Farewell Uncle Ho 60
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 60 (Thurs., Mar. 23)
Next morning at breakfast, which was being prepared by Gran, Gerry and me, letting Ju-Long and Gordon sleep in, the subject of a tactically wise move to Canada came up in casual conversation.
"I think," Gran turned the pancakes on the griddle. "you'd be downright silly if you didn't."
"Who'd be downright silly, if they didn't do what?" Gordon entered the kitchen with a sleepy Cam on his arm.
Gran looked at Gerry and me, rather than answering. "She's in favor of Gerry and me going to Canada." I was wondering how a highly decorated Green Beret would take that news.
Gordon nodded as he set Cam in his highchair and fastened the tray. "Yeah," He looked up with a somber, unshaven face. "she's right, but for reasons other than why I think it would be a good idea." He touched the bright scar on his neck, seemingly to remind himself of his own motives for having changed his mind.
"How so?" I pressed him.
He chuckled, "Gran thinks all governments are evil." and we watched her give the balled-fist salute. "And I think that the military industrial complex has taken control of LBJ's government. Kennedy wanted to get us out of Vietnam by '65. And here we are, it's '67 and Johnson's escalating the war, backing a fascist dictatorship that buys American weapons." Gordon finished strapping Cam into his chair then fixed himself a cup of coffee. "Anyway, Vietnam will be forgotten somewhere in the long line of industry-sponsored wars to come."
Gerry snickered. "I agree with Gran. Governments keep the unduly rich in power." She patted him on the back in approval, then continued to flip flapjacks.
"I think all of you are right." was my contribution to the early-morning conversation. Looking into a sea of confused faces for not taking sides, I had to explain. "When the easy win of the Spanish-American war turned the United States into an empire after only three months of engagement, the government acquired a taste for war." I took a long sip of coffee and fished for my cigarettes but put them away when Gran brought the pancakes to the table.
I took my seat and poured maple syrup over the flapjacks. "Then the people of this country were hoodwinked by the Bernays' propaganda coup of 'bringing democracy to all of Europe' into joining World War I, the continuation of which was World War II, again to free Europe up for democracy."
The first bite was very enjoyable, even more so than the pancakes Bat used to make. "And by the time the bombs fell on Hiroshima and Nagasaki," I swallowed and took a sip of coffee. "this country had been making big bucks by waging war, creating a huge middle class and making the war in Korea, the Cuban missile crisis and now the Vietnam war palatable to the American population by invoking the tried and proven idea of bringing democracy to the world, this time by fighting communism rather than fascism and colonialism, keeping this country on a permanent war-time economy."
Ju-Long appeared in the doorway to the kitchen. "Good morning." was his comment. "Did I miss anything?"
***
The discussion of how we would negotiate the Canadian border dragged on into the afternoon. The final decision was to phone Moffett and ask if he had any connections to the Mohawk reservation near his home, not revealing why we wanted to know.
Actually, this had originally been Gran's idea, since some of her friends had paid the Mohawks to smuggle booze in from Quebec, during Prohibition. Then, Gordon had brought up the idea of asking Moffett if he had any contacts to the Mohawks, since the Canadian border with Quebec and Ontario ran through their reservation, and the residents were allowed to move freely between the two countries without being checked.
Plan B was to wait for bear season to open in August and find a country road across the border and have Gordon take us across, disguised as hunters. Should we be checked, Gordon would provide Gerry with his late brother's birth certificate, saying that he had been born in New York City. That plan could, of course, have presented problems for Gordon, but he said that he was willing to take the chance, which got a hearty thanks from us and absolute approval from Gran and Ju-Long.
***
It was getting along toward evening, when Gordon told us to get into the car for our trip across the causeway to the mainland of Long Island, to get supplies in Babylon. We decided to call Moffett from a payphone before supper. And we also decided that Gerry should make the call, in case my name had come up in connection with his having been fucked, and since it would have been inappropriate for Gordon as his erstwhile Drill Instructor to phone him. After all, Alvin was now an officer.
Gordon and I were loading gas canisters into the Wagoneer, when Gerry returned with tears in his eyes. I wanted to know what had happened, but I really didn't have to ask.
He wiped his face, and I took him into a hug. "Talked to his brother, John." Gerry pulled back. "Moffett went fishing with his dad, yesterday--"
"--when's the funeral?" I wanted to know, but was interrupted.
"Whoa, hold on, there." Gordon looked a little upset at my question. "How did you get from gone fishin' to gone tits up?"
I related the story of Wendell, Alvin's park-ranger lover, and how they been together since high school, being that Gordon obviously hadn't heard it. I told him of how Moffett's family and his lover's family belonged to a fundamentalist Catholic parish and of how his lover had been stoned to death for befriending Moffett. I no longer felt that I had to keep Alvin's secret.
Gordon was now more than just a little angry. "Makes me wanna drive up there and napalm the fucking village." He pounded the roof of the car. "Shit. What's okay in Vietnam is just as valid in upstate New York. Fire-bomb the fuckers."
Luckily, Gordon had been letting off steam, generated by frustration and sorrow. And again, luckily, he did not intend to attend Moffett's funeral, tomorrow. He did, however, inform the Criminal Investigation Division about the drowning of an active-duty officer, which may not have been an accident, and he requested a military investigation.
***
The news of Moffett's death dampened our spirits to such an extent and made the idea of going to Canada much more urgent that we'd temporarily lost our ability to think clearly. Gordon brought us back to reality with the thought of what if Canada wouldn't let us stay, what if they returned us back to the United States under armed guard to face court martial?
On the drive back to Fire Island, we discussed the logistics of our escape, which, we decided, had to be planned meticulously. We would take the supplies back to the house, spend the night, pack and leave for Gordon's family home on Staten Island, where we could discuss things without the interference of Gran, Cam and the Bandit.
Since Gerry and I had airline travel vouchers from Philadelphia to Louisville, we would have to get to Philadelphia airport, sometime Sunday. Gordon had to report on Monday for the start of a new training cycle. This would give us most of the day tomorrow and all day Saturday to make plans.
***
Even though Gerry's playing on the floor with Cam and the Bandit took his mind off Moffett, it left Gordon and me in low spirits. Of course, the bottled spirits did nothing to help us out of the dumps. I should have taken Gerry's lead and stayed away from the booze.
"If you want," Gran looked up from her knitting. "I can get in touch with our old bootlegger, to find out who his contacts were on the reservation."
"Do you think that they'd be willing to help us?" I wondered, lighting another of many cigarettes that evening.
She laughed and put down her knitting, while Cam crawled up onto her lap. "If it'll screw over the government, I'm sure of it."
***
Gerry cuddled up next to me when he got into bed. I took him into my arms and wrapped my left knee over the side of his hip. "What's wrong, mein Schatz?"
"Would you promise me something?" His dick pulsed against the underside of my balls.
I nodded. "You know I will." I kissed his forehead. "No matter what."
"That we'll never go see our parents, ever again?" A tear trickled down my neck.
By the time I could say: "You got it." he had his full lips on my mouth, with his tongue tickling the lower part of my upper lip. His cock pushed past my sack, signaling that he wanted in.
When I rolled over, facing away from him, he pulled me into his familiar bear hug, while his cock searched for and found my pre-greased entry. His rod was oozing profusely, as the tip slid from under his skin and penetrated me. The velvety smooth, mucosal tissue of his glans and unrolled skin glided in. I closed my sphincter, anchoring him into place, allowing his smooth rhythm to massage my prostate.
His tongue was rimming the helix of my right ear; I was sucking his right middle finger. The fingers of his left hand were manipulating my left nipple; my right hand was manipulating my own foreskin. At the first tingles of my first buildup to orgasm, I stretched the skin over the tip of my cock and held it shut until the tingling passed, then I pulled my skin back and played with the frenulum, using my forefinger and thumb. For a second or two, I thought that I would drift into a trance.
When Gerry pulled out, I knew that he'd just averted orgasm, as well. We reversed positions, and it was my turn to enter him. Fortunately, the Crisco can was within reach, and I placed a dabble into his hole, releasing a slight whiff. My cock, still being wet with secretion, slid into him effortlessly. The warmth of him made me purr with contentment.
My motions, in and out of him, were slow and deliberate. But the scent of his skin, the smell of his blond hair, the magic from his damp underarms all conspired to make my orgasm build and boil over into his insides. His sphincter's spasms verified that he'd also let nature take its course.
I could tell by the way he spoke that he was almost asleep. "Why would anyone want to have their son circumcised?" obviously mulling over the conversation we'd had about Cam.
"Dunno, mein Schatz." I lapped slightly salty perspiration from the nape of his neck. "Maybe, they can't stand the thought of letting men have fun."