Farewell Uncle Ho 28
This is a work of fiction. Names of characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination and are used fictitiously; any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locations is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 2015 by Dennis Milholland – All rights reserved. Other than for private, not-for-profit use, no part of this work may be reproduced, transmitted or stored in any form or by any means, other than that intended by the author, without written permission from the copyright holder.
Careful! This is a work of fiction containing graphic descriptions of sex between males and critiques of religion and governments. And last but not least, Nifty would like your donations.
Farewell, Uncle Ho
by Dennis Milholland
questions and comments are welcome. www.milholland.eu / dennis@milholland.eu
Chapter 28 (Wed., Jan. 11,)
Sean and I were up in our room sorting and folding my new uniforms. I had everything except for what the official list they gave me refers to as 'Uniform, Class A, service, green, winter, 2 sets', which would be delivered to my basic unit because the tailors at the Quartermaster's, as Sean called it, had to do alterations to make them look strack, which, I gathered, was Army-speak for butch. Stylish didn't even enter into it.
We were laughing about how the cunt cap was referred to as a garrison cap on the list, when there was a knock at our door. Sean yelled: "Enter."
When nothing happened, Sean opened the door, and there stood the cutest little guy. He must have been all of twelve and looked like Howdy Doody with a buzz cut. "Sorry, Spayc, but I din't wanna innerupt y'all."
"Well, come in." Sean invited him in and looked at his rank and looked worried at me. "You're not here for training."
"Sure am." He grinned. When Sean looked confused he added. "'M with the Nou Jars'y Nayshun'l Gaard."
"Not with that accent, you're not." Sean's tone got a little aggressive.
"'M 'rijnly frum Marengo Coun'y, Alabama, but w'ayen all that thar shyit broke out over yonder in Vee-yet-naym, I fugr'd I had best be joyn'n the Nayshun'l Gaard ta keyp my ayss sayfe." At that, I could virtually see the hair on Sean's neck bristling.
"And what brings you to New Jersey?" Sean, a native of Asbury Park, is suddenly very protective of his home state. I have to cover up my smirk.
"Miah Daddy has a playntatshun bayck home, so 'm a sellin' his soybeyns t'y'all Yankees." At least, the little guy wasn't lacking any self-confidence.
"Alright, Private Debucan," Sean was checking his list and found Howdy's name and ticked it off. "take your gear downstairs to the bay and find a bunk and a locker."
"Thay sayd, 'cause a ma rank, I would be a bunkin' with y'all." Now, the penny dropped as to why Sean had looked worried earlier.
But luckily, Sean knew his way around all the rules books, and consequently around all the rules. "This man," He pointed to me. "is an acting NCO who is assisting me with troop movements," He dropped his arm to point at his left leg raising the volume of his voice from barracks loud to battle-field loud. "since I can hardly march, due to severe injuries I sustained while on active duty in the jungles of Vee-yet-naym."
***
Once Howdy was gone and clearly out of earshot, I turned to Sean. "Can he cause trouble?"
Sean ran his hand across my cheek. "Like what? Have his Daddy send my sorry ass to Vee-yet-naym?" We both laughed but not heartfelt. "Hell, Ben, I'm so short that I'm surprised I can even find it."
"You're not short." I glared at his crotch.
His laugh was mischievous. "I'm a short-timer, which means I got less than one hundred days left in this man's Army. People make jokes like: 'I'm so short that I can't use the latrine.' and things like that."
"Oh," I looked at him and my face went hot. "I see."
"Don't be ashamed." He threw the light switch and grabbed me with both hands. "You're the sweetest guy I know." He kissed me passionately, and my dick grew proportionately. "And if things were different--"
"--but things aren't different, Sean." I flipped the switch back on, because I was fighting back tears. "Look, my old feelings for you are rekindling." I looked at his amazed face. "I was seriously in love with you, back when Janet was running interference," He giggled, unsure of what else to do, and I tried to smile. "and now, probably just weeks before I get my sorry ass shipped off to Vee-yet-naym, to use the vernacular, I've got two fantastic lovers, with whom I could spend the rest of my life…" This is where I could no longer speak.
Again, he flipped the switch. Someone watching from outside would think that we were sending messages. But, then again, everybody thought that we were CIA, anyway.
Sean hugged me and stroked my buzz cut, at least he had hair I could run my fingers through. "We'll find a way."
I wiped my tears on the right shoulder of his fatigues, just above the patch of his last combat unit. "Like what, go to Canada?"
"If it comes to that." His sweet tenor voice was making me hard, but my mind was still functioning, nonetheless.
"Yeah, right." I raised my head off his shoulder and wiped my tears. "Haruki owns a townhouse in Greenwich Village, which is paid for, and you…" I snicker. "…are so fucking patriotic that you won't let Crackers serve in the Jersey National Guard." We laughed but I could tell the remark had hit him.
"The New Jersey National Guard is a home-guard militia, used for protecting our shores from maniacal New Yorkers and not as a stay-out-of-Vietnam option for wealthy plantation owners."
I rested my head back on his tear-stained shoulder. "I'll give Haruki a call tomorrow to see if you can live with him." I let out a subdued laugh. "Just so you can become a maniacal New Yorker and get that Jersey chip off your shoulder."
"Won't happen." He put his hand onto the back of my head. "Frank Sinatra is still a Jerseyan, even though he and Mia live in California."
***
For the hour and a bit remaining until lights-out, Sean and I discussed how our present situation could be influenced. As a matter of course, Haruki's response was going to be crucial to what would happen. Although I couldn't imagine that Haruki would say no, I didn't know how a three-way emotional involvement would play out.
Plan B was for me to contact Bat and/or Marv to see if Sean could stay, at least for a while, with them. After all, Marv was a field-grade officer in the Army Reserves and Bat was a World War II veteran. All of them had the space; one of the three possibilities had to pan out. I was not going to allow Sean to end up on the streets, like so many veterans did.
Sean looked at his watch. "Let's go say good night."
"You want me along?" I wondered if it might be more prudent for me to stay put.
"You're my assistant." He got up off the bunk and tossed his cigarette into the butt can. When I didn't move, he added: "Do I have to make this a direct order?"
I purred and used my come-hither voice. "If you want to."
"You really get off on this military shit, don't you?" He switched off the light and opened the door.
"Just mention guns and see what happens." I led his hand to my semi-hard dick, which fatigue pants and boxers did fuck-all to hide.
We walked down the stairs and the second Sean went through the door someone yelled: "At ease!" and the guys stopped what they were doing. Sean was stuck for words, so I replied: "Carry on." and gave silent thanks to St. Haruki. And again, this maneuver had Helmstedter's fingerprints all over it.
"Thanks Ben." Sean laughed and blushed. "Never had that happen to me before."
I looked over to Helmstedter and gave him the thumbs up. He grinned and ran over. "Good move, Gerry. You caught Sean totally off guard. But doesn't that apply only to hard-stripe NCOs?"
"Hey," Helmstedter grinned. "don't knock our main man here." He patted Sean on the shoulder. "He's a fuckin' Full-Bird Sergeant." He and Sean laughed; I didn't get it.
Of course, they had to explain to me that it was a play on Full-Bird Colonel, by tapping the Specialist's eagle on Sean's sleeve insignia. Every time I turned around somebody has managed to fling new words at me. Who said that Chinese was hard?
"Uh, Specialist," Helmstedter grew serious. "I think we have a problem."
Sean laughed. "And does it come from Alabama?"
Helmstedter burst out laughing. "He won't make his bunk because he has a right to bunk upstairs with you since he's a PFC, but he's been 'sent down here 'cause of some motherfunkin' Ch--', you know." He glanced at me and blushed. "Can't say it." He looked back at Sean. " Morton's already asked him if he's a Wallace supporter, and he fuckin' admitted that he voted for Mrs. Wallace last November to keep some people from gettin' too uppity."
Sean's face turned to total surprise. "What? He's old enough to vote?"
"Claims he's almost twenty two." Helmstedter smirked. "Acts like he's two."
"Spoiled by a rich daddy." Sean remarked as he walked to Debucan's bunk. "Gotta talk to you."
"So, talk," came the moody response. "nobody's a stoppin' ya."
"Stand up, please." Sean tried for polite.
"No." Debuncan shook his head, looking squarely at Sean. Now, this was just seconds before he flew off his bunk and landed center stage in the middle aisle, dislodging a butt can as he went.
Sean now went for military. He rested his hands on his knees as he bent over the PFC. "WHEN I TELL YOU TO STAND UP, IT IS NOT A POLITE REQUEST. IT IS A DIRECT ORDER! I AM THE NCOIC OF THIS RECEPTION UNIT, AND YOU WILL OBEY MY COMMANDS!"
"Fuck ya, ya Yankee Prick." Debuncan was still on the floor.
Sean went back to Debuncan's bunk and grabbed the blanket. He handed it to Helmstedter. "It's party time."
"You got it, Specialist." Helmstedter grinned.
As we walked to the door, Morton and a couple others gave us the thumbs up. I wasn't quite sure what was going on, but I had a good idea.
Sean switched the lights off. "Good night, Ladies."
"Good night, Specialist." Came the response in unison.
***
When Sean opened the door, he was pumped on adrenaline. The second he'd closed the door, he was on me. My back was pressed against the panel door; his lips were pressed against my bare neck. The sound of dull thumps were coming from downstairs. Our moans were being matched by similar sounds from somewhere else.
He spun me around, pressing my right cheek to the same place on the door where my head had been. The smell of shellacked wood panel replaced the scent of Sean's hair tonic. In an instant, he had my fatigue pants and boxers around my ankles, and I felt his nose at the top of my crack and his tongue licking at its bottom.
Two agile hands were spreading my buns allowing his tongue space to play. He sucked hard-on the inside of my right cheek directly next to my hole. He was making me his, like a painter signing his latest work. His hard tongue entered me to make way for yet another hardness.
As he stood to unleash his tool, I gathered slime from my own cock to smear into my hole for lubrication; he added spit. He pushed in, and I coughed. His entry was almost unbearable and our pumping frantic, him against me and me against the door.
I came first, and my clamping ass muscles threatened to clip off his cock. The sound he made when he flushed my insides came from his gut. We stood there, as we were, against the door, motionless until we could breathe normally. The sounds from downstairs had fallen silent.