escape." I
said. "Meanwhile, you will have to stay completely quiet. Can you do that?"
     "If I can fly a bomber over Berlin." Larry said. "I can keep quiet for
a few days."
     "Might be weeks." I said. "Maybe months."
     "I can do it." Larry said. "So what's next."
     "Now we go to sleep."
     "Okay." Larry looked around the small room. "Where do I sleep."
     "The bed will hold both of us." I said. To his startled look, I
said. "Unless you would prefer the floor."
     Larry was silent a while, then said, "No, the bed will be okay. I hope
you don't snore."
     "I don't." I said. And I didn't. But Larry did. With the sound of a
truck struggling up an upgrade on the road while hauling a tank on its bed!
I didn't get much sleep that night, and knew I wouldn't for some time to
come.
     I adjusted to Larry's snoring, and to his presence in my bed. I had
shared a bed with my brother until I was 17 years old, after all. But Larry
was not adjusting to the demands of silence his hiding required.
     He did well at first. But as summer turned to autumn and autumn into
winter, he became restless. I brought him home books to read, but he tired
of that. He had been an athletic man back in America, I was given to
understand (what is a "half-back?"), and no American becomes a flyer
without being in good physical shape. He chafed under the long periods of
silence. Even when I was home, I insisted he speak in whispers, for fear
the neighbors would wonder about his oddly accented French.
     He began to stare out the window, and was seen by others in the
village. I was very fortunate that none of them liked the Germans enough to
tell about the strange man in my room. He played the radio during the
day. He walked about, though I had warned him the sound of his steps could
be heard in the hallway downstairs.
     But even as he fretted under the restrictions and became happy, I
found my own mood toward him changing. Larry was kind-hearted, intelligent,
thoughtful and witty. He cooked meals for me and had them ready and waiting
when I got home from work. This was another risk, but I couldn't bring
myself to complain about it. He learned French dishes to where he would be
able to work in any restaurant in France without embarrassing himself (if
not able to turn out gourmet dishes, mind you). His accent turned into
something that I did not have to struggle with.
     And let us be honest with ourself, Louis (my real name), was not my
life barren and empty before Larry entered my life? Had I not shut my
sexuality away in light of the danger of being discovered as gay by the
Boches and shipped off to one of their death camps. Was I not sleeping
every night with a strong, virile, handsome man? Had I not smelled time and
again upon my sheets the particular smell of his male juices where he had
expended himself in self-abuse as a part of his endless, empty hours? Had I
not, were he looking elsewhere, bent and licked at those stains hungrily,
craving this much at least to be had? My sleep was disturbed many, many
nights, and it was not only that this man lay next to me or my dangerous
liaisons with the Resistance or the fear the Boches ground daily more
deeply into us.
     The holidays bit at Larry harshly. He regaled me with stories of his
own celebrations, but had to sit in the room alone as I visited my
family. They knew of Larry and sent him little gifts and packages of our
food, but he didn't cheer up as much as he might have.
     Given all this, I shouldn't have been surprised by him as I was only
two weeks into the year 1944. On that evening, when I got home, Larry had
not prepared dinner for us as usual. Instead, he was dressed in his Air
Force clothing as he had been when we had picked him up.
     "What is this?" I asked him.
     "I'm leaving." Larry said.
     "Leaving where?"
     "To Calais, if I can get there." Larry said. "I should be able to
figure out from there how to get back to Britain."
     "Larry..." I started.
     "If you can get in touch with the Resistance there, I'd appreciate
it." Larry said. "I'll need all the help I can, even traveling at night and
hiding by day."
     "Larry..." I said again.
     "And if you don't mind, I need to pack some provisions, food and
water, enough for a few days at least...."
     "Larry!" I said sharply enough to be heard from outside the
apartment. I'd never spoken so loudly to Larry before, that I startled him.
     "What is it?"
     "You can't go." I said to him. "It is too dangerous."
     "So was flying, and I did that." Larry insisted.
     "But this is danger without any hope of success." I said. "At least in
the air, you had some hope of coming home again."
     "But I'm never going to come home from here!" Larry pointed out. "I'm
here, in this one room, all the time. You're the only person I see, that I
talk to. I can't go anywhere, I can't do anything! I'm going crazy in here,
crazy!"
     "But...but the Americans are building a force in Britain." I said to
him. "You have heard that over the radio. One day, they'll come to France
and liberate us. When they come, you can rejoin them then. That is the safe
way to be rescued."
     "But when will they come?" Larry demanded. "Do you know that?"
     "Of course I don't know, not exactly." I said. "But they must come
soon. They would not put so many Americans in Britain if they were not
intending to come to France and free us, would they?"
     "Maybe." Larry said. "But I...I just can't stay here any longer."
     "This is the dead of winter." I said. "If you must take this danger,
can you not wait until spring at least, when the weather will make your
travel easier. You could die of exposure before you even reach Calais."
     "But that's months away." Larry protested. "I...I just can't stay here
any longer." he said. "You've been a good friend and I am very grateful for
all your aid, but I can't sit here doing nothing any longer."
     "But if you stay...." I started, and then stopped.
     Larry said, "If I stay, then what?"
     "You must stay." I said.
     "Why should I stay? The longer I stay here, the more dangerous it
gets. The entire village must know I'm here by now. How long before someone
decides to turn me in for the reward? Give me one reason to stay!"
     "Because..." I started again, and stopped again.
     "Because why?" he demanded.
     "Because I love you." I said hurriedly.
     "Jean...."
     "Louis." I said. "My name is Louis."
     "Louis." Larry said. "I know that things are crazy right now, for you
as well as me what with me hiding out here, but...."
     "No, say no more." I said, and lunged for him. Grabbed him and hugged
him to myself, furiously, hungrily. "These are dangerous, crazy times,
yes. It is a time when we must not refuse ourselves the happiness we can
have. Please, my dear, brave American, you ask for a reason to stay and I
tell you the reason. My heart begs you to stay with me. My soul craves to
keep you ever by my side. Are these not reasons enough for you?"
     "Louis." Larry said, pulling me away. I looked up into his eyes, kind,
gentle eyes.
     I could see the negative in those eyes.
     "No, do not say any more." I said, pulling away. "I have been acting
the fool, that is all. It is foolish to think that one such as you might
love me, love me enough to remain with me in this one small room while the
Boches patrol outside our door. This could never be a reason enough for a
man such as yourself, one brave enough to fly in the skies over Germany
while death rains all around you, never a reason enough for you to hide in
this small village while the world needs you. For me, though, it has no
need and never has. I have been foolish."
     I had turned away from Larry in my self-abnegation. Looking down at
the floor in my sorrow, I saw two white, caring hands reach around me from
either side, turn towards each other like a pair of mated doves, and clasp
themselves to my chest. And I was pulled against that strong form.
     "My dear, gentle Louis." Larry said. "You are the truly brave one. I
only needed courage enough to get aboard the airplane each time. Once it
was airborne, my courage no longer mattered. You have had the courage to
live day in and day out, running danger not for yourself, but for me, a
stranger you had never met. You opened your home to me and you have now
opened your heart."
     "Do not tell me a lie." I begged him. "The truth, however much it may
sting, at least it is something that I can bear. But a lie, it can damage
me beyond all hope, because I will want it so much to be true."
     "I asked you for a reason to stay." Larry said to me, his voice a
silken god's within my right ear. "And you have given me the best reason of
all."
     "What are you saying?" I had to know.
     "You are right that this is an atrocious time to be traveling alone in
the dark." Larry said. "I should wait until at least the spring."
     "But your unhappiness at sitting here alone every day."
     "You have given me something to do." Larry assured me. "And now, if
you will let me, I shall begin doing it."
     I gave up all pretense of resistance at this point. Even had the
Boches hammered at my door at this moment, I could not have done other than
I was doing now, I slumped back against my taller, stronger American lover,
and I turned my face upwards and around and he craned himself forward so
our lips could taste each other.
     And as they met, it was as though the very gates of Heaven had crashed
open, and legions of angels poured out, singing their hosannahs for me and
my love alone. My very soul was lost in the rapture of that moment, I was
adrift in the seas of my desire, and my mouth opened for Larry's tongue to
penetrate me in its first sally against my defenses.
     "Oh, oh, Larry!" I groaned, when he let me go.
     "My name is Harold." the American pilot said to me. "And you are
Louis."
     "Harold, Harold, Harold." I said to memorize it. "We have cast aside
our last line of defense now. We know each other completely."
     "So we shall." Harold promised me and in that promise like a guiding
beacon in the darkness, I turned to guide myself into the port of his arms
once more, our mouths met again, this time full on, and our hands fought at
each other's clothing.
     We undressed each other with delight, and once naked, we fell upon the
bed together, as we had every night, but this night, our goal was not the
oblivion of slumber, but the awakening of passion. Atop me, Harold cupped
his hands under my shoulders and clasped me like that, his elbows trapped
both my legs and raised them upwards. I let him bend me like this, for I
could deny him nothing.
     I felt the heat of his dong as it slapped against my buttocks, and in
the heat of our kiss, I didn't care that it held no lubrication. I could
have taken him like that, I think, for I was hungry for his body beyond any
technicality a mere oil might impose. But Harold did not press that hard,
dripping tool into my crevice, but began to kiss his way down my body, his
tongue running over the hair on my chest, for I am rather abundant in hair
upon my body, but Harold treated it as though it was a playground and his
tongue the children running upon its black-bladed lawn. When he topped one
nipple and then pressed his lips against it, I crooned with my need and my
hands fumbled at him, sought something I could do for him to repay this
worship of my form.
     Harold understood my search, and he adjusted himself on the bed while
his tongue danced further southward. By the time it had reached the well of
my navel, he was lying full upon the bed himself, and I could now race for
the tower of his manhood that beckoned to me, and I caught the majestic rod
and placed the radiant cherry of its glans upon my tongue and then pushed
its length into me.
     Harold crooned as I did this, the very same noise I had made when I
gave myself to him, and was rewarded with his own true name, and his male
pole steamed its lust at me and I applied my saliva to it as a glaze is
applied to a roast, the better to lock in and enjoy the essential
flavors. I had had few encounters before Harold, but I knew well enough
what was needed, if I wished to take the entirety of this long, hard
American dong into me, I needs must moisten it to where it would not catch
and resist me at every fold of its magnificent length. And so I lavished my
mouth's juices upon it, and as I labored at my task, I found that Harold
had reached my own tumescent man-tube, and he began to treat me with every
bit as careful attention as I was giving to him.
     The desire that raced through me when Harold suckled at my prong was
like nothing I had felt before. Those other times had been frantic, rushed
things in alleys and in semi-public niches, I had taken and given other
men's bodies the urgent attention, they had replied by rough, hurried
strokes into my body, and in the space of a few minutes, they had every one
exploded their semen into me, and the hot salty cream of a man's virility
had been like the evil branding irons of the Boches in their torture
cells. My own pleasure had been less than pleasure, not even as complete as
the joy I brought myself in my self-stimulation, I had reached climax and
jetted, and with the release was a loss of all my bravery that had driven
me into the night, and I wanted only to break away from this sexual
partner, cover myself, hide myself, pretend it had never been.
     Not now, not here, not tonight. This night, we had all the time that
was to be had. We could wrest from each other every dreg of our delight
until the ecstasy built up inside of us, blooming and whole and complete,
and only when the fruit of our orgasm had fully matured, only then would we
need to release it.
     And in the golden summer sun of Harold's warm mouth and its attentions
upon me, my love-tree bore its fruit, the tingling delight of building
climax surged into me, and in my frantic rise of passion, my own mouth lost
its volition, it was laying slack upon Harold's prick, holding it but not
stroking it, and my mind gave itself entirely over to my own need and my
surging seed pooled in my testicles, stroke out into my shaft and expelled
itself triumphantly out the tip as I ejaculated, my spunk pouring into my
hot, strong lover, and he drank at it, siphoning out the essential element
of life, my jizz was seething out of me and he caught it all, not one drop
escaped Harold's lips as he finished draining me and I was panting heavily
around his cock, the steaming shaft throbbing in my mouth, paired with the
pounding in my temples as my orgasm subsided and I became a mere mortal
once again.
     Done, I caught my breath, realized my position and began to contritely
minister to Harold's dong once again.
     "Ah, ah, that's more like it." Harold sighed, his own task completed,
he could now give all of himself, including his voice, to his own
desires. "This is the joy whose promise was enough to make me forget about
my escape...for now."
     "I will keep you until spring is fully in bloom and the snows are
fully gone." I said. "Before then, I shall learn all I can so that my
American pilot may travel the roads as safely as possible. I could be more
involved in the Resistance than I have been, I have had no reason to be
more involved other than my hatred of the Germans. But for you, I shall
join them entire, and pave the way for you to return to your duties in the
air, my magnificent American pilot."
     "Yeah." Harold said and then. "Wait one moment."
     "Eh?" I said for I was about to resume sucking his wonderful hard prod
once again.
     "Just one minute." Harold said as he got to his feet. I watched in
wonder as he found his jacket and donned it, leaving it alone upon his bare
chest. Then he fumbled in one pocket and brought out his flight helmet and
goggles, placed them upon his head. "Now." He said to me, smiling. "Now you
can make love to an American pilot."
     "Indeed I shall." I grinned as he climbed back onto the bed. He
remained upright so I could gaze upon him from my prone position on the
bed, him over me like a gigantic sculpture such as my people had presented
to America so long before, he was the living embodiment of the freedom he
and his people promised my captured, defeated land, he was the American
pilot, and his kind daily visited vengeance for what had been done to my
beloved country by the Boches.
     And so I loved his dong as he watched me, over me like a loving god
must be, and I lavished my every skill upon his dong, and his open-eyed
smile turned to closed-eye, solemn-lipped pleasure, his entire face
softened by his passion as he began to hunch at my mouth in time to my own
movements, delving deeper into me with every stroke, and I felt I could see
the ecstasy building within him with every passing moment.
     And then he reached his climax and I felt it as well as saw it, his
face crinkled into delighted agony, his body tensed and his hips thrust
forward, his cock hardened and heated until it was a steel beam of orgasm
pointed at me, and I nursed it until with a gurgle and a groan, Harold hit
his orgasm and his spunk unloaded into me at a speed and quantity that
would have swamped any but a true lover of this man, but for me, in my
eager craving for all of him, I gulped mightily at his pearl-colored cream
of life, I imbibed the effervescent fluid of ecstasy, and as Harold
squirted, so did I drink, until I had taken all that he had to offer me,
the promise of more to come, and the memory of what had been, all together,
neatly packaged and comparted, and past, present and future fused into one
and with their fusion, Harold fell at last to lie alongside me.
     "My dearest American pilot." I said to Harold. "I am grateful that you
have chosen to stay with me a time longer."
     "Yes, until the Americans come and free us both." Harold said, and I
smiled when I realized he had extended his promise to stay with those
words, though he spoke them as if they were of no import. "On that day, we
shall both be free."
     "Both shall be free." I agreed with him.
     And with that, he discarded again his American clothing and, as two
mere men would, we climbed under the covers to embrace within the warmth,
there to wait together through the long German winter of our despair until
the American summer could finally release us from its cold bondage.

				  THE END
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