Date: Thu, 02 Oct 2003 17:26:33 +0000
From: Guy Jameson <guyjameson@hotmail.com>
Subject: The Sons of JJ Jameson Chapter 19
The story of JJ's sons is continuing. We'll come back to
Dave and JJ soon but it's time for a change of pace perhaps.
At any rate I hope you enjoy this story from Ron.
Remember this is our story and is copyrighted under the
terms set down by Nifty.
If you shouldn't be reading this stuff, please stop doing
it. I don't want to get anyone in trouble. After all there
are lots of sites from Disney you can read.
If you have comments please e-mail me at
guyjameson@hotmail.com.
THE SONS OF JJ JAMESON
CHAPTER 19: DON'T' ASK, DON'T TELL
2000
I have wanted to be a Marine for as long as I can
remember, so I signed the papers even before graduating from
High School and was on my way to San Diego within a month
after walking across the stage. I knew I was gay long
before that and had been with other guys several times. But
Dad had been in the Corps and my oldest brother, Joe, was
still a Marine. I knew I could handle the regulations.
"Don't Ask, Don't Tell" would be absolutely no problem for
me, as long as I kept my cock in hand, so to speak.
I was much more confident of my success in the Marines
than any of my brothers or Dad. Even Guy, though always
optimistic about his grandsons had some misgivings about
Marine career. Wagers had been placed as to how long I
would last. Dad, who frequently referred to me as "The
Slut" didn't think I could last two weeks without dipping my
wick and getting booted out. Dad's nickname for me was by
no means meant to be malicious, he just called `em the way
he saw `em. None of my beloved family thought I could make
it through Boot Camp. I was going to show them that I was
just as serious as Joe about being a Marine and would lead
the life of a monk, if need be.
I flew from Tulsa, Oklahoma, to Dallas and then to Los
Angeles. On the first leg of the flight, everything was
great, totally uneventful. In Dallas I changed planes,
there being few major cities one can fly to directly from
Tulsa, OK. As I boarded the plane for Los Angeles, the
flight attendant caught my eye, smiled, and said, "Good
Morning." My God what a voice he had. A deep baritone,
sexy as hell. There was a knowing twinkle in his eyes. His
smile exuded lust. In every way possible he was one hot
looking dude, but now totally untouchable. I wasn't about
to get messed up with anyone-purely the celibate life for
me. That was the only way I'd survive my four years in
green.
But he was definitely jack off material and I watched
him go through the pre-flight preparations, watched him as
he walked back and forth along the length of the plane,
memorized his every move, felt my cock getting hard inside
my Levi's. He was tall-slightly over 6 feet. His uniform
shirt and slacks set off his physique to the fullest
advantage. There was a noticeable bulge in the front of his
trousers, which were tight enough to display a firm rounded
butt. His shirt was trim cut emphasizing the musculature of
his chest and back. Watching him was getting me nowhere but
horny. How was I going release my lust? All this was
running through my mind and the plane was still on the
tarmac. Maybe four years of celibacy was going to be more
of a challenge than I had thought. All I could hope for was
that this stud would be the steward in first class and once
the plane took off, I wouldn't see him again.
No such luck. The "buckle your seat belt" sign came on
and he took his seat at the rear of the plane. I was going
to have to watch him for the next two hours in the air. I'd
just suffer through it I thought.
But I'm not good at suffering through anything. I was
eighteen years old and definitely a part of the "now
generation". What I saw and wanted, I wanted NOW. As soon
as it was permissible to unbuckle the seatbelt and walk
around, I headed for the toilet at the rear of the plane.
The steward and his female counterparts were busy in the
kitchenette when I passed; he saw me, smiled again and said,
"If you need anything, just let me know." Naturally I
smiled back, not feeling I could immediately ask for what I
needed. I entered the toilet, locked the door, pulled down
my jeans and took things in hand to relieve my tension.
In my mind's eye, I could see him pulling off his
uniform shirt revealing a nice set of pecs, a hard stomach
and hair covering the whole package. I had already noticed
just a wisp of black or dark brown hair in the open V of his
shirt. As I pulled down his trousers, his cock sprang up in
my face-he was free balling it. My fantasy revealed that he
had a larger cock than was revealed in his trousers, in
length as well as girth. His scrotum was covered with more
of the dark thick hair. His upper thighs and ass were
equally hairy.
I worked my penis. Jerking up and down, moving as
quickly as possible. This was no time for finesse; I knew I
had only a very short time before someone would need to use
the lavatory, spoiling my opportunity to get off.
The latch on the door rattled. There was a soft knock
on the door and a whispered baritone voice said, "May I be
of assistance?" It was his voice. Never has a door been
opened more quickly. The man in blue was on his knees in a
flash, engulfing my bone in one very quick slurp. His mouth
on my cock was pure heaven. As I fucked his pretty face, he
unzipped his fly, pulled out his dick and began to jack
himself off. It took only a few minutes before I was
pumping my load down his throat and he was spewing cream on
the Levis gathered around my ankles. I guess we were lucky
that nothing splashed on the floor.
When we were finished, dressed and back in our assigned
places in the plane, he paid particular attention to my
comfort. He slipped a matchbook into my shirt pocket and
went about his business. As he had put the matchbook in my
pocket, he rubbed the back of his fingers against my left
nipple, or was that just my over active imagination. Either
way, my nipple hardened, prodding a tingle all the way to my
cock. If it hadn't been for the matchbook, my hardened nip
would have been very obvious. Later, I fished out the
matchbook and discovered he'd written a phone number and his
name on the inside cover. At least I knew one person to
call when I was released from the Green Hell.
The plane landed in San Diego, the crew said their
friendly good byes and I noticed a particular glint in the
steward's eyes as I passed through the door. He smiled at
me and I smiled back saying, "I hope you enjoyed your trip."
Yes, I had-very much.
===<>===
I only had carry on luggage, after all I was now the
property of the U. S. Government and would be supplied with
everything I'd need for the next four years. I made my way
through the crowded airport to find the station where I was
to report. That was fairly easy-I just followed the booming
voice of a man in green shouting, "All you maggot recruits
drop your bags and get in line".
The first of those recruits I saw was Charley. He was
tall-six feet, slender waist, broad shoulders and a pair of
Wranglers that hugged his butt like a second skin. I soon
noticed that the front view wasn't bad either. I managed to
get in line right behind him.
We were ordered to get on a bus painted the most
hideous dull gray color I'd ever seen. Since I was
immediately behind Charley in line, I was seated next to
him. Being a natural extrovert and always remembering my
manners, I turned toward him.
"Hi, my name is Ron. I'm from Oklahoma," I said in a
half whisper.
"I'm Charley, from West Texas. I guess that makes us
neighbors," he answered with a soft, enticing accent. "Glad
to meet ya. I guess it's too late to back out of this,
isn't it".
"I think so. I hope this is not the major mistake of
my life," I said with a chuckle.
Neither of us had showered since early that day and it
was summer, giving us both an interesting aroma. I was
hoping the first thing on the agenda once we arrived on base
would be to shower and I'd get a chance to see this
beautiful man in all his glory.
But the big man in green had other plans. He ordered
absolute silence on the bus. We pulled away from the
airport and headed God only knew where. Eventually we
pulled up in front of a building, painted the same color as
the bus, ordered to remain silent, unload and form a double
line on the road. I wasn't sure what the road was-all I
could see was a path of black top, but soon discovered it
was the marine word for any hard top surface used to walk or
drive on. I'd have lots of experience with the "road" over
the next several months.
We "marched" into the squat building shaped like the
upper side of a barrel cut in half long wise, ordered to
drop our gear in front of a bunk and fall out on the road.
The man in green gave us more orders concerning silence in
the ranks and while marching from place to place, staying in
our place, not asking questions and letting the Marine Corps
become our new home. Most of that went in one ear and out
the other. The only thing I was interested in was showering
where I could see the new love of my life, that I'd hardly
spoken to, naked and soaping his body. Before I was aware
of it, my hormones were kicking in, fantasies raging and my
cock getting hard, pressing against the leg of my jeans. I
hoped that no one would notice the bulge, no one except this
hunk standing next to me, that is.
We had arrived at the Recruit Depot early in the
afternoon and were kept running from place to place getting
clothes, getting haircuts, receiving orders and having bits
of information shouted at us. Sometime during the day we
went back to the building where we'd "dropped our gear" and
taught how to make up our bunks. Still no chance for a
shower, but we were ordered to get our "civvies" off and
change into uniforms.
Early that evening we were fed and then led out onto a
field and we ran until we all thought we'd die. We were
tired, confused, maybe a little bit scared and not a bit
sure what we'd gotten into. Eventually we went back to the
barracks, stripped and ordered into "shower uniforms"-towel
wrapped around the waist, cover (Marine speak for cap) and
shower shoes, with our shit kit (Marine for our little bag
of shaving supplies) in hand.
The shower scene was everything I'd hoped it would be.
But out of the gobs of naked men/boys I could only see one.
I knew right then I had to have this boy. It never occurred
to me he might be straight, or worse yet, a virgin.
Fortunately, Charley turned in the shower so his back
was to me. Very nice from this view, but I was anxious to
see the other side. The only blemishes on this creature's
body were faintly pink, old looking scars criss-crossing his
back and the backs of his thighs. The showers were crowded;
too many men for too few showerheads. So we were stacked
against each other a little like Vienna sausages in a can.
I just hoped I'd avoid a boner. That wouldn't go well with
the "Don't Ask" shit, especially on the first day. I could
feel the blood starting to flow into my cock as it began to
rise and immediately stepped under the water.
"Shit that's cold," someone shouted. The cold water
helped but didn't entirely solve my problem.
We had chow, ran some more around the base and
eventually returned to our "barracks" and told to write
letters home informing our family that we had arrived safely
and all was well. Our civvies were also packaged for
shipment home or to be donated to our leader's favorite
charity. Everyone was quiet-except for a few whispers
among the troops as each man introduced himself to the man
nearest him. Of course, I'd already introduced myself to
Charley and as far as I was concerned he was the only man of
any importance. He was also the man nearest me.
===<>===
The next morning, our new life began with an
unchangeable routine. Out of the bunks, onto the "road",
march to breakfast, march to classes, march to physical
training, lunch, more marching, more classes, more physical
training, more marching, more marching, dinner, showers,
down time and hit the racks. Every day the same thing.
Just for novelty, we'd sometimes march or do PT a few more
times. I thought I'd go out of my mind. There was never
any time alone or time I could get to know Charley a little
better. All we ever saw was the road, gray buildings and
men in green, except in the showers of course, and then I
stood under the cold water as long as possible to reduce the
swelling between my legs.
Then one night, my life as Marine Boot changed-for the
better.
A good fairy (dressed in Marine green, naturally) had
arranged the sleeping arrangements so that Charley slept in
the bunk just to my right. Every night I'd watch him strip
down to his skivvies and slip under the covers. I'd lie
awake for a long time to see if I could see any hand
movement under the Marine green blanket. It never happened
in Charley's bed. Charley would simply say "Good night,
Ron," turn over on his side away from me and fall
immediately to sleep. I'd lie there totally frustrated.
Once in a long while, it was possible to hear some other man
jacking off and reaching a quiet, subdued climax. All too
often my boner would not subside until I slipped out of my
skivvies and quickly jacked myself to a quiet orgasm. But
not Charley. Never Charley. Was it possible that he didn't
jack off?
Then one night, about two weeks into boot, as I lay
awake thinking about Charley and what I'd like to do with
him, he stirred in sleep, woke up and rushed out of the
barracks. He had to be going to the head. Had he done this
before without my noticing him? Might he be going there to
jack-off? I had to find out.
I reached under the blankets to pull up my skivvies and
followed Charley to the head, as quietly as I could. My
cock getting harder with every step, trying to figure out
how to get to Charley without sounding any kind of alarm in
his mind.
There had been a lot of barracks talk about sex, girls
left behind, the fact no one had been caught spanking the
monkey, which Charley listened to with obvious disdain. I
had begun to wonder whether he was gay and just not
interested in the conversation or that he disapproved of the
topics. He was present at these conversations without
seeming to be present. He was there just because there was
no other place to be. He alone among all these guys had
never been heard to utter a cuss word-not a darn, or a heck.
I wasn't able to figure him out. He was just too good to be
true.
I opened the hatch to the head and walked in. There
were only a few lights on, to allow men to use the head when
necessary. Charley was standing at a urinal looking
straight at the bulkhead, certainly not looking at what he
was doing. I walked up beside him, pulled my dick from my
skivvies, which was no simple task considering how hard it
had become. Charley didn't look at me-just kept staring at
the wall above his head.
"Man, I really had to piss."
He said nothing. Didn't turn his head. No signal of
recognition.
I looked down at the cock hanging out of his skivvies.
It was slightly hard, not stand up at attention hard, just a
little hard-filled either with blood, getting ready for
action, or maybe just because he had to pee.
I gave my cock a couple of strokes.
Nothing from Charley. He just kept staring at the
bulkhead.
I stroked myself a couple of more times-trying to be a
little more obvious, without being obvious.
Nothing.
A couple of more strokes.
Nothing.
I was beginning to feel really frustrated. I had been
in this position before, in other rest rooms, in my real
life and had never failed to attract some attention from the
guy standing next to me. It usually ended up with one or
both of us getting sucked off, or on a very few memorable
occasions my getting my ass filled with the man's cock. But
from Charley, nothing.
Another couple of strokes. I was fully hard by now.
"What the Hell are you doing"? he said-in a voice full
of brimstone. "You can't do that sort of stuff around me.
You'll go to hell for that."
I was dumb struck. First of all because of what he was
saying and most of all because he had actually cussed.
"Hey man," I said. "I'm just doing what every normal
guy does when he can't have sex."
"But that's a sin. It's dirty. You're supposed to
never touch yourself like that. It's the devil's play
ground."
"Where the hell did you get that idea"?
"Every good Christian knows that. Sex is for after
you're married. It's like a sacrament-reserved for one
thing only and it's not to be abused the way you're doing."
My cock didn't go down at all. It knew what I wanted
and was going to do everything in its power to help me get
there. Unfortunately, I don't think it was really helping
very much.
"Look, man," I said defensively, "I don't now where
you're coming from, but every guy beats his meat, you have
to have some release or . . . "
"I don't care what every guy does," he interrupted,
"It's a sin. Just get away from me. I thought you were my
friend. I thought you were different from the other guys.
Just go away."
I struggled to put my cock back in my skivvies-I had to
hook it under the waist band, turned and walked away. I'm
not sure whether I was more disappointed or angry. Maybe I
felt I had gotten what I deserved. What gave me the idea I
could be a friend (a lover?) with such an odd ball? I
walked out into the night, heading back to the barracks or
maybe just to walk around a little to clear my head-I knew I
needed to think this one out a little more.
"Halt, who goes there?" Shit it was the "fire" watch.
"Awwww fuck off," I answered (hardly the correct answer
but I was in no mood for reindeer games) and continued
walking back to the hut. Fire watch was a practice exercise
reserved for boots anyway, so as long as he didn't know who
I was, there wasn't much he could do to me. I made it back
to the barracks before he called for the corporal of the
guard.
The next morning we were rousted out of our bunks,
dressed and fell out onto the road. As usual Charley and I
came out together and fell in line with every one else.
"Sorry about last night," I said.
"Forget it," Charley responded. "Just don't do that
around me again, please"
At that point the Drill Instructor emerged from his
hut, called us to attention and marched us to breakfast.
The day went on in the same routine we'd followed every
day since our arrival. Charley and I had a few chances to
talk, but the experience from the night before didn't come
up again.
That night, after a long and exhausting day, we finally
made it back to our bunks. Lights were turned out; peace
and quiet reigned. Except in my head-I couldn't sleep
thinking about Charley and how I was going to get to know
him better. I pushed my skivvies off and prepared for a
lonely time making love to my own penis.
Usually Charley simply turned over in his bunk and was
out. But not tonight. He was restless, tossing and
turning, giving every indication his mind was working
overtime. After a couple of hours of this, he slipped out
of the bunk and headed for the hatch. As he passed me he
paused, looked at me quickly, turned and walked away.
It looked like an invitation to me!
I crept out of the covers, slipped into the regulation
nighttime dress and followed him back to the head. But
tonight, he wasn't standing at the urinal. He was sitting
on a toilet with the seat pulled down, staring into the dim
light. I sat next to him-no stalls in this place for
privacy. He turned toward me, "Hi".
"What are you doing?" I asked.
"I just needed some time away from the crowd-couldn't
sleep. What are you doing?"
"Same thing. Do you want to talk?"
"What about?" he asked suspiciously.
"What ever," I said. "Tell me about why you joined
up."
"It's a long story," he said.
"We have time and it's quiet. As long as the fire
watch doesn't catch us, it'll be OK."
"Why did you follow me last night? And then do what you
started doing?"
"I don't know" I lied. "I'd just like to get to know
you better, I guess. Thought we could talk, become good
friends. I'd really like to be your friend."
"If you want me to be your friend, you can't be doing
that stuff around me. My Dad's a preacher and he says you
can go to hell for that kind of stuff. In the Bible it even
says a man who spills his seed on the ground should be put
to death. Ya know that?"
"Your Dad may be a preacher," I said, "but that shit is
for the birds. I go to church every week, Dad's a Lay
Reader and knows a lot about the Bible. He says those laws
went out the window a long time ago. God just isn't like
that."
"Well," Charley said, "If you want to be my friend,
just don't do around me, OK?"
"OK, Charley, I won't. But man what do you do when you
get really horny and aren't married?"
"Just wait awhile and it goes away."
"So you do get horny!"
"Sure, I do. But nature will take its course after
awhile." Charley smiled, knowingly. "I really like it when
that happens. Of course it messes up my pajamas and I have
to be sure to wash them myself before Mom gets to `em."
"Man I haven't ever had a wet dream. My older brothers
showed me how to take care of myself years ago."
"You mean your brothers taught you to masturbate?"
Charley asked in a truly disgusted tone. "They showed you
how? Now man that really is sick."
The tone of the conversation was beginning to get to
me. Here I was sitting in the head that was practically
dark, in my skivvies, talking about jacking off to the
hottest guy I'd seen in months! My hand just naturally
reached down to my cock. The bugger had started to get
hard. I stroked my groin as if I had an itch.
Charley followed my action with his eyes, then looked
up at me. I thought his look was one of disapproval, but in
the near dark, I wasn't sure.
"I'm not starting anything," I said. "Just had an
itch."
"They didn't really teach me how to jack off. I just
saw them doing it a lot, ever since I was about six years
old. We shared the same bedroom. Sometimes they'd get in
bed together and do each other."
"Now that is really perverted."
"Charley. As I said sometimes it's necessary for a man
or a boy to get relief. If his hand is the only way to do
it, then why not. Wet dreams are for kids." I said trying
very hard not accuse this hunk of a man of being just a kid.
Charley gave me a dirty look, but didn't say anything
about being insulted. He didn't say anything for a couple
of minutes. We just sat there, listening to the quiet.
Charley seemed to be trying to decide what to say next.
"Did your Dad ever catch you guys?" he almost
whispered.
"Yeah a couple of times that I know of-maybe a lot of
times when I didn't know."
"What did he say?"
"Nothing"
"He didn't care?"
"I don't think so. I caught him doing himself several
times, though I don't think he ever knew it. I can still
remember the first time. I couldn't have been much more
than six years old. I got up during the night to get a
drink of water. And passed by the living room where the TV
was turned on. I knew Dad must still be up. I started to
go in the room to get another good night kiss, but I stopped
at the door. Dad was watching something on TV with no sound
and was completely naked. Him being naked wasn't anything
unusual. We're casual about being naked. I'd seen him
naked lots of times. I stopped because of what he was
doing-something I hadn't witnessed before.
"His eyes were focused on the TV so he didn't see me
and he was moaning, rubbing his dick with one hand and
pinching a nipple with the other. Then he started rubbing
himself very quickly, moaning louder and pinching and
pulling on his nipple. Then this white stuff started coming
out of his penis and landing on his stomach. I nearly
fainted. I hadn't seen that ever happen and was afraid Dad
had done something to hurt himself. He really moaned when
it happened. Then I noticed my little penis was stiff. That
happened sometimes I knew but I wondered if I rubbed it real
hard like Dad had done whether I'd shoot that stuff out.
"I slipped out of the doorway, went to the bathroom and
examined my penis, just wondering if someday I'd be able to
do what I had seen him doing. He obviously was enjoying it
more than being hurt. I pulled down my briefs and played
with my penis. Nothing happened except it did seem to get a
little bigger.
"I went to the bedroom I shared with my brothers.
They were all sound asleep. I crawled up into Joe's bed and
shook him just hard enough to wake him. Joe is my oldest
brother-almost four years older than I am and I thought he
knew everything. And I knew he could answer my questions.
When he roused enough to know I was in bed with him, he
said, 'What do you want, Squirt? Have a bad dream?'
'No, I just saw something and want to ask you about
it.'
'Squirt, it's the middle of the night, can't you wait
till morning?'
'No. It's about Dad. I just saw him doing something
and I think he might have hurt himself.'
'OK, what happened?' Concern entered Joe's voice. We
brothers were really close to each other and especially
close to Dad. Our talking waked Jason who slept in the bed
next to Joe.
'What's going on?' he asked
'Be quiet, Jase! Maybe we'll find out.'
'OK, Squirt, what did you see?' Joe asked, taking me
more into his arm so my head lay on his shoulder.
`Dad's awake in the living room and he was naked. He
was watching a movie and playing with himself, you know down
there. All of a sudden this white stuff started coming out
of him-like he was going to the bathroom, but it was
different. He moaned really loud. At first I thought he
was going to die, but then he smiled really big and played
with that stuff before wiping it off his tummy.'
`Jeez', said Joe, `Did he see you?'
`No, I don't think so. He was mostly looking at that
stuff on his stomach and smiling really big. What was he
doing?'
Jason said, `Don't worry about it Squirt. I've seen
Dad do that a lot. It's what a guy does when he gets older
and gets to feeling a certain way. I asked Dad about it
once. That's what he said. He said when you get older,
maybe in a couple of years for me, you'll understand. It's
OK, Squirt. Don't worry about it.'
`Does it make him feel good when he does that?' I asked
sleepily. `Do you and Joe do that?'
`Not yet, Squirt. We have to be a couple of years
older to produce that white stuff you saw, but some day Joe
and I will.'
`Will I?'
`Sure, Ron. You're a boy, when you start shooting that
stuff, you'll be a man.'
`How old do you have to be?'
`Just a few more years', Joe said. `But sometimes
Jason and I play with ourselves like we've seen Dad do.
That feels pretty good, too.'
`Yeah . . . I did it just now. It does feel really
good. But I didn't have that white stuff come out.' I
curled up closer to my big brother. `Can I sleep here
tonight?'
`Sure Squirt, just make sure you don't wet the bed.'
`I don't wet the bed anymore, Joe. I'm not a baby.'"
Charley listened to this story, his eyes widening more
as the story unfolded.
"I have a younger brother, but he never sleeps with me.
Dad would really get mad. He doesn't even like it when we
hug or touch each other at all. He says all that is wrong
between brothers. Does your Dad hug you?"
"Sure he does, Charley. I told you we're very close."
"What would your mother say if she caught any of you
doing that?"
"I don't have a mother, Charley. She left us years
ago. Right after my youngest brother was born. We were
raised by Dad and our Grandfather."
"Any sisters?"
"Nope just us guys."
Charley sat there for a few more minutes. About that
time the hatch opened and the private on fire watch told us
we had to clear out of the head. We'd been in there way too
long. I told the boot what he could do with himself, but it
made Charley nervous to get caught. The way I answered the
fire watch the way I did made him even more nervous.
"We need to get out of here," he said, standing up and
heading for the exit. As he walked in front of me, I
noticed he had a slight tent in his skivvies. Either he'd
had a hard on or was in danger of throwing one. I smiled to
myself and followed Charley back to the barracks. As we
climbed back into the rack, Charley said, "I liked our
little talk. Want to do it again tomorrow night?"
"Sure," I said. It's a date." We both laughed softly,
pulled the blankets up and finally fell asleep.
Reveille came very early the next morning. As Charley
got out of his bunk, he yawned, stretched and let out a very
loud groan.
"Man, I slept good-for a little while anyway."
"So did I, Charley. Now hurry up, we'll be late
getting on the road."
The day went along right on schedule. There was plenty
of physical exercise to keep us awake, but things got hairy
during our classes on Marine Corps History and Marine Corps
Traditions. I had to poke Charley in the ribs several times
to keep him from dozing off. Finally, we both moved to the
back of the classroom and stood during the lecture.
"We are meeting again tonight, aren't we Ron? Your
family is so different from mine. I'd like to hear more
about it."
"Sure, we'll meet, just like last night. Now shut up
the DI is watching us and we'll get extra PT."
Apparently Sgt. Scow had seen enough chat between us
and while the rest of the platoon had some down time before
evening chow, he took Charley and me to the pit and ran us
through about thirty minutes of PT. At this rate, Charley
and I would muscle up and be the hottest looking Marines
ever.
Finally we were allowed to hit the sack. I was dead
beat and knew Charley probably was too. After all I was an
athlete all during high school. And I didn't know whether
Charley could withstand the hard physical out put required
of us.
I fell immediately to sleep. About mid-night I was
awakened by Charley shaking my shoulder.
"Come on! I need to take a leak," he whispered.
"Right behind you," I said sleepily.
We walked side by side to the head. A couple of times
Charley's hand brushed against my thigh, making me tingle
all over.
Usually, even during the summer, nights are cool in San
Diego, but this night was particularly hot. Even though we
were ordered to sleep in skivvies and tee shirt, I had
pulled mine off before hitting the sack. Charley took
notice as we walked and I thought I saw just the hint of
illicit interest.
After we got settled in the head-sitting on two toilets
as we had the night before, Charley said, "Did you ever tell
your Dad you saw him masturbating that night?"
"No," I said. "I figured what he didn't know about
what I'd seen the better for me. But I made it a habit of
having to use the bathroom late at night and saw him doing
it a lot."
"Didn't it make you feel . . . You know, kind of
strange? Watching your Dad doing that stuff to himself?"
"It did at first, I have to admit. But after a couple
of times, I sort of played with myself as I watched him. It
felt good to touch myself that way, even though I still
wasn't sure what I was doing. That wasn't cleared up until
Joe, then Jason and finally me reached puberty. Then I knew
what was going on and experienced it is often as I
could-which meant at least two or three times a day."
"Man, I don't know how you could do that," Charley
said. "I remember the first time my Mom found the remnants
of a wet dream in my pajamas. You'd have thought I'd become
a serial killer. She told my Dad what she'd found."
Charley got real quiet then. He started rubbing his
thighs as if they were in serious pain. For a couple of
minutes, it seemed that tears were beginning to run down his
cheeks, but it could have just been sweat. As I said, the
night was really warm.
"You OK, buddy," I asked.
"Yeah, It's just . . . just."
"Just what, Charley?"
"That night, the day mom found my pjs, after I'd gone
to bed-I don't want to tell this. I've never told anyone."
"Go ahead, it'll be good for you."
I reached over to Charley and squeezed his shoulder-in
a friendly manner, not what I would like to have done.
"That night after I'd gone to bed, he burst into room,
waking both me and my brother.
`Have you been touching yourself, boy?' he
yelled-screamed really.
`No sir," I said.
`Then what was that in your pajamas? You've been
touching yourself and now you're lying to me.'
With that Dad grabbed my blankets and pulled them from
the bed, tossing me out along with them. He removed his
belt from his trousers and began to hit me. I'd been hit a
lot in my life for everything one can imagine, for breaking
any of a thousand rules. But this time I thought he was
going to kill me. His eyes looked like they were full of
fire-they glowed in the dark, a deep, red glow. I rolled
into a ball and began to cry for him to stop, but that just
made him madder.
He didn't really curse at me but he called me names,
terrible names-Spawn of Satan, sinner, fornicator, queer,
faggot-a lot of names I didn't even understand. I was only
twelve at the time. Of course my younger brother, Gary, was
awake by this time and he was crying loudly for Dad to quit
hitting me. Gary took a couple of lashes with the belt too.
After dad got tired and quit hitting me, he told me to get
back into bed-without blankets. Then he took some
clothesline and tied my hands to the bedposts.
`Boy, when you sin you have to pay the price. And you
have sinned mightily against the Lord. It's my job to see
you don't do it again. You'll sleep with your hands tied
this way until I'm sure you've learned your lesson.'
With that he turned on his heels and stomped out of the
door."
I was dumb founded by Charley's story. I'd been
spanked a couple of times growing up, but nothing like what
Charley described. Whenever we made Dad really mad, there
was always Granddad to help calm him down. And then
Granddad would comfort us until everything was "all better".
Charley was definitely crying by this time. I got up,
moved over in front of him and took his face in my hands. I
knelt in front of him and wrapped my arms around his shaking
shoulders and pulled him closer to me. At first he
resisted, trying to push me away. He was moaning, crying,
trying to fight me off, but wanting the comfort that a hug
can give at the same time. I don't think anyone other than
his mother had ever hugged him that way-certainly not his
Dad or his brother. I wanted to kiss him, to kiss away the
tears, but I knew that would set him off again. So I just
held him until the sobbing quieted.
He pulled himself out of my hug, wiped the tears from
his eyes. Smiling weakly, he thanked me for being his
friend. He said he'd never told anyone what had happened to
him-not even his mother, though he was sure she had to have
heard what was going on. Gary, his brother, never mentioned
the incident either. It was simply swept under the rug as
if it had never happened. Except, every night for the next
six months, Charley's dad came into to their room and tied
Charley's hands to the bedposts. As he'd leave the room,
he'd say to Gary, "Remember the wages of sin is death.
Don't you ever let this happen to you, Boy."
After that, Charley told me, that whenever he had a wet
dream, and he had them pretty often, he made sure he didn't
let his mother collect his laundry. He began washing
everything himself.
About that time, the friendly fire watch, walked into
the head.
"Are you guys at it again? You keep this up and I'll
have to put you on report."
"Go fuck yourself, Boot," I responded. "We're just
having a little talk. Nothing's going on and you can't
report what hasn't happened."
"Well you guys need to get out of here," he said.
Charley stood up and walked meekly out of the head,
with me hard on his heels.
As we walked back to the barracks, I threw my arm over
Charley's shoulder and pulled him closer to me.
"Its OK, Charley. All that is in the past. You have
me now. You can tell me anything you want."
Charley seemed to relax a little for the first time
since we'd boarded that bus weeks and weeks ago.
===<>===
The routine was becoming a way of life for us by this
point. Charley and I still met in the head at night, but
not every night. We had to sleep sometimes and Charley was
scared of the "authority" he thought the fire watch had in
reporting our clandestine meetings. But I convinced him
that nothing was going on. The fire watch had nothing to
report and besides it wasn't the same guy every night.
Sometimes the watch wasn't even from our regiment.
So our talks continued. He told me about his life as a
PK, about his mother who seemed to be even more afraid of
his father than he was, about his little brother, who was
too frightened to really ever get close to Charley. As
often as not, Charley would end his stories with tears
streaming down his face. I'd hold him in my arms until he
would settle down and we'd walk back to the barracks, me
holding him close with one arm over his shoulders or one
night with my arm around his waist. He seemed to really
like that.
I told him what it was like to live in a house with
seven men/boys. I have four brothers, two older and two
younger. I told him about the times I'd get with the older
brothers, because when I reached puberty, I was moved
upstairs to the "big boys' room". We'd jack off and they'd
tell about what they thought about when they did it.
Sometimes, just as brothers will do, we'd help each other
reach orgasm. Dad was a schoolteacher; Granddad watched out
for us. It was a cool way to live. We grew up without any
of the inhibitions a lot of kids face. If we were walking
to our room from the shower, we didn't have to get all upset
if we weren't dressed. We'd discuss body changes with our
elders and felt that we could discuss anything with them.
It was a bit of a shock when Joe was a sophomore and
Guy asked him who he was dating that week and he said,
"George". But that subject too was discussed openly and
without blame. George became a problem when it was time for
their prom, but Guy and Dad helped solve the problem. Three
years ago, when Joe left for the Marines, George spent an
especially long night with Joe. Though he didn't go to the
station to see Joe leave, they'd obviously had a long good-
bye.
George hung out at our house for a couple of months
after that, but he eventually found another friend. Joe was
gone and George had no interest in waiting for him to come
home. Frankly I couldn't blame him-nor could anyone else.
As time passed, it was noted among all the troops that
Charley had learned to cuss. He listened more attentively
to the conversations about men's sexual exploits. We both
listened, but neither of us ever made a contribution.
Then about a month before graduation-eight weeks into
the training-Charley and I were talking just as we had so
often. Charley asked if I were a virgin.
"No, Charley," I said.
"But you never talk about it."
"I'm too much of a gentleman to kiss and tell," I lied.
Truth be known, I didn't think anyone would want to hear
about my "first time". I couldn't very well tell the guys
in my squad that I'd had sex with my brothers and often
found a friendly mouth or ass at the city park or at the
mall.
"But you have had sex?" he asked.
"Yeah."
Charley turned toward me. Big question mark on his
face. But he said nothing.
As we walked back to the barracks, being careful to
avoid the night watch, I threw my arm around Charley's
shoulders. As we walked, my arm just happened to slip down
a little-then a little more-then a little bit more. Finally
my arm was around his waist, my hand resting comfortably on
the top of his skivvies. Like me he had taken to sleeping
without a shirt and his skin felt ever so fine. I had more
trouble than usual getting to sleep that night. The feel of
Charley's skin burned into the palm of my hand. I relieved
that burn a little by rubbing my fist around my cock.
The next night, we were in the head. Charley asked,
"Did you jack off last night?"
"Yeah," I said. "Did I wake you?"
"No I was still awake. I could hear you. I - I - I
could see you doing it under your blanket."
"Sorry. I hope it didn't bother you too much," I said
with just the tinge of a laugh.
"No, it was OK. I remembered what you told me about
sometimes needing the relief."
Silence for several minutes.
"Do you suppose," Charley began. "Do you suppose God
really cares about guys doing that?"
"Naw," I said, "He has a lot bigger problems to deal
with than a few guys getting their rocks off. Maybe he even
enjoys watching."
"Don't say things like that, Ron. He might hear you."
"Charley, God has a sense of humor. How do you think
we ended up with ostriches, kangaroos, and all those other
weird looking animals? God has to get a few kicks at our
expense."
"Yeah, maybe."
More silence. "Ron, do you have your cigarettes with
you?"
"Yeah, why do you want one?" I said knowing full well
that Charley would sooner fuck a dog than desecrate the
Temple of God he had been taught was his body with alcohol
or nicotine.
"Yeah," he answered. "Give me a cigarette."
"Hey, man you don't want to get started on these
things. They'll kill you."
"I want one anyway."
"You'll go to Hell," I joked.
"Maybe but if you go to Hell for smoking, I think I
want to go with you."
SHEEEIT! Did I just hear what I thought I heard?
I handed him a smoke. Took one out for myself and lit
both of them. It was a court martial offense to get caught
smoking in the head, but hell, if Charley was willing to go
Hell with me for a smoke, who was I to argue?
We walked back from the head into the shower area. At
least there we would be harder to detect if the fire watch
stuck his head through the hatch.
We smoked in complete silence. I sat on the shower
floor and watched Charley as he drew on the weed. After
coughing several times, he said, "Why do you do this? This
feels awful."
"It's an acquired taste," I told him. "I've been
around smokers all my life. When I had my first one, I
hardly coughed at all."
"When was that," he asked.
"About three years ago, I guess-when I was 15."
"Oh"
We finished the forbidden cigarettes and I took both of
them, field stripped them into a shit bowl and flushed the
evidence.
Charley was still in the shower area. I joined him
there.
"Don't you think we need to hit the sack?" I asked him.
"No, I'm not ready."
"What do you want to do?"
"Will you teach me to jack off. I'm feeling real funny
inside."
"Sure, I will. Take off your skivvies," I said in my
most profession teacher voice. "It's more fun when you're
naked."
===<>===
"How are you feeling this morning?" I asked when we
rolled out of our sacks the next day.
"I feel . . . I feel great. I've never felt like this
in my life."
"See? What did I tell you? It's a lot better than
waiting for a wet dream."
"Ron?"
"Yeah?"
"I think you're my wet dream."
===<>===
"All Right YOU MAGGOTS! Everyone on the road."
I spent the entire day dreaming about what Charley had
said. I'm his wet dream? I had been jacking off with
images of him running through my head for eight fucking
weeks. And now I was his wet dream? The day just zoomed
by. I could hardly wait to give Charley his next lesson.
But I knew I had to go slow. Charley was only
beginning to realize that God wasn't going to strike him
dead for the least little thing. He needed to learn that
God wanted us to enjoy our life on earth. As long as we
gave Him His due and didn't hurt anyone, what more could a
benevolent God ask of His creation.
That night, we sneaked our way to the head, just as we
had for so many nights. The lack of sleep was beginning to
take its toll, but we were both young and figured we could
get by a few more weeks-it was less than four weeks to
graduation.
Arriving at the head, we immediately headed for the
shower area.
"Smoke?" Charley asked.
"Sure, help yourself."
I laid the pack on the shower floor and sat down with
my back against the wall. Charley sat down next to me. We
smoked the cigarettes. I field stripped them and flushed
them down the toilet.
"Now what?" I asked. "Do you want to jack off again?"
That was all the invitation Charley needed. He
stripped off his skivvies and dropped them on the floor next
to him. I followed suit. Charley scooted over next me.
"You know, I think I love you, Ron," he whispered in my
ear. "Just like a brother."
Then Charley moved closer to me. Our shoulders were
touching. My cock immediately sprang to full mast.
Charley's did the same. He put his arm over my shoulder,
draping his hand over my chest. My skin was burning from
his touch, just like I had been in the hot Oklahoma sun,
naked, for a month. His touch was gentle, stroking my pecs.
"Is this OK?" he asked.
"Yeaaaaaaaaaaaaaah," I moaned. "That's just
fine."
"Do you think we could do what you and your brothers
did? You know help each other out? Like brothers do?"
Charley whispered in my ear, his breath burning me all the
way through my empty skull.
"Yeaaaaaaaaaaaaaah, I think so," I whispered back.
"What do I do?" he whispered.
"Just do what I do."
I reached for Charley's body, touching his nipple and
rubbing it softly. I ran my hand down his smooth chest to
his navel where the line of hair began-that ran down to the
thick growth of hair just above his cock.
Charley mimicked each move I made. He was hesitant,
fearful, touching another male body for the first time in
his life. I went slowly.
I followed his trail of hair slowly, carefully down to
his pubic growth. He did the same for me. I ran my fingers
into his bush and pulled the hair gently. By this point his
cock was as hard as any dick I'd ever seen. It was a
beautiful monster, not overly long-just long enough. It
wasn't overly thick-just thick enough. He was uncut, with
his foreskin pulled back and the bulb of his cock head
pulled tight, almost glowing pink in the nearly dark room.
We began to move our hands back and forth over our
cocks. Pre-cum began to form on the end of our dicks. The
stuff on Charley's cock was becoming too much for me. I
could smell him as I pulled on his dick. His smell was the
most pleasant scent I'd ever experienced, better than Chanel
of any number. We sat there, stroking each other and using
our free hand to feel each other's bodies. I could feel I
was getting close and I couldn't believe that Charley wasn't
far behind-or maybe way ahead. I was so lost in what was
going on I couldn't tell.
Then with a loud moan Charley began erupting. Thick
white strings of cum descended on his beautiful chest and
stomach. It landed in his pubic hair. It coated my rapidly
moving fist. It was beautiful.
Seeing Charley shoot that way forced me over the edge.
I shot one of the biggest loads since I had begun jacking
off years ago.
We slumped over onto each other, breathing hard, still
holding each other's dicks. I didn't want to let go of him.
I had wanted him since the first time I had seen
him-seemingly a lifetime ago-and I didn't want this to end.
Charley rested his head on my shoulder and we just sat
there, the cum drying on our bodies, our hands still holding
the other's cock.
"Ron?"
"Yes?"
"May I kiss you?"
"SHEEEIT! man I've wanted you to do that for nine
weeks, two days and at least one hour ago. Go for it."
His kiss was tentative, gentle, heavenly.
We washed up in the shower as quickly as we could and
headed back to the barracks. Somehow, the fire watch had
missed us again.
===<>===
We were both pretty tired the next day and dozed off
during several classes. Sgt. Scow, always being on the
alert for inattentiveness during classes, caught us and
assigned additional PT at the end of the day. But that
still didn't stop Charley and me from meeting in the shower
the next night. Charley was really beginning to get into
this jack off stuff.
We followed the same routine as we had developed during
the week-chatting for a while over forbidden cigarettes,
then settling in on the floor of the shower, pulling off our
skivvies and beginning to jack off. Charley was hard well
before we finished our smokes, his cock jutting out of the
fly of his skivvies.
"Man, you are hot to trot tonight, aren't you Charley?"
I asked.
"Yeah, I can hardly wait."
As we began to slowly stroke our own cocks, Charley
asked, "Ron, can I try something I've wanted to do for you
for a long time?"
"Sure brother, whatever you want. What do you want to
do?"
"Suck your dick."
"Are you positive you want to do that?" I asked.
"That's a pretty big step down the road for a newbie."
During this exchange we continued to stroke. But the
thought of Charley glomming down on my cock almost sent me
over the edge. Could anything be more perfect?
"Yeah, I know," he said. "But I want to. I know guys
do it to each other sometimes. I've heard some of the guys
in the platoon talking about getting blown by their girl
friends or some dude at the bus station. They say it feels
really good. I've thought about doing it with you all
day-even dreamed about it last night. It has to be a great
feeling when doing it for your best friend."
I had to stop stroking and pinched the end of my cock
and squeezed my balls to try to keep from shooting my load
right then-not exactly the thing to do when being offered a
taste of heaven.
"OK, brother, you can suck me, but I get to suck you
off next."
"What do I do?" asked Charley.
"It's simple, Charley. Just get down between my legs
and then kiss the head of my dick. You might want to lick
it a little. Yeah, that feels good. Lick it some more-like
tasting ice cream. You're doing fine, Charley. Just take
it slow. Don't rush anything."
Charley only moaned, softly, as he licked the precum
off my dick. Then he put his lips around the head and
slowly began to suck it. His moans became a little
louder-like a man enjoying his first meal after a long fast.
He took more cock into his mouth, working the muscles at the
back of his throat. He had most of me in his mouth and I
expected his gag reflex to start working-nothing. Charley
was working my cock like he had been sucking cock all his
life. God, but it felt so good.
"Fuck, Charley, that feels so good. Keep it up man."
And keep it up he did. He obviously loved what he was
doing. He had come a long way from the virgin I had met at
the airport.
It didn't take long before I felt my cum begin to rise,
ready to shoot a big load.
"Charley, back off some, I don't want to cum yet."
"Charley, stop, man, I'm going to shoot it."
"Charley-Oh, GOD!"
I tried to pull his head off my cock, but he was
attached to it like the biggest leach. He wouldn't let go.
But I did. My body twitched, my cock expanded in his mouth
and I shot a huge load down his throat. Charley didn't even
stall his sucking action. He took every drop of my load and
continued to suck for more.
"What was he trying to do?" I thought. "Charley, stop,
you're killing me man. Stop, please."
Finally Charley stopped sucking me, but my cock
remained hard in his mouth. He looked up at me with this
most innocent expression in his eyes. Finally he let my
dick fall out of his mouth.
"Did I do it OK?" he asked innocently. "Did you like
it?"
"Ooh, Charley. That was the best blowjob I've ever
had. You're great man."
"Ron, I did it just because I love you."
"I know, brother. I love you too. Now it's my turn."
"I don't think so, Ron. Look."
Charley was staring at the floor between my legs where
he had lost his load. I swear he didn't even touch himself
while sucking me. It was a huge puddle of spunk.
"Well, at least let me clean you off."
I went down on his softening cock and licked and washed
all the remaining cum. He began to fill with blood and I
began to seriously suck him.
===<>===
Suddenly there was an arm wrapped around my throat and
one grabbing my shoulder, pulling me off of Charley.
Another pair of hands pulled my arms behind my back and
within a split second had cuffed my hands behind my back.
The two pairs of hands threw me on my back onto the shower
floor. When my vision cleared, there were two big Marine
Police standing in front of me. Behind them was Sgt. Scow
with the fire watch boot bringing up the rear.
The two MPs grabbed Charley pulling him into an upright
position and they cuffed his hands behind him too.
"On your feet faggots," said one of the MPs while the
other grabbed me under one arm to give assistance. Then he
helped Charley stand up. It's very difficult to stand from
a prone position when you don't have use of your arms.
The other MP added, "You two are in serious
trouble-major brig time, probably a dishonorable. Now don't
give us any trouble and we'll get you out of here."
They led Charley and me, still naked, out of the head
and to an open Jeep waiting outside. One of them helped us
get into the vehicle and we sped off. It was still dark and
before reveille so we didn't see any one as we passed the
line of barracks.
I started to say something to Charley, but was cut off
by the driver, "No talking. You two are in a deep pile of
shit and are to remain absolutely quiet."
Nothing more was said. The Jeep pulled up in front of
a gate with a sign over it. I couldn't make out what the
sign said, but had a feeling it said, "Abandon Hope All Ye
Who Enter Here."
We stopped in front of a concrete block building. The
passenger MP helped us dismount from the Jeep and led us
inside. Immediately two other MPs joined the parade and
pulled Charley and me down a corridor that ran between
cells. I was thrown into one of the cells and tried to
watch as Charley was taken further down the row.
===<>===
I knew Dad would be disappointed when he received the
letter I'm sure was sent explaining the circumstances of my
discharge from the Marines. But I also knew I would be
totally accepted back into the bosom of my family. All our
lives, we boys had been totally accepted, totally loved by
our Dad and Granddad.
Besides I had written about Charley in letters home all
during Boot Camp. I was pretty sure that Dad would read
between the lines. I hadn't mentioned the sex with Charley
because most of the letters were written before he had given
in and was willing to share his body with me. Also, I
didn't know whether the Corps might censor the letters.
They did that during the wars, hadn't they? I wasn't too
worried about being received at home "in disgrace".
It took almost three weeks to complete the process for
my discharge. During that time I was kept pretty much in
solitary. I wasn't allowed to talk to other jailbirds and I
didn't get to see or communicate with Charley at all. I
knew he had to be going through Hell. But his current Hell
would compare nothing to what he would probably receive when
he went home.
About mid morning of my first day of incarceration, I
was given some clothes-standard prison issue, no stripes,
but the word "Prisoner" written across the back of the
jacket. I was required to wear the jacket at all times when
I was let out of my cell. That didn't happen very often-an
hour's exercise in the prison compound and several trips to
appear before the dismissal board.
At first the dismissal board tried to get me to
disclose the names of all my sexual partners since joining
the Corps. I told them they had arrested me with the only
one. At first they wouldn't believe me-all queers are
totally promiscuous and without any semblance of conscience,
you know. But eventually they believed me and I signed the
dismissal papers.
There had been no word spoken to me about Charley. I
wasn't allowed to see him or even to send him a note.
Having no previous experience with prison life, I didn't
know how to get in touch with him at all. Even if there had
been some sort of prison underground, I wouldn't have known
about it because I was never allowed to speak to anyone.
Even the MPs who watched over me when I was out of my cell
refused to say more than a few basic commands. When I asked
the sentry about Charley, which happened almost every day, I
was told to "Shut the Fuck up. I'd be told what I needed to
know."
I was allowed to send one letter home and to receive
one piece of mail in return-the package that contained
civilian clothes for my trip home. It was delivered to me
by one of the MPs and it had been opened. Did they think
someone would put a file in my underwear? Oh, well. That's
life in the Corps.
One day short of three weeks later, an MP came to my
cell. He told me to put on my civvies and gave me a brown
paper sack that contained the personal effects I had left in
my locker, including about one hundred dollars. I was also
given a bus ticket home. I was driven to town in a Jeep-by
two MPs-so I would have no opportunity to contact any of the
men in my platoon or, of course, to try to see Charley. I
was totally persona non-gratia.
At the bus station on of the MPs was constantly at my
side. I was allowed to buy a book at a gift shop, but
anyone who walked toward me was fended off by the presence
of the "MP" band around the man's biceps. The MP and I
hardly talked to each other. He stayed with me until I
boarded the bus and it left the dock.
The bus ride home was pretty much non-eventful. I
tried to keep to myself and refused to share my seat until
the bus was so full I didn't have a choice. But I had gone
three weeks without a conversation with another person. I
wanted to talk, but just didn't see anyone I thought would
be interesting to talk to.
Except for one man. He was a Latino, named Miguel. He
boarded the bus at Barstow and rode through to Kingman AZ.
He was a hot looking man, about my age, maybe as old as
twenty, broad shouldered and slim waisted, an absolutely
classic face. We talked for a while, mostly about where we
were going and why, though I came up with some story that
was only connected to the truth by a very fine thread. We
talked a little about family. His grandparents on his
father's side were illegals, making the trip into California
from Mexico and back on a seasonal basis, whenever they
thought they could find work. But his dad was born in the
States and was therefore a U. S. citizen. His mother's
family had lived in California since before the gold
rush-very old family. She was a schoolteacher. Since my
Dad was also a teacher, we did talk some about schools and
school life. Miguel spoke with only a very slight accent
and was easy to talk to. My gaydar binged occasionally as
we talked, but then he started to talk about his wife and
two children. Well so much for gaydar, I thought.
After Kingman, no one who boarded the bus interested me
in the slightest. I slept, read the paper back book I'd
bought at the bus station and waited for the bus to hurry on
to Tulsa.
===<>===
Dad and my two younger brothers, Rob and David, met me
at the bus depot. Dad was furious that the Marines hadn't
sent me home by plane but he should have understood that the
Marines were not about to spend money it didn't need to on a
perv. After exchanging the allowed hugs between men in
public, we got into the car, along with my paper bag luggage
and headed for home. HOME, what a word. I hadn't realized
until then how much I had missed being in Tulsa with my
family.
Jason and Guy (the name I had hung on our Granddad when
I was about two years old) were at the house, along with
several friends. There was a letter from Joe, who was
stationed in Guam, still with the Corps. I decided not to
open it until everyone had gone home and I could read it by
myself.
The porch that ran all along the front of the house was
hung with a banner, "Welcome HOME, Hero". Inside, the house
was decorated for a party. There must have been a hundred
candles And what a party we had. It was fabulous. Guy had,
as usual, gone all out--plenty of good food, beer and wine.
By the time we were ready to sit down for dinner everyone
was pretty well schnockered. About midnight, most of our
guests decided there had been enough celebrating-I had begun
to yawn and doze off about 10:00-and headed either for home
or to bed.
Jason and I climbed the stairs to the room we had
shared as kids.
"What's in the letter?" he asked as soon as we had
entered our room. He knew that at some point I would want
to share it with him. That's the kind of relationship we
had always had. We had never had secrets from each other.
"Hold on, a second. Let me get it open first."
"Hurry up."
Of course the more I hurried the clumsier I got and
almost ripped the letter in half in my haste.
Dear Squirt,
Dad sent me an e-mail right after he received
the special delivery letter from San Diego saying
you would be coming home. He said there were no
details, only that you had dishonored the Corps by
engaging in homosexual conduct and would be
receiving a less than honorable discharge. I
hope the guy was worth it.
But knowing you and how much you wanted to be
a Marine, I'm sure he was a hot dude and not just
a casual pick-up. Man was I pissed. Then I began
to think that I was just lucky. What has happened
to you could have just as easily happened to
me-but at least I got through Boot before I began
to fuck around. After Boot, the surveillance is
less thorough and there are more opportunities.
I want you to know I still love you, not just
as a brother, but as a friend. We've always been
close and I see no reason why this should change
that. You are my favorite second little brother."
"You're his ONLY second little brother. What a shit
head," broke in Jason.
"Shut up will ya? Do want to hear this or not?"
"Oh sorry, go on. What else does he say?" as if
he couldn't read it for himself. Jason had been
hanging over my shoulder ever since I'd opened the
letter.
I hope you've had the good sense to wait
until after the party to open this letter, but
knowing our family, you're probably having to
share it immediately. Even if they did have the
decency to let you read it first, I'm sure Jason
is hanging over your shoulder as soon as you get
to open it. Am I Right? Do I know our group?
You don't have to answer that. I know I'm Right.
Anyway, I just want to let you know how badly
I feel for you and want to wish you the best.
Sorry, Squirt I can't be there to hold you while
you cry your eyes out.
(Jason, you have to take my place. Let Ron
sleep with you tonight. Let him lean on you for
support just as if you were me. He's going to
need lots of TLC and you're the best one for the
job.)
It looks as if we are going to ship out
before long-going you know where to do God only
knows what and why. Don't worry about me though.
I'll be aboard ship most of the time. Clean
sheets and hot showers will be the order of the
day. Navy chow is one hell of a lot better than
the slop they served you in Boot. How much weight
did you lose?
I like it aboard ship. I've made new
friends-even among the swab jockeys and am getting
laid on a regular basis, so all is Good.
Take care, Squirt. Know you are loved.
Your loving brother,
Joe.
P. S. Are Jason and Cherokee still together?
Dad says he is one hot stud.
I looked up at Jason, "Where is Cherokee?"
"He couldn't get off work tonight. Really sorry he
missed your homecoming. And that's all I'm telling you
right now. Now what about this guy Charley?"
"Not tonight, Jason. I'm beat to a lump of shit. I'll
tell you all about him tomorrow."
"You going to sleep with me like Joe said?"
"I probably will toss around a lot. So you may not
want to be that close to me. I'll just sleep in my own
bed."
"Bro, not on your life. You read what Joe said. I'm
to let you sleep with me and be responsible for the TLC.
I'm not going to have Joe come home and find out I didn't
follow up on what he wants. He'd beat the shit out of me
after making me feel guilty as sin. You don't want that do
you?"
"No, of course not, Jase. But let's go to bed now,
please"
"OK Squirt. Climb in."
As I crawled into bed with my big brother and cuddled
up on his shoulder, just as I used to do with Joe, I said,
"And Jason, don't call me `Squirt'."
===<>===
Fortunately, the next day was Saturday. We all slept
late. Sometime early in the morning, Jason slipped out of
bed to make a head call. Then he returned and pulled me
closer against his body. I had been crying and my cheeks
were wet with tears. So was my pillow, for that matter.
"Shhhh, Little Bro. Everything will be OK," he
whispered in my ear.
Jason and I were wakened by the sounds rising up the
stairs of the family trying to be quiet. What is it about a
bunch of guys-men or boys that they are loudest when they
try to be quiet? The noise was accompanied by the smell of
ham and bacon frying in the kitchen. Somewhere in that
scent was the hint of pancakes. Guy was busily preparing
everything needed to start a big day.
About that time we heard voices of greeting. Someone
had just arrived.
"Sounds like Cherokee has arrived, Little Bro. Time to
wake up. And remember, Cherokee is mine. Hands off," Jason
laughed. "Besides he's too old for you."
"Well how old is he that he's too old for me and not
for you. You're not a full two years older than I am.
Besides what makes you think I'd try to steal your boy
friend, even if I thought I could. You know me better than
that."
I threw my pillow at his head and struck pay dirt.
Jason grabbed up the other pillow and began swinging it hard
at me. We were both laughing and holding an old time pillow
fight when the door opened and in walked a hunk of a man.
He was at least 6' 2," dark skinned with the most
beautiful head of black hair I think I'd ever seen. It fell
about eight inches below his shoulders, hanging loose. His
nose was prominent and straight, Hell you could have cut
paper on its bridge. But as strikingly beautiful as his
nose was, it only accentuated the darkness of his eyes and
his engaging smile. His teeth were absolutely white, almost
gleaming.
I stopped in mid swing of the pillow and stared at
Cherokee standing in the doorway. I just stood there with
my mouth wide open, just like the slut my brothers had
always thought I was. Jason had a way of attracting good
looking friends-he was no slouch himself, for that matter,
but this man-Oh, God he was absolutely beautiful.
Cherokee crossed the room to the other side of the bed
and took my brother in a big hug. He obviously intended to
give Jason just a peck on the cheek but Jason turned his
face toward his lover, taking the big Indian full on the
lips. I thought both men were going to lose their tongues
down the other's throat. When they parted, Jason's cock was
hard-naked and hard. Neither of us had worn anything to
bed. We never did. Cherokee's reaction to the kiss, and
maybe to Jason's stiff dick, was quite evident even through
his Wranglers. His penis stretched the fabric as it worked
its way down his leg. And, did I mention his ass?
Unbelievable in those Wranglers. It must have been carved
from Italian marble.
"If only he didn't belong to Jason," I
thought-completely to myself. Never would I try to horn in
on these two. It was too obvious how they felt about each
other.
Cherokee backed away from his partner and announced,
"Breakfast is served, men. Guy said get downstairs now or
your share gets fed to the dogs."
"Looks like you two have already started breakfast," I
said laughing. "Let's go, gentlemen."
Jason and I pulled on shorts and tee shirts and headed
for the stairs. It already sounded as if the party from the
night before was going into its second phase.
===<>===
The next few days were busy. Even though I hadn't
gained much weight, I had grown-my chest and shoulders were
bigger, my arms had gained muscle and I had grown another
inch. I didn't have any clothes that fit. So Saturday was
pretty much taken up with shopping. After all the next day
was Sunday and Dad always insisted we go to Church.
Attendance at the Episcopal mass was obligatory in this
household-including guests, if any.
So Guy went with me to the mall to reconstruct my
wardrobe. Jeans, Wranglers and Levis, of course, shirts, a
new suit, dress shirts, a couple of ties, and new shoes both
dress shoes and casual wear, as Guy always called them. Our
last stop was at the western wear store for new boots. Guy
believed strongly in boots. Every man should have at least
one good pair of boots. Now I was outwardly ready to meet
the world.
Sunday we attended the early Mass. Guy had planned on
another big dinner with lots of friends and everyone in the
family that could make it. That included Cherokee. Even
though he may not live with us, yet, he was already accepted
as one of us. We had our big dinner, then people scattered
around the house and grounds to settle in for the remainder
of the week end. The weather was warm, unseasonably warm
for late summer so some elected to swim, others to simply
lounge under the big shade trees scattered around the
property.
The house was air-conditioned but it had been built in
the early 1920s with high ceilings and windows that would
open from floor to ceiling. So air conditioning was used
only when we'd decided to remain inside. Otherwise the
house was quite comfortable with the breeze blowing through.
On a day like today with people traipsing in and out, the
windows were wide open onto the wide veranda that encircled
our home. It was a great party.
But deep in my gut, I knew one person was missing. Joe
wasn't there of course-but we knew he was there in spirit,
at least. The one person I wanted most to be there was God
only knew where. I wanted Charley.
That night I sat at my desk and composed a long letter
to Charley. I didn't have any idea where he might be so I
mailed one copy to MCRD San Diego and one to his hometown in
west Texas. I hoped that one of them would reach him.
Two weeks later, the letter I had sent to MCRD was
returned. On the envelope was written "Unable to forward
because". The reason was left blank.
A couple of days after that, the second letter showed
up in the mailbox. It had written on it in scrawling
handwriting, "Return to Sender. Addressee declared dead."
I dropped the letter on the porch and walked zombie like
back into to the house. Dad was the first to see me.
"What's wrong, Ron? You look like you've seen a ghost.
Ron, look at me! What's wrong? Damn it, Ron. Tell me.
What's the matter?"
I looked at my Dad with tears starting to run out my
eyes. He held out his arms to me and I fell into his
warming embrace.
"Charley," I could hardly speak. "Charley is dead.
Daddy, my lover is dead."
If Dad hadn't had a good grip on me I would have fallen
over in a dead faint. As it was he was able to half carry,
half walk me to the sofa. He lifted my legs up and propped
a pillow under my head.
"Jason, Get Ron a drink. He needs it," Dad yelled into
the house.
Jason showed up at Dad's elbow carrying a glass of
water and a wet towel.
"What happened, Dad," he asked. "Did something bad
happen?" He paused, It's Charley isn't it? Something has
happened to Charley."
"Yes, Ron thinks Charley is dead."
The light faded from my eyes and I was unconscious.
===<>===
When I woke up, I was in bed. The room was dark-I
guess it was night. There was a naked body lying next to
me-no there are two bodies in bed with me. I began to feel
the face of the man in front of me. It was Jason. But who
was I sandwiched against? I shifted my body to lie on my
back and felt long hair brush against my shoulder.
Cherokee? Was I in bed with both Jason and Cherokee? It
had to be. No one else in the house had long hair. But
why? Why was I in bed in both of them-lying between them
like this?
Then my memory began to form again. There was an
envelope. Charley was "declared dead". Then the other
letter came to mind. Joe had told Jason to take care of me.
Give me all the TLC that I would need.
I tried to crawl across my brother to get out of bed.
I had an urgent bit of business in the bathroom. No matter
how much tragedy there was in the world, one still had to
answer that call of nature. Naturally, I wasn't able to get
out of bed without waking my brother.
"What? Where are you going Little Bro?"
"To the bathroom, or would you two rather I just lie
there and wet you both down?"
"Naw, that's OK, but come back when you're through."
When I returned to the bed both men were awake.
"Come on in, Little Bro," said Cherokee. "Plenty of
room."
I climbed between my two protectors, cuddled in; tears
were running down my cheeks as sweet Morphius closed my
eyes.
--<><>--
Charlie's Story
Exactly three weeks after I was arrested with Ron
sucking my dick, a corporal entered my cell and shook me
awake. He said, "Time to rise and shine, faggot. You're
going home."
I opened my eyes, slowly, not believing what I was
hearing. Home?
"I don't have a home," I answered. "Not any more I
don't"
"Well you're getting out of here anyway. So get up.
You have thirty minutes to shit, shower, shave and be here
ready to head home."
"I don't have any clothes and my stuff was left in the
barracks," I protested.
"Everything is in that bag. Now get off your ass and
move before I have to move you."
The MP standing in front of me could easily move me,
but I didn't want that. So I got off my rack and began to
undress. He didn't even have the decency to leave me and
shut the cell door.
"Sorry, man," he said. "I cant' leave you alone right
now. Too many guys in your boat try to bolt out of here or
do some other stupid thing. So get undressed and get in the
shower. We have a bus to catch."
I didn't want to undress in front of this man. He was
too official looking, too military, too everything. But I
did as I was told to do and began to strip off my prison
uniform. Out of modesty, I turned my back toward him,
removed by tee shirt and skivvies and reached for the towel
to wrap around me.
"Sheeeeeit, man. What happened to your back!"
The corporal was referring to the scars on my back.
Everyone in the barracks-even Ron--had been too decent to
ever mention them. Of course, I had told Ron how they came
about. I didn't want to have to explain to an MP.
"Man, I'm talking to you. What happened to your back."
I was filled with anger, embarrassment, and
frustration. I had no life at this point. I was wishing I
could just wither into the ground and die. I didn't know
what to do.
"My dad beat me," I said. "For having a wet dream when
I was younger."
"Sheeeeeit, man. I've never seen anything like that.
You must have had a lot of wet dreams."
He laughed a little, good heartedly, not maliciously.
Almost as if he understood.
Suddenly I felt that he wasn't making fun of me as had
the other MPs here in the brig. He almost seemed human.
"You don't have time to tell me now. Get in the
shower. We can't have you get on the bus like some bum. We
want you clean."
As was my nature to do, I didn't say anything else. I
just walked past my guard and walked to the shower and the
head. After I finished my business and returned to my cell,
I asked, "What am I supposed to wear home. There are no
clothes in my bag. We sent them home when we reported
here."
"A letter was sent special delivery explaining to your
family that you would be returning home. Your family was
asked to send clothes, but they haven't arrived. I've
scrounged enough clothes to get you home. There's jeans and
a shirt. You'll have to wear your issue skivvies, shoes and
socks," he answered. "Shake your ass, private. We have to
be on the road."
I dressed as quickly as I could. My MP took me by the
arm and led me out of the brig to the waiting Jeep. Another
MP was sitting in the driver's seat. I was put in the back.
The two of them kept up a running conversation all the way
into Oceanside where I was to be put on a bus. I was never
addressed, nor did I want to join their talk. I just faced
forward and waited. Both of them were corporals, but I
noticed that the one who had taken me out of my cell, though
older was wearing much newer chevrons on a much older
uniform. The shadow of another strip and a rocker were
painfully visible.
We pulled up in front of the bus station in Oceanside.
The older corporal helped me get out of the Jeep, handed me
my paper bag and walked with me into the station.
"I have to stay with you until you board the bus and
pull out of the dock," he said. "Do you want to get any
books or magazines to read? It's a long to way to . . .
Where are you headed?"
"Texas," I said. "That's where I'm from, anyway. Do I
have to go home? Can't I exchange my ticket for someplace
else?
"No. The Marine Corps is responsible for paying for
you to get home. I'm responsible for getting you on the
right bus. After that you are strictly on your own."
"Will someone, someone from the Corps be there to make
sure I make it?" I asked sarcastically.
"No-Once I see you off from here you are strictly on
your own. The Corps doesn't give a shit what you do after
that . . . Why don't you want to go home? Most guys in your
position are only too anxious to get back into the arms of
their family."
"I don't have a family," I answered. "Dad will be so
pissed, he'll try to beat me and I know I won't let him do
that. Not anymore. And I don't want to fight him for the
right to be home. Those scars on my back? He gave me those
when I was twelve years old. There would be others if I
hadn't fooled him into thinking I was toeing the line. All
I can do now is hope he doesn't take it out on my Mother and
brother."
"Then where will you go? To that man you were arrested
with?"
"I don't know. Haven't decided. I guess I could go to
Ron's house, but I don't know . . . Has he gone home?"
"Yeah, he left a couple of days ago. He asked about
you, before he left. In fact I guess he must have asked
about how you were doing everyday he was in the brig."
"What did you tell him? No one ever mentioned Ron to
me the whole time I was there."
"We were under orders to give neither of you
information about the other. Adds to the punishment. But
he obviously cares for you or at least he cares about you.
I think he might want you to come to his place. I shouldn't
be telling you this, but you guys were really racked. I've
never seen men being mustered out for what you were doing,
treated the way you were. It usually takes only a week and
the job is done. They aren't usually kept in solitary-just
in the regular brig population. I don't know what it was
about you two. But that's not my problem."
By this time I had selected a couple of books to read
on the bus and the corporal had pointed out a place we could
get a cup of coffee. It seemed strange, only this morning
he was cussing me and couldn't seem to get me off base
quickly enough. Now he was almost human. I hadn't been
able to talk this much for three weeks, except for the
dismissal board and then it was just to answer questions.
It felt good.
As we sat sipping our coffee, I couldn't help but to
glance occasionally at his sleeves-new chevrons, old shirt,
ghost of a rocker-very interesting, I thought.
"Coffee's good this morning," he said casually.
"Yeah, hot though."
"Good and hot."
We sat quietly for a few minutes. "You know the Corps
not a bad life-if you keep your shit together-it's a great
life. Sometimes that's hard to do though," he said
thoughtfully as he rubbed his upper arm. "I'm another fuck
up. Just like you. A month ago I was a Staff Sergeant.
Then wham, back to Corporal. I've been up and down so often
in rank I should have shirts with every set of stripes. It
would save on sewing," he laughed. "I've known a lot of
Marines like you and . . . what's his name?"
"You mean Ron?"
"Right, Ron. Faggots, I mean. Made good Marines, at
least for a while, until they were caught by the wrong man.
Then Shazaaam. Out of here like they were lepers. Some
never get caught. You two were caught by the wrong man."
He stopped talking and looked me in the eyes. He
reached across the table and gave my arm a squeeze. "For
luck," he said.
"Faggot?" I think. "Is that what I am? Is Ron a
faggot, a queer? Does one blowjob make me a faggot?"
The corporal smiled at me. "There's the call for your
bus, private. Go to your friend. Let him help you and . .
. have a good life."
I picked up my brown paper bag and headed slowly for
the door. The corporal was right behind me. "Have to make
sure you get on the bus," he said as he slapped me on my
shoulder.
The driver took my ticket. I climbed in the bus and
settled down for the long ride.
As the bus pulled out of the station, I looked out of the
window. As we passed the Jeep, my corporal gave me a half-
assed salute and smiled. I was on my way. But where was I
going?
===<>===
Back to Ron
It's been a week since I received the returned letter
to Charley. It sits on my dresser. It's there every
morning when I get up. It's there as I go to bed at night.
The household is returning to its normal routine. Dave and
Rob started back to school today. Dad started back last
week for teachers' meetings and to get things ready for his
students. Cherokee and Jason head off to work together.
They've been talking about starting a business in
landscaping. Jason has always been good with plants and
loves to garden. He's the main reason the place looks as
good as it does. I don't know what Cherokee would
contribute to the business-maybe eye candy for the
customers. I chuckle at my own joke.
The house is quiet. There's just Guy and me now. I've
started watching "Torch Song Trilogy" for about the
hundredth time. I love this movie. Some skin, a good plot,
gay characters. The storyteller's lover is beat to death,
but the movie ends on a note of hope. That's good. Stories
should always end with a ray hope for the future.
I think back over the days of the past week. Every day
the house has had bundles of people in it. Family, friends,
friends of friends. Lots of things going on. But the
nights-totally fucked. Since Cherokee has been staying
over, I go to sleep in my own bed in the room I used to
share with Jason and Joe. Jason and Cherokee "sleep"
together. As I drift off to sleep I can hear them
whispering to each other-just pillow talk, I guess. I fall
asleep quickly-Guy's cooking and a few beers or glasses of
wine will do that to me.
But then the dreams come. Dreams about Charley. They
start off fine. Charley and I are together on a beach. No
one else is around. We're lying on a blanket, naked,
letting the sun warm our bodies chilled by a dip in the
lake. Then out of the water he rises. A monster, all
green, with the body of a large serpent. His body was
covered with slime. His ghastly mouth open, slobber
dripping from his teeth. Except for the huge teeth, his
face is human, short hair cut, piercing, fiery eyes. His
mouth was drawn back in a hideous smile. His general
features look familiar but I can't quite place who he is.
The arms of this monster are capped by huge claws, pincers,
really, like those of a lobster but immensely bigger.
"There'll be no faggots in my Marine Corps," he snarls
and grabs Charley around the body and carries him,
screaming, deep into the water. "Help me, Ron. Help me."
I wake up. My face is wet from the tears and a cold
sweat. My pillow is soaked. Either Cherokee or Jason is
lying beside me. "Shhhh, Little Brother. It's going to be
all right. Shhhh." Whichever it is pulls my head onto his
shoulder, strokes my face and kisses away the tears. I'm
held in a secure hug until I go back to sleep. He leaves my
bed and rejoins his partner.
Every night for a week, the same disquieting dream.
But today the house is quiet. There's just Guy and me.
I suppose while watching the movie and thinking about
my nightmare, I've fallen into a stupor because I'm startled
when Guy descends the stairs.
"This is my favorite part of this whole movie," he
says.
I notice the movie has progressed further than I
remembered. Guy was referring to the place where the mother
of Harvey Fierstein character has come to visit him and they
have gone to the cemetery. She is praying at her husband's
grave and Fierstein is saying the Kaddish for his murdered
lover. The mother begins to scream at Fierstein for
committing a sacrilege.
I turn with a jerk as Guy walks towards me. He is
naked, fresh from the shower, toweling dry his short cropped
gray hair. For a man in his sixties, Guy is not bad
looking. He is almost six feet tall, chest, stomach and
legs covered in light hair. The pelt of silver between his
pecs compliments and accentuates his short, well-trimmed
beard. His body has maintained its shape. There is very
little fat on this old man. Though he's not toned like a
man of twenty, he has worked hard to keep himself in
shape-probably just so he can appear naked in a house of
much younger men and not be too embarrassed or gross anyone
out.
He sits next to me on the leather sofa.
"I love the feel of leather, don't you Ron," he says.
"And I like this movie. But, boy, you can't just sit around
all the time watching movies. What are you going to do now
that you're home."
"I don't know, Guy. I just don't feel like doing much
of anything right now."
We sit in silence, watching the movie to its end.
Tears are forming in my eyes and begin running down my
cheeks.
"Come here, boy," Guy commands.
I lean into his body and he wraps a protective arm
around my shoulders. I begin to cry openly.
"When does it stop, Guy? When does it quit hurting so
much? I didn't know him long but I know I loved him. It
wasn't like it was with other men. It wasn't just to get
off. I really did love him."
My tears are flooding down my cheeks, some falling on
his chest as he continues to hold me.
"Sometimes . . . sometimes, it doesn't stop, Squirt.
Sometimes the ache becomes unbearable even years after
you've lost someone who was very special to you. Before I
met your father, there was another Marine in my life. His
name was Harry. He was very well named-didn't have one hair
on his body," Guy chuckled softly. "He was absolutely
smooth except, of course for his armpits and groin. Even
the hair on his legs and arms was so light and fine it was
like it didn't exist. I loved him with all my heart. When
he died, I thought about just walking out into the Pacific
and never walking back."
"What happened to him?" I asked.
"He was on a ship-training exercise-a storm came up and
through some freak accident, he was washed overboard. I
spent a lot of time, for several years, spending liberty
sitting on the dock looking out into the Pacific, waiting
for him to come back to me. That was what I was doing the
day your Dad approached me. I love your Dad, always will,
but the pain left by Harry is still there and once in a
great while it comes back."
"Guy, I didn't know. I thought Dad was your first."
"No, Squirt. And I wasn't your Dad's first either.
There were nights when we were still sleeping every night in
the same bed that he'd wake up, screaming, and sweating
heavily. He had another dream that reminded him of someone
from a long time ago. Someone had hurt him very much. I
have yet to get him to tell me the details but I know it was
a boy he knew in military school; a boy he loved. So, the
hurt doesn't go away. But it comes less frequently and with
lessened force as we grow older."
"But why, Guy? Why does it have to hurt so much? Why
can't I just forget Charley and find some peace?"
"The pain of remembrance serves a purpose, Squirt. It
keeps the person you love alive; it reminds us that we are
still living. Without the pain we feel that person would
have no existence beyond our own reach and sight. It's as
if he had gone on a trip and we miss him, knowing he will
return. In this case he doesn't return. But we keep him in
our hearts knowing that someday . . ."
Guy's voice drifted away. I cuddled closer to him,
allowing myself to be sucked into his body. He hugged me
closer and we sat there for a long time, keeping Harry and
Charley alive in our pain.
===<>===
I must have fallen asleep in Guy's arms. When I woke
he was trying to slip out from under me. My arm lay across
his thigh.
"Someone's at the door, Squirt. Will you answer,
you're at least wearing shorts." He laughed.
"Sure, Guy."
I roused myself enough to walk to and open the door.
Standing in front of me was what I assumed was a ghost.
"IT'S CHARLEY. GUY Its CHARLEY. HE'S NOT DEAD. GUY,
GUY COME QUICK BEFORE HE GETS AWAY."
I grabbed the ghost in front of me and pulled him into
the door, almost lifting him off the floor. I would have
too, except he was at least three inches taller than I was
and several pounds heavier. I must have startled him as
much as he had me. He dropped his paper bag and threw his
arms around me and we literally danced through the door into
the house.
"Charley, what happened? We thought you were dead. We
got a letter . . ."
"Hey man, I'm glad to see you too," he said. "But let
go, a sec, I can't breathe."
About that time Guy rushed up behind, still naked as he
had been. I thought Charley's eyes were going to pop out.
It's not everyday a young man from Charley's background sees
a naked man outside of the showers.
Guy pulled Charley's right hand from around my neck,
jerking us both further into the house and shut the door
with a very loud thud. He grabbed Charley in a great bear
hug. I joined the hug sandwiching Charley between our
bodies. Tears of joy were streaming down my face and Guy
was alternately pounding us both on the back.
"We are certainly glad to see you," Guy said. "Squirt
here thought you were dead. He got this letter . . ."
"What letter?" asked Charley as we untangled ourselves.
I grabbed him by the shoulders and held him somewhat away
from me so I could get a better look at him.
"That'll wait," Guy said. "Come in, sit down and I'll
get us all a drink. I could sure use one and from the looks
of you two, I don't think a shot will hurt."
Guy left us alone in the living room as Charley and I
sat on the sofa. I grabbed him in another hug. "I am so
glad to see you Charley. When did they let you go?"
Before Charley could answer, Guy reentered the room
carrying three large shot glasses filled with an amber
liquid, I knew had to be brandy. I know, you don't drink
brandy from a shot glass. But this was obviously a
medicinal drink.
We downed our drinks and Guy produced the bottle to
refill you glasses. "Now you can take this one slowly."
Everyone sat quietly, not knowing quite how to begin
what we all wanted to say. Charley couldn't take his eyes
off of Guy. He'd never been comfortable being naked except
the times we'd had sex-that is our jack off sessions-and
he'd never seen a man Guy's age naked. He couldn't quite
pull it all together.
"Sorry, Charley," Guy said. "I think I'll go put on
some clothes." With that he refilled his shot glass and
walked out of the room toward the stairs to him room.
"So, tell me about this letter, Ron. Why did you think
I was dead?"
"I sent you a letter, to Texas. It was returned with
the notation "Return to sender. Addressee declared dead".
"Where is it? I've never been declared dead before."
"It's in my room. Come on I'll show it to you."
We went up the two flights of stairs to the room I was
now sharing with Jason and Cherokee. I'm sure it looked
more like a dormitory to Charley than the typical young
man's bedroom. There were three double beds, three dressers
and closets. I'd shared it originally with Joe and Jason
until Joe went off to the Marines. Jason had it all to
himself while I'd been gone. (Except of course for the last
couple of months when Cherokee had stayed over.)
I showed Charley the envelope. "That's my dad's
handwriting. In his church when a member has committed some
grave sin and refuses to adequately repent, they hold a
service during which the person is declared dead to the
congregation. It's like a funeral, except there is no body
and the person is still alive. A picture or something
representing the person is placed in a casket and then
buried. That person's name is never mentioned again within
the church or, for those who are most faithful, in their
home. It's like a shunning."
"Oh, my God," I said. "Our priests would be awfully
busy people if we did that."
We both laughed. I was getting to feel giddy, from the
brandy and because Charley was obviously not dead. I
pulled Charley down onto the bed.
"Are you going to stay with me?"
"If you'll let me."
I planted my mouth over his and kissed him for a long
time.
"What do you think?" I said. "You're welcome to stay
here as long as you wish."
We stayed in the bedroom for a couple of hours. I told
Charley about my experiences in the brig. He told me about
his. We compared notes on our send off from San Diego and
how much more human his MP had been than mine.
After leaving San Diego Charley rode the bus through to
Amarillo. His ticket would have taken him south to Lubbock
but he caught the next bus out of Amarillo to Tulsa. It had
only taken him a day to realize his only chance at going
home was to come to me.
As we talked we worked ourselves fully onto the bed,
propped pillows behind our heads and tried to relax. I
wasn't sure just how far Charley was willing to go at this
point. He had said he loved me, but did that love extend to
actually living with me or was he here only until he could
decide whether to move on? I knew I wanted him to stay,
maybe forever. I think Charley wasn't sure how he was going
to be received when he showed up on our doorstep. We hadn't
communicated for almost two months. I asked him how he
found us. "You're listed in the phone book, man. How else
does anyone find a lost friend."
As we relaxed with each other, we moved closer on the
bed. I put my arm around Charley's shoulder and stroked his
cheek or neck as we talked. He ran his hand along the thigh
of my leg.
"God, I'm glad you're here," I said, bending over to
kiss him. I wanted him so bad. I wanted to undress him and
finish the blowjob I owed him. But he pulled away from me
as I began to finger the top button of his borrowed jeans.
"I stink. I haven't showered since I left San Diego
and sitting around on a crowded closed bus doesn't let you
air out very much."
About that time, Guy knocked on the door. "Are you
guys going to stay up here all day? Ron your Dad and
brothers will be coming home soon. You ought to get ready
to come down to greet them."
"Come on in, Guy," I said. "We're OK."
Guy entered the room. There was a look of mild
surprise on his face to see that we were still fully
clothed. My reputation as a slut among the members of my
family would have made him think that we'd been having sex
this whole time. No one knew the whole story of our
relationship and how far we hadn't gone.
We got off the bed. "Charley's going to shower. Do
you think some of Joe's clothes would fit him? These rags
he's wearing are ready to be burned," I explained. "He
doesn't have any other clothes."
"Sure, Joe was about the same size a couple of years
ago and I'm sure there is something in his closet that would
fit. I'll leave you two alone a while longer. Then you
need to be ready for the party."
"Party? Am I interrupting something, Ron?" Charley
asked.
"Of course not. You're family now and when someone in
the family comes home after a long absence, we always have a
party."
Guy went to Joe's closet and began going through his
clothes. Finally he found some jeans and a shirt that were
still in good shape.
"These ought to do," he explained as he threw the
clothes on my bed. "Get cleaned up and then come on
downstairs. JJ and the boys should be home in about an
hour. Jason and Cherokee won't be much later."
He left the room, closing the door behind him.
"Man, he is something like I've never seen before,"
Charley exclaimed. "He acts as if he's known me all his
life. No one was ever welcomed like this at my house."
"Guy knows you're special to me. That's all that
matters to him. Let's get you showered."
With that Charley pulled off his clothes. I pointed
him to the bathroom and got him a towel and the other stuff
he'd need. Five minutes later, I could stand it no longer.
I stripped and entered the bathroom.
"Need your back scrubbed?" I said as I pulled open the
shower curtain.
"Only if you're the one scrubbing it," Charley replied.
What transpired over the next forty-five minutes is
left best to the imagination. But by the time we emerged
from the shower, I had massaged, felt, and run my hands
over, every part of Charley's body. Suffice it to say that
even though we had missed lunch, the protein part of our
diet that afternoon met or exceeded the government's
recommended minimum.
Guy had spent the entire afternoon preparing for a
party. He hadn't called Dad to tell him the good news so no
one knew of Charley's arrival except the three of us. About
four o'clock we heard Dad's car pull into the drive. He was
accompanied by my two youngest brothers, Dave, now aged 14
and Rob, 16. They were both very energetic boys and when
the car stopped, Dave jumped out and all but ran to the
door. That's what he did every day. He hated clothes and
would begin unbuttoning his shirt before he hit the front
porch. By the time he was through the door he was usually
half naked and beginning to unbutton his trousers.
Today was no exception. I asked Charley to sit in a
chair opposite the door so the first thing anyone entering
the house would see would be him. Dave came running into the
house, Rob close on his heels. His shirt was already off
and he was jerking on the top button of his shorts. He
stopped, sliding across the floor, eyeing the stranger in
our midst. The realization of who was sitting there hit Rob
first; Dave just stood there half-undressed and staring.
Rob took one look at Charley, then at my smiling face and
let out a hoop of joy. He ran over to give me a hug.
"Is it really him?" he whispered in my ear.
"Of course, you dolt. Who do you think?"
"But he's supposed to be dead!"
"Does he look dead?"
"Not in the least. And he looks good enough to eat."
"Food comes later," I said, motioning Charley to come
over and meet my brothers.
Dad walked in the door and saw Rob, Dave, Charley and
me in a hug. He dropped his briefcase on the floor and
almost ran to join us. Guy came out of the kitchen. The
room was full of noise.
"Would you people please hold down the noise? Do you
want the entire city to hear you? You're going to spoil the
surprise for Jason and Cherokee."
We broke the hug all talking at once. Guy finally got
all of us to calm down, passing out beers for all. We took
places to sit and the questions began. A half an hour later
Charley and I had explained what had happened to him over
the last couple of weeks.
The episode was repeated when Jason and Cherokee came
in. Guy sent them upstairs to clean up, brought out the
refreshments and the party began.
Guy had spared nothing for this party. In some ways it
was a more lavish spread than when I had come home. But it
was a great way for all of us to lift our moods from the
despair I had cast on the group. There was beer and wine
for all of us. A small bowl of funny looking cigarettes was
placed on one table-a card clearly labeled them as "For
Adults ONLY!" By the time he began to bring out the food,
none of us were feeling any pain.
We celebrated until the late hours of the night. But
the next day was a school and work day and we had to go to
bed sometime. Guy, always in control of these situations,
broke up the party about midnight and sent us all to bed.
Charley, Jason, Cherokee and I headed to the Upper Room.
Rob and Dave went to their room in the basement and Dad
headed for his room, followed by Guy.
"JJ," he said. I think my room may be needed tonight
for someone else. Mind if I sleep here?
Dad, always quick on the uptake, gave Guy a funny look.
Then it dawned on him. "I think that's a great idea, Guy.
We might . . . Sheeeeeit! That would be great."
Charley and I hit the room before my brother and his
lover. I gave him the opportunity to sleep alone. There
were three beds in the room and I knew Jason and Cherokee
needed only one.
"If you don't mind, Ron," he said. "I've wanted to
sleep with you for months. May I sleep with you?"
"Are you sure, Charley? It might be awhile before we
actually get to sleep."
"That's what I had in mind too," he laughed.
We were beginning to get undressed as Cherokee and
Jason came through the door.
"But what about them?" Charley whispered in my ear.
"We can't do much with them in the room."
"Don't worry, man. Guy has taken care of everything."
Jason took one look at us, grabbed Cherokee by the arm
and said, "Buddy, I think we'll find other quarters for
tonight."
With that they left us to our own devices and headed
for Guy's room, each with an arm draped over the shoulder of
the other.