(c) 2014 Herb Cat. Do not reproduce or distribute this story without the author's permission.
As an author, I welcome feedback from readers. Please send any comments about the story, positive or negative, to Herb_Cat@mailcity.com. Thank you.
.oOo.
It was four in the morning on November 3, 1863 when I was roused out of bed by the sound of gunfire. I grabbed my Belgian Liege musket and prepared for battle, but the previous day had started out the same way and that turned out to be only a picket skirmish, so I wasn't too worried.
We had been sent to a little town in Saint Landry Parish, called Grand Coteau. We saw some Rebels on horseback coming out of the trees, but we quickly sent them packing. I was still nervous, but if anyone else in the 60th Indiana was worried, they did a good job of hiding it. I tried to hide it too. I hoped none of the men saw my knees shaking. I didn't want them to start calling me Girlie again.
Girlie. I've been suffering with that sobriquet all my life. I got three brothers, two older, one younger, and they're all bigger and stronger than me, even my baby brother. Since Calvin was ten and I was twelve, my little brother was taller and had way more muscles than me. He could whoop me good. And then he started growing hair in all the man places and finally started making cum a full year ahead of me.
Every year, about the beginning of April, Ma would look out the window in the morning and say, "Looks like a good hot sun today. Good day for washing clothes and letting them dry in the noonday heat. All you men should get out of union suits and throw them in the clothes basket." Oh, I knew what was coming next. Every year it was the same. How I dreaded that end-of-winter long johns wash day.
"Well, you heard what your Ma said," Pa declared as he stood up and pulled his overalls straps off his shoulders. My brothers did the same, and I knew I had to also. Off came our overalls, off came our shirts and then off came the long johns we had put on the previous October when the nights in Evansville began to get chilly. Then, stark naked, Pa would check out each of my brothers one by one, admiring their naked bodies. "Yes, Ma, we sure do got some real men here. Men with muscles. Men with hair. Men with balls. Men with good big cocks just like their Pa." It was true, each of my brothers was well endowed like Pa, with shafts strong and solid and thick, and balls like the biggest chestnuts on our tree. Finally, he'd get to me and chuckle. He'd flick my little dick with his finger and pretend he couldn't see my nuts. "They must be trying to hide. Trouble is that ain't much of a twig they're hiding behind. Why I've seen bitches with clits bigger than that." All four of them would then roar their asses off, calling me Girlie.
"Hey, Pa," Jethro would say, just like every year, "Let's see who has the biggest bone?" And then they would all start jacking off, Pa and my brothers. And of course, I had to jack off too. Then Horace would order Ma to go get the measure tape from her sewing box like she was his slave. And of course she did. And when they was all rock hard they would hold the tape along their cocks and then argue about who was the biggest. There was never any argument about who was the smallest though. It was always me. Girlie.
"Hey, Ma," Pa would say, and it was the same line every year: "You sure this one is mine? You sure you wasn't fooling around behind my back when he was made?"
One year I asked Ma why she let Pa talk to her like that. "Your Pa's a good man. He works real hard to provide for us. He holds his licker good, not like a lot of men in this town who are always drunk as skunks. He doesn't gamble. And you know, he's never hit me or any of you boys. That's a lot to say in a man these days." It was true, Pa wasn't a hitter. Oh, he wrassled my brothers all the time, taught em to fight like men. But he never laid into any of us with his bare hand, fist, strap or switch. Yet there are other ways to hurt a little kid bad, and Pa was real good at them with me.
When my little brother turned sixteen, Pa turned to my older brothers and said, "Looks like Calvin's a man now. What do you say, Sons, don't you think it's time to bring him down to Mistress Lily's?" Pa never brought me along to the local whorehouse, so I knew he didn't consider me a man. Not that I really wanted to go, you understand, but it woulda been nice if he invited me. I was never all that comfortable with the fairer sex. I started seeing Amanda after Church. I guess you could say I was courting her but I'm not sure she woulda said that. She seemed real sweet.
Well, then along came this recruiter into town and he was saying any real man should want to serve his country in her hour of need. He should stand up to fight for the Union. Fight against godlessness and lawlessness. Well, there was some men there in town who listened to him and then signed or put their mark on the enlistment form. Pa told Jethro and Horace and Calvin that they could serve their country by staying home and working on the farm. But Amanda's big brother signed up. Amanda was crying when she told me, "But he has to go, you know. That's what a real man does, he risks his life for a bigger cause."
"Then I'm going too." It just slipped out of my mouth. I didn't really mean to say it. I hadn't planned on joining the army or nothing. I didn't know nothing about the Union; I'd never been outside Vanderburgh County in my whole life. And I never knew noone who owned a slave. I just wanted to impress the one girl in town who'd ever given me the time of day.
So, a few days later, there I was standing at the stage depot with Amanda's brother, surrounded by our two families, there to see us off. Pa never said nothing to change my mind. I guess he didn't need me on the farm, cause in his eyes I was a Girlie. Ma was crying. She turned to Amanda's brother and said, "Please watch out for my sweet little boy." I knew she loved me, but God! Her sweet little boy?! Didn't I already feel like a castrated sheep?
Of course, Amanda's brother wanted nothing to do with me once we got to Camp Morton where we learned to shoot and march and all. If I thought I could start fresh and take on a new identity in the US Army, I was mistaken. As soon as some of the men caught sight of my equipment at the latrine, they knew I wasn't one of them. "Hey, Girlie, want to suck my dick?" they'd laugh. And they made jokes about my minié balls. For you who ain't never used a Belgian, you see, the ammo those muskets use are called minié balls. "Hey, Girlie, I ran out of minié balls. I bet you got a couple you don't need?" Even Amanda's brother called me Girlie. That's how he watched out for Ma's sweet little boy.
When men are at war, away from their sweethearts and wives, they get desperate for sexual release. Several times they told me they should make me their bitch, but they never followed through. Surprisingly, I was a little disappointed. I began dreaming about getting fucked by some of my well built comrades in arms. I realized I never had those dreams about Amanda.
I managed to hold my own in battle and even, despite all their taunts, won the respect of a few of the guys for my marksmanship at Chickasaw Bayou, and Arkansas Post, and the siege of Vicksburg. But then came Grand Coteau. The 60th and the other Union regiments didn't know it, but overnight the Rebels had received reinforcements and were now 6000 strong. We were outnumbered four to one. We fought valiantly though, like men! But in the end, they overwhelmed us. My company retreated through one of the nearby bayous, but with my short legs I had trouble keeping up. I slipped and knocked my head on a banyan tree. I could hear the enemy gunfire getting close before I passed out.
When I woke up, all was quiet. Was the battle was over? How many of my comrades didn't survive? Were the others all captured and taken to some filthy Confederate prison? I determined to make it back to my regiment, if anyone was left. I stood up, but wasn't sure which way to go. While I reconnoitered, I opened my pants and took a piss. God, in that stillness, my piss stream sounded so loud hitting the water.
"I he-uh something over he-uh, Captain," said a nearby voice with a distinctive southern drawl. Shit, I'd given myself away. Moments later, four men emerged from the thicket, three in ragged gray uniforms and well worn boots, the fourth a colored in rags too but not a uniform. Also he was barefoot and his ankles were shackled together. I was just draining the last drops from my bladder. I started to close my pants.
"Halt! Don't move, Yankee Boy," said the one they called Captain. He came and took my weapon. Then with his knife, he sliced my waistband and my pants fell to my ankles. "Well, don't that jist beat all. This boy ain't armed at all! Is that as big as they grow up North, Boy? Or should I say Girlie. Let me see now, bend over, Girlie." He gave me a shove and bent me at the waist, so my ass was right out there for all to admire. He sliced my pants off my ankles so he could spread my legs. "Clyde and Jerome, come on ovuh and look at the present the Union done give us." The two other greycoats circled around me, laughing and poking at my butt with the butts of their sidearms. "Hey, Yankee Girlie, you wanta see how cocks grow down he-uh in God's country? Anthony, get your black ass ovuh here!" The colored man came hobbling over, encumbered as he was by the shackles. "Now be a good boy and drop your trous, Anthony." The so-called boy was probably twice the Captain's age, but he hung his head and obediently let his pants down. "Yankee Girlie, take a closer look." He shoved me forward until my face was inches from Anthony's tool. What a sight. If I had my Ma's measure tape, this cock I saw would certainly beat any of my brothers, even my Pa's. Even flaccid, it hung halfway to his knees. It was a rich dark chocolate color, nearly black, except for the tip which was pink. Behind it a sack hung real low with two enormous globes inside. Above it was a patch of black nappy hair, and above that a well toned, muscular black torso with just enough sweat to glisten in the late afternoon sun. He was gorgeous. More beautiful than any of the men in my dreams.
"Anthony, how long it's been now since you was with a female?"
"Near to a year, Sir. Massa had his way with my Nellie. Then he sold her, Sir. He won't let me sleep with no one else, not yet anyhows. Not til he's ready to breed more nigger babies. That's what he said, Sir."
"And I bet your cock is just itchin to get a piece of nigger ass, ain't it."
"A black boy don't feel right if he don't get fuck once a while, Sir. But maybe Massa will give me a girl soon, only for a night, I know, but maybe soon. I just gotta wait, Sir. Be patient and all. Show Massa I'm a good boy."
"But you wasn't no good boy when you ran away now was you, Anthony?"
"Sir, I heard my Nellie was in the next plantation over and I just wanted to see her, Sir. Just once, Sir. That's all I was doing. I was gonna come right back, Sir."
"So you wasn't very patient after all. You got to thinkin bout that purty black bitch and your cock it start aquiverin and you say I gotta get me a fuck!"
"No, Sir. Like I say, I just wanted see she was all right, Sir. I was comin right back."
"Well, when we catched you, you didn't look like you was runnin to get home Anthony. That's why you're in them shackles now. So we can bring you back to your Massa and get us our reward."
All through this conversation, my eyes,--and my nose,--were enjoying the proximity of Anthony's loins. But with my ears, I realized these three weren't real Rebel soldiers. They were what they called guerrillas. Armed bands of men scouring the countryside looking for trouble. First they found a fugitive slave. Then they found a Yankee. This was their lucky day. That left still one more part of my face unaccounted for, and the Rebels noticed it.
"Well, don't that jist beat all. Look Clyde, Yankee Girlie is droolin!" said the Captain.
"Yeh, Cap, my old hound dog's tongue don't hang that far out of his mouth," said Clyde. His face looked like a hound dog.
"You wanta taste of darkie meat don't you, Girlie?" said Jerome. He was the short one, about my size. "Well, go ahead, be our guest. Feast yourself. Go on, don't be shy, Girlie."
I really didn't need encouragement. What I saw before me was tempting enough. I opened my mouth and took in the pink tip. I closed my eyes and suckled it like I musta done with Ma's tit long ago.
"That's the way, Girlie. Anthony he-uh is in some real need. Anthony, you been hurtin real bad for some good ole nigger ass. Well, for now you'll jist hafta settle for some Yankee ass. I know that ain't as good. No Yankee whatever his color is as good as a nigger, but you go right ahead and fuck that purty Girlie's face."
"That's it, Boy," said short Jerome. "Push it in a little more." He shoved the big nigger toward me, and I took more of his cock. It was pressing on the back of my throat now, and there was still half a cock more to come. Next I heard Anthony groaning. His cock was stiff now. So thick it filled my whole mouth. Then he started pumping. In and out, in and out. I wanted more of him, more of him. I spread my jaws wide and found if I bent my head just right I could take him down into my throat. My hands clenched his strong buttocks. I wanted to hold him close. Forever.
If I wasn't so focused on his cock in my mouth, I would have been more aware of what was happening at the other end. As it was, I only barely realized the Captain, Clyde and Jerome were spitting into my asshole and pushing their dirty fingers inside it.
Anthony's pace quickened. I was already tasting precum and I knew it wouldn't be long til I had the real milk in my mouth. But it was not to be. Short Jerome yanked Anthony away from my mouth, Clyde spun me around and the Captain pushed the nigger into my butt. His cock was wet from my spit. My asshole was wet from their spit. But still it took a long while for Anthony to get into me. Not that he wasn't trying. He was pushing for all its worth. He wanted in so bad. And I wanted him in me. But I was, like you say, a virgin. My hole was way too tight. I was crying, sweating. Anthony was screaming like a wild animal. The three Rebels were jacking laughing their asses off, watching the nigger trying to fuck the Yankee Girlie. Clyde got in front of me and shot his rocks off into my face. I didn't care. All I wanted was to have that big black meat inside of me. Jerome put his small cock in my mouth. It wasn't anywhere near as satisfying as Anthony's, but he did unload his cum in my mouth. I let it dribble out. Anthony's I would have swallowed. I could feel the Captain's load landing on my sweaty buttock. Then he slapped it and the cum went splat. He kept spanking my butt to get it to open up. All of a sudden it popped. My reluctant hole finally obeyed my wishes and took in that lovely thick black hardtack. Hell, did that hurt. But it hurt so good. Now Anthony was pounding away at my ass. Then he stopped cold. He froze. With a long sigh, he let loose his load into my ass. I knew he was erupting in me. A second load. Then a third. Then he was spent. I felt him deflating. No, I thought. I tried to squeeze my ass to hold him in, but it had been stretched too wide and his flaccid cock flopped out. We both collapsed on the ground.
The Rebels hooted and hollered. Jerome pulled out his canteen. "This calls for some moonshine." They passed the canteen around and it wasn't long before all three were out cold.
"That must be some powerful shine," I whispered to Anthony.
"Must be, Sir."
"Wonder how fast they're sleepin?"
"I'll find out, Sir." With that Anthony let out a loud "YANKEE'S GETTIN' AWAY!" The three of them didn't stir an inch. I snuck over to them and the first thing I did was retrieve my weapon, then I relieved them of their guns, and handed them to Anthony. "In the Captain's haversack, Sir," he whispered. I felt in there and found the key to the shackles. I unlocked Anthony's ankles and then put one end of the shackles on the Captain's right ankle and the other on Clyde's left ankle. They kept on sleeping. Then I looked in the haversack again and found a pair of manacles. With them I attached Clyde's wrist to Jerome's wrist. They showed no resistance, like limp dolls.
"What are you going to do with them, Sir?"
"Not me, Anthony, we. You and me are going to deliver them to the 60th Indiana Infantry. And then, if you want to fight for the Union, there's a colored regiment right up the river from our camp. I'm sure they could use a big strong man like you. And another thing, Anthony, Mr Lincoln wouldn't like you keep calling me Sir. He proclaimed you ain't a slave no more. Not a boy no more. You're a man now."
"You don't want me callin you Sir, Sir?"
"Nope."
"What should I call you then?"
I grinned. "You can call me your Yankee Girlie. I think I like that now."
"Hehe, OK, my Yankee Girlie. I like you. When are we going to go find your friends?"
"Well, those three are in no condition to travel right now. We'll probably have to wait til dawn. Until then, we'll have to keep watch in case they come to."
"Sounds like a good plan, my Yankee Girlie. So what'll we do to pass the time?"
I grinned again and got own on my knees. Anthony showed his ivories and came over for another blow job. This time I was free to swallow his delicious warm milk. Through the night, every time Anthony recharged, he deposited a new load in one of my holes. It was better than any dream.
The next morning, the three Rebels awoke with splitting headaches. First they saw how they'd been ironed together. Then they looked over and saw their big unfettered runaway slave sitting against a nearby tree, aiming a gun right at them with his right hand. His left hand was warmly caressing their Yankee prisoner comfortably sitting between those strong mammoth black thighs, holding another firearm in each hand. They knew they'd been licked. Their idea of sport had backfired.
I smiled, got up, leaned over and kissed my black lover on the mouth, then took the Captain's knife and walked slowly over to him with a threatening look in my eye. I placed the knife near his throat and he proceeded to lose his bowels. "Aww, ain't that too bad," I smirked. "Here, I'll help you remove your shitty trousers." With his knife, I cut them off him. He mumbled some curses, but since I was holding his knife, he didn't fight me. Next I cut Clyde's trousers off him. Jerome's trousers I left intact but took them off him to wear myself since the Captain had cut mine up. I didn't feel good wearing rebel grey but the fit was perfect. And it was wonderful seeing their three sorry asses exposed. I tied a rope around Captain's neck and led him away. His two friends were forced to follow. Behind them walked Anthony, a free man with a loaded gun in each hand.
I walked into my regiment's camp dragging a line of three pitiful looking bare assed Rebel prisoners. The guys were slackjawed at first but soon gave me a grand hurrah. Helpless, the three Rebs had to submit to a taste of their own medicine as my regiment took turns fucking their white trash asses. All day long, they submitted to the indignity, until their assholes were sloshing with Hoosier spunk. One time as I walked by, the Captain mumbled Yankee Girlie. Amanda's brother heard him and said, "What did you say, Reb? This fellow is more of a man than you'll ever be!" He punched him in the gut and then fucked his ass hard and violent. After that day, the men of the 60th Indiana never called me Girlie.
But Anthony did. Just before he left to join his new regiment, he took me aside. "Thank you, my Yankee Girlie. You're way better than any of those men, Union or Reb."
"And?"
Anthony showed off his ivories again. "And your asshole is way better than any bitch's cunt, black or white."
"Better than Nellie's even?"
He just smiled. "Goodbye, my Yankee Girlie."
.oOo.
As an author, I welcome feedback from readers. Please send any comments about the story, positive or negative, to Herb_Cat@mailcity.com. Thank you.