Date: Sun, 7 May 2017 19:05:20 -0400
From: Orson Cadell <orson.cadell@gmail.com>
Subject: Dear John Letter 3

Please see original story
(www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/adult-friends/lake-desolation/) for warnings and
copyright. Highlights: All fiction. All rights reserved. Includes sex
between adult men of different generations. Go away if any of that is
against your local rules. Practice safer sex than my characters. Write if
you like, but flamers end up in the nasty bits of future stories. Donate to
Nifty **TODAY** at donate.nifty.org/donate.html to keep the cum coming.

*****
Previous chapter:

"So, Johnny, can I, do you, can we. Damn this is hard. Is it too soon for
me to, to, live here? With you?"

"No, Mick, it's not too soon. I just hope," and there my voice really did
break, "I just pray to God it's not too late." His face tilted up and his
eyes closed and we were suddenly in a kiss. A kiss of a passion that does
not burn, but warms. A passion that does not demand, but yearns. A passion
that, I prayed silently, would never fade or die.

*****

Dear John Letter 3: Jerry Meets Thumper

by Bear Pup

A note on this series: As I said, this started as a gift to a very dear
friend and reader. As I began writing it, I fell in love with the
characters in a very odd way. Posts for this story will come rarely (for
me), as I find times when I am in a very... strange and special mood.

*****

When the kiss ended a fulfilled lifetime later, Mick pulled back, his hazel
eyes locked to mine. "Your eyes are like coffee," he smiled, "strong *Navy*
coffee. Rough and harsh and the perfect thing to wake you up."

I pinched him. "We can't wake up until we sleep, you little minx."

He laughed, "Mick the Minx! I love it." He pulled back further and studied
me, "Johnny, what did the guys call you when you were a kid?"

"John, to be honest."

"Bullshit. Every kid had a nickname even if he doesn't like it."

I blushed, "I had one friend, Bill, when I was, oh, thirteen, about to be
14? Yeah, 1943. Bill had us form a club... you know, treehouse, secret
handshake and all that. The inventively-named 'Secrets Club'. I couldn't
come up with anything interesting for a nickname and *everyone* had to have
a code name. When I flat refused to talk about it anymore and insisted on
John, the rest of the guys went into a huddle, sniggering and peeping up at
me."

"And?"

"Um, well, it the summer after Bambi came out. And, well, when they broke,
I was...

"Were what?"

"Well, HELL. I was... Thumper."

Mick dissolved in giggles. "Thumper?!? What were you guys DOING in your
Secrets Club, eh, THUMPer?" Waggling eyebrows made it clear what he
meant. I was now scarlet and stuttering.

"N-N-NO! Oh, god, nothing like th-that! I mean, I was appalled even then. I
mean, Thumper? The damned bunny?" I shook my head. "But Thumper I was for
the next four months."

It was a golden summer, filled with first everythings. There was nothing
sexual... well, at least nothing for me. In hindsight, Bill was too daring
and brash NOT to get into a little play. I recalled the special
relationship he had with Walter, and the very different but equally-unique
way he treated Floyd. Thinking today, I wonder what who did what with whom
while I was desperately trying to find a way to ensure that no one, ever,
knew that I was hard all the time and constantly looking for the next
chance to 'relieve the tension'.

It was a bittersweet memory. Bill was the ultimate prankster, the
daredevil, the free spirit before it was even a term. A month or two into
the next school year, Bill was showing off to a couple of younger kids who
were in full hero-worship mode, something which made Bill certain of his
invincibility. He was on the train trellis across an arm of the growing
lake east of town, weed-grown and rarely-used. As it happened, a freight
headed into Springfield used the track that day. It was a windy day and
Bill, well, Bill didn't hear the train in time.

He was amazing though. He almost made it, racing the train to the far
side. When Bill saw that he couldn't make it, he tried to dive off the
side, only to strike, and be trapped by, a trellis-joinder. It was months
later that the actual truth came out, leaked by the daughter of Sherriff
Wallace. Bill had literally been torn in two, just above the waist. He died
instantly, and with him the Secrets Club... and the name, Thumper.

As I daydreamed that, Mick sobered. "Johnny, can I, um," his voice
whispered, "can I call you Thumper? Or not! Anything, really! I want a
special name for you, something I can call you that no one else knows. Does
that make any sense?"

"More than you can know, Mick. To be honest, the way my heart pounds when
you're around, Thumper is more than appropriate. But that means I need one
for you, too." I thought for a moment and smiled. "How about something no
one ever calls you... your real name?" I smiled, "Can I call you Jerry?"
The arms flung around my neck and flurry of kisses were a pretty clear
'Yes'.

I swatted him on the ass. "Go get some clothes, Jerry, and you can move in
right now. We'll get the rest of the stuff tomorrow. Sound like a deal?"

With one last kiss, this one lingering a bit, he was out the door. Before I
even really had a chance to think, he was back with a battered and faded
Navy duffle, one we called a Ruck or, more commonly, a Backbreaker. The
canvas monstrosity was easily big enough to haul a body with enough room
left to haul every article of clothing a sailor might need. This one was
bulging.

I narrowed my eyes. "Mick, uh, Jerry... how exactly did you pack that
fast?"

"Well, Jo--Thumper, I kinda, well, you know, uh..."

I laughed. "You knew damned good and well I'd invite you to stay, didn't
you little twerp!" He smiled shyly, adorably, and I pulled him into a bear
hug, covering his face with kisses. "You've made me happier than I've ever
been, Jerry." I started to leak a few tears again before I snuffled myself
back to normalcy.

"Now! Get that Backbreaker unpacked and take it back to Mack." He looked at
me, bemused. I softened my voice and tilted his face up to mine. "Because I
am going to make damned sure that you never need to pack your kit into it
again, my precious and wonderful mate." Jerry curled his face into my chest
and I could feel him sob. I wrapped him tighter and cooed, "I swear to god,
son, that I will work so, so hard to make you as happy as you've made me.

"Now, let's get you settled."

Isn't it odd? In the romance stories, the girl moves in with the guy and
everything magically... works. I mean, really, how much furniture do these
people HAVE? It had been 43 years since I had a rack mate, and shit
just... accumulated. I was blushing furiously as I dumped drawerfuls of,
well, crap into a laundry basket until Jerry literally grabbed me from
behind locking my arms in place.

"Thumper, just stop, okay? Let's slow down a bit."

"NO! Please, God, fuck! I can't bear the thought of slowing down. I-I-I-I'm
t-terrified, Jerry, that you are going to, I dunno, stop and, and, and, and
realize you m-made a... mistake." My voice had started strong and ended so
soft and broken I don't know how he could have heard me.

He pulled me around and did something that instantly broke the panic. It
was something I'd done to him and Mack any number of times. He smacked me
upside the head. HARD! Damn, it HURT! "Shut up. Do it now. Another word,
Johnny, Thumper, and you won't be able to walk for a week. If you so much
as THINK that I'm going to leave you, and I'll kick your ass from here to
Seattle." All I could do was stare. "I have wanted you, needed you and,
FUCK, loved you since I was nothing!

"NO! Not one fucking WORD. I've lived in absolute terror, Johnny -- FUCK --
Thumper, whoever you are -- that you would not want me. And you think that
after all that, after years of being afraid to even hint something to you,
that I'm, what, going to wham-bam-thank-you-sir? Fuck that! Now, do you
pull your head out of that ample ass and slow the fuck down, or do I tie
you to a chair until you come to your senses?" He was furious, livid,
bright-red face and slitted eyes.

I gaped at him. My mouth was so open he could probably see my tonsils. I
shook myself and snapped my jaws shut, eyes still wide but now with a hint
of mischief, I replied, "Can we do both?"

"What?" he spat at me. He was so mad I'm surprised he could see.

"Can we slow down AND you tie me to a chair sometime? It sounds a little
kinky, but hot."

The closest I can come to his red-faced, boggle-eyes response would be
something like "{gurgle}AAGGHH{growl}." He grabbed me hard enough to get my
attention and literally lifted and threw me onto the bed, ripping my
shirt-seam and kissing me at the same time. I laughed and tried to fight
him off until I felt his amble manhood poking my stomach. I growled in
return and practically ripped off his canvas work-pants while he made short
work of my over-shirt, buttons flying, and literally ripped the front of my
t-shirt in half.

This was the wild, animalistic sex guys always fantasize about with one,
single, major difference. We were not desperate for cock or ass, to suck or
fuck. We were obsessed, compelled, consumed with the need to touch every
part of each other, to maximize the amount of skin in contact between our
two bodies.

I whined, high and frantic, when his overheated cock finally touched my
quivering belly.

When his nipples finally rubbed across my own with no base fabric to
interfere, he growled so deeply that it was like making love to a mountain
lion.

When his lips found my ear as his hand grabbed one meaty cheek of my ass, I
whimpered, shuddered and redoubled my effort on the taut cords of his neck.

He rumbled a deep purr when my hand finally found the cleft of his ass,
then sucked in a strangled gasp as I stroked down and into his most-secret
crevice.

I found myself, confusingly, flipped like a ragdoll, airborne and now atop
this writhing, squirming, wriggling bundle of man. The move had another
effect -- the sudden separation of our naked bodies and their
equally-abrupt return drove a wave of musk, mingled essence of Jerry and
Thumper, blasting through my nose, mind and soul like a wildfire, setting
every single nerve and neuron ablaze with need and desire.

At that moment, driven by the same primal response to the ultimate sexual
trigger, Jerry's legs wrapped around me and we began to hunch against each
other, locked in a kiss that could not, would not, MUST not ever end.  His
feet in my flanks drove me and my own desperate, gnawing thirst consumed me
as I hunched in a counterpoint to Jerry's own jabs and thrusts.

That same kiss became a lifeline, a CPR of love, as we exploded into each
other. I sucked each of Jerry's exhalations and screams into my own lungs
and returned them with exultant howls which he sucked in and returned as
bellows of release. Shouts, swallowed and made to shrieks; cries, consumed
and returned as exclamations of joy; sobs, inhaled and transmuted into
screams of unutterable release.

Note to self: CPR requires that at least one party to *occasionally*
breathe in fresh air. At some point, the inability of either of us to deny
the kiss, the release, the reality of who and what we were transmuted into,
well, um, kind of, you see... okay, we passed out, breaking the kiss and
the seal, only to recover a few minutes later.

We looked at each other and the slack-jawed expression on my lover's face
-- lover. I rolled the word on my tongue, exploring it, reveling in it,
exulting in a term I never thought would have 'my' in front of it -- was
frankly hysterical. I pulled away to find that we were glued together with
at least one copious load of cum from each of us. We began to laugh
uncontrollably, me with my trademark braying, barking laugh, Jerry with the
full-throated roar of mirth he'd inherited from Mack.

We slept then, cemented together like teen lovers. It was the kind of sleep
I had never known. A sleep where the slightest move by my beloved Jerry
half-woke me to pull him to me closer; a sleep where even a fidget of mine
would results in a half-conscious Jerry-murmur, "Thumper" as he pulled me
into him yet again. It was the sweatiest, most-uncomfortable, least-sexy
night's sleep I'd ever had, and I would fight Satan himself rather than
give up the memory of that blessed and holy night. It was the sleep of love
itself.

<eof>

Yes, I know. This chapter is insanely-short. The intensity of it, though,
made it needful for me to step away for a while from the narrative that
Mick and Johnny (Jerry and Thumper) wished/wanted/needed to tell us.

*****

If you want to get mail notifying you of new postings, e-mail me at
orson.cadell@gmail.com

Active storelines, all at www.nifty.org/nifty/gay...
Canvas Hell: 23 chapters .../camping/canvas-hell/
Beaux Thibodaux: 15 chapters .../adult-youth/beaux-thibodaux/
The Heathens: 16 chapters .../historical/the-heathens/
Off the Magic Carpet: 9 chapters .../military/off-the-magic-carpet/
Lake Desolation: 8 chapters .../rural/lake-desolation/
Dear John Letter: 3 chapter .../military/dear-john-letter/
Brother Bear: 2 chapter .../incest/brother-bear/
Shark Reef: 2 chapters .../adult-youth/shark-reef/