Thursday, November 8, 2012

JJSaid 1112 - Soldiers in Tales II

Forrest Barton and Wilton Zukel are cousins, both veterans of The Great War, WWI, and while nearly 25 percent of U.S. workers in 1933 are unemployed, Forrest builds roads for the highway department and Wilton runs locomotives for the railroad.

The third party in this scene, Roger, is employed in a rather demeaning sort of way. He is Wilton's homo house boy. Here, the trio sit at Wilton's kitchen table playing with a newfangled lighter while Roger serves them lunch.

“Do yourself,” Wilton handed it over. “Flip open the cover and turn the wheel.” Sparks flew and a triangular flame waited. Forrest repeatedly sucked the fire into chocolate-colored flakes wrapped in coffee-colored leaf until his face nearly disappeared behind a shroud of smoke. “Now,” instructed Wilton, “try to blow out the flame.” With cigar held in his left-hand fingers and Zippo in his right, Forrest exhaled a vociferous puff through pinhole lips. The flame wildly flickered forward, extended nearly an inch toward Wilton, but could not be extinguished. He tried again and again, but each time the flame returned full-strength to its vertical triangle.

“Well, I'll be God damned go to hell!” Forrest flipped shut the lid, opened it again and the flame was gone. “Now my life is complete. What more could a man ever need than this?”

“How about if I suck on your pecker?” Roger offered. “Will that make you more complete?”

Forrest's enthusiasm vanished as quickly as the Zippo's fire. He gently set Wilton's lighter on the table, stuck his stogie between his molars. “Sorry, bub. I think my pecker's worn out. Got me a woman over at the boarding house where I'm staying. I poked her good last night, but she suggested I come back for another before leaving town."

“Oh,” Roger picked up a slice of onion, severed it with a chomp of his incisors. “Good for her.”

With Wilton doing his best not to snicker, Forrest removed his spit-saturated cigar from his mouth, took a sip of coffee. “Besides, you ought to be saving your strength for this one over here. Seeing as how he'll be on the road for... how many days, Wilton?”

“Five. Barring any unforeseens.”

“And what will you be doing with all that free time, Roger?” Forrest puffed his cigar and turned the screw a bit tighter. “Looking for work?”

Roger dramatically stood, the backs of his knees shoving his chair, its wooden legs squealing as they scraped on wooden floor. “There isn't any work.” He stomped toward the sink with plate in hand, slamming it onto the counter and bouncing his remaining food in all directions. “I've got laundry to do,” he barked, storming from the kitchen without a look toward either of them.

As they listened to his footsteps tromping down the stairs, Wilton grinned and Forrest shook his head. “Did I rile him up good enough, Wilton?”

"I think so."

"Had any action since you got home?"

"Oh, he sucked on me a time or two."

"When are you going to replace him with someone who appreciates you a bit more?"

"Beggars can't be choosey, Forrest. I do have mirrors, you know."

"Bullshit. There's a hundred out-of-work youngsters who'd line up at your door if they knew..."

"Now, look here, cousin. Roger serves his purpose," Wilton fired up his Zippo and added his own cigar smoke to the kitchen. "He keeps my house going when I'm on the road. I like having someone here watching the place, and I don't mind helping him until he can get back on his feet."

"I know that, but he ought to show you some respect. Makes me feel rotten, since I'm the one who..."

"You've got no cause to feel that way, Forrest. I made the decision to bring him here, and I'm perfectly happy with the way things are. Roger knows how far he can push me. He also knows when it's time to put out or get out."

"Is the rent due, Wilton?"

"Overdue, Forrest. He likes you... or I should say, he likes your willie. Something he can handle without having to scream for mercy. Ready?"

"Yep. His room or yours?"


There was no love in the exercise. Three men stripped, and with shades drawn in the upstairs, northeast bedroom, they connected upon a mattress. Wilton sprawled on his back while Roger, above him on all fours, slobbered on his landlord's monster dick. Behind Roger, Forrest, on his knees, poked his wood into Roger's anus. None of the men performing their functions paid much attention to the men in their presence. Wilton thought of the recently-released movie, King Kong, substituting Fay Wray for Roger and himself for the ape. Forrest thought of himself, replacing a naturally-lubricated and tight vagina for Roger's cold-cream lubricated and tight rectum. Roger thought of how he would enjoy having Wilton's house all to himself, plus, he hoped this would fulfill his obligation for another week's stay.

* * *

GRIT is about railroaders and hoodlums in the Dust Bowl of the Great Depression. Co-authored by Jardonn Smith and William Maltese, it is published by MLR Press and can be seen at their web site, at AMAZON, and at the JARDONN site, where you'll find more excerpts in text and audio. 

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