OUT OF THE RUBBLE - 2
Copyright 2004 by Carl Mason
All rights reserved. Other than downloading one copy for strictly personal enjoyment, no part of this story may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means electronic or mechanical, except for reviews, without the written permission of the author. Comments on the story are appreciated and may be addressed to the author at carl5de@netscape.net.
This story contains descriptions of sexual contact between a young adult male and young male teenagers. Nevertheless, "Out of the Rubble" is neither a strictly "suck and fuck" exercise nor is it a story that focuses on the "love of adults for the young"...often without sex or with the mere suggestion of sex. If you are looking for these types of erotic fiction, there are fine examples of each on Nifty. Something slightly different is required here.
However based on real events and places, "Out of the Rubble" is strictly fictional. Any resemblance to actual events, or locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental. Further, this is homoerotic fiction designed for the personal enjoyment of legal, hopefully mature, adults. If you are not of legal age to read such material, if those in power and/or those whom you trust treat it as illegal, or if it would create unresolvable moral dilemmas in your life, please leave. Finally, remember that maturity generally demands that anything other than safe sex is sheer insanity!
PART 2
(Revisiting the End of Part 1)
Suddenly, almost out of the corner of his eye, he saw a shape in the ruins of a small stone structure - perhaps the setting for a statue in happier times. There sat a youngster propped up against the remnant of a column, his face lowered onto his upraised knees, his shoulders shaking. Maybe 16, 5'-7" or so (176 cm), something less than 150 lbs (68 kg), soft, very light brown hair... He seemed rather muscular which was quite rare for a DP (displaced person) or a city kid. His clothes were so thin and ragged as barely to deserve the title of clothing. One trouser leg, for instance, was ripped a good two-thirds of the way up the leg from the cuff, revealing a sparsely furred calf and a nearly hairless, beautifully muscled thigh. A farm boy? That might also account for the teen's well developed shoulders and upper arms.
In the rays of the late afternoon sun, the dark-haired young American knelt close by and quietly asked, "Kann ich helfen, mein Freund?" [Can I help, my friend?]
(Continuing Our Story - Andreas)
The boy slowly raised his head, the tears streaming down his face through multiple layers of filth. His large blue eyes were dull and fixed; his mouth, slightly open. If not in shock, he clearly appeared to be completely played out. Reaching out his hand to lightly touch the side of the boy's face, Sam repeated his question. Rather than fear, which might have been expected, the exhausted youngster seemed to react with relief that someone finally cared. Sam sat down beside the lad and quietly, gently spoke to him for several minutes. Gradually, the boy began to come out of his funk and relax. "Dear God," thought Sam, "he's beautiful." Finally, the young American spoke more vigorously, saying, "Ich heisse Sam. Wie ist dein Name?" [I'm called Sam. What's your name?"] For the first time, the boy looked directly at Sam, tried to wipe away his tears, cleared his throat, and answered, "Andreas, Herr Hauptmann." ["Andreas, Captain.] [Though the conversation continues in basic German, we'll generally stay with English.]
Naturally, Sam is curious about Andreas's recognizing his American military insignia, but decides that this is neither the time nor the place to ask those questions. Reaching out his hand, he continues, "I'm happy to meet you, Andreas. If you will let me be your friend, I'd like to help you clean up, get some food, and have a safe place to sleep. May I do that?" Andreas doesn't seem to want to release Sam's hand. As the tears begin anew, he manages to nod in the affirmative. Sam tries to help the sturdy lad to his feet, but the boy collapses against the Captain. Fortunately, Sam recognizes an enlisted man who is cycling close by. The young man is only too happy to return to the Administration building - only a few blocks back - and return with Sam's Jeep. Again offering his thanks, the offer of a ride which was refused, and loading his bike and the boy into the vehicle, Sam resumes his homeward journey.
Although he's obviously weak, the wind in his face seemed to be doing wonders for Sam's passenger. Glancing sideways, Sam notices that there is even a slight smile on the boy's face, as well as the beginning of a sparkle in his eyes. With a grin and momentarily resting his hand on the boy's thigh, he asks, "Hey, friend, how did you get the name 'Andreas'?" "I was named by my Uncle Erich, Herr Hauptmann. We always had a small farm in the forest, but he was a teacher who lived in Pressburg" [today's Bratislava, the capital of Slovakia]. The boy's German was strongly accented, but, other than a couple of words, Sam was able to make it out. "Right! That's a Greek name that means 'courageous,' isn't it?" "Yes, sir, Herr Hauptmann!" the boy snapped out. Needless to say, Sam was becoming more and more curious, but he did not pursue that topic as they approached the house.
(Delousing)
After parking, he turned to the youngster and said, We've got a problem, Andreas. In your journeys, you've picked up some little visitors." He reached over to the back of the boy's neck, picked a couple of active lice from his hair with his fingernails, and held them up for Andreas's inspection. Gasping, the lad's face - and even that which could be seen of his leg - turned a brilliant pink. "Not to worry, Big Guy," chuckled Sam. I picked up my latest collection about a week ago! Welcome to Germany!" The boy grimaced even though his flesh slowly turned from passion pink to a more comfortable shade of blush. "If we don't kill them however, they'll be into your food, into your new clothes, into your bed - and onto me! Will you allow me to do what's necessary to get rid of the damned things? Then I'll fix you some of the best stew in Germany!" The words 'food,' 'new clothes,' and 'bed' seemed to resonate. Andreas actually laughed and responded with a firm, albeit accented, "Yeah!" You will guess that Sam found that to be a considerable improvement over, "Jawohl, Herr Hauptmann!" [loosely - very loosely - translated as, "Yes, sir, Captain sir!"] He also realized that Andreas had already had some contact with Americans. "Grab your pack and come with me."
Throwing an arm around the boy's shoulders, he escorted the still shaky youngster to the back of the house. Stepping inside for a moment, he retrieved a large bath towel. "Sorry about this," he continued, "but if you're going to get fed, you need to shed all of those clothes and put them into the covered barrel next to you. Out of them now!" Without protest, Andreas quickly stripped, discarded his rags, and accepted the towel which he wound around his filthy body. "Ok, now it's into the bathroom with you for a little louse killing!" Sam continued to joke with the lad as he led him down a hall to the bathroom. Exhausted, the boy faced his benefactor, extending his arms and placing his hands on Sam's shoulders to steady himself. "Andreas, I have some medicine that needs to be rubbed into your hair. Do you want to do it yourself - or would you rather have me help you?" Having clearly run out of energy during the past few minutes and starting to wobble back and forth on his feet, Andreas hung onto Sam for dear life, choked a bit, and in the voice of a much younger boy said, "Please, sir, help me."
Lowering the lad's head over the wash basin, Sam began gently to rub a rancid, rather unpleasantly viscous liquid into his charge's scalp. When he was satisfied that nothing had been missed, he moved on to the thin growth in his pits. Finally, he murmured, "Ok, Big Guy, this stuff has to be rubbed into your pubes. Want to do that yourself?" Almost asleep on his feet, the boy hoarsely whispered, "No, sir. Please help." Shaking slightly, Sam removed the towel, sat down on the toilet seat in front of the lad, and turned him so that he could press one hand against the boy's gorgeous, muscular butt while the other hand firmly rubbed the liquid into his pubes. At one point, swallowing and increasingly uncomfortable, the Big Green's former All-Ivy right halfback stopped and began filling the bathtub. [The "Big Green" refers to Dartmouth College, especially its athletic teams and personnel.] Returning to his task, he didn't stop until all of the lad's genital hair, including the few hairs on his long scrotum and the hair in his crack, were thoroughly saturated. He then reached out, embraced the boy, and pulled him down onto his lap. So they sat - silently, Sam's arms around the boy's torso, Andreas's head resting on Sam's chest - for about five minutes. It seemed a pleasant way to follow the medicine's instructions. Yep! Thank God for the Army medics!
Glancing at his watch, Sam lightly shook himself (and Andreas) awake, helped the boy into the tub, and told him firmly to stay awake and bathe well. Specifically, he gave orders to thoroughly remove the dirt, as well as the goop from his scalp and body hair. The tub would have to be refilled more than once. It was time. The boy smelled like an animal in rut, one whiff of his breath would have killed a herd of Brontosaurs, and the absolute stench of the medicine only made it worse! After placing a toothbrush, comb, and clean bath towel on the washbasin, he departed in order to prepare a light supper. Twice, he returned to help Andreas with the refills.
Returning to the bathroom for the final time, Sam was amazed to find that the boy had once again returned to the living. He was actually softly humming a folk tune. Teenagers... Helping Andreas to his feet, our young American reached for the towel...but suddenly stopped as if flash-frozen! What had gone into the tub had been covered in several layers of dirt, and was smelly and lice-ridden. That which stood before him was a youth who had just stepped off a Greek vase fashioned in Classical times! His moderately soft light brown hair glistened. If he lived for a thousand years, Sam knew he could never get enough of those blue eyes. The sheer beauty of his face and hairless, muscular torso made Sam's head whirl, as did the sharply defined abs, drum-tight stomach, and pronounced pelvic girdle. His body was obviously stressed, but it held the promise of magnificence. Gulping air, he gazed fixedly at Andreas's thick cock (in length a bit more than 5.5 inches or 14 cm...soft) that flowed out of a bush of lightest brown, and the long sack, hanging below that held two ping pong sized balls. He'd been in many locker rooms, in even more field shower stations, and still more cold streams, but he had never seen anything so achingly beautiful. In truth, the boy's legs and feet were no less impressive in their strength and beauty. Moreover, that which had been dirty flesh now gleamed with an inner glow akin to that of the finest marble. And the light odor was pure Andreas! At that moment - however many brutal rearguard actions remained - he lost a lifelong battle.
Suddenly, the young man caught himself, blushed, and gazed up at the boy-god standing before him. Lawdy...lawdy...lawdy... Had he ignored, suppressed, and occasionally fought these feelings for years only to turn into a god-damned...QUEER? Recognizing that his hero was now looking directly at him, a soft smile...mixed with something more...quickly faded from Andreas's face and he said simply, "Thank you, Herr Hauptmann...my friend."
"It's time for chow, youngster!" responded the young American. Quickly drying a few spots that the boy had missed and wrapping him in an extra robe, he led the lad into the kitchen. Andreas's body seem to go taut and he inhaled sharply as he spied the table that held a pitcher of milk and a large glass, a bowl of stew, and a plate of bread. Responding to the question as clear in the youth's eyes as had it been spoken, Sam laughed and said, "It's all yours! Go for it!" With a burst of energy, Andreas squirmed out from under the arm that lay across his shoulders and rushed to the table.
The boy had not quite managed to completely polish the last plate before he began to nod off. "Well, we've got to get you to bed. Two more quick things before you're off: First, at my office, I may be 'Herr Hauptmann,' but here at home I'm just Sam, your friend. Got it?" "Yes, Sam," Andreas replied in clear English. "Secondly, we've got one more thing to do to those lice. Ok?" Accepting the boy's sleepy, weakly affirmative nod, he led him into the dark backyard, removed his robe, allowed his body to cool for a moment, and told him to keep his eyes and mouth protected and tightly shut. At that point, he used a hand-held pump not yet returned to the Medics to completely dust the boy's body with a delousing powder. Overcome once again with fatigue, the youngster began to shake and stumble. Powder and all, Sam picked him up in his arms, carried him into his bedroom, and gently tucked him into the second single bed.
After showering and quickly cleaning up the kitchen and bathroom, the young American sat in his living room, nursing a Scotch. He had a million questions, but they would simply have to wait until tomorrow.
(Unraveling the Mysteries)
Andreas slept well into the morning without moving, snoring, or giving any other dramatic signs of being alive. Sam brewed his coffee and munched on a piece of bread. Quietly he carried a comfortable chair into the bedroom, and sat back, watching the boy and scribbling a few notes. As an excuse for taking the day off, he told himself that he'd worked nearly every minute since arriving in Tieferwald. In that, he was entirely accurate.
It was nearly eleven before the boy coughed and began to stir. After beginning to draw his bath, Sam leaned down over the boy, wiped some excess powder from his eyelids and lips, and said, "Big Guy, I want you to go into the bathroom and wash every bit of power off your body. While you're cleaning up, I'll get rid of all those dead cooties on the bed and begin to fix breakfast for my friend. Ok?" Still somewhat disoriented - though the words 'breakfast' and 'friend' had clearly registered - a happy youngster headed for the bathroom. As promised, Sam carefully collected the boy's robe and towels from the night before, the ragged clothes in his pack, and bundled them together with sheets and the light blanket. Gingerly he took them out into the backyard, placing them in the covered barrel. (He'd let the boy examine his old clothing when it was clean and lice-free. Then he could keep anything he wanted.) After remaking Andreas's bed, the young American returned to the bathroom where he again tousled the boy's hair and helped him drain and refill the tub. Grinning like the proverbial canary who had swallowed the cat, he finally retreated to the kitchen. It was not where he wanted to be.
Dry and clad in an absurdly large T-shirt given to Sam as a joke by his Army buddies just before he left for Tieferwald, Andreas descended on the kitchen like a pack of ravening wolves. Most of the food that remained in the house was quickly inhaled. As the last of the food stores disappeared, Sam turned to his young friend and suggested that he take it easy for one day...staying in bed, napping and snacking when he felt like it, talking about recent events, getting ready for an active day in Tieferwald tomorrow. He also pointed out that Andreas would need one set of clothes prior to their shopping at the PX. The boy agreed to the quiet day and allowed Sam to take a few measurements, a process that both seemed to enjoy immensely. (A phone call to a friend at the PX insured that food and one set of clothes would be delivered before the end of the day.) Sam then tickled him all the way to his clean bed. Andreas loved every minute of it.
Drawing his chair up to the bed, Sam smiled, said he realized Andreas was German, and wondered what Germans were doing in Czechoslovakia. The lad gladly gave his benefactor a short history lesson, pointing out that his corner of the world had been a swirling cross-roads of humanity since earliest times. Early German tribes, Celtic peoples, Slavs, and later Germans had poured into the region in successive waves, living side by side, intermarrying, occasionally erupting into bloody ethnic and religious spats. As early as the 12th Century, for instance, Pressburg was recognized as an important German city. His people had entered the region in the 14th Century, settling in Pressburg where they adopted an urban lifestyle and in villages in the central forests where they led a rural life. He had grown up on a small farm surrounded by loving parents, several brothers and sisters, and a host of close relatives. Nevertheless, they often traveled to Pressburg where an uncle loved and respected by the entire family was a teacher. Andreas had even learned a bit of English from his favorite uncle. On the farm or in the city, his family held education, music, art, and literature in high esteem.
When Slovakia became an independent state supported by Hitler in 1939, many of the influential ethnic Germans living in Pressburg (and in the eastern Carpathian region) were Jewish. In Slovakia, tensions between inhabitants mounted. Increasingly, few distinctions were made between Germans who were Gentiles and Germans who had Jewish backgrounds - other than the fact that the Jews were sent to death camps! In late 1944, as Hitler's grasp on the region weakened, savage attacks were mounted against the rural Germans by Slovaks and bands of vicious thugs who owed allegiance to no one other than themselves. In one attack on their village, his father, mother, several siblings, and his closest relatives were slaughtered. Andreas and two brothers made their way to Pressburg where they were welcomed by their uncle who had refused to flee to Vienna. On April 4, 1945, after a stiff battle, the Russians occupied the city. In the looting and acts of ethic insanity that followed, his uncle and one brother were killed. The two remaining boys - Andreas as his nine year old brother, Jurgen - joined a stream of German refugees who fled west. Neither the Russians nor the Austrian Germans were at all sympathetic to their plight.
Struggling across the lands that had been Austria, dying by the dozens from hunger, disease, and exposure, Andreas's band finally approached the border of Bavaria on May 6th. Their pathetic little column was suddenly attacked by a screaming mob of drunken thugs bent on seizing food and anything else of value. In terror, they ran through the forest, refugee after refugee falling before their assailants. Looking back, Andreas saw that Jurgen had tripped. He watched in agony as a giant of a man clubbed the little boy repeatedly, spreading blood and brain tissue in a widening circle. Having no choice, he ran on, the wild-eyed, drunken bandits gaining on him at every step. Another giant was on his heels when several shots rang out. Just ahead, Andreas saw that which turned out to be an American military patrol. They had shot his pursuer and one other thug and were motioning for him to join them.
Andreas said that he would never forget the little band of GIs who saved his life. They fed him, they deloused him, they taught him some American slang and introduced him to chewing gum. For a few days they adopted him as their mascot. Only when they approached their command post in a Bavarian village, did they reluctantly turn him loose to continue his odyssey.
For long weeks, he slowly made his way to the north and west where he had been told he would find more Americans. Unfortunately, he never met a similar "Band of Brothers." It wasn't long, of course, before the food and supplies shared by his American buddies ran out. From then on, it was a journey of tears. He scrounged food, he occasionally stole when he could not beg necessities, he tried to stay alive by keeping out of people's way. When he finally stumbled into Tieferwald on the same day that he was discovered by Sam, he had thoroughly exhausted his resources of youthful strength and human hope
For the better part of an hour, the two young men held each other, saying little, sobbing occasionally, exalting in the simple fact that they were alive.
It was late afternoon when a loud knock on the front door signaled that the food order and a change of clothing for Andreas had arrived. Sam went to the door, returning in just a few minutes. He tossed a large paper-wrapped parcel on the bed in front of Andreas, who looked at it longingly with wide eyes. On Sam's nod, the grinning, babbling lad ripped the string and paper from the package and held aloft a blue shirt, a pair of khakis, a belt, a pair of Army boots, plus a small collection of khaki socks, T-shirts, and undershorts. In his best command voice, the Captain jokingly ordered him to get out of bed and stand at attention. Raising the giant T- shirt off his body and casting it aside, Sam slowly ran his hands over the top of the naked youngster's hefty shoulders. Coming close to losing it, Andreas lowered his forehead to rest against his hero's chest. For just a moment, Sam rubbed the boy's muscular back. Then, again in command of himself, he huskily told the lad to dress in his new clothes and meet him in the kitchen.
After repeated compliments on the new clothes, a hearty supper, and clean-up, the two young men - their friendship and, more importantly, their feelings for each other deepening - sat in the comfortable living room, joking and talking about what the next day might bring. Well before eleven, as Andreas began to run out of steam, the two headed for bed, stripped to their underwear, and jumped in.
Around 3:00 am, Sam was awakened by a vicious flash of lightening that completely illuminated the bedroom, coupled with rolling thunder that seemed to come from every direction. For some reason, he turned over in the direction of Andreas's bed. Another flash allowed him to see Andreas standing nearby, disheveled, his damp, naked body glowing like marble, obviously terrified. Sobbing, the words tumbled from his mouth: "Sam, Sam, I saw Jurgen murdered again, I felt his blood splash on me. Oh, Sam... Sam, I pissed myself. I am so sorry...so very sorry. Leaping out of bed, Sam hugged the poor kid for a moment and then led him to the bathroom to wash off. He then gathered the boy's soggy underwear and sheets, and dumped them into the bathroom tub. Putting an arm around Andreas's waist, ineffectively dabbing at his chest with a hand towel, he murmured gently, "It's ok, friend. It's ok.. Everyone has bad dreams...and accidents happen. Let's try to get some sleep. We have a long, exciting day ahead of us."
As they reentered the bedroom - the heavy thunder and lightening continuing - the boy lagged behind as Sam slipped into bed. The Captain was still wearing his undershorts, but had removed his damp T-shirt. "Sam," came a thin, wavering voice, "I'm so scared. Could I sleep with you...just for tonight?" Big Green said nothing, but motioned sleepily to Andreas to jump in. The naked youngster immediately slid into the narrow single bed in front of Sam. His Captain remained silent, simply drawing the boy closer and nuzzling the hair at the back of his neck. Sam didn't know it then, but Andreas had no intention of ever again sleeping anywhere else.