Gay Erotic Stories

Toby looked like he wasn’t feeling good. “What’ll you have?” he asked rather quietly. I gave him a blank look. It was the first time he’d ever asked me what I wanted to drink. He knew.

“The same,” I said with a curious look.

He got my beer and instead of sliding it across the bar like he always did he reached over and set it squarely in front of me. I gave him another curious look and took a drink of beer, looking at him over the top of the bottle.

“You haven’t heard,” he said in a soft, flat tone.

“Heard what?”

Toby gushed the air out of his lungs with a pained look on his face.

“Heard what?” I asked, now with panic in my voice.

He still hesitated.

“Heard what?” I asked, and in those few seconds that lapsed I grew panicky.

“Jason’s plane went down.”

The air went out of me and the blood left my head, leaving me light-headed. I felt a little dizzy and I slid up on the bar stool because my legs weren’t going to hold me up.

“My God!” I whispered. “He…he’s…he’s not…”

Toby just shook his head. I downed the rest of my beer and Toby put a glass of whiskey in front of me and set the bottle beside it.

“I’m sorry, Brad. I’m so fuckin’ sorry. He was a great guy.”

I sat there staring into the glass, trying to breath and trying to quell the sick feeling in my stomach. “Where? When?” I asked.

“They were on their way back, stopped for refueling and something went wrong; only two survivors.”

I put my hand to my head and closed my eyes tightly, fighting down the emotions that threatened to burst free.

“He got to see his family,” Toby said in a consoling tone but if it was supposed to be any consolation, it wasn’t. Not for me.

“Geezuss, all that guy did, and he went down in a goddamned airplane?” I said.

“Do you need to use my office?” Toby asked.

I shook my head. “No, I have to go someplace.”

“Brad…,” Toby said as I downed the whiskey and stood down from the bar stool. I exited the bar and sucked in the night air, pungent with the odors of a city that didn’t concern itself with air pollution. It smelled good to me. I walked hard in the direction of the church. I needed God worse than I’d ever needed Him in my life and it wasn’t all for good and holy reasons. I was angry. I wanted some answers why this stupid thing had happened, and I had a few things to say to that saint. And the patron saint of military men…where the hell was he?!?

I wasn’t any more calmed down by the time I got to the church but I entered with the reverence and respect that had been instilled in me as a boy. I was angry, but you didn’t show anger and disrespect at the same time in the house of God. I took a pew in the front and knelt down, near the grotto of the saint I’d prayed to for Jason’s safety with the dozens of flickering candles at his feet. I avoided looking up at the statue. I didn’t have anything to say to him and if he had anything to say to me, he could have God strike me down to get my attention. I looked up at the crucifix instead…stared at it for a long time…and felt a calm come over me. I don’t know what it was, but the tension left me and I realized that it wasn’t anger at all, but grief that consumed me.

I tried to fight down the emotions and the tears. I didn’t know why. I don’t know why anybody does. It’s there and it’s going to be there till you let it out or it’s going to hurt all the worse. In my case I didn’t let it out, it escaped on its own. I started to recite the litany of prayers I’d learned as a boy but my shoulders slumped and I sobbed. I lost it completely. I heard footsteps coming into the church then someone moved into a pew close behind me. I didn’t realize how close till I felt a hand on m shoulder. “Hey, buddy…excuse me… Geezuss, what’s wrong?” he asked. His voice was hard and deep. He got up and moved into the pew beside me. He was intruding on my space but I was grateful for his presence. I was more grateful when I felt his arm across my shoulder. He was in uniform, combat fatigues.

“I know how it hurts,” he said.

How did he know? He didn’t even know why I was hurting. But he did. “I lost my best friend a month ago,” he said.

He wasn’t a priest so I felt no need to confess anything about my feelings for Jason, to explain the depth of my feelings. It went deeper than that anyway, beyond the sex we’d shared. The guy was offering me compassion. After a few minutes though, I wanted to be alone. When I began to regain my composure he asked, “Do you want to go have a beer?”

I shook my head. “I want to stay here for awhile,” I said.

“Okay. I’ll be at the Dragonfly. I’ll be there for awhile.” He went up to one of the grottos, lit a candle and knelt down. After a few moments he got up and left. He nodded as he walked past me and I wondered who or what he had prayed for.

I sat in the soft dimness, letting the grief engulf me. I didn’t raise hell with the saint. I wasn’t angry anymore. Jason would’ve frowned on it anyway. He would’ve been embarrassed with my grief. But it was mine, not his. I sat numb for over a half hour, not trying to grab any of the thoughts running through my head. I was just there, in a space with the heat of the candles warming it; there for no real purpose and need to be there and I didn’t know why I was. I suppose I wanted to feel the warm embrace of an understanding being that would comfort me or make the awful truth go away. But I didn’t feel it. All I felt was numb, and my own presence, very much alone, in an empty space. Finally, I crossed myself and stepped out of the pew. I still didn’t’ look at the statue of the saint. I wondered if it was too late to meet up with the soldier. I walked the few blocks to the Dragonfly. When I went in he waved me over and signaled to the waitress to bring me a beer. “I’m glad you decided to come,” he said.

“I just needed a little more time,” I said.

“Jack Burnside,” he said, putting out his hand.

“Brad Courter.” I sat down.

“I know it fuckin’ hurts,” he said.

“How did you know?” I asked.

“Because I just went through it. I’ve still got the pain in the pit of my stomach. How’d it happen?”

“His plane went down.”

“He was a pilot?”

“No, he was coming back from the states. He was a Navy Seal. He was going to re-enlist. He was a Navy Seal sniper and he gets it in a damned plane crash.”

“Me and my best friend enlisted and came over here together,” he said.

“How’d you get past it?”

“You don’t. You deal with it. I don’t know how long that’s going to take.”

We talked for over two hours and I felt better, and maybe he did too. We promised we would stay in touch; meet up at Toby’s. I went to Colonel Brown and requested to escort Jason back home.

“You knew Petty Officer Seaborn?”

“Yes, sir, very well.”

“I’ll see what I can do,” he said.

Less than an hour later, he called me into his office. “Get your shit together, you’re the escort,” he said. “Your orders are being cut. I’m giving you some extra time so you can go see your family while you’re there. You’ll need to go over to his unit and pick up his personal stuff. Take one of the Jeeps.”

“Yes, sir.”

“And Courter, go through his stuff carefully, make sure his mother doesn’t get something she shouldn’t see,” he added..

“Yes, sir.”

I drove to his unit, showed the LT my orders and he had someone show me to Jason bunk and foot locker. “You need anything, let me know,” the young PFC said. “You want some coffee?”

“Yeah, thanks.”

He came back with a cup of coffee. “You need anything else, let me know.” The PFC came back a few minutes later with a form on a clipboard. “LT says you need to list everything and sign for it,” he said.

I began making the list, in detail; his shaving kit, shorts, socks, T-shirts, a few letters and pictures, a watch, a choker necklace, the presentation boxes containing his ribbons. It didn’t surprise me that there wasn’t anything in Jason’s locker that his mother shouldn’t see, except I confiscated four condoms. She didn’t need to have those. I even noted on the form who the letters were from and if there were any pictures in the envelopes. On the very bottom, tucked under a pair of athletic shorts and a jockstrap I found an envelope with the words, “In case of my death see that this letter is delivered Cpl. Brad Courter at Intel.” I felt a chill holding the letter in my hand. It was a moment or two before I could bring myself to open it.

“Buddy,

I hate to put this burden on you, but you’re the one I want to handle it. If you can’t do it, I’ll understand, but I’m asking you. I won’t get sappy, but I want you to know that you’ve been the best buddy I ever had; like the brother I never had. I know, I’ve got a brother, but you’re more a brother than he is. Don’t try to make my folks understand. I don’t expect them to. You do and that’s what matters, that I and what I stood for are not forgotten at this time. And I know you will make sure that what I stood for is honored.

I’m not sure mom or my dad will want to keep the flag. If they don’t, you take it. It does not go to my brother! He would probably burn it, and it would only mean more to their cause that it covered my casket. Being with you was great, in every way. You taught me a lot, you gave me a lot. I only wish I could have given back just a fraction of what you gave me but you knew I wasn’t built that way.

Take whatever else you want of my stuff. I would like for you to keep the ribbons, my discharge papers and DD214 keep unless my mom and dad ask for them, which I’m sure they won’t. There’s another sheet attached that authorizes you to take care of everything, including the final arrangements. Didn’t want to include it here because what I’ve said is none of anybody else’s business.”

(I turned to the other sheet.)

“This will authorize you to make all the final arrangements. You know what I want; full military honors. And that’s not just for me; I want it because it will honor the rest of the guys who are still fighting and dying over here. I want my death to mean something, Brad. It has to mean something, otherwise what the hell was it all for? To back up this authorization, my GI insurance is made out to you. After you’ve paid everything, go out and have a beer ON ME, then give what’s left to my parents. It’s been a hell of a ride, Brad, and I’m honored that you were there with me. Take care of yourself. Stay safe, and say hello to Toby for me.

Your buddy, Jason”

I stayed knelt beside his foot locker for a moment to regain my composure. Then I inventoried the stuff on the shelf and the stuff hanging on the rack at the head of his bunk. It was mostly uniform shirts and pants. I found the PFC and told him I was finished and asked if he could get me a duffle bag to put everything in.

“Do you want to go through the stuff and verify my list?” I asked, handing him the clipboard.

“No. If he trusted you, I do,” he replied and signed off on the sheet.

In addition to the ribbons and the condoms, I took a pair of his briefs, a T-shirt, the choker necklace, two pictures that he was in, his athletic shorts and jockstrap; all things that meant more to me than they ever could anyone else.

We flew out on a C-130 and began island-hopping back to the states. I sat with Jason’s casket all the way. We were met in San Diego where we transferred to a civilian plane headed for Indianapolis. There was some hassle over me staying with his body on that flight but I won out. I stayed with his body every leg of the journey except in the hearse. In Indianapolis, along with the waiting hearse, there was also a military sedan for me to drive. So I followed on the drive to his hometown, a small town called Attica. I showed the funeral director the letter but told him I wanted the family to be there when the arrangements were made. From the funeral home I found my way to Jason’s parents’ house.

I was welcomed and treated with cool respect. I thought they were angry and would have liked to take it out on me. The four of us, Jason’s mom and dad and his brother, Allen, went to make the arrangements. His brother was an ass.

“Does that make you feel proud?” he said, indicating my uniform as we stood aside while the funeral director was talking privately with his parents.

“Damned proud,” I said, unflinching. “He was a good man and a fine soldier.”

“Well, I guess this isn’t the place,” he said and let it go.

His parents pretty much accepted the fact that Jason had asked me to make his arrangements and they seemed okay with it, especially when they saw that I wanted them along. His brother was another story. The casket was picked out and we were back in the office where the funeral director explained that he would get a flag and arrange for an honor guard. That’s when Allen interrupted.

“Look we don’t really want all the military honors,” he said. “We would like to simply put my brother to rest in peace.”

I looked at his parents but I couldn’t tell whether they agreed with their son or not. I was hoping they did and would speak up but when they didn’t say anything, the funeral director did.

“I’m sorry, but I have a copy of a letter that the deceased wrote to Mr. Courter stating his wishes and requesting him to be in charge of the arrangements,” the man said, “even so far as to make him beneficiary of his life insurance.”

“That’s interesting,” Allen said.

“I can’t disregard your brother’s instructions,” the funeral director went on.

“For your peace of mind, I’ve already signed the insurance money over to the funeral home,” I said in as kindly a voice as I could muster. “He will return the unused portion to Mr. and Mrs. Seaborn.” I would have been dubious about doing that but the couple obviously knew and trusted the man. I didn’t mention the cash I’d kept out of Jason’s personal stuff. I wasn’t stealing it. He told me to have a beer on him, and that’s what I had to do.

Allen glared at me. I looked at his parents again but got no clue what they were thinking. Finally, his mother spoke up. “You know better than anyone what he would have wanted,” she said.

When the arrangements were made I started to excuse myself and leave the family alone. “Where are you going?” Mr. Seaborn asked.

“I was going to get a room at the motel,” I said.

“You’ll do no such thing,” Mrs. Seaborn said with indignation. “You can take Jason’s room. He would be honored.”

It would have been impolite to argue so I went back to the house. Allen dropped his parents off and left. Mr. Seaborn was waiting on me and met my car. “I’ll get your bag,” he said.

“No, that’s all right, I’ll get it.” But I stopped in mid-motion when I saw the firm determined look on the man’s face.

“The marines didn’t teach you to respect your elders? I said I’ll get your bag.”

“Yes, sir,” I said and backed off.

I followed Mrs. Seaborn up the stairs with her husband behind me with my bag. He set the bag down at the door and she showed me into Jason’s room.

“Make yourself at home. The room is just like Jason left it…he was just here…,” she said. “We thought he would…” She stopped again, choking off her words. But then she quickly recovered. “We thought he would want to use it for a little while when he got back, before he went on with his life.”

I thanked her quietly but profusely. It’s not what I’d planned but I was so grateful for her hospitality. When I was alone, I stood there. It was eerie; comforting and disturbing at the same time. The room seemed to wrap itself around me, as Jason had done so many times. It was easy to imagine him there; I could almost feel his presence. I tried to imagine the day that he walked out of the room to become a marine, expecting to return and find everything just as he’d left it, and when he did return, he would find that nothing was as he’d left it.

The first thing to catch my eye when I walked in was the weights and the workout bench that took up about a fourth of the space. I walked around the room taking in every detail. The bed that he’d slept in such a short time ago was wrinkled where he’d sat on it, I suppose, to put his boots on. There was still a towel draped over the barbell from where he’d worked out last, I’m sure while he was home. There were several pictures of bodybuilders stuck to the wall.

A football sat cocked against the pillow. A bulletin board displayed a dried boutonniere, some ticket stubs, old newspaper clippings from the sports page, several pictures of him and his team mates as well as pictures of him and various girls. There was a concert poster on the closet door. His clothes hung in the closet, including his athletic jacket. It hung heavy with medals. I wondered if he felt the same about his athletic honors as he did about his military medals…no big deal. Oddly, there was a GI Joe doll standing on his dresser, barefoot, no shirt. I couldn’t help noticing the striking resemblance. I would learn later in conversation with his parents that he had patterned himself after GI Joe. Mrs. Seaborn called me down to supper; she called it, not dinner. “You take Jason’s chair,” she said, pointing to a chair at the opposite end of the table from her husband. I felt uneasy about it but I didn’t argue. Whether it was meant as a gesture of hospitality or honor to her son, these people were not to be argued with. We made casual and pleasant conversation during supper. I wondered but didn’t ask where Allen was. I thought he should have been there to comfort his parents. He was, after all, the surviving son.

“You’ve probably gathered that Jason and Allen didn’t see eye-to-eye on things,” Mr. Seaborn said.

“Allen and Jason never saw eye-to-eye on anything,” Mrs. Seaborn said, laughing softly. “Sometimes I wondered how they both ended up in the same house. You would think one of them was an orphan,” she joked.

“Jason was very proud of his brother, being in law school,” I said. I wanted them to know that. “We were very proud of Jason,” she said.

“He would be glad to know that,” I said. I steered the conversation away from matters of war and military as best I could and began asking about Jason when he was a little boy and a teenager in high school. I noticed that it was a much more relaxed conversation. I offered to help with the dishes after supper.

“Oh, my, no,” Mrs. Seaborn said, throwing up her hands. “The kitchen is my domain; I would never allow the men-folk in there.”

“So Jason never had to do dishes?” I asked light-heartedly.

“He did plenty of other things. He was a hard worker at anything he did,” she said. So Mr. Seaborn and I retired to the living room. Surprisingly, he didn’t turn on the television as I expected he would, if only as a focal point to ease the tension. Instead, he sat down, cocked one leg over the other and started talking.

“Tell me about my son,” he said. “We never really knew him after he joined the Navy.”

“I can sum it up in a few words. He was the best fighting man and the bravest man I ever met,” I said.

He nodded, “That doesn’t surprise me. He was never one to let a wrong go unnoticed and he never waited for somebody else to do something about it. If he saw it, or heard about it, he took care of it.”

It was trying to walk a fine line, trying to talk about Jason without getting into details about what he did. I wanted Mr. Seaborn to know, but Jason wouldn’t have wanted me to talk about it on his behalf. I wanted to offer his medals but Jason had been specific that they should ask for them. “Tell me about my son,” the man said again, this time with firmness in his voice that wasn’t to be ignored.

I dropped my head like a little boy being chewed out. “He was a Navy Seal, you knew that,” I said, looking back up at him.

“What do Navy Seals do exactly?” he asked.

“I’m a marine so I don’t know exactly, only that they’re the most highly trained and the toughest fighting force in the world.”

He sat quietly, looking at me, his eyes unwavering, as if he were waiting on me to continue. I was about to tell him that his son was a sniper but just then Mrs. Seaborn came in from the kitchen to join us. I was glad for her presence. She turned the conversation to Jason’s boyhood and that was much easier for all of us to talk about. It got late and the conversation waned and I excused myself to go up to bed. “Let me know if there’s anything you need,” Mrs. Seaborn said.

I undressed and hung up my uniform, trying to imagine Jason there with me; like two high school boys. Something compelled me to dig out his jockstrap. I stood naked in front of his workout mirror and pulled it on. For that brief moment, I was Jason, stuffing my manhood inside the worn jockstrap. I was Jason stretching out on the workout bench to do some bench presses. I quickly came back to the reality that I wasn’t Jason when I couldn’t push the barbell up off the rack. I didn’t bother the plates on the bar. I was awash with emotion as I got in his bed. I tucked his football against me and cried.

I drove downtown, parked and walked around; trying to absorb what Jason felt when he was a teenager. I went in and out of a couple of stores; a clothing store and a sporting goods store and it was easy to see him there. I drove up to the school and walked out on the football field.

“Can I help you, mister?” I turned to see a burly youth walking toward me. “I was just looking around,” I said.

“Did you go to school here....play football?” he asked.

“I played football, but not here,” I said.

He snapped his fingers, “You’re the escort for Jason Seaborn,” he said.

“Yes. I just wanted to see where he played.”

“Would you like to see the locker room?”

“Yes, I would.”

We walked across the field to the school, the boy chattering about Jason’s athletic prowess. “He was ahead of me in school,” he said. “Everybody looked up to him--especially the freshmen and sophomores. He was a great athlete.” He chuckled softly, “The guy was a stud. Everybody wanted to be like him.”

He led the way into the locker room and showed me Jason’s locker. It still had his name on the door. “Another guy, Patterson, was using the locker but he never took Seaborn’s name off the door and he left his helmet and jersey right where Jason left it,” he said as he opened the door. “When we heard he was killed, Patterson moved his stuff out and ripped his name off the door. It’s Seaborn’s locker now and that’s the way it’ll stay.”

I was overwhelmed by the boy’s almost hero-worship of Jason. Jason would have been impressed, too, if a little embarrassed. The way the boy went on talking about him, it was obvious that Jason had attained stud legendary status in his old school.

The honor guard arrived for the wake; a seven-man contingent of marines in full dress from Terre Haute. I supposed that was okay with Jason, that they were Marines instead of Navy. They stationed themselves around the room, standing at parade rest. I took my place at the end of the casket, back out of the way from his parents. It pissed me off how many people ignored us. I spoke or acknowledged people only if they spoke to me first. I wondered where his brother was. Maybe he wouldn’t show.

I was appalled and really pissed when he showed up wearing a black arm-band. He was with four other guys, all wearing arm-bands, with two girls who had black ribbons in their hair. I motioned for one of the guards to take my place at the casket and I went to meet the “protestors” before they could move into the room. I motioned his brother into the small ante-room beside the office.

“Give me the armband,” I said.

“We’re all wearing them.”

“Those other cowards can do whatever they want. You’re his brother.”

“Who the hell do you think you are to order me around? I have the right to express my feelings in any way I wish.”

“Not here,” I snapped in calm anger. “You know, Jason told me he was proud of you and he understood why you couldn’t be proud of him. Well, I don’t. This isn’t about you or your asshole cowardly friends. This is a military service to honor the bravest man I ever knew. Now give me the arm band, or I’ll take it off of you.”

“You wouldn’t dare,” he said, laughing nervously.

“Watch me,” I said in a low, even tone. “It won’t be pleasant,” I added.

He hesitated then took off the armband.

“Wise choice,” I said as I stuffed it in my pocket. “You can have it back after the wake,” I said.

“Fuck you. There’re plenty more where that came from.”

“Don’t show up wearing one at the funeral tomorrow,” I warned.

“I don’t know why my brother put you in charge of the arrangements in the first place,” he growled.

“I think I’m looking at why,” I said. “He didn’t trust you--and obviously with good reason.”

It was apparent that Jason had impacted a lot of lives in one way or another. It didn’t surprise me that a lot of girls were at the wake; a lot of very sad, emotional girls crying on each other’s shoulders or with their heads buried in their boyfriend’s chests. In my perverted grief, I wondered which or how many of them had lain under his muscular athlete’s body and known the awesome pleasure of his huge cock inside them. There were a lot of his high school buddies there, too--studly even--with tears running unashamedly down their faces. What did surprise me were the younger kids, some barely in their teens, who I’m sure Jason had never known. “Yeah, you were a hero, I thought; more than you know.”

It was the biggest funeral I ever went to. They held it at the school gymnasium because the funeral home was too small. The procession from the gym to the cemetery was so long that they had people directing traffic and parking in the cemetery while other cars were still pulling out of the school parking lot.

Wisely, Allen didn’t show up wearing an arm band. His friends weren’t so considerate. The priest gave a good sermon. He obviously knew Jason as a boy and he made it personal. He even made us laugh. At the end he extended the invitation on behalf of the family for everyone to go to the church to eat. He extended a special invitation the military contingent.

Allen looked more angry than sad standing with his parents at the grave. I was having a tough time keeping my composure. I almost lost it, not from grief or sadness but with rage, when the firing squad fired the twenty-one-gun salute. One of the peaceniks actually turned his back to the casket when the salute was fired. I held my rage in check. It was not the time or place to vent it. I could see the anger on the faces of the other marines. Allen glared when the flag was presented to his mother. She took it warmly and held it to her breast. Her husband put his hand over the flag. The guy who had turned his back walked away as the flag was being presented. I waited for the priest to say his final words then I stepped back and followed the peacenik who was walking across the cemetery. “Hey, scum-bag,” I called quietly.

He stopped and turned around with a surprised look. “Hold up, asshole,” I said. We were far enough away from the grave that no one could hear me. I half expected him to run away. I don’t know if it was defiance or fear that kept him from it. “That man in that casket won you the right for you to wear that arm-band,” I said. “The least you could do is honor that service and show some respect for his parents.”

“I’m only trying to stop more of them from coming home in a casket,” he said angrily.

“This wasn’t the time or the place for it,” someone said from behind.

I glanced around and there were four of the marines. “Wherever we can be heard is the time and place for it,” he said.

“If this wasn’t a cemetery, I would tromp your sorry, cowardly ass in the ground,” the other marine said.

“I’ll bet you’re good at it. I’ll bet you’re all good at it,” the youth said.

“I’m damned good at it,” one said. I intervened before things got out of hand. “Guys we need to keep this dignified,” I said. “You’re making a scene. Go back with your unit.”

Grudgingly, they walked away.

“I suppose you expect me to thank you for saving my ass,” the youth said.

“No, you don’t thank me for a damned thing,” I snapped. “You owe your thanks to the guy in the casket. I just want to say, I hope you don’t live around here, or if you do…you see, I’ll be here for a couple of days…if you see me, run. Run like hell, otherwise, they’re going to be hauling off body parts.”

I think he got my point. He blanched. I walked off, leaving him standing there and went back to the grave. His brother was walking with his parents to the limo. The workers stood back a respectable distance and waited, as if they were waiting for me to leave. I nodded for them to go ahead. I stood till the casket was lowered into the ground. The honor guard was waiting for me as well.

“We thought we would wait and see if you need us to hang around,” one of them said.

“No, it’s taken care of all it can be,” I said. “Are you guys going to the funeral dinner?”

“We were waiting to see if you are.”

“Yes.”

“Then we’ll all go.”

“Just keep your cool,” I warned.

I and the other military excused ourselves early from the gathering at the church. Mrs. Seaborn thanked each one of them and hugged and thanked me for bring her boy home. Mr. Seaborn was able only to shake my hand. I was surprised that Allen had the decency to come over to me as I was nearing the door where the honor guard was still waiting. I don’t think they trusted me to stay back by myself.

“Despite our differences, I thank you for seeing my brother home,” he said.

“I did it for him,” I said coolly.

“I see how much you hate me, but some day soon, you’ll see that we were right.”

“You know what? I would rather come back like my buddy back there than to ever see the day you are right. Just one more thing--the flag that draped his casket; if it were ever to disappear and catch on fire--as long as it takes--I will hunt you down, along with every one of your asshole friends. I will cut your balls off…if I can find any.”

He cocked his head back in surprise then quickly turned and walked away. The honor guard escorted me to my car. “You want one of us to stay?” one of them asked.

“No, I can handle it from here,” I said. I headed back to the house to get my bag. I wasn’t staying. I didn’t want to be there in the house a moment longer than I had to. It was over and it was suddenly too painful.

I left a note, thanking them for their hospitality and for their son. I drove back to the cemetery to say goodbye before I left town. As I was standing at the grave letting my thoughts ramble at will another car drove up. It was Allen. I cringed inside. Shit, couldn’t he give it a rest? But then I saw him carrying something on a hanger. It was Jason’s athletic jacket.

“I expected I would find you here. Jason wanted you to have this,” he said.

I took the hanger. It was heavy. I couldn’t say anything for a minute. “You don’t have to say anything,” Allen said.

“No…” I stopped him before he could walk away. “Thanks. And thank your parents for me.”

He nodded and walked away.

Another car had driven up and two burly young men got out and came over to the grave. One wore a school athletic jacket. The other one looked like he should’ve been wearing one. We nodded and spoke; we all felt uneasy.

“You were his buddy,” one of them said.

“I still am,” I said. “I’m guessing you were team mates.”

“Yeah.”

“His brother brought me his jacket,” I said, holding it up.

“He had more awards than I did,” the one guy said, laughing.

“He had more awards than anybody,” the other one put in.

The other one nodded. He was having a tough time being there.

“He was a hell of an athlete,” the one said.

“He was a hell of a man,” I said.

“You would know that better than anyone,” he said.

“No, I think you did too. The Navy didn’t make him a man; that started back here,” I said.

“I wish we knew more about him, as a Seal. But none of us were much on writing letters. And the times we did see him, he didn’t seem to want to talk about it.”

“He was never much on talking about it,” I said. “Just know that he was the bravest guy I ever met.”

The other guy seemed to be oblivious to what we were saying. It was awkward for all of us. If we’d been in a bar, I thought, we could’ve talked more easily over a few beers. That gave me an idea. “Jason told me to have a beer on him. Do you guys want to join me?”

“We couldn’t get served,” one said.

I swore under my breath as I realized that I couldn’t either. It angered me that Jason was old enough to be laying in the grave but not old enough to walk in and have a beer in his own hometown. “I guess I can’t either back here,” I said. “They would probably serve you, being in uniform.”

“Yeah, you could get a six pack and we could drink it right here,” the other boy said. It was a good idea. We drove downtown to a bar they showed me and I went in. All eyes turned on me as I walked up to the bar. I told the bartender what I wanted.

“We’re not a package liquor store, I can’t sell you a six pack to walk out with it,” he said. “I’m not old enough to get served either,” I said cockily but I didn’t move. I stood my ground, letting him know that I intended to walk out with a six pack.

“Fuck it,” he said as he got a carton and filled it with six cold beers. “You brought Jason Seaborn home, didn’t you?”

“Yeah.”

“This is on the house,” he said as he set the six-pack on the bar. “No, he told me to have a drink on him; I have to pay for it.”

“Okay, give me a buck. That’ll pay for one of them; the rest are on me.”

“Fair enough.”

Me and the two boys…Bill Denny and Frank Houston…drove back to the cemetery. We sat at the head of Jason’s grave heaped with flowers and popped a beer can. We were quiet at first, most of the way through the first round of beers. Then Bill started talking and Frank joined in. They told one story after another and soon had us all laughing. I told some stories about me and Jason and answered their questions. I even told them he was a sniper when they asked what he did.

“No shit! Damn, he always did have balls!” Bill said.

“More balls than anybody I knew,” I said.

“Fuckin’ nerves of steel,” Frank put in.

“And a stud,” Bill added. “I think he fucked every girl in the county who wanted to be fucked.”

“He fucked one of their mothers,” Frank said, laughing. Then his tone changed again.

“Did he, uh…take many of them out over there?”

I knew he wasn’t talking about girls.

“Yes, but I don’t know how many. He would never say,” I said. “He was good. Best they had. I could tell you one target he took out but you wouldn’t believe it.”

“We would believe anything about Jason,” Bill said.

“Yeah, tell us.”

“He took out Dhin,” I said. Bill didn’t know who Dhin was.

“He was the president of Viet Nam for a while,” Frank told him.

“He took out the fuckin’ president of Viet Nam!?” he blurted in disbelief. Then he broke out laughing. “That is the damndest thing I ever heard. Who would have thought…fuck, I can hear it now, at graduation. And the most likely to take out the president of Viet Nam is Jason Seaborn.”

“Is this being disrespectful or what?” Frank asked as we were popping the second and final round.

“Hey, we’re not pissing on his grave,” Bill said.

“Is it being disrespectful?” Frank asked me, in a more serious tone.

“No,” I said. “He would be sitting right here with us if he could.”

“Yeah, he’s smiling and shaking his head and saying, what a bunch of dumb fucks,” Bill said.

It felt good to be with the two athletes who knew Jason as well as I did but in a different way. But it was time to go and we stood up and gathered up the beer cans. The boys took them and crushed them into little pieces then we stood together in silence. The sun was going down and it seemed a perfect time to say goodbye.

Suddenly, Bill let it go. He put his face in one hand and sobbed. His broad shoulders shook with his grief. His team mate put his arm across his shoulder and pulled him in tight as tears rolled down his face.

I stood at the grave for a few more minutes. I thought the boys needed to be with him now more than I did. Finally, I came to attention and saluted. The boys put out their hands in turn and we shook hands.

“Take care. We’re behind you,” Frank said.

“Thanks,” I said and I walked away. I know it wasn’t good-bye. I didn’t know if it ever would be.

I headed to Indianapolis to catch a plane. No, I didn’t go visit my family. It was an eight-hour drive and I didn’t want to go. There was just no reason. I felt guilty but I didn’t want to see them. God help me, I wanted to get back to Viet Nam where I belonged; where I could be with Jason’s memory.

When I arrived back in country, the first thing I did was go to Toby’s. As usual, he had my beer on the counter before I got to the bar.

“How’d it go?” he asked.

“Very impressive, but I never want to do that again.”

“How’d his parents take it?”

“It’s hard to say. I think they were numb the whole time. His brother, on the other hand…”

“I didn’t know he had a brother,” Toby said.

“I didn’t either till just before he left to go home,” I said. “The guy was a first-class prick and a certified asshole all rolled into one. He and some of his friends wore black armbands to the wake.”

“No shit!”

“Well, the brother didn’t. I asked him not to and he gave his armband to me.”

Toby laughed. “Yeah, I’ll bet it was real easy to convince him,” he said.

I sipped my beer and Toby watched me. “Are you okay?” he asked.

“Don’t go there,” I said.

“Okay.”

“I can’t handle it yet,” I said. “I don’t know if I ever will.” I quickly washed down the choked sob in my throat. In my mind I had already gone where I’d told Toby not to go.

I gradually got back into the swing of things. In the natural scheme of things the body makes its demands, for nourishment, sleep, even sexual urges…and in time they take priority over emotions. My sexual urges made themselves known and the need began to build up. I went to Toby’s a few times but never made any contact. I didn’t really go there for that reason but I figured if it happened…

Back in the barracks I began to take note of a couple of the guys I’d been living with for all those months. One especially…Tom McCord, who had a drop-dead sexy butt that he didn’t mind showing off. His entire body was something to show off. He never wore a towel in the latrine. The other guy, Randy Jones, it was his cock that drew my attention. He was legendary hung; thick, veiny, and long with a generous collar. I often wondered if he was as big as Jason. I dreamed up one scenario after another. The one that I dwelled on was of me eating Tom’s right, round ass while the Randy fucked me. I didn’t make a move on either of them. I knew I was in great and dire need for sexual satisfaction when I awoke from a dream about Jason and realized I’d had a wet dream! I was covered with cum. I woke up just as it was coming to an end; the stuff was till warm and lying in the thick globes and ropes. There was nothing handy to clean it off. I quickly smeared it all over my abs so it wouldn’t run down and headed for the shower.

A few minutes later, Tom came in. It was early for anyone to be up. I had a reason, I wondered what his was. He turned on a shower three down from me.

“What’re you doing up so early?” I asked.

“I couldn’t sleep.”

Great, if he was awake, I wondered how much he’d seen of my little fiasco.

“That must have been one hell of a dream,” he said with a sly grin.

I flushed with embarrassment and tilted my face up into the shower to wash it away. “I haven’t done that since I was a kid,” I said.

“It was a fuckin’ whitewash,” Tom said. “That means only one thing.”

“What’s that?”

“You’re damned hard up.”

“I guess so,” I agreed.

“I’ve noticed you don’t go out much since your buddy got it. It’s a tough time. Do you want to go have beer sometime?”

“Sure,” I said. “Do you know Toby’s?”

“Yeah. I know the place but I usually hang out at the Dragonfly. The girls are prettier there… If that matters to you,” he added.

I looked at him and he was looking right at me and in that moment I think we had a private understanding. I had only to decide whether to be leery and act ignorant or trust him and jump on it. I chose the latter. “Maybe it doesn’t,” I said.

“I’ve heard too much about Toby’s,” he said, his eyes unwavering.

“I’ve never seen anything out of line there,” I said.

“I hear they watch the place. There’s just as much going on at the Dragonfly,” he said.

“I expect so if the girls are prettier.”

“I thought that didn’t matter to you,” he said.

“Sometimes it does.”

I was heady with the way the conversation was going and for the first time I was thinking about sex with another guy without feeling guilty about it.

“I’ve noticed you noticing my butt,” Tom said.

“You’ve got a mighty fine butt,” I said.

“Interested?” he asked.

“Are you offering it?”

“It’s all yours.”

I couldn’t believe it! “Where do you go?” I asked.

“To a little place that passes as a hotel, out on the edge of town. It’s almost in the country. Six rooms--a lot of guys go there.”

“And nobody watches the place with guys going in and out?”

“A lot of them bring girls. Those that don’t, there are two daughters that serve as a good front.”

We picked up a pass and headed out together. There was a sense of relief in not going to Toby’s for a change--a sense of freedom, like I was breaking away from the pain that haunted me day and night. Somehow I knew Jason wouldn’t mind. It would be what he expected me to do. It was what he would do. We took a cab but Tom told the cabbie to pull over while we were well in town and we walked the rest of the way.

The place was small and rickety. I wondered how they had six rooms. I found out. Tom paid a woman some money and she gave him a six pack of beer. He led the way up stairs to a room no bigger than my space in the barracks. We walked right in, without benefit of a key.

“No keys?” I asked.

“Naw, they don’t mess with locks.”

“That means anybody could walk in?”

“If that bothers you, you have to put a chair against the door, but most people don’t care,” he said.

There was a cot against the wall and a chair and table with a bucket of water and a metal wash basin and some towels. “It’s not much,” he said as he pulled his shirt off. “That’s the reason they don’t watch the place.

“I don’t think I’m going to mind,” I said, eyeing his muscular upper body.

Tom was naked first. He laid out across the cot on his stomach, his legs cocked apart with his butt turned up so inviting it made my mouth water. In that moment I became Jason… I was going to do the fucking…and the guy on the bed was me. Except that I crawled between the guy’s legs and buried my face in his butt. Jason would’ve never done that.

Chapter Nine

I finished my tour in country and extended for six more months. Don’t ask me why. It was just something I had to do. The job wasn’t done and maybe I thought I could make a difference in six more months. Maybe I wanted to honor my buddy by serving part of his re-enlistment that he never got to. I didn’t go home as I could have. I went to Hawaii instead. It was nice and I met some really hot, horny guys, but I missed Jason so much it hurt. One day I found the roll of film I’d used up taking pictures of Jason. I stood at my locker holding the film cartridge tightly in my hand. I don’t know how it got buried in my shit or how I could have possibly forgot to get them developed. The next problem was where to get the film developed. I took them to a civilian photo shop and told the man that I was having them developed for a buddy of mine. I also told him the nature of the pictures and said we’d taken them so he could send them to his girlfriend. The man gave me a leering smile and nodded and said he understood. When I went back to pick them up, the man smiled even wider.

“He very big,” he said.

“Yeah, wouldn’t you hate to be his girlfriend,” I said.

I stopped at a little park on the way back and found a secluded bench. I was nervous opening the packet of pictures. My breath went out of me and a sudden dull pain manifested itself in my chest. I gazed at the picture on top, of Jason, shirtless, in his combat fatigues and boots and web belt. My God, he was beautiful. In the next one he was his briefs. How well I remembered that bulge--his manhood so heavy that it pulled the briefs down in front. The next one, he was naked. In all his glory naked. Big, muscular, so damned good looking, and my eyes fell last at his man-hood…hung. His cock was a work of art in itself. I lingered over each picture till I’d sucked the very essence of him into my being. I think I was trying to bring him to life inside my own soul.

The next picture, he had a hardon. I had to laugh at the way he posed to show off his huge cock. I remembered that I’d said I needed a wide-angle lens. He joked back that the pictures would be something to show my grandchildren. He was stroking his cock in the next one. I wanted to cry, he was so gorgeous, in the pictures I’d taken from the back. Such a magnificent butt; my mouth watered as I remembered the hours of pleasure I had derived with my face buried between those beautifully rounded, taut muscles and my tongue boring deep into his tight hole. His last pose was sitting on the chair with legs spread apart and his heavy balls hanging low. He had his thumb pressed against the base of his cock to make it stand up straight and tall. Damn, he was HUGE!

I went through the stack of photos several times before I put them away. I had to sit for a few minutes while my hardon went down. Jason would have laughed at that. I didn’t know where I was going to keep the photos. I could use the same story I’d used with the photographer if somebody happened to find them but I didn’t want to cast suspicion on myself and I wasn’t sure the Colonel would buy that we’d taken them to send to Jason’s girlfriend. I devised a way of hiding them. I put them in a sealed envelope and that one in another sealed envelope and wrote on it, “In case of my death, see that these pictures are sent to the address on the inner envelope. The address was one I’d taken from the Jason’s personal stuff. It was a bold and risky thing to do but I didn’t much care of some ex-girlfriend received a mysterious envelope from a deceased ex-boyfriend. I taped the envelope to the underside of my foot locker tray. About once a month, I tore the envelope off to look at the pictures again.

I extended for a second six-month tour. Again, I didn’t go home to see my family. Toby cautioned me to go home after my second extension was up, before I ended up like he had. I didn’t see how that would be so bad. I considered re-enlisting in the Navy and becoming a Navy Seal but I didn’t. Honestly, even as a marine, there was a tiny part of me that doubted that I had what it took to become Jason.

I got out, went to see my family then set about getting on with my life. I was drawn to Indianapolis. It was a big city but close to Attica and Jason. I found a good job as a warehouse manager and began looking to buy a place of my own. My choice of a real estate agent was a fluke. He turned out to be gay. He saw it in me, too but I didn’t see it in him. Hell, I was looking for a place to buy, not a sex partner. He had to reveal himself to me, which he did one day when he was showing me a place.

It was a place in the country between Indianapolis and a small, upscale suburb called Avon. It was well into the country, located on a heavily wooded hill back off a winding lane. A small stream cut into the back of the property for several hundred yards. The house was a big, an old farm house, on its way to being run down. There was a barn, complete with hayloft, and some other outbuildings. I envisioned myself becoming a part-time farmer. There was still some furniture left in the house; a big kitchen table and chairs, an old cabinet that I deemed to be an antique, and some chairs and tables and a huge woven rug in the living room.

“There’s not enough land to farm, but you could raise farm animals, and a big garden,” Bill was saying as we stood in the barn.

“I guess that’s close enough to being a farmer,” I said.

“You could do about anything out want back here,” he went on. “It’s very much out of the way, secluded to a fault up here on the hill. You could have loud, wild parties and nobody would ever know.”

“I’m not really a party guy,” I said, “at least not loud, wild parties.”

“Ah, the more intimate type,” he said.

I laughed. We went back inside for me to take another look through the house. My mind was already pretty much made up but I wanted to go through again and inspect it for any faults that I’d missed before. I found nothing new and the ones I saw were fixable.

“I think I’ll take it,” I announced in the kitchen.

“Great. I’ll get the paper work started.”

“How long do you think it’ll take?” I asked.

“Well, since there’s no one living here, occupancy can be immediate. It’s just the time to get the loan approved and the papers shoved through the system. I’m very good at that.”

“When can we start on the paper work?”

“Right now, if you want to come back to my office,” he said.

“Fine,” I said. I took a moment to look around the kitchen again. “Makes you want to celebrate, doesn’t it?” Bill remarked.

“Maybe I will when it’s mine,” I said.

“I could think of a thousand ways,” he said.

I glanced at him, thinking it was an odd thing to say. He caught my glance and in that split second of eye contact, as most often happens, something clicked. We both hesitated and didn’t make any move to leave and it was awkward for a few seconds till Bill spoke, “You’re new to Indianapolis. I could show you places to go celebrate,” he said.

It came to me in a flash and the words came out. “How about right here?” I said. Bill smiled, still hesitant. “I’ve been admiring the way you’re put together,” I said.

“Likewise--and I’ve got a soft spot for marines,” Bill said as he laid his brief-case on the table and moved toward me.

“Oh, and where would that soft spot be?” I asked smartly.

I found his soft spot and he offered it to me. I fucked him bent over the kitchen table. He wasn’t Jason…he never could be, especially in that position…but he was a cute, live, warm, responsive man of muscle and I needed that. I fucked his eyeballs out. He was a wreck by the time I finished. He lay sprawled across the table, limp and gasping. I saw the puddles of cum on the floor and cum still draining out of his cock. My own cum…two loads…were draining out of his asshole.

“My God!” he said as he struggled to rise up. “I’ve never been fucked like that in my life!”

“There’s more where that came from,” I said.

“I’ll take it! Shit, you’re not even breathing hard!” he exclaimed.

“That’s the marine training,” I said.

Bill and I got to be real good friends. He showed me around Indianapolis even though he knew, he said, that expanding my horizons would leave him out in the cold. He took me to the two gay men’s clubs and bath houses, several gay bars and The Unicorn, a male strip club. I was grateful but as soon as I knew my way around I began to venture out on my own. For brief moments I forgot about Jason, but he was always there, inside me. Every man I met was gauged against him and none of them measured up. And I had my pictures. I had three of them enlarged and framed and they hung in my bedroom.

I made the trip to see my family when my mom decided to have a reunion over Labor Day weekend. It would be good to see aunts and uncles and my grandparents and cousins that I hadn’t seen in years--and my brother and his wife and kids.

I was taken aback when I saw the kids. Melanie was a knockout at fourteen and Hunter was a stud. It took awhile to get around to him because he was making the rounds, making everybody laugh, and I was getting reacquainted with people. We ended up sitting across from each other at a picnic table to eat.

“Geezuss, what happened to you?” I said as I looked him up and down. “Last time I saw you, you were about this high.”

“I guess I grew up,” he said.

“And out,” I said, clapping my hands around his broad shoulders. “Well, shit, no wonder,” I said, nodding to his plate heaped with food. I learned that Hunter was eighteen, starting his senior year. “What sports?” I asked.

“Football, baseball, wrestling; I tried out for track and basketball but I’m too heavy and I don’t have the speed. I played soccer this summer,” he told me.

“Well, it’s good to know that all of that isn’t going to waste,” I said, indicating his muscular upper body.

“Oh, I make good use of it,” he said, laughing. “Hell, I’ve got it; I might as well use it.” “Meaning…somehow, I don’t think that was referring to sports,” I said with a suspicious grin.

Just then a car drove up and a drop-dead blonde got out, wearing shorts and a top that barely covered and contained her tits. “Speaking of which…” Hunter said as he got up from the table.

“Now why am I not surprised that she came to see you?” I said.

Hunter went to meet her. He brought her back to the table and introduced her. “Angie, this is my Uncle Brad. This is Angie,” he said.

I stood up part way and took her hand that she offered me. We chatted for a moment then she headed off to see Hunter’s mom. “Damn!” I said softly. Hunter laughed. “You were speaking of…?” I said.

“Like I said, I don’t let things go to waste,” he said.

“She is obviously very comfortable around the family,” I observed.

“Yeah, I make her real comfortable,” he said with a mischievous grin.

It was a fun day. I couldn’t get my fill of Hunter, the eye candy. I was jealous as hell of Angie the way he hung on her, his arm around her, his hand slipping down to her butt from time to time and hers on his butt. Evening came and I needed to get on the road. I began the rounds of telling everyone good-bye. My mom and dad walked out to my car with me, and then Hunter came up.

“Hey, maybe I’ll come for a visit over Thanksgiving break,” he said.

“That’d be great. I’ve got plenty of room,” I said.

That scenario, of the big hunk staying with me for a couple of days, whetted my appetite and gave me something to look forward to. I got the house in order and fixed up a room for him. It wasn’t the room I’d planned on fixing up for the spare bedroom, but his coming put a new perspective on things. I’d planned on using the room farthest down the hall from my room, which would give a guest more privacy. I didn’t really want to offer Hunter privacy so I fixed up the room right across from mine. Come Thanksgiving, my mom wanted everybody home, but Hunter had already planned to come to visit me and I couldn’t pass up such a golden opportunity. It was unseasonably warm. Warm enough that he drove up with his windows down. I took him through the house and showed him his room and then walked him around the place.

“This is an awesome place to bring women,” he said. “That’s an interesting observation,” I said.

“I’ll have to bring Angie with me next time.”

“Not a good idea,” I said. “I’m not ready to face off with mom on that issue if she found out,” I said. We wolfed down sandwiches and Hunter helped himself to a cold beer and set one out for me.

“That’s not a habit with you I hope,” I said.

“Naw, I can take it or leave it,” he said.

“Unlike sex,” I joked.

“Unlike sex,” he agreed. “You got a girlfriend, Uncle Brad?” he asked.

“No one steady,” I said, “nobody that I introduce around.”

“Oh…sneak her in and sneak her out,” he said, laughing.

“Well, I haven’t been in circulation very long,” I said.

“Crap! You were a marine--you never got out of circulation,” he said.

“Okay, civilian circulation--the girls are different back home.”

“You got a lot of that Viet Nam pussy, did you?”

“My share, I guess,” I lied.

After lunch we walked back around the barn and headed through the woods. It was up and down hill till we went up to the highest point overlooking the small creek. “Nice,” he said. “Is it deep enough to swim in?”

“No. Wading or just playing around in the water.”

“I’ll bet you come here a lot,” he said.

“Yeah, it’s a great place to wind down.”

Hunter stepped aside, not turning completely away from me and undid his shorts to take a piss. I didn’t make a point of looking, but he didn’t make a point of concealing anything, and I was taken aback at what he hauled out of his shorts.

“Damn, Hunter!” I exclaimed. He laughed. “That’s huge!”

“It gets the job done,” he said nonchalantly.

“I’ll bet it does.”

Since he was so open about it, I didn’t feel awkward about looking. He finished pissing and milked his cock several times and shook it but he didn’t put it away. “You done looking?” he asked.

“Yeah. Geezusss--I’ll bet you go over big in the locker room.”

“Girls or boys locker room?” he joked. He still didn’t put his cock away.

“I’d bet you can’t even get your hand around it,” I said.

“This way, I can,” he said as he put his hand around it and squeezed his fingers to touch. “I can’t touch my fingers when it’s hard, though.” Then he knocked the wind out of me. “It’s okay if you wanta touch. Do you wanta see if you can get your hand around it?”

I didn’t know where he was heading, if anywhere, but he asked so casually that I felt okay in touching and it was an invitation I couldn’t resist. I reached out and wrapped my hand around the thick hunk of meat. It was beginning to grow and I barely touched my fingers.

“Damn, Hunter, how big does it get?”

“Pull on it a few times, you’ll find out,” he said.

I didn’t pull very hard but I squeezed and milked it and gave it enough attention that it was responding without making myself appear to be anything beyond curious. As his cock expanded and hardened, extending through my fist and spreading my fingers apart I knew I had to let go before all was lost. He was my nephew; I couldn’t let it go past curiosity. I let go and his cock lolled up and down in a wide arch. We stood watching as it got bigger with each pulsating throb. Hunter watched, I gaped. “How big is gonna get?” I asked.

“I don’t know for sure. Over nine inches, I know. I’ll take these off so you can see it full length,” he said. With that he undid his shorts and let them drop and shoved his shorts down, exposing his manhood fully. It swung upward with a powerful throb and quivered, hard as rock. “There it is in all its glory, along with a matching pair of balls,” he said proudly.

I thought he shorted himself with the nine inches and the thing was thick as hell. It was youthfully smooth, without the gnarled look of thick veins. Neatly cut, the broad, meaty head stood out proudly at the end, flared back almost menacingly, the hood swelling out with each throb that brought the big cock quivering up at a sharp angle. “And Angie can handle all of that?” I asked.

“If I take it slow and easy, once I get her stretched to fit, she handles it okay.”

I was practically drooling, wishing he hadn’t shoved his shorts down. His hiking shorts and his briefs were down around his ankles now, and he looked too naked. From the side view I took in his high-set, rounded, tight butt. I ached to touch the smooth, hard muscles. I wanted to get in there with my tongue. Curiosity, I kept telling myself. I could stand and look and be curious, but no more. But Hunter had other ideas.

“Wanta see if you can get your hand around it now?” he said with great pride as he put his hands on his hips. I nearly choked. Was he just being bold and cocky or was he coming on to me? Invitation or challenge, I couldn’t resist. It was still only curiosity. I reached out and wrapped my hand around his cock as far as it would reach. Even when I squeezed, I couldn’t touch my fingers around the hard shaft. “Geezusss, Hunter!” I gasped.

“Yeah, sometimes I don’t believe it either,” he said as he added his hand to mine around the long shaft. “Look at that, both hands around it and we don’t even cover the head.” I was weakening. Literally, my legs were threatening to buckle under me and I would be on my knees; where I longed to be, but I didn’t dare. I had already allowed things to go to far. Hunter moved his fist up and down the shaft a couple of times and my own hand followed. Then he removed his hand and I was left holding his cock all by myself. In the next couple of seconds I had to decide whether to let go of his cock or play my hand. In those next couple of seconds, his cock throbbed in my fist, rendering me helpless. I started moving my hand back and forth on his cock.

“Aww, that feels good, Uncle Brad,” he said huskily. “Somebody else’s hand always feels better than your own.”

“Have you had very many hands wrapped around your cock?” I asked.

“Sure, plenty of girls, but never another guy. Ohhh, you can squeeze it harder when you jack it.” His words reduced the situation to what it really was. I was jacking him off, no two ways about it. My own nephew…my brother’s son. God, he would kill me if he ever found out. I moved my hand up and down the long, thick shaft, pulling the sheath back hard off the head.

“Aww, yehhhhh, that feels good when you stretch the skin like that,” he moaned. “You can squeeze my balls, too, if you want.”

I let go of his cock and cupped his balls in my hand. They overflowed my hand. “Damn, you’ve got balls like a stallion,” I said.

“Do ‘em both, my cock and my balls at the same time,” he said.

I took his cock in one hand and his balls in the other. I didn’t know whether it was innocence or bold arrogance, but he made no bones about letting me now what he wanted me to do. I wondered if he would ask me to suck him. There was precum oozing out the wide slit, just a wink glistening in the bright sunlight, and then more than started to run down the head. He flicked it with his fingertip and licked his finger. “Fuck, man, I don’t know why I do that; I just don’t like to see it go to waste. I wish I could take my cum when I jack off, but I don’t like the taste of the real thing.”

“Maybe it’s an acquired taste,” I joked.

“Precum doesn’t taste so bad,” he said. “You ever taste your own cum, Uncle Brad, when you were a kid?”

I laughed. “Yeah.”

“Did you like it?”

“Actually, I didn’t mind the taste,” I admitted.

He watched my hand on his cock for a moment, thrusting his cock through my fist. “You wanta jack me off and taste mine?” he asked. Oh, Fuck! Where was he taking me? I wondered if he even knew. I hesitated and I think it shook him up. “I was out of line with that,” he said quickly.

I let him worry for a moment, then I said, “I think I can do better than that.”

“Better than what?”

“Better than jacking you off.”

I honestly didn’t think he knew what I was getting at, from the bewildered look on his face; as if jacking off was the greatest thing I could do for him outside of fucking Angie. And a tiny part of me wondered if he’d ever fucked her. When I wet my lips his expression changed and I think it started to soak in. Before he had it completely figured out, I was going to my knees. “Aw, Mann!” he whispered as he realized what I was going to do. He turned to face me squarely, his huge cock bobbing up and down.

“I don’t know if I can get my mouth around it,” I said.

“Aww, try…please try,” he begged. I thought my jaws might lock but I got my mouth around the baseball-sized head. “Awwwhhhhhhhh!” he moaned aloud, tossing his head back in sheer pleasure. “Ohh, fuck--that feels incredible!”

I massaged the head thoroughly with my tongue and the precum ball juice flowed freely. God, he tasted good. I loved ball juice and his was