Date: Sun, 31 May 2015 15:34:14 -0400
From: Milford Slabaugh <tommyhawk1@aol.com>
Subject: Jett Haskins and the Lights In the Sky, Chapter 1

		  JETT HASKINS AND THE LIGHTS IN THE SKY
			   By Tommyhawk1@AOL.COM
		      WWW.TOMMYHAWKSFANTASYWORLD.COM
		    Chapter One: The Wheatfield Circle

     Jett Haskins made it into the brush at the top of the hill and from
there, he began to work his way further up the hillside along its ridge, he
needed more elevation! It took him a while, but eventually he figured he
was as high up as he was going to get, the ground under his foot was nearly
level. Now he had to get to a point where he could see the wheatfield
again, the brush was now well over head-height around him.
     At this point, Jett realized that he had lost Fred! The
broad-shouldered, tawny-haired hunk that was his cameraman was not behind
him. Oh, well, go ahead and get the look, they could come back for
photographs later if they had to. Fred knew the routine, keep up with Jett!
If not, Jett would do it without him!
     He inched up and poked his head through the brush, on the other side
ought to be the wheatfield that had attracted many of the biggest
scientists of the United States to this rustic location not far from
Wichita, Kansas.
     So that was what the men were looking at! Something big had been
sitting in that wheatfield! Big and round! A huge circle, some thirty feet
across at a guess, of wheat had been smashed down like a gigantic round
foot, the wheat lying in a neat whorl, all crushed the same
counterclockwise direction. Only in the middle was there a small amount of
wheat that made a crumpled mess of disorganized destruction.
     Only the crushed-down wheat was left, whatever had done it had been
set down in that field and then had been taken away afterwards without
bothering any of the wheat around it. What the hell could do that? A
hot-air balloon? It was the right size, but a balloon wouldn't have crushed
the wheat as flat as this. Anything else would have left a swath of crushed
wheatstalks showing the way in and the way out. Lighter than air, but heavy
enough to smash things flat...something new has been added in this year of
1952!
     No wonder those many learned men were just standing on the edge of
that circle and looking around and marveling at it. There was nothing else
to see down there. Nothing but a few lines showed where men had walked,
most of them from the road, but two went beyond it into the woods beyond
the wheatfield at the foot of this hill where Jett was lying. Which could
mean....
     "Oomph!" Jett was tackled from one side and landed roughly on the
ground. Only a light, patchy coating of grass was on the hill this high up,
he felt his face scrape bare gravelly dirt and it hurt like hell. "Ow, ow,
ow!" he complained as the assailant continued to hold him down.
     "Now who the devil are you?" came a young male voice.
     "Let me up!"
     "First you talk, then we'll decide that." the man on top of him told
him. "Who are you?"
     "Jett Haskins. Reporter for the Chicago Sun-Times. Now let me up."
     "A reporter? Well now, not so fast. What the devil are you doing
here?"
     "I heard there was a story here. So far, nothing I've seen changes my
mind about that. What happened in that wheatfield?"
     The figure (still unseen in Jett's position, that of held down by a
heavy male body astride his midsection and a huge hand pressing the side of
his face into the dirt) shifted slightly. "If we knew that, we'd be
inviting reporters in."
     "So I'm a little early. You don't know what caused that?"
     "I'm asking the questions here. How did you hear about this, anyhow?
This was supposed to be a well-kept secret."
     "It was, and it is. But I have my secret sources."
     "Who?"
     "If I tell you, it won't be a secret any longer. Now could you let me
up? It's kind of hard to talk with my jaw shoved into the dirt."
     "Until I know you better, you're staying right where you are. But I'll
let you turn over, how about that?"
     "Sure." Jett was ready to take what he could get. He thought this guy
would get off of him, but instead of that, the man just eased up enough to
let him twist around. Then, when Jett was on his back, the man settled back
down again. Damn, this guy was sitting right on his crotch, that was his
whanger rubbing right up against Jett's!
     Then he looked up at his captor.
     Hell of a good looking stud! Black-haired, fair-skinned, blue-eyed,
broad-chested, broad-shoulders, narrow-waisted, and with arms that were so
muscled that they practically had their own zip code! No wonder he'd been
knocked on his ass so easily, this man was massive! And the face held a
jaunty ease that said he could handle just about anything that life would
throw at him, that could deal with things like that mystery in the
wheatfield. This hulk was dressed in a jet-black suit, jacket and pants,
white shirt, black tie, and wore a pair of dark-tinted sunglasses that made
his expression unreadable. But that was definitely a cock rubbing against
his, and it was stiffening up unless he missed his guess.
     Jett turned on his charm. After all, he was a dark-haired,
olive-skinned stud (thanks to his American mother and Venezuelan father,
though he'd been raised by a stepfather from the age of three) with a
smoothly elegant face and deep liquid eyes and his body wasn't a powerhouse
but he kept it well in shape and pleasing to the eyes. If he wanted a guy,
he could get them. And if there was any shred of gayness in this big stud,
he just found himself a new source of information; God knows that was how
he'd found out about this place to begin with!
     So he smiled and said, "Well, now, just what would you like to know
about me first?" And he moved his hips just enough to rub a little at this
dark-suited hunk's crotch, a bit of wienie-tag.
     "How did you hear about this?" the man demanded.
     "Could I maybe get your name first? Mine's Jett Haskins, remember? Who
are you?"
     "You can call me Mr. Smith." the man informed him.
     "But that's not your name." Jett guessed.
     "You don't need to know that. Everything here is on a need-to-know
basis. And I need to know who your information source in the government."
     "So what do I get out of it if I tell you who it is?" Jett asked and
this time his grind against Smith's crotch with his own wasn't as brief or
furtive.
     "What exactly were you wanting to get out of it?" Smith asked him, and
the crotch he was pressing against Jett's was now at full readiness.
     "A chance to tag along with you, learn what's going on?"
     "What do we get out of it?"
     "I won't publish until given the go-ahead." Jett promised. And he
meant it. A source like this denizen of government espionage would be worth
passing up one story...for the chance at a dozen more!
     Smith considered this. "I still don't hear anything for me in
particular."
     "The name of my source when I get the story." Jett continued.
     "And in the meantime?"
     Jett paused. He hadn't thought this all out, after all, he was winging
it! "I don't know. What else would you like?"
     "What you've been offering...," Smith said and he leaned down and
kissed Jett hard, then when he let up, finished, "...will do for a
starter."
     "I can live with that." and Jett reached up for his own kiss. After
all, there wasn't anything else to see here, not if he was going to be in
on everything the investigators below learned from now on, for this was
just a crushed circle of wheat in a field. He had bigger game in mind, like
everything Smith could tell him about secret operations which could create
something like a mysterious circle in the wheatfield.
     So he was more than ready to start greasing the relationship
along. And that huge hunk of man in arms was going to take a lot of
greasing!
     Smith was kissing him harder and working his way down Jett's
neck. Something Jett had long gotten used to, something about the creamy
brown tone of his body made the men in his life prone to lick at it like he
was made of milk chocolate or something! He wasn't surprised by this oral
attack on him, besides, that milky soft white skin the arms promised called
for some licking of his own, if he could manage it.
     Smith didn't protest Jett's pulling open his shirt and then Jett was
able to play first his hands and then his lips over that massive barrel of
a chest, while Smith was unbuttoning Jett's shirt, then his belt and then
his pants' fly until he'd freed Jett's love-snake. By this time, Jett had
surrendered Smith's chest and was working at Smith's own trousers, and he
managed to fish out Smith's cock at the same time Smith was freeing his
own.
     He regarded the trouser-trout he'd just freed from captivity. Thick,
round and with a plump plum-colored glans purple-red with inflamed
desire. The glans was warm to his lips as he surrounded it and then his
tongue felt the heat as the cockhead rested upon it. His own cock was
engulfed in moist softness and Jett moaned, then began to move his head up
and down. Smith groaned and matched the tempo of Jett's mouth with his own.
     God damn, but this "man in black" was a talented cocksucker! It spoke
of a childhood spent in boy's schools, no doubt. Jett hadn't been as lucky
to simply jump into the next bed to get his education, he'd had to travel
down to a certain park at night after his parents were asleep. He'd had a
few close scrapes with the law which had led to an interview with a
newspaperman who had taken him in as a cub reporter (not to mention keeping
his bed warm at night).
     Smith gave a grunt and shoved his cock at Jett. Oh, yeah, right, he
was sucking this guy's cock! Time to earn his keep on the gravy train of
government secret information! He had some gravy to get at! Nice, warm and
thick! Time to get slurping on this gravy bowl!
     Jett chuckled to himself as he thought that and Smith's thrust at his
mouth again cut off that conceit. Man, where was his head today? Not at
this crotch, anyhow. Smith's mouth was working his pud damned well, so why
wasn't he returning the favor?
     Ah, shit, his load was building up in him. Too busy to whomp the pud
or find someone to whomp it for him! It was tough being a young reporter in
the field, chasing leads, grooming sources, typing stories when and where
you could and then....
     "Am I bothering you?" Smith asked him.
     "Sorry?" Jett asked. "Why'd you stop sucking?"
     "I was about to ask you that same question."
     "Oh. Sorry, I'm a little distracted, I guess. All that's going on
around here, after all."
     Smith considered this. "I guess you're right, it's the wrong place and
time for a sixty-nine." He got up.
     Jett felt disappointed, but hell, he'd been the one not performing up
to par. "Well, I hope you don't mind if I still...yawp!"
     Smith had grabbed his legs and was peeling Jett's pants and briefs
off, together, waistbands locked in his big paws of hands. Jett's shoes
fell off under the pressure from the pants as they reached them, and then
he was naked but for his socks, and one of those was at half mast.
     And Smith was crawling on top of him. He'd sucked Smith's cock just
long enough to slick the guy up and since he hadn't done more, Smith was
about to claim the other hole his body offered.
     "Do we have to do this here?" Jett objected.
     Smith paused briefly to consider this. "Only if you want to tag along
with me."
     Jett sighed and lifted his legs. "All right then, I guess I deserve
this."
     "You certainly do." Smith positioned himself, Jett's legs locked into
those muscular arms to be out of the way, and Jett felt that thick
plum-headed dong pressing between his buttocks.
     "Okay, now, given this is our first time, there are some things I
think I should mention about... Uh-HUHHH!" He'd just had that plum-prick
shoved up his ass!
     "You were saying?" Smith asked him as he pushed over half his length
into Jett's butthole.
     "Never mind. Too late now." Jett panted. At least he wasn't distracted
any longer! And that prong, now it was in there, was feeling pretty damned
good, that plump glans was right where it could rub itself on Jett's
prostate.
     Smith's grin told Jet that he could tell he'd gotten Jett's attention
at last, for he said, "You're damned right it's too late."
     "Shut up and fuck me." Jett told him, wrapping his arms around Smith's
neck.
     Smith began to thrust into Jett's ass, and Jett just closed his eyes
and held on tight and moaned. Oh, fuck, where had this pud been all his
life? That thick cockhead was just what his prostate had been longing for
all this time. And the muscled body it was attached to knew just how to
drive it!
     "Oh, ah, ah, uh, gah!" Jett grunted as Smith rammed his
ass. "Ah-huh-uh-uh-uh-uh!" he grunted, a long groan broken up into smaller
sounds by the force of those powerful hips.
     Smith released one of Jett's legs, and that turned Jett so he was
partly on one side, and with the single leg now clamped by the ankle with
one huge hand and lifted high, Smith was able to pump him harder and faster
than before. Ah, shit, this big Brit knew how to fuck a man's ass and then
some! Jett was ready to forget about any aspirations of fame as a
newspaperman if he could ride the Hardcock Express every night from now on!
     "Oh, yeah, uh, uh, fuck me, fuck me!" he grunted as Smith pounded his
bum. "Ah, hah, ah, shit, I'm coming, I'm coming!"
     "That's more like it!" Smith groaned. "Come on, shoot it for me, shoot
it!"
     "Ah, yeah, ah, uh, uh, UH, GAH-AH-AH-HAH-AH-AH, AH, AH, AH,
GAH-HUNNNNNKKKKKKKKHHHHH!" Jett howled as he sprayed his load onto the
scraggly brush nearby, high white arcs of his jizz.
     Smith grunted, groaned and his thrusts became uneven and rough, "Ah,
ah, here it comes, here it comes, ah, ah!"
     "Oh, ahh, ahh, yeahhhh, ahhh, do it, do it!" Jett panted, his own
climax releasing him like the carcass of a dead rabbit from a dog's jaws to
droop limply upon the ground.
     "Ah, GAH, HUH, HUH-UHHHHHH!" Smith thrust his cock deep into Jett's
bowels, and held it there and the big stud growled at Jett through clenched
teeth as he squirted his load deep into Jett, too deep to feel, only the
reactions of this blond hulk above Jett told him that he'd succeeded in
making a new friend.
     "Aw, man, aw, aw, man!" Jett groaned.
     And that's when the flashbulb went off the first time.
     Jett yawped when the light hit him and Smith jerked, his cock still
locked in Jett's ass and the motion dragged Jett bodily around, and then
the flash hit again and Jett saw who was doing the flashing through the
blue blobs of flash in his eyes. "Fred! Fred, knock it off!" he called out.
     "Nothing doing!" Fred declared, as the flash hit the two again. "I
figure these photos are going to be worth plenty!" The brawny man grinned
down at Jett and Smith, Jett splashed with his own jism.
     "What the hell?" Jett yelled. "What do you mean, worth plenty! We're
not blackmailers! We're newsmen!"
     "Call this a sideline of mine!" Fred grinned at the two men helpless
and mostly naked beneath him. "You can't expect me to live off the income
of a news photographer forever, can you? Just think of this as a supplement
to my wages, and...." Fred's gloating tone chopped off short as his smirk
turned into a shocked surprise and he fell over.
     Behind him stood a second man dressed all in black, older than Smith
by a solid decade or more, and he was holding a sizeable piece of wood in
his hands. Broken wood, in fact, as part of it had just come apart on
Fred's noggin.
     "Ah, Jones, there you are." Smith said. "In the nick of time as
always."
     "I do seem to do this rather a lot, sir." Jones said with a distinctly
British accent. "I really must invest in a truncheon such as the policemen
carry."
     "Sounds good, just put it in a reimbursement request when you do."
Smith got to his feet. Though younger (on the close order of thirty, he was
in command here, obviously. "Jones, this is Jett Haskins, an American
reporter, who's stumbled onto our little secret. He and I have come to an
arrangement here."
     "I'd think it should be called a disarrangement." Jones observed.
     "Quite. But he knows too much to run around loose, so I've agreed to
let him come with us and help us out in exchange for his holding the story
until we tell him he can print it."
     "Very well, sir." Jones agreed. "I'll contain my enthusiasm if you'll
forgive me. Now, you two should quickly get un-disrobed, for you're about
to have several visitors in the form of the soldiers, who don't take too
kindly to having naked men watching classified military operations on the
whole."
     "I can understand that." Jett agreed and worked on untangling his
pants, which had gotten weirdly twisted in being pulled from his body by
Smith's hands. "So, tell me, Smith, now that I'm in on the secret, so to
speak, do you have any idea what caused that odd circle out there in the
wheatfield?"
     "Not a clue as yet." Smith told him. "Only hearsay and rumors."
     "So what do you know?" Jett pressed him.
     "Last night, residents of the farms about reported seeing bright
lights in the sky. Ovoid objects flashing along at a high rate of
speed. Those have occurred for several nights now, but last night, they
were brighter than ever and centered on this field. When the farmer of this
land, a Mr. John Melton, came out to check on things this morning, he found
the circular depression you were looking at when I jumped you. And now you
know as much as I know."
     "Bright lights in the sky." Jett mused. "Do you think maybe the Nazis
are back, then?" The Nazis had been working on some highly imaginative
scientific weapons when they'd been knocked down, not impossible that they
had saved one and been working on it in the years since.
     "I strictly doubt it. But whatever is doing it, I intend to find out
what it is. And that's what you've agreed to go along with me on
investigating. What do you think of that?"
     "I'm in." Jett agreed. "And I think it's time to talk to Mr. Melton
next."
     "I quite agree. So Jones and I will pay him a visit next. Are you
coming along?"
     "Soon as I get my shoes on." Jett agreed.
     As he was doing that, the soldiers arrived. Jett greeted them with the
friendly ease any reporter learns to exhibit when caught out, no matter
what he's doing. "Hello again." he said as he pulled on his last shoe and
rose, fully dressed again. "What can we do for you here?"
     And Jett found himself facing a row of rifles aimed at his
midsection. "All of you are under military arrest for violation of a
restricted security zone." And the soldier who had spoken looked at Smith
and Jones. "Come with us. And someone haul that fourth guy along until he's
conscious again."
     Jett looked at Smith and began to wonder just how good the bargain
he'd just made actually was!
                             THE END
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