The General

Author's Notes.

I'm a fan of the military, having been a Major in the South African Armed Forces over half a century ago. While this story in no way reflects my service-I was a bush surgeon/poacher shooter-it gave me an intimate look at how it functions, how different life in it is, how men form friendships as well as relationships that can turn on a single shared experience but carry on for years. 

The characters in this, although wholly fictitious, are somewhat based on men I knew whilst living in Colorado Springs during the period when Cheyenne Mountain was being turned into the command headquarters for the armed forces in the event of nuclear war. It was also there that I embarrassed General Douglas Mac Arthur by asking him if he felt that leaving the troops in the Philippines wasn't the equivalent to Napoleon deserting his men in Moscow? I was about 10, new to this country and had done quite a lot of reading about U.S. History..

To explain...I went back to S. Africa to finish Medical School after being shot on campus at USC on the first day of the Watts Riots, circa 1965.

Odd to think that in some weeks...I'll be 80 and still a horny old sonofabitch. 

They’d gone all out, full salute departure ending at the executive transport for me, a Yuck CJ Longitude-new entry, in the executive transport fleet...and there was Burly. His was the last salute, the one I least wanted but had engineered to take; He knew that, stood there, waiting, holding my hat as he had for five years. Handed it to me, the brim, with full darts and farts in gold on it, pointed toward me, easier to grasp.

I put it under my arm. “Colonel”. We looked at each other artfully avoiding eye contact. As I turned toward the short steps leading into the waiting plane, he saluted, the last salute I would take from him. With one foot on the tread I moved slightly...not quite turned...saluted back then entered, could almost feel the shuush of the door as it was closed behind me, on my life there, in Washington, on, well, hell, on a man who stopped loving me; His punishment for this disloyalty was to be kept as my Aide, forced to hop to when I snapped my fingers, made to degrade himself in ways only the two of us could see. In short, I tortured him. On his tail was a mark, not of distinction for being a good piece of ass, but a brand done with an overheated cigar lighter, pressed in, held there, while a hand, my hand, covered his mouth, the middle finger down his throat; I could feel the scream but all that came out was gurgling spit, tears from his eyes, his wondering what I’d do next for, he knew it, there would be a next just as soon as I thought up something that would amuse me but cause him pain.

Whatever you do, cheating on a Two Star General who has another officer as his….well, lover seems overstated but let us say, a form of high ranking military bromance, has consequences. These slight physical mementos of my annoyance were what he accepted in lieu of what he knew to be the worst I could do; Demotion, fuck if I’d chosen and had been that pissed off, could have broken that shit head down to a one stripe Sgt. But one who would still be under my desk sucking me knowing that the man who replaced him was standing by, quietly, a new Colonel, waiting for him to finish eating my juice before moving slightly to the side of my desk, canted just enough so passers by only saw my new Aide standing there but….after he’d finished me, getting a blow job from the man he replaced. That never happened but only because I wanted Burly to understand the depth of my annoyance...perhaps even realize how much his wrecking my love for him had cost me, so now would cost him.

Even on that last day, in the sharp, cold wind….and just for this, a very special occasion, I’d tied his balls with piano wire... not enough to cut them off but sufficient to cut deeply into them. As our eyes had barely met that last time….I saw the pain he would have preferred to conceal but couldn’t; Raising his arm to give me the salute pulled his skin up, his scrotum up, tightening the wire. Good thing blood wouldn’t show against the deep Air Force Blue of his uniform….just, where it would leak, if anyone saw anything, only look as if he’d not been able to hold his water, pissed on himself. In sorrow for losing ‘his’ General? Hah. ‘His’ General had been lost to him before this day, long before.

It was interesting to pull away, see the line of men gathered to salute me off disperse to avoid decapitation by the wing as the plane circled out but they remained at attention in close formation, the final courtesy...not every day a two star General leaves one command headed for another. (Someone had said, in only some wry humor, that under the circumstances, the Prez should have offered Air Force One….)

Leaned into the cockpit, introduced myself to the guys ther-no reason they knew the passenger-shook their hands, laughing, told them to call me if they ‘needed anything”. Got a slight salute then backed into the cabin. There the pleasantly young First Lieutenant, who’d been assigned to be my steward for this flight, took my top coat, hat, smiled a welcome. He was well trained, doing this while taxiing over somewhat rough cement could lead to spills, drops, other unfortunate incidents but...he was very well trained….I thought about Burly, the first time we met, had he been well trained? I never knew.

Going to the Pentagon, known unkindly as ‘Puzzle Palace’ (not without some reason) from my last assignment at NATO in Brussels was a lurch. I’d forgot how large, how perplexing just the physical plant could be for those who either hadn’t been born in it (no one had) or those who’d spent considerable time there so were familiar with where things were as well as the quickest way to get there. If there was a quick way. That was what led Colonel Burleson to be assigned as my Aide; He knew the nooks, crannies, passageways, underground tunnels, all of them. He was allotted to me, at first temporarily then permanently, on the assumption that I’d find someone, someone with whom I had a good rapport, make them my Aide allowing Burly to return to... what? His next new arrival who was potentially mystified as to where etc. The Aide pool for incoming officers as lost in Puzzle Palace as I had been. But Burly and I did find common ground, a common bed, a common shower, many places we had in common specifically for a General, his Aide, his Colonel. The latter more than his public Aide but also his private aid….deep sexual interest and, yes, affection... was there at least for some little while.

That was the usual plan, worked well, all the Colonels who were schooled in the geography and topography of the Pentagon had also been taught how to quickly assimilate with whichever officer they drew to ‘teach them the ropes’ not to mention how to get from point A to point B without ending up at point X, someplace of unknown purpose. (Rick Gibbon [nicknamed ‘Monkey’ Gibbon, just not to his face], a Colonel in the USMC, had confided that he first learned where to find the copy machines only because his Aide told him to take a right instead of a left...en-route to the Officer’s lavatory-leaving him to take a piss in an empty soda bottle. Wondered how the Marines dealt with that kind of error? Never asked but, as Rick and I grew to be the military equivalent of ‘buddies’, wanted to.)

My first few weeks with Burly went well; He could hand fly me to wherever I needed to go and, just as important, get me back. This latter was particularly important for, as I was to discover, the first office you get won’t be your permanent one so best to not bother committing directions from it to memory-in the future, once you’d switched, if your mind still followed the ‘old’ routes…..let us just say for a Two Star General there’s a certain indignity to finding yourself where you’ve no idea where you are, forced to ask directions of someone….who, often, may be as lost as are you.

That was how I met Admiral Bucholz, Sandy, who’d started out for a conference room but, with me, ended up two levels down facing a door that, very distinctly, said that all manner of clearances were necessary to proceed any further.-even we didn’t have those levels-probably didn't want them. This sort of thing can make you an almost instant friend-one I added to Rick on my growing list of the lost and puzzled. (See, I told you it was called “Puzzle Palace”, this was just one more reason for the name. An almost sadistic one, but not without some reality.)

We exchanged names on the theory that we needed to link up-divide and conquer wasn’t a likely plan of action.

“Sandy Bucholz”

“Pete Aldershot.”

“Aldershot? Like the English base…?”

“Yeah, but I’m from Tulsa….”

“Well, for a sailor, I got you one up, Williston, North Dakota.”

“Lot of sailors there?”

“Nope, just the first recruiting office I came to when I went into Fargo...then caught an appointment to Annapolis and so….here we are, America’s fighting men stuck in a hall. Got any ideas?’

“Pounding on that door doesn’t look promising, all it lacks is a skull and crossbones...”

“Couple of times I’ve known men to pull the fire alarm….that got some one’s attention...”

“Sure, but did it get them out?”

His expression suggested that all he knew was the action but not the result.

When we compared maps, his was from the Naval Area, mine from the Air Force so….there was no overlay that offered any help.

“What if we just….started walking back until we come to someone...or something, maybe a stairwell...”

“You think? We know what’s in front of us here, some of those stairs lock once you go in which….”

“Yeah….at least here we’re not quite as caged as we’d be there.”

“I’m guessing you’re new here as well. Got me in from NATO, you?’

“Dago town, Pacific fleet, and why I was sent here? Do you know how you washed up on Pentagon shores? That is at the Pentagon, not lost somewhere with an Admiral equally lost...” His voice trailed off having offered reality but no solution….if reality can ever be fixed.

“Uh, my understanding is I was part of a rotation, my turn to rotate out, someone from, maybe the Army, took my place and….having no place else to send me, TDY here until someone thinks of something...or the TDY becomes permanent as no one can find me...”

“Sounds about right, always wanted a Frigate, ask for it but got….this.”

“Think you could get a Frigate on the Potomac?”

He laughed. “If it would get us out of here….I don’t know about you, Pete, but eventually I’m going to need food, water as well as make water...”

“Not even a potted plant to help fill the last need.”

“Place like this should have a decorating committee.”

“Compared to this...NATO was right up there with the White House, maybe even Versailles...”

“Wow….wonder if after the Army guy rotates out, Navy could go in?”

We continued not admiring the stark floors and walls of...wherever we were in the Puzzle….

We walked maybe...ten minutes until, it was bound to happen, we came to one of the five corners that make up a pentagon in shape. That was where we did finally find a fire alarm which, desperation makes you do these things, we pulled. If we’d been on fire we would have been extinguished in the sudden flood from what had been recessed sprinklers. Not to mention deafened by the blaring of sirens, various sounds suggesting we’d struck a nerve. Almost automatically we plastered ourselves against the wall, training for emergencies; Wall sticking was said to make you less of a target.

This got us found then returned to our respective offices but not before almost swearing a sort of oath that made us a sort of watered blood brothers; We promised never, ever to go anywhere without the other in the future.

When I got back to my office Burly looking at me, not thinking clearly, said, “Sir, what happened?”

My eyes rolled toward him. “An Admiral was teaching me the back stroke.” Shut him up. That ended that day even though it meant leaving the place making that squeaking, slopping sound that you do when you’re soaked to the skin. Figured Scotty was having the same lack of pleasure, only salvation for him, Admirals are associated with water….

My sexual preference for men was carefully buried, had been for all my career. Maybe I was lucky, it never hit a height where I couldn’t contain myself, also, there’d always been someone with whom sex was just that, sex, with no implication of long term arrangements other than while we were both posted wherever we were, it was convenient to have a sex buddy who was as careful as I was to conceal one small, if pleasurable, habit. Or to us it was small, to the USAF, and as I rose in rank, it might have been otherwise. Even after the death of ‘Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell’, Senior Officers were not expected to be anything but straight arrow with the emphasis on the ‘straight’ part. Looking back, I’d probably been lucky to find a succession of men with whom to enjoy, as one hopes they did, whatever we wanted to do to, as well as with, each other.

At NATO, I’d been really fortunate to find a Norwegian Colonel who was not only charming, amusing, handsome, witty-in several languages-but a willing partner for whatever sort of sexual outing we chose. Brussels was close to all of Europe so it was surpassingly easy to leave for some other place, leave the uniforms in our bags, become tourists; If the place was right, older gay tourists (usually quite welcome as the operant theory [correct] was that age gave you more money to spend), who enjoyed whatever the locals were doing-although in places such as Amsterdam, it was more a question of what weren’t they doing?….Erik, my buddy from Trondheim, and I tended to stay away from the well known spots for all manner of sex...not only was it safer for our career but...we found what we could-and did-do with each other was satisfying without a specific location. Indeed part of my lingering longer at NATO than I needed had to do with Erik...our last weekend, spent, where else? Paris, was one to remember on several levels from the physical to the emotional; We’d stayed at that hotel before so they knew we’d stand for the damages...if any.

The Lieutenant, after we were airborne, offered what I expected, a drink, promised a light meal when I wanted it, if I wanted it and...whatever else came to mind, ask him. The Yuck-okay, Cessna Latitude twin turbo jet called that as it’s designated a UC-what ever (hence Yuck) is not the sort of craft that lends itself to much moving around. Helluva lot of range just not inside. Convenient, if limited, seating all of which reclined into very comfortable semi-berths, useful given its ultra long range.

Charley, the Steward, offered to take my uniform jacket, encouraged me to loosen my tie, unbutton my shirt-take it off if I wished and, if wanted, there was a supply of warm sweaters-in Air Force Blue-for warmth while napping without wrinkling the shirt or jacket. Didn’t take me long to determine why Charley was assigned to this type; Only the very short, shorter than would have been taken into the service, could stand upright so the next thing was to have men who had mastered stooping without looking like a long legged bird at a water hole bending over to drink. Pleasant, didn’t interfere but was always immediately available. Let him provide some service, these flights could be boring for both of us, had a drink, the light meal, encouraged him to sit, talk...another quality men who were selected for these duty assignments had to possess; Dealing with very Senior Officers cordially but did not take it into the too familiar. Somewhere over Cleveland-it must have been as there was the lake by which it was said the city was a mistake-he asked if I’d like to recline, nap, he’d see to it that I had a chance before landing to freshen up, get in my uniform...whatever he could do. Which is pretty much what I did-Cessna had done a good job on the reclining seating for a small area. Expecting to just relax, close my eyes, found I’d slept for two hours...dreaming…

...of Burly. Visions of him, stripped, lashed, whipped, made to feel the pain that was the essence of his soul as well as one of the motivators of my existence. How had we come to that? Although Erik could have suggested some things to him, Erik was thousands of miles away keeping a secret that we’d both enjoyed.

In his beautiful country, by the side of a fjord, dangling him over the edge while he wondered….if….the thousand feet down, an updraft of wind whipping his naked balls and cock, allowing him to be dragged over the edge, pulled over by his weight versus gravity, the rope taut but tied to a tree...the feeling of sperm dropping into his hair as I stood on the edge enjoying his horror at the possibility of death but also insanely aroused by the idea of watching the few seconds of life as he plummeted to the cold, killing, beautiful water. Now and then I’d loosen the rope...he’d suddenly go down a foot, two feet, three then jerk to a stop...looking up at the edge seeing me with a candle, lit, held near the rope….looking down noticing his semen drip from him, fall into the water...wondering if whatever fish were there would find it a tasty snack? Just as...if he fell, would he be a tasty snack for something or...just a body on the very narrow shingle beach, another tourist who dared and lost….Did he know I’d never let it happen? Probably but on the moment what he knew and what he feared were in conflict as he knew me….as I knew him; It was what kept him hard...wondering what I’d do to him next...we shared being salacious as a treat of agony for him, a treat of enjoyment of his agony for me. A perfect match.

I’d thought about resigning my commission, staying on in Europe, keeping Erik as mine. We discussed it, not infrequently when he was tightly bound, but even then, and as much as I cared for him, forget our sexual alignment, being from Tulsa doesn’t make an ongoing life in Europe more than a pleasant idea; I’m not the ex-pat sort unless you can be that in...Dallas. Also, as he pointed out, planes flew back and forth all the time and, as Officers, catching a free ride, particularly with those stars on my shoulder boards, made it easy to go wherever whenever I chose. Plus, as a courtesy to Norway, he was asked to visit Washington….which is what happened. Indeed it was one of those visits that turned Burly from a first class Aide to a first class shit head.

Whenever he’d fly in I’d try to take him places that were worthy of seeing but did not fall into the pure tourist trap sort of thing. Not that I consider the Lincoln Memorial or the Museum of Air and Space Tourist Traps but...they were usually crowded, especially if we’d guessed wrong and schools had invaded D. C. for some sort of holiday. Also, after enough visits over a couple of years, wasn’t much left to see. That’s when we lit out into the hinterlands of Virginia-we both enjoyed setting up a camp in the Blue Ridge Mountains by a stream or river, fishing-as a Norwegian he could cook anything with gills-sharing a two man sleeping bag, fucking, sucking, securing him to a tree for a whipping. You see, Erik was the perfect bottom; When he was used that way, he was Impeccable in the role but, otherwise, just a great guy to be around but always with an idea that placed him in...well...whatever it placed him in. Which is how Burly crashed into this trans Atlantic Eden.

Erik was visiting, billeted with me-of course-a General gets very spacious quarters- but...I got stuck going out to represent the Air Force at some sort of festival in Albuquerque that required a high ranking Officer-read General, the more stars the better. It was far enough away, and the activities were such, that I would be gone three days. Not wanting Erik to be left alone in a city, I asked Burly, as my Aide, to take him in hand-they knew each other well after many visits- show him a good time, although what I thought was a ‘good time’ and what ultimately proved to be their ‘good time’ was different. My assumption that Burly was, among other things, trained to deal with visiting fire men proved to be correct….however the manner in which he extinguished this fireman was not.

My first night back I found Erik remote, seemingly unhappy, almost afraid...until I saw him naked. His back looked like a road map with all the intersections of interstates; There was no possible explanation for their presence other than a particularly brutal whipping. His ass was sore from having had an oversize dildo shoved up it, electrified as it turned out, and the worst, a bruise on his scrotum where, I knew, something had been used to try and smash the cords that carried sperm from his testicles. All I could do was hold him, apply whatever unguent I had, give him some pain suppressant and, finally, when he felt safe, in my arms, I got a retailing of what had been done to him and by whom. He couldn’t see my face as it lost expression, my lips formed a tight line, eyes became slits but ones through which I could see a Colonel whose fortunes were about to take a turn for the gruesome.

Two days passed, Erik flew back to Europe. In the car coming back from Dulles, where I’d seen him off, Burly was driving, seemed a good moment to ask how he and Erik had...got on? Seen anything interesting? Done some things? Generally asked him to overview the weekend pointing out that Erik was a very close, extremely dear friend of mine….but surely he knew that? Looking ahead, I told him to take the next turnoff, head toward Maryland, there was something I wanted to show him….As he was driving I kept my side arm holstered, the conversation casual. Even let him suggest, after driving for some while, a good restaurant a few miles on...sure, sounded great to me, appreciated the suggestion. Even though I knew exactly where it was, I’d set us on this road so it would be the only choice for dining.

The place he wanted proved to be a Maryland Lobster/Crab shack, at the shore, so close that the scent from an inconclusive tide almost overpowered the odor of our food. Still, it was a nice place, worth the visit. It was late fall, trees were barren, the wind made that sound which often suggests approaching winter, approaching trouble, approaching a time when you couldn’t tell what the day would bring.

There was a long pier, empty, the concessions on it that sold snacks, souvenirs, the detritus that defines tourism were shuttered. After the really good meal I suggested we get out, walk the pier, give the excellent food a chance to digest. We did.

It was a quiet stroll, casual, two men, both in uniform, doing nothing, not quite ready to get back in the car, walking the pier to the end. We stood there looking out at a pleasantly placid ocean or, more specifically, part of Chesapeake Bay. Leaning on the rail Burly looked confident of the future...as he always looked. Confidence that suddenly faltered as he felt the end of a gun below where the blocked line of his haircut that kept it above where the collar of his shirt started-Air Force Regulation. Standing behind him, given the distance from the other end of the pier, if you looked, it could easily be one man.

“On your knees.” I pressed his neck down with the gun. When he was there I waited, wanting to see if his training would kick in, say nothing to a Superior Officer or would his rising fear force him to say...something. It was the former, he stayed quiet but I could see the sweat begin to form, dampen his collar, be slight drops at the end of each strand of hair.

“I’m trying to decide whether to kill you and, if yes, then how….”

I knew the question his silence wished to ask. No problem, there was an answer, no trouble at all to tell him….but first…

“Start stripping, all the way, see if the cold air makes your balls pull into your body...give me an idea as to what you’d look like as a eunuch...make excellent servants eunuchs do...look down...no, don’t stop undressing...look down, wonder what sort of fish would most enjoy eating your nut meat...hear ‘em? One gone, plop in the water, the other, hanging by a cord...wonder if I could slice through the cord with a round from my .9 millimeter?”

Over his now bare shoulder I put one slug into the water sixty feet below us. Bullets don’t go plop, balls do….he was cringing, genuinely frightened….odd for Burly to whom fear was, just now, a suddenly learned lesson.

“Rotate, I’m already unzipped”, Generals plan ahead. “No need to cuff you, is there?...not that it wouldn’t add, I don’t know, a certain something. Tongue only, haul my full kit out, wash ‘em, get that hair in your teeth, roll your eyes up.”

He did only to find the gun was now about to be placed on the front of his forehead, just right for a kill shot. To be helpful in getting his mouth situated in my crotch I moved it to the top of his skull.

“Take your time, make me enjoy this….I know you suck cock, I know you fuck, I know every fucking thing you do, Burly, but we’re gonna start out here, clear day, fresh wind, old idea, you, me, a General and his Aide, well, receiving aid...and comfort. Get started, no time limit, see if you can get me off at least...twice? And then it will be your turn….”

I just forgot to say...his turn for what.

“Too much hair up here, can’t find the line that covers the place in your brain that a bullet can penetrate just leaving you living, an entity that feels, thinks, can be used but is incapable of response...except in the mind. You know, Colonel, that’s where horror really is, in the mind, that’s where our fears come from...sure they need stimulus….” To give him that I put another slug closer, this time into the planking of the pier. “See, stimulus.”

I paused while he licked my nice meaty balls, unshaven, hair I knew came out easily...how I’d laughed while Erik picked it out...almost like people smoking unfiltered cigarettes, delicately taking two fingers to delicately pick out an errant piece of tobacco….but Burly wasn’t Erik….my fur was there until either his saliva dissolved it or, somehow, he managed to disgorge it without my noticing… but...that wouldn’t be any time soon.

“Tell you what...if Erik didn’t….I like it when the sucker starts just nibbling at my dick head, jusssst hold your teeth in the corona, pull it a bit…...Yeah…..the name of the game is I like it like that.” I thought about what I’d said.

“I’m not going to even guess what Erik told you while he screamed….wouldn’t be anything I wouldn’t know hadn’t heard...but you know he screamed for me as well...only there was a difference...”

A Seagull seemed to swoop in, probably tame from treats Summer People gave him. Perched on the railing doing that weird walking movement birds do with their heads canted, looking for a treat. Both he and Burly jerked as I got off another round...I’m not against Gulls, just being shit on by them….as they say, shit happens. I could look down, see tears coursing down his distended mouth as it worked its way up my meat.

“Wonder how solid that wood is? Old? Been here….how long? A man, well, a man your size leaning against it, could give way.” In his mind, I knew, he could suddenly hear sounds, boards cracking, water lapping on the pier footings, small waves until this moment, inconsequential but now, could they be a cold coffin? Aloud…

“Wonder how long it would take for a dead body to wash up on the shore? Tides aren’t much, neap and leap almost the same...might be….days...well, unless, what’s the police term for what caused body destruction from the deceased taken from the water that has been chewed on? Oh, yeah, biologics. Polite for sharks, crabs probably pick at a body like large raw sushi, whatever eats meat...not like you’re eating meat but if you were meat, ebbing, flowing...no doubt you’d survive the fall...unless the entry fucked you, hit something, piece of wood, one of the legs of the pier….Guess you can swim, they make all of us learn, remember? Where was the pool they threw you in?...Erik and I went to a private pool in Bruges….men only….did I tell you I loved Erik? Did he tell you…? Doubt it, too much the gentleman to take a whipping and tell….”

I looked at the water, not the water just below us but that water, out there, the water that connects to an ocean, a current, swirling up then around, touching other places...I wanted to cry but couldn’t, not now, not yet, maybe...not ever again.

“Widen your knees.” He did. But thrusting my arm out then pointing back in...I could put a shot almost past where his balls had hung before the cold, the fear, the thought chased them away to hide inside him. The splintering wood, some of it, stuck in his calves, thighs. One day, who knew when?...some good police officer, looking for something else, would find that slug, wonder, have it removed, checked, look back see if there was any crime involving a .9 millimeter gun on the pier...even from far back but, no, however, he’d have that slug and wonder...put it in ‘evidence’ although he could not know to what it really was evidence not that it would matter.

Charley was smiling, half kneeling beside me. “Have a good rest Sir? How about a coffee….suns almost over the yard arm, beer, something stronger?” He had a terrific smile, did they teach him that or was it genetic? I’d almost seen that smile before, was tempted to ask him about his heritage….possibly Norwegian?

I stretched, the good sort, fists closed tightly then opened fully….given the cramped space, almost caught Charley where his crotch was. It was unintentional.

“What do you suggest? You know what was provisioned….” I smiled at him. Worked at being comfortable in my seat.

“Sir, your choice”….he had a slight laugh, “Excuse me, Sir, but for heavy Brass, they load everything in but the kitchen sink...” I knew this to be true but decided to play it out.

I made that clucking sound you can make with your tongue….”Gee...and I was planning on a kitchen sink…”

We both laughed. He seemed to look beyond me, out the window… “Grand Tetons, Sir, coming up on your right.”

Why is it most mountains lose their majesty from a plane? Not all, some, Aconcagua or many of the Himalayas are so high they seem like hills you are passing over but….the Rockies? Now covered with snow, only rolling white lumps, the sort a child would love to play in, make a snow man. I raised my head to look further down...could I see Jenny Lake? Would it be frozen? This was thermal area, maybe the water in it never froze….

One hand stayed on the gun while another quietly reached into a pocket in my overcoat, retrieved something. To those who know something about street gang life, the ‘click’ of a switch blade is as normal as the siren of an ambulance or an approaching cop car. I got mine courtesy a fellow Officer from Colombia-he gave them away as souvenirs although of what I was never sure. Gift wrapped, handed to me with a hearty laugh, told it was one form of artillery I probably didn’t have; He was right but now...as is said, it was a gift that would keep on giving.

“Keep sucking….I’m no where near ready….”

I’d put the edge on the knife myself-a clever non-com had taught me how to keep my straight razor so sharp that it hardly needed to be pulled down my face, just let it glide. The knife in my hand possessed the same admirable characteristics; Surgeons have disposable scalpels that can slice as well as this.

Leaning over just slightly, the gun still in his close cropped hair on top of his head, I could get the point of the blade just where I wanted it, that spot below the obvious spine and the start of the opening of his ass crack. Where, inside his body, the Coccyx turns under; That vestigial piece of bone, our ancestral tail. There. That’s where it went. The only adjustment was to find how resistant his skin was-as we age it softens but….Burly had not aged yet so his was taut, tough, would need some pressure which I applied as I started to pull it up riding over the bumps and divots that identified his vertebrae all the way to...just below where his collar would start. Holding my instrument there I checked to see the results. As with all good incisions, it takes a moment for the body to react, to begin to secrete blood even as a trickle. Just what I wanted.

He was almost unable to keep sucking, my gun occasionally had to tap his cranium as a reminder, while line after line after line was etched in his flesh, the road map I’d seen on the back of another, even the intersections when demarcations of other ‘highways’ came in, crossed, went out over the opposing ribs….

I remembered another back with a map excised into it, while this one would not, could not duplicate it, the purpose and the manner done would be the same.

One final thing as I felt my cock stiffen, get ready to blow, one final thing in my pocket, a supply of salt which I rained down on what looked like an aerial view of a railroad marshaling yard...if the tracks varied from drying brown to intense red. Putting some in my hand I held it at one place that was burbling up particular mixing the salt with the blood, making a paste to be smeared….the guarantee that he was now as scarred as another, not quite blood brothers but two men with a similar design only done for diametrically opposite reasons.

He was having trouble maintaining his position, even my gun could not override the subtle, intense pain that was now part of him.

I pulled out, ready, shot sperm all over his face, pushed him down, let the next volley splatter on his back mixing into the traces of memory of another man whom he’d left thinking that his pleasure would please...who?

We were there, appearing to be a terrifying statue commemorating….something. One man on the ground, an armed Officer doing...what? But it was only for a moment.

“Get up. At Attention.”

He struggled, almost lacking the will to stand but finally did. No Officer would have accepted this wavering, naked man drooling cum and blood but still...I looked into his eyes which tried not to look back but were too close to avoid. I’d moved the gun to the side of his head, near his ear, the place for professional ‘hits’ that end in death.

“Colonel….”

I could see him try and decide whether he was supposed to answer and, if he did, what was he to say?

“Colonel….”

“Sir.”

“Before I put you down….not like a dog to be killed but on your knees so I can fuck you, there’s one more souvenir.”

I saw him gulp.

Holding the knife I tossed it up, caught it so I was now holding the handle as one did for stabbing, not to make the inartful hatch marks on his back.

“Sir, Please, Sir….”

I cocked my head, held the knife at one of his eyes….

“Don’t you think one eyed men with dueling scars are sexy?”

He was frozen, to move was to cost him...what? His eye? A scar on his face? There was no reason for him to believe I wouldn’t do whatever it was, even hope for some scrap of leniency was gone.

“Where do you want it, Colonel? That last cut...I know you Burly, I know your body, your mind, your sick desires for power through pain. Tell me, now, do you feel powerful? I’ve given you pain. Answer, Colonel.”

He gulped again which is precisely what I’d wanted him to do, I wanted to cut his throat.

“You haven’t answered Colonel.”

I pulled the knife from one side to the other just barely clipping his Adam’s Apple. One cleanly cut throat.

His hand was over this last slice, only a little blood but the concept was what I wanted him to grasp...and he did. Eyes were bulging, he moved both hands perhaps he thought, even for a moment, that he was verging on death.

No reason not to enhance that idea, pushed him back, against the rail, then had an idea.

“Would you rather jump or fall? Or, in the car, there’s rope...you could be hung, Colonel. I thought ahead, it’s what a good General does, prepares for the future...but...just now it’s your future isn’t it, Colonel, your future.”

Whatever bravado he might ever had contemplated failed him as he fell to his knees clutching mine. Fully involved in bawling, he had trouble forcing out the one or two words….

“Please, Sir, Please…...Please….”

I pushed it one last time.

“Please? Sir? I guess...you’ve made a decision...tell me, which did you pick? Your choice….I’m just the last man you’ll ever suck...and thank you...but...which one?”

He looked up. Couldn’t have been a pleasant sight, knife in one hand, gun in the other, his back to what must have felt like a rickety fence, the sound of growling water waiting to eat him.

His strength failed him, on the deck, curled up, waiting for….what?

I pushed him over with my shoe so he was looking up at me.

“Have I made my point? Learned anything today? Remember Erik?”

Yes, he remembered Erik...There was almost no expression other than, maybe, one clawing toward hope that just maybe….he might be allowed to live.

“Sir...”

“Shut up.” I kicked him where his balls were hiding.

Our statue had changed, still an armed Officer with a man down but now, the man down was the defeated enemy, the Officer the victor….if there were those looking at this arrangement in flesh and blood...the question would have to be….Is this the last moment before victory is secured by execution?

We were like that for a long time…..only slowly did he try to rise wondering if I’d push him back but, when I did not, he eventually was standing. Couldn’t look at me, his head was down-almost as if I’d cut the place where his head would now always hang down, at least to me. Castrating him would have been less a punishment than now, he’d lost his soul to me. No honor, no striding pride, he would now continue to be my Aide but as with all those put in slavery of the mind, forever two steps behind me, head slightly bowed, knowing that never again could he truly feel like a man but forever my cocksucker, the ass I would fuck, the body sadistically however, whenever using whatever...forever. He was my personal entertainment thing, the person I most wanted to try and make respond in tears, pleading, screams, agonizing seconds that I could, would extend until he felt the warm, viscous substance only a man produces. For him sensing it meant that, for just now, I’d finished with him, sated but never totally satisfied. When he came back from hell did he remember when he, too, drizzled cum? Before his man meat was locked down, caged...a sound stuck in him making a piss painful as his urine wanted out faster than his artificial piss hole allowed. And the key? It amused me to add it to the rack of honors on my chest; No one ever asked what I’d done to get the ‘Key’, it was just assumed….had to have been something few men were ever awarded; In one sense, they were right.

I finished dry fucking him-already emptied….“Get dressed. Now.” And I knew he would. However he would put on the rags of desperation for some hope but only too aware that I Held Hope and it was not for him. He Knew his future was already written on him in pain and scribbled lines of blood. This was his overture to the future. I would allow him to continue to be a Colonel, I would allow him to accompany me as my Aide, I would allow him to live a confined life but...I would not allow him to live as a man. No, Never.

Charley brought my shirt, tie, jacket, helped me into them- a neat trick to do if you’re sitting down but standing isn’t possible.

From the open cock pit door. “General, we’re in the pattern for Sea-Tac, have you on the ground in about eleven minutes. Charley? Everything secured?”

That smile, “Yes Sir, all tied down.” And to me. “Anything before I take my seat for landing?”

I just smiled back at him and shook my head.

We seemed to be wandering around the field. A voice from the cock pit called back. “Sir, we beat the clock, they’re not quite ready for the formal reception so….enjoy the detour, sorry….probably ten minutes.”

“Thanks, give me a chance to think of what I’d like to say as opposed to what I will say.”

There was a bark of laughter from up front.

As we finally approached the executive air park, Charley told me he’d hold my over coat and hat, too warm for one, no need for the other….However, I did pull out my Garrison Cap, it looked more...casual, friendly, didn’t push the stars on my boards quite as much.

Door was open, Charley let the steps down, I appeared, someone, The Mayor?, shook hands, identified himself, Oops, Senator. There was a short reception line-thank God Military visitors don’t get flowers from little girls. No need, as it turned out, to do much other than stand for a few minutes-grateful for that, comfortable as the plane was, stretching what had been folded for five hours felt good. Another man, this time it was the Mayor, said we’d all meet again-I regretted he was right-at the banquet the following evening, rattled on, I must be tired-I wasn’t-get me into my car, off to the hotel...hoped everything would be satisfactory. Doing my good Air Force duty, went back to the Senator, thanked him for coming out, waved at the rest, the Mayor... Charley, still carrying my coat and hat, moved toward the car. Made a quick decision.

“Charley? They didn’t give me an Aide, you up for it? Hop in, we’ll circle around a hangar or something, come back and get your bag...okay?”

“Thanks, Sir, really appreciate the honor….”

It wasn’t as much honor as he might have thought but...he was pleased, a nice young man and he’d already proved he was good company.

“Are you attached to the plane? I mean, do you go where it goes?”

“No, Sir, I was just told to...do whatever you asked so I guess this is what you asked?”

That great smile.

I was grateful I’d asked him to play Aide. If he hadn’t been told what was involved, he was a quick study also showed well at the reception and dinner the next evening. One of the functions of an Aide is to move slightly ahead of their Officer, get names then make the introductions. Did it like a champ. Also, when I stood up to ‘make a few remarks’ he’d positioned himself so I could effectively speak to him but give the appearance of addressing all present. And his best stunt, getting me the hell out of there before terminal boredom made me want to start a fight just to see if those attending were alive. Don’t have a clue what the excuse was but it must have been right up there with National Security as I was almost hustled out with a whistling chorus of voices saying how important this must be….

Okay, it’s that important. Charley even quick stepped us away continuing the urgency of whatever it was. Finally asked him. He grinned, looked slightly conspiratorial…

“Sir, you looked like you needed to take a piss real bad.”

Fortunately we were far enough away that I could almost fart laughter without being heard.

“Bet you don’t even know where the can is, do you?”

“Uh, Sir, that’d be negatory but if we keep moving we’ll find the limo, bet the driver can find one. If necessary.”

I put an arm around his shoulder briefly and whispered a ‘Thanks, Buddy’.

Back at the hotel after I’d locked the door, told the operator to hold all calls unless they were from Europe or the President-she laughed-I asked Charley if he’d like a drink or two from Room Service. I, for one, needed something to get the taste of dinner out of my mouth and, just now, if there was nothing else, I’d drink Listerine. He laughed said something that told me he was on his way up.

“Sir, it’s none of their business what you drink...unless it’s OJ or club soda. I know hotels, was a bell man before the service….tell you one thing, there’s always a liquor store real close so...what’s your pleasure? I got civvies I can put on, proof I’m old enough to buy the stuff so….none of their fucking business what goes on privately, Sir, I’m...”

“No need, just stating a fact.” I looked directly at him. “You’re fucking right, what we do isn’t for hotel scuttlebutt...I drink Bourbon, get whatever you want.”

“I’m from Tennessee….let me pick one out better than Jack and half the price. Okay?”

I reached into my pants for my wallet. “How much do you need?”

“Want some peanuts or something like that? We don’t need a full quart, so...couple of twenties...bring back the change.” He paused, look right at me. “Credit cards leave money trails.”

“You got it.” We’d made a sort of conspiratorial contract...to be signed in some way, some way we chose, when he came back. I laughed to myself, bet the little shit knew to take the service elevator….one less trail...

He was out the door and I was on the phone. By tomorrow, although he didn’t know it, he was about to get a promotion, my just acquired Aide was now going to be a Captain. Thought he’d be pleased. Nice guys like that usually are...assuming they’re not too nice. Also, and you get to notice these things, he knew what to do and when to do it, like getting us out of that Gawd Awful dinner and reception. That was worth a Captain’s bars in and of itself.

I thought about the next day, a plane from Copenhagen, Erik would be on it, we’d arranged that so, this time, now that I was officially away from the Pentagon, it would be more relaxed and, though it wouldn’t be mentioned, no Burly. Further thought...we could both use Charley as our Aide...Erik would like him, of that I was sure. After all, he was the sort of man that was almost bred to be liked however one elected to like him.

How I got it done...doesn’t matter. As Erik arrived, Burly would be hanging from a pier in Maryland, just at a level where he wouldn’t drown but he couldn’t know that. I’d vowed to kill him….this was the way that seemed most appropriate. I’d threatened it there so...just made sense. Who did it? You spend enough time in a place and things, people become apparent you couldn’t walk into town and know. Also, Burly fucked himself, even before I ripped him a new one, he’d made enemies, people who discovered what he’d done to Erik, to me. Somehow it got told to the Marines, well, a Marine….were inclined to hear what had once been threatened to him….only now it wasn’t a threat. All I knew was that he’d gone over the side, naked, hanging from a rope around his chest, hands tied-cuffs wouldn’t eventually degrade in water-behind him, gagged, positioned so you had to look down and back among the pilings to see him. As I’d once wondered, how long before a body, one heavily tattooed male, washed up on the shore? I suppose I’d hear about it...when it happened, if it happened….some said the tide, when the rope broke, frayed from rubbing on the piling-calculated how long that would take, I wanted him alive when he seemed to be free, would take him the other way, out to sea, dead eventually of course but how long until that had happened? I didn’t much care.

The time between our first visit to the pier and my departure had been filled with things for him that he hated. Mentioned the ink. Rick, my Marine buddy, told me where to take guys who didn’t want ink but others thought they should have it. As he said, not every Marine wants the Eagle, Globe and Anchor so this places exists to make sure they got it. Not that it’s what Burly got. Nope. The start was, of course, his back to cover all those scars. Rick, although not understanding the whole situation, only that I was pissed off and wanted this to be memorable, said he could guarantee it. Oh, and while he was there, how about putting some holes in him? For an offer kindly made, no way to refuse. Wasn’t sure how I’d pay him back but...there’d be a way, something he’d like. He’d need a favor, the sort Generals can easily do. And I would, just ask. He and I had what he called an occasional short armed forceful afternoon. (Which gave me an idea; I had “69” tattooed on the head of Burly’s cock.)

Charley returned carrying a couple of sacks.

“Sorry, sir, saw a shop that had some things we might need. Easier to get it when I saw it then go back out….” He handed me a five, some change and a plain wrapped package.

Opened it, looked at him. It was a whip.

He quietly removed his clothing, turned away from me displaying a magnificent unmarked back.

“Sir?”

I gently pulled him back toward me, put an arm around him, kissed his neck. Put my other hand on his cock. “Gift accepted.”

“Thank you, Sir….I hoped….”