Date: Sun, 18 Jul 2004 15:48:31 -0400
From: Carl Mason <carl5de@netscape.net>
Subject: OUT OF THE RUBBLE - 2

OUT OF THE RUBBLE - 2

Copyright 2004 by Carl Mason

All rights reserved.  Other than downloading one copy for strictly personal
enjoyment, no part of this story may be reproduced or transmitted in any
form or by any means electronic or mechanical, except for reviews, without
the written permission of the author.  Comments on the story are
appreciated and may be addressed to the author at carl5de@netscape.net.

This story contains descriptions of sexual contact between a young adult
male and young male teenagers.  Nevertheless, "Out of the Rubble" is
neither a strictly "suck and fuck" exercise nor is it a story that focuses
on the "love of adults for the young"...often without sex or with the mere
suggestion of sex.  If you are looking for these types of erotic fiction,
there are fine examples of each on Nifty.  Something slightly different is
required here.

However based on real events and places, "Out of the Rubble" is strictly
fictional.  Any resemblance to actual events, or locales, or persons,
living or dead, is entirely coincidental.  Further, this is homoerotic
fiction designed for the personal enjoyment of legal, hopefully mature,
adults.  If you are not of legal age to read such material, if those in
power and/or those whom you trust treat it as illegal, or if it would
create unresolvable moral dilemmas in your life, please leave.  Finally,
remember that maturity generally demands that anything other than safe sex
is sheer insanity!


PART 2

(Revisiting the End of Part 1)

Suddenly, almost out of the corner of his eye, he saw a shape in the ruins
of a small stone structure - perhaps the setting for a statue in happier
times.  There sat a youngster propped up against the remnant of a column,
his face lowered onto his upraised knees, his shoulders shaking.  Maybe 16,
5'-7" or so (176 cm), something less than 150 lbs (68 kg), soft, very light
brown hair...  He seemed rather muscular which was quite rare for a DP
(displaced person) or a city kid.  His clothes were so thin and ragged as
barely to deserve the title of clothing.  One trouser leg, for instance,
was ripped a good two-thirds of the way up the leg from the cuff, revealing
a sparsely furred calf and a nearly hairless, beautifully muscled thigh.  A
farm boy?  That might also account for the teen's well developed shoulders
and upper arms.

In the rays of the late afternoon sun, the dark-haired young American knelt
close by and quietly asked, "Kann ich helfen, mein Freund?" [Can I help, my
friend?]

(Continuing Our Story - Andreas)

The boy slowly raised his head, the tears streaming down his face through
multiple layers of filth.  His large blue eyes were dull and fixed; his
mouth, slightly open.  If not in shock, he clearly appeared to be
completely played out.  Reaching out his hand to lightly touch the side of
the boy's face, Sam repeated his question.  Rather than fear, which might
have been expected, the exhausted youngster seemed to react with relief
that someone finally cared.  Sam sat down beside the lad and quietly,
gently spoke to him for several minutes.  Gradually, the boy began to come
out of his funk and relax.  "Dear God," thought Sam, "he's beautiful."
Finally, the young American spoke more vigorously, saying, "Ich heisse Sam.
Wie ist dein Name?" [I'm called Sam.  What's your name?"]  For the first
time, the boy looked directly at Sam, tried to wipe away his tears, cleared
his throat, and answered, "Andreas, Herr Hauptmann." ["Andreas, Captain.]
[Though the conversation continues in basic German, we'll generally stay
with English.]

Naturally, Sam is curious about Andreas's recognizing his American military
insignia, but decides that this is neither the time nor the place to ask
those questions.  Reaching out his hand, he continues, "I'm happy to meet
you, Andreas.  If you will let me be your friend, I'd like to help you
clean up, get some food, and have a safe place to sleep.  May I do that?"
Andreas doesn't seem to want to release Sam's hand.  As the tears begin
anew, he manages to nod in the affirmative.  Sam tries to help the sturdy
lad to his feet, but the boy collapses against the Captain.  Fortunately,
Sam recognizes an enlisted man who is cycling close by.  The young man is
only too happy to return to the Administration building - only a few blocks
back - and return with Sam's Jeep.  Again offering his thanks, the offer of
a ride which was refused, and loading his bike and the boy into the
vehicle, Sam resumes his homeward journey.

Although he's obviously weak, the wind in his face seemed to be doing
wonders for Sam's passenger.  Glancing sideways, Sam notices that there is
even a slight smile on the boy's face, as well as the beginning of a
sparkle in his eyes.  With a grin and momentarily resting his hand on the
boy's thigh, he asks, "Hey, friend, how did you get the name 'Andreas'?"
"I was named by my Uncle Erich, Herr Hauptmann.  We always had a small farm
in the forest, but he was a teacher who lived in Pressburg" [today's
Bratislava, the capital of Slovakia]. The boy's German was strongly
accented, but, other than a couple of words, Sam was able to make it out.
"Right!  That's a Greek name that means 'courageous,' isn't it?"  "Yes,
sir, Herr Hauptmann!" the boy snapped out.  Needless to say, Sam was
becoming more and more curious, but he did not pursue that topic as they
approached the house.

(Delousing)

After parking, he turned to the youngster and said, We've got a problem,
Andreas.  In your journeys, you've picked up some little visitors."  He
reached over to the back of the boy's neck, picked a couple of active lice
from his hair with his fingernails, and held them up for Andreas's
inspection.  Gasping, the lad's face - and even that which could be seen of
his leg - turned a brilliant pink.  "Not to worry, Big Guy," chuckled Sam.
I picked up my latest collection about a week ago!  Welcome to Germany!"
The boy grimaced even though his flesh slowly turned from passion pink to a
more comfortable shade of blush.  "If we don't kill them however, they'll
be into your food, into your new clothes, into your bed - and onto me!
Will you allow me to do what's necessary to get rid of the damned things?
Then I'll fix you some of the best stew in Germany!"  The words 'food,'
'new clothes,' and 'bed' seemed to resonate.  Andreas actually laughed and
responded with a firm, albeit accented, "Yeah!"  You will guess that Sam
found that to be a considerable improvement over, "Jawohl, Herr Hauptmann!"
[loosely - very loosely - translated as, "Yes, sir, Captain sir!"]  He also
realized that Andreas had already had some contact with Americans.  "Grab
your pack and come with me."

Throwing an arm around the boy's shoulders, he escorted the still shaky
youngster to the back of the house.  Stepping inside for a moment, he
retrieved a large bath towel.  "Sorry about this," he continued, "but if
you're going to get fed, you need to shed all of those clothes and put them
into the covered barrel next to you.  Out of them now!"  Without protest,
Andreas quickly stripped, discarded his rags, and accepted the towel which
he wound around his filthy body.  "Ok, now it's into the bathroom with you
for a little louse killing!"  Sam continued to joke with the lad as he led
him down a hall to the bathroom.  Exhausted, the boy faced his benefactor,
extending his arms and placing his hands on Sam's shoulders to steady
himself.  "Andreas, I have some medicine that needs to be rubbed into your
hair.  Do you want to do it yourself - or would you rather have me help
you?"  Having clearly run out of energy during the past few minutes and
starting to wobble back and forth on his feet, Andreas hung onto Sam for
dear life, choked a bit, and in the voice of a much younger boy said,
"Please, sir, help me."

Lowering the lad's head over the wash basin, Sam began gently to rub a
rancid, rather unpleasantly viscous liquid into his charge's scalp.  When
he was satisfied that nothing had been missed, he moved on to the thin
growth in his pits.  Finally, he murmured, "Ok, Big Guy, this stuff has to
be rubbed into your pubes.  Want to do that yourself?"  Almost asleep on
his feet, the boy hoarsely whispered, "No, sir.  Please help."  Shaking
slightly, Sam removed the towel, sat down on the toilet seat in front of
the lad, and turned him so that he could press one hand against the boy's
gorgeous, muscular butt while the other hand firmly rubbed the liquid into
his pubes.  At one point, swallowing and increasingly uncomfortable, the
Big Green's former All-Ivy right halfback stopped and began filling the
bathtub. [The "Big Green" refers to Dartmouth College, especially its
athletic teams and personnel.] Returning to his task, he didn't stop until
all of the lad's genital hair, including the few hairs on his long scrotum
and the hair in his crack, were thoroughly saturated.  He then reached out,
embraced the boy, and pulled him down onto his lap.  So they sat -
silently, Sam's arms around the boy's torso, Andreas's head resting on
Sam's chest - for about five minutes.  It seemed a pleasant way to follow
the medicine's instructions.  Yep!  Thank God for the Army medics!

Glancing at his watch, Sam lightly shook himself (and Andreas) awake,
helped the boy into the tub, and told him firmly to stay awake and bathe
well.  Specifically, he gave orders to thoroughly remove the dirt, as well
as the goop from his scalp and body hair.  The tub would have to be
refilled more than once.  It was time.  The boy smelled like an animal in
rut, one whiff of his breath would have killed a herd of Brontosaurs, and
the absolute stench of the medicine only made it worse!  After placing a
toothbrush, comb, and clean bath towel on the washbasin, he departed in
order to prepare a light supper.  Twice, he returned to help Andreas with
the refills.

Returning to the bathroom for the final time, Sam was amazed to find that
the boy had once again returned to the living.  He was actually softly
humming a folk tune.  Teenagers...  Helping Andreas to his feet, our young
American reached for the towel...but suddenly stopped as if flash-frozen!
What had gone into the tub had been covered in several layers of dirt, and
was smelly and lice-ridden.  That which stood before him was a youth who
had just stepped off a Greek vase fashioned in Classical times!  His
moderately soft light brown hair glistened.  If he lived for a thousand
years, Sam knew he could never get enough of those blue eyes.  The sheer
beauty of his face and hairless, muscular torso made Sam's head whirl, as
did the sharply defined abs, drum-tight stomach, and pronounced pelvic
girdle.  His body was obviously stressed, but it held the promise of
magnificence.  Gulping air, he gazed fixedly at Andreas's thick cock (in
length a bit more than 5.5 inches or 14 cm...soft) that flowed out of a
bush of lightest brown, and the long sack, hanging below that held two ping
pong sized balls.  He'd been in many locker rooms, in even more field
shower stations, and still more cold streams, but he had never seen
anything so achingly beautiful.  In truth, the boy's legs and feet were no
less impressive in their strength and beauty.  Moreover, that which had
been dirty flesh now gleamed with an inner glow akin to that of the finest
marble.  And the light odor was pure Andreas!  At that moment - however
many brutal rearguard actions remained - he lost a lifelong battle.

Suddenly, the young man caught himself, blushed, and gazed up at the
boy-god standing before him.  Lawdy...lawdy...lawdy...  Had he ignored,
suppressed, and occasionally fought these feelings for years only to turn
into a god-damned...QUEER?  Recognizing that his hero was now looking
directly at him, a soft smile...mixed with something more...quickly faded
from Andreas's face and he said simply, "Thank you, Herr Hauptmann...my
friend."

"It's time for chow, youngster!" responded the young American.  Quickly
drying a few spots that the boy had missed and wrapping him in an extra
robe, he led the lad into the kitchen.  Andreas's body seem to go taut and
he inhaled sharply as he spied the table that held a pitcher of milk and a
large glass, a bowl of stew, and a plate of bread.  Responding to the
question as clear in the youth's eyes as had it been spoken, Sam laughed
and said, "It's all yours!  Go for it!"  With a burst of energy, Andreas
squirmed out from under the arm that lay across his shoulders and rushed to
the table.

The boy had not quite managed to completely polish the last plate before he
began to nod off.  "Well, we've got to get you to bed.  Two more quick
things before you're off: First, at my office, I may be 'Herr Hauptmann,'
but here at home I'm just Sam, your friend.  Got it?"  "Yes, Sam," Andreas
replied in clear English.  "Secondly, we've got one more thing to do to
those lice.  Ok?"  Accepting the boy's sleepy, weakly affirmative nod, he
led him into the dark backyard, removed his robe, allowed his body to cool
for a moment, and told him to keep his eyes and mouth protected and tightly
shut.  At that point, he used a hand-held pump not yet returned to the
Medics to completely dust the boy's body with a delousing powder.  Overcome
once again with fatigue, the youngster began to shake and stumble.  Powder
and all, Sam picked him up in his arms, carried him into his bedroom, and
gently tucked him into the second single bed.

After showering and quickly cleaning up the kitchen and bathroom, the young
American sat in his living room, nursing a Scotch.  He had a million
questions, but they would simply have to wait until tomorrow.

(Unraveling the Mysteries)

Andreas slept well into the morning without moving, snoring, or giving any
other dramatic signs of being alive.  Sam brewed his coffee and munched on
a piece of bread.  Quietly he carried a comfortable chair into the bedroom,
and sat back, watching the boy and scribbling a few notes.  As an excuse
for taking the day off, he told himself that he'd worked nearly every
minute since arriving in Tieferwald.  In that, he was entirely accurate.

It was nearly eleven before the boy coughed and began to stir.  After
beginning to draw his bath, Sam leaned down over the boy, wiped some excess
powder from his eyelids and lips, and said, "Big Guy, I want you to go into
the bathroom and wash every bit of power off your body.  While you're
cleaning up, I'll get rid of all those dead cooties on the bed and begin to
fix breakfast for my friend.  Ok?"  Still somewhat disoriented - though the
words 'breakfast' and 'friend' had clearly registered - a happy youngster
headed for the bathroom.  As promised, Sam carefully collected the boy's
robe and towels from the night before, the ragged clothes in his pack, and
bundled them together with sheets and the light blanket.  Gingerly he took
them out into the backyard, placing them in the covered barrel.  (He'd let
the boy examine his old clothing when it was clean and lice-free.  Then he
could keep anything he wanted.)  After remaking Andreas's bed, the young
American returned to the bathroom where he again tousled the boy's hair and
helped him drain and refill the tub.  Grinning like the proverbial canary
who had swallowed the cat, he finally retreated to the kitchen.  It was not
where he wanted to be.

Dry and clad in an absurdly large T-shirt given to Sam as a joke by his
Army buddies just before he left for Tieferwald, Andreas descended on the
kitchen like a pack of ravening wolves.  Most of the food that remained in
the house was quickly inhaled.  As the last of the food stores disappeared,
Sam turned to his young friend and suggested that he take it easy for one
day...staying in bed, napping and snacking when he felt like it, talking
about recent events, getting ready for an active day in Tieferwald
tomorrow.  He also pointed out that Andreas would need one set of clothes
prior to their shopping at the PX.  The boy agreed to the quiet day and
allowed Sam to take a few measurements, a process that both seemed to enjoy
immensely.  (A phone call to a friend at the PX insured that food and one
set of clothes would be delivered before the end of the day.)  Sam then
tickled him all the way to his clean bed.  Andreas loved every minute of
it.

Drawing his chair up to the bed, Sam smiled, said he realized Andreas was
German, and wondered what Germans were doing in Czechoslovakia.  The lad
gladly gave his benefactor a short history lesson, pointing out that his
corner of the world had been a swirling cross-roads of humanity since
earliest times.  Early German tribes, Celtic peoples, Slavs, and later
Germans had poured into the region in successive waves, living side by
side, intermarrying, occasionally erupting into bloody ethnic and religious
spats.  As early as the 12th Century, for instance, Pressburg was
recognized as an important German city.  His people had entered the region
in the 14th Century, settling in Pressburg where they adopted an urban
lifestyle and in villages in the central forests where they led a rural
life.  He had grown up on a small farm surrounded by loving parents,
several brothers and sisters, and a host of close relatives.  Nevertheless,
they often traveled to Pressburg where an uncle loved and respected by the
entire family was a teacher.  Andreas had even learned a bit of English
from his favorite uncle. On the farm or in the city, his family held
education, music, art, and literature in high esteem.

When Slovakia became an independent state supported by Hitler in 1939, many
of the influential ethnic Germans living in Pressburg (and in the eastern
Carpathian region) were Jewish.  In Slovakia, tensions between inhabitants
mounted.  Increasingly, few distinctions were made between Germans who were
Gentiles and Germans who had Jewish backgrounds - other than the fact that
the Jews were sent to death camps!  In late 1944, as Hitler's grasp on the
region weakened, savage attacks were mounted against the rural Germans by
Slovaks and bands of vicious thugs who owed allegiance to no one other than
themselves.  In one attack on their village, his father, mother, several
siblings, and his closest relatives were slaughtered.  Andreas and two
brothers made their way to Pressburg where they were welcomed by their
uncle who had refused to flee to Vienna.  On April 4, 1945, after a stiff
battle, the Russians occupied the city.  In the looting and acts of ethic
insanity that followed, his uncle and one brother were killed.  The two
remaining boys - Andreas as his nine year old brother, Jurgen - joined a
stream of German refugees who fled west.  Neither the Russians nor the
Austrian Germans were at all sympathetic to their plight.

Struggling across the lands that had been Austria, dying by the dozens from
hunger, disease, and exposure, Andreas's band finally approached the border
of Bavaria on May 6th.  Their pathetic little column was suddenly attacked
by a screaming mob of drunken thugs bent on seizing food and anything else
of value.  In terror, they ran through the forest, refugee after refugee
falling before their assailants.  Looking back, Andreas saw that Jurgen had
tripped.  He watched in agony as a giant of a man clubbed the little boy
repeatedly, spreading blood and brain tissue in a widening circle.  Having
no choice, he ran on, the wild-eyed, drunken bandits gaining on him at
every step.  Another giant was on his heels when several shots rang out.
Just ahead, Andreas saw that which turned out to be an American military
patrol.  They had shot his pursuer and one other thug and were motioning
for him to join them.

Andreas said that he would never forget the little band of GIs who saved
his life.  They fed him, they deloused him, they taught him some American
slang and introduced him to chewing gum.  For a few days they adopted him
as their mascot.  Only when they approached their command post in a
Bavarian village, did they reluctantly turn him loose to continue his
odyssey.

For long weeks, he slowly made his way to the north and west where he had
been told he would find more Americans. Unfortunately, he never met a
similar "Band of Brothers."  It wasn't long, of course, before the food and
supplies shared by his American buddies ran out.  From then on, it was a
journey of tears.  He scrounged food, he occasionally stole when he could
not beg necessities, he tried to stay alive by keeping out of people's way.
When he finally stumbled into Tieferwald on the same day that he was
discovered by Sam, he had thoroughly exhausted his resources of youthful
strength and human hope

For the better part of an hour, the two young men held each other, saying
little, sobbing occasionally, exalting in the simple fact that they were
alive.

It was late afternoon when a loud knock on the front door signaled that the
food order and a change of clothing for Andreas had arrived.  Sam went to
the door, returning in just a few minutes.  He tossed a large paper-wrapped
parcel on the bed in front of Andreas, who looked at it longingly with wide
eyes.  On Sam's nod, the grinning, babbling lad ripped the string and paper
from the package and held aloft a blue shirt, a pair of khakis, a belt, a
pair of Army boots, plus a small collection of khaki socks, T-shirts, and
undershorts.  In his best command voice, the Captain jokingly ordered him
to get out of bed and stand at attention.  Raising the giant T- shirt off
his body and casting it aside, Sam slowly ran his hands over the top of the
naked youngster's hefty shoulders.  Coming close to losing it, Andreas
lowered his forehead to rest against his hero's chest.  For just a moment,
Sam rubbed the boy's muscular back.  Then, again in command of himself, he
huskily told the lad to dress in his new clothes and meet him in the
kitchen.

After repeated compliments on the new clothes, a hearty supper, and
clean-up, the two young men - their friendship and, more importantly, their
feelings for each other deepening - sat in the comfortable living room,
joking and talking about what the next day might bring.  Well before
eleven, as Andreas began to run out of steam, the two headed for bed,
stripped to their underwear, and jumped in.

Around 3:00 am, Sam was awakened by a vicious flash of lightening that
completely illuminated the bedroom, coupled with rolling thunder that
seemed to come from every direction.  For some reason, he turned over in
the direction of Andreas's bed.  Another flash allowed him to see Andreas
standing nearby, disheveled, his damp, naked body glowing like marble,
obviously terrified.  Sobbing, the words tumbled from his mouth: "Sam, Sam,
I saw Jurgen murdered again, I felt his blood splash on me.  Oh, Sam...
Sam, I pissed myself.  I am so sorry...so very sorry.  Leaping out of bed,
Sam hugged the poor kid for a moment and then led him to the bathroom to
wash off.  He then gathered the boy's soggy underwear and sheets, and
dumped them into the bathroom tub.  Putting an arm around Andreas's waist,
ineffectively dabbing at his chest with a hand towel, he murmured gently,
"It's ok, friend.  It's ok..  Everyone has bad dreams...and accidents
happen.  Let's try to get some sleep.  We have a long, exciting day ahead
of us."

As they reentered the bedroom - the heavy thunder and lightening continuing
- the boy lagged behind as Sam slipped into bed.  The Captain was still
wearing his undershorts, but had removed his damp T-shirt.  "Sam," came a
thin, wavering voice, "I'm so scared.  Could I sleep with you...just for
tonight?"  Big Green said nothing, but motioned sleepily to Andreas to jump
in.  The naked youngster immediately slid into the narrow single bed in
front of Sam.  His Captain remained silent, simply drawing the boy closer
and nuzzling the hair at the back of his neck.  Sam didn't know it then,
but Andreas had no intention of ever again sleeping anywhere else.