Sunday In The Park With Pete

Waking by the man you love is great. No point in getting up, the sheets and duvets are nicely tossed about, warmed with your own body heat. A fallen pillow can be snapped from where it had fall to be slid under a back and legs spread.

"Wake me good, start my day with juice, let me squeeze the juice it....."

It's a bit too early for your whole smile so, as you round me, warming what was a morning woodie into something more serious, your lips and eyes squint, honing in on a target. No waiting, plunge in, stuck like the pig who will be dinner tonight, breakfast chops tomorrow and ham salad for sandwiches. You curve your body and, to be helpful, I go in the opposite way, just like the best drilling rigs, going for the good stuff, the stuff that lies deep within and has to be forced out.My eyes are closed, tears from pain, pleasure and love course down my cheeks-one side making a deviation to miss a mole-and I hold onto you, grasping, wanting my hard stalk to fuck me as well. The impossible double fuck but oh what a grand idea. We fall on our sides, you still headed for the Permian and I'm still handing you more pipe and grease. Jesus, you're wonderful.

It's a gusher! I can feel the viscous, creamy oil come up the pipe stem, no thought to the drill, just too much not to want to spray out and up, the slight sun from a window back lighting it so it looks like a geyser at Yellowstone in full flume. I can feel the droplets on my face and only the weight of your body, your hands holding mine, prevents me from trying to smear my finger through them but...this is private stock. You gracefully lean over, extend your tongue then use your lips like a snow removal device to be cleaned by the tongue which whisks it away to some place dark and special that feeds only on you.


I close my eyes and shove myself onto his still hard cock. This time, now that we've emptied his blue balls, we can have the long, leisurely fuck, the one where you tease the prostate, use your hands to pinch nipples, grope for the cuffs, click them on. I am so available, so desirous of you, if all I had was an ass, it would be enough. You like to watch me squirm, my own cock now back up; Your hand seizes it, presses the "Do Not Enter" spot at the bottom then carefully leans over and nibbles on the slight bit of foreskin, rim the piss slit with your tongue, take your left canine and see if you can sound me with it.....then slide all the way to my shaved landing surface, the one with a bullseye tattooed on it. Sometimes I wonder if you have a throat? I've never seen your swallow an elephant's trunk but I won't bet against. However, fuck the elephant, I've got you and you've got my trunk and for a long, long time that's how we stay. Warm, brightly lit by a rising sun, so happy to be with each other, delaying the moment when we have to slowly back out, lay beside each other, one arm out so that a head can go on it. Pull the warm, semen coated, covers back up, look for elusive dots of what was bright white but, as it dries, is turning to a more Battleship Grey.It's why we have a black cover-nothing hides from us, nothing.Eventually all that there was is gone and I even run my thumb over your now silent drill just to see if someone left a bit of grease

Time for sweat juice, probably too much salt but...that's for clinicians to worry about. Your armpits smell not rank but like an orchard of men, smiling as they strip to push a drop of your sweat up a strand of hair. We are grooming each other, turning tossed about fur into regular patterns, like a well mowed field so we don't retrace our paths. I know, I broke rank, the desire to kiss you, feel your face with my tongue too over whelming so leaving an area surrounding your left nipple, I move my body forward and....find my approach is not unwelcome. I start by checking to see if you did a good job brushing, even checking the top of your tongue but then greed overwhelms me and I do a double Axle with two twists and I sink my tongue into the deep end. Beyond that I can sense your digestive juices snapping, hoping that this time, they can rip off just the pointed edge and find out why it's always there but no further. It's a peaceful time. I kiss you, you kiss me, we kiss each other, hydrate our kissing tools with a quick slurp from a sweaty place, right between our breasts where a pool of men's moisture hides in the hair.So good, so delicious. No one is like you.


"I already am."

"You know what I mean, up, as in get out of bed or, dealer's choice, we could just slide to the floor dragging pillows, sheets and the duvet with us....."

"Up, okay, vertical, up. See? Up. Now what?" I know perfectly well"what" but it's a fun ritual and one that establishes our bond.

"Wanna play kick the can?"

"Does it flush?"

"Like Victoria Falls."

"Deal?You get first crap and I'll start the shower then I get first hot water and you have to stand behind me."


It's a race to the bathroom. We're not wearing any clothes so that's one bothersome chore out of the way. I can see this is going to be a number 3 for you-that's numbers one and two added together-so I know I've got a little extra time, let steam accumulate, get the loofah infused with water and and-I'm embarrassed to write this-"Mr.Bubble". (Once, we were young and foolish-okay, last month-we decided to see if we could fill the whole shower stall with foam and bubbles. I don't know who had the bright idea to squirt out some shaving cream as kind of a base, then smear it on ourselves [Menthol was a really bad choice] then see what it felt like and happened. A lot. We didn't know it just then but our shower exhaust fan, overwhelmed by too much semi-liquid started blowing bubbles out the top of the house. Mean while, we're inside trying to squeegee off the menthol which feels a lot like an alcohol rub that you weren't expecting. You've seen it in the movies but when we opened the door to the shower-we had to, we were almost suffocating-most of the bathroom had a blanket of bubbles which did all pop and left a filmy mess but, as experiments go, it was interesting.) (I suppose this has to be told; For the next several days, whenever we saw a neighbour, they always asked if we'd had a fire in our bathroom to which you, clever lad, simply said that, no, but we'd elected a new Pope. Another neighbour, not so innocent, was a chem teacher at a High School and left a message on our voice recorder that said only the next time, add glycerine.)

Spending money that we didn't have right at that moment, I'd ordered floor length, really fine, hooded Terry Cloth robes. Warm, just the thing for after a shower even if they did, with the hoods up, make us look like a pair of friars from a monastery recently booted out of whichever religion they'd formally belonged to. Add a pair of real sandals, flip flops took away the illusion, and I felt we could go door to door with a begging bowl. And a card that said, "Ask About How to Do Something You Can Repent if You're The Sort Who's Into Repentance." Pete nixed that one saying we were Episcopalians(nominally) and who would believe a broke Episcopalian? Still, they were great to wear downstairs bottomed by New Zealand Wooly lined slippers.

I cheated, I pulled up the back of his robe, reached up and grabbed his cock and said I was suddenly blinded by his semen and I needed to be led downstairs. This is easier said than done, particularly when it comes to negotiating stairs. All I will say is that right then it would have been easier had he been wearing a collar to which I could attach a leash; Stooping over, reaching through ten pounds of cloth, between his legs, which were in motion, and holding on didn't work.It was always interesting to try but not destined to be a success.

Thanks to modern conveniences, coffee was made, orange juice was in the fridge, chilled as were eggs, also chilled. It took a few cups of coffee to get up to speed to decide about the fate of the eggs, whether toast-six pieces each and slathered with butter and cinnamon would do it-or whether we had to turn on the range, break the eggs heart and shell and make something with them. One can, of course just have plain cooked eggs, boiled, fried, poached, Scotch, omleted, etc but while eggs are perfectly healthy for you (The Incredible Edible Egg) they really need something to perk them along in terms of flavour. Pete did a clever thing that only dirtied one pan-and sometimes the range-which was to fry bacon or sausage in a skillet, not drain it, and, while the sausage or the bacon were cooking, crack and whisk as many eggs as two guys might want. Or, to restate that, as many eggs as we happened to have on hand; While I will agree one egg can be lovingly displayed, not for two men who, after their morning work out, have found hunger to be part of their current condition. (Note, you won't find this paucity of eggs until the bacon or whatever is already half way cooked. Why that should be, I don't know but you'll have to trust me on this one.)

Most of the time I cook based on Pete's complete lack of skill, even his ability to identify basic things-I don't suggest substituting grapes for olives although I stand ready to testify it has been done. And I'll get back to testify, as it has rather an interesting history. He knows how to cook breakfast as he's one of ten (!) children and closer to the younger than the older. By the time all ten, and his Dad, had hit the kitchen for a table full of food, his mom ran out of strength and interest. There was an answer to that problem and it was to teach the younger ones to fend for themselves while she sat at the kitchen table and watched television, drank a lava flow of coffee and trashed a pack of Winstons. Clever woman had also decided that lunch was a pointless meal-the school fed the kid and there was what was described as a "Roach Wagon" near whatever job site Dad was on.That left dinner. Her solution to that was to have enormous pieces of meat-she was, and is-a person who can cook a standing rib roast to perfection. But notice, That roast was, easy ten, twelve pounds and fed everyone. Between the microwave and the oven other things were a snap and, by not telling them they didn't like it, she stuffed spinach souffle, mac and cheese and, of course a hunk of roast, on a plate using the juice from the roast as gravy which she, carefully, poured over everything. If something was on sale at the market, she bought it. Even though her family was unaware of Eggplant, sliced, fried and covered in au jus, no one complained. Dessert was ice cream with heated jam or preserves poured over it and that was that. His mother remains one of my favourite guests as when something is wrong in the kitchen-the fire detector goes off-she and a pack of Winston's head that way and, miraculously and concurrently calls off the fire department and resurrects what looked to be cremated; Her secret, of course, gravy. Happy was the day she found she could buy it premade in jars at the market. Yes, it was expensive but for those days when laundry for twelve, wishing she had a riding vacuum cleaner as well as fetching and carrying children from hither to thither, it was worth the extra cost even if, to her delight, her family didn't like it as much. Were they told she hadn't made it? No.-the jars had gone in the trash masher very quickly so she chalked it up to not enough time to get "it all done" because she had to take one of her brood to the ER to get stitches where another of his siblings clonked him with part of a metal erector set.

Holding Pete and sniffing-just to make sure-I began to wonder how to fill the day. We could always stay home and fuck, but, fun as that was, some days need to be somewhat filled and then you can come home and fuck-it's called bedtime. Looking out the window an idea came to me, something that we hadn't done in a while and that he knew he enjoyed.

"Lets go on a picnic!"

He looked at me as if he'd just noticed there was a long history of insanity in my family and he was seeing the product of that. (He happened to know that a couple of my brothers and I had "played"with each other-we were no older than, oh, 18.)

"Have you listened to a forecast?"
"As happens I have, a bright, sunny day, only a few clouds...."

"Stop right there. Did you also hear the part about the authorities telling people not to go out unless they had too? Emergency vehicles were being pulled out of snow drifts ten feet high. Did you hear that?Where the fuck did you think to have a picnic? Helping emergency crews shovel?"

Some times we say things that another person can make real. Sensing a really good idea, after breakfast, I rounded up all our heavy winter clothing, including snow shoes we'd used in Alaska for something or other and informed him we would make a picnic lunch but first...he shuddered...we'd go round the neighbourhood and shovel driveways or do whatever we could do. Look in on people to see if they needed anything, enjoy the fresh air-which he suggested could freeze our tongues to our teeth-and when we found a good looking spot, get out the two man sleeping bag,crawl in it, fuck, eat our food, fuck some more and then scamper home before it got dark.

I could see that not all of this plan found favour. I thought about using sex as a weapon but he knew I was too weak to make any threat of that stick but...I watched this happen...he could see our two man sleeping bag-also used, very successfully, in Alaska.

"I don't suppose we could build a fire...."

"Nope, but we can generate one." I reached around, untied his robe and massaged the head of his dick causing him to let a couple of freshly whisked eggs fall into the garbage disposal. " Remember that time in Alberta? The Gay Guys Rodeo and the freak snow storm? What we did?" I could seem a slight flush starting at the collar of his robe, just where it curved over his mighty tasty tits. I had other arguments. "We never watch the fucking games on Sunday or any other day, they could win lose or drop dead for all we care, it's beautiful day....."

"Even if it resemble the Ross Ice Shelf more than suburban America..."

"Eat a good hearty breakfast, I'll find all the winter outdoor wear...we can go upstairs, get dressed, I'll suck you off so your oh so admirable dick doesn't get stuck in a zipper, and then we can play like we're Finnish soldiers."

"I don't even want to know do I."

"About what? Finnish soldiers or your willy getting wonka'ed in your zipper?"

"I have to love you because you're crazy." So the game was on.Breakfast, I'd scout about, get him white balled - on a day like this it seemed necessary - and then with our fifty pound backs, ski poles, Eskimo slit wooden sun glasses and snow shoes plus pulling a wagon-I had thought to improvise some skids-we were off to be helpful and look for a place to picnic. And other things.

I meant to get back to "testify". It has a very personal attachment, as it were, to all men. In the courts of ancient Rome, when was called to give evidence in court, one placed their hand over their testicles. IF it was found you'd perjured yourself or caused a fellow citizen to suffer from an incorrect verdict, even months or years later, you were taken to a place in the bowels of the courts and were castrated also stripped of your rights of citizenship and sold into slavery; your family, including any male heirs were also similarly punished and, some times, the whole male family could be sold as a job lot depending on the age, fortune and perceived work abilities of those newly made castrates. When one thinks about it, wouldn't reviving something like that make our courts a more honest place? Particularly, in this day and age, if punishments were broadcast. Just a thought.

Once we got to the garage and after I'd had the pleasure of blowing and dressing Pete, he was getting into the spirit of this. He'd had a good time in Alaska and Alberta and San Carlos de Bariloche. Also, done up in his army issue camouflage, boots that laced to his knees, Balaclava, heavy scarf, three layers of gloves etc. he felt like his balls were ten times bigger, he was so macho male he could have substituted his cock for one ski pole and, like Scott of the Antarctic, and whoever was with him, we opened the garage door. Well, we almost opened the garage door for, as Pete said, "Shit, the motherfucker's frozen shut." Our expedition suffered a set back.The sledge we were pulling wouldn't make it through the side door and so, momentarily, we were almost at the tip of Everest but a sudden crevasse stopped us. But not for long. Dropping my pack I went into the kitchen and got my hand held propane torch that I used to do things like singe a baked Alaska or put the crisping on crème Brulee. Worked like a charm. The door rolled up and there just like a movie in glorious technicolour and Cinemascope revealing the suburban wilderness of white. Something in me suggested that the torch, with a couple of spare cannisters or propane, might be useful. We assembled on the driveway, closed the door-leaving a prop at the bottom so we could at least get a hand hold if, when we returned, it proved troublesome, and....We Were Off!!!

Some days your impulses are just right. When we'd first moved into WASP central, the presence of two gay men even two white gay men was not altogether welcomed. After a year and no dire predictions had come true, no young boys were missing, those guys who came out to their family did so without our urging, we were just part of the scene.Sort of. Sometimes we were asked if we'd like to be on a committee or do something that suggested we might like to get in touch with our feminine side if we already hadn't. Must have read their tea leaves wrong. I'm the boss of eight construction crews and Pete, who is part Mohawk Indian, was a steel worker above the eightieth floor; He said anything below that was chicken shit. We had moved in around the first of October so the lawn et al was how it was done by the realtor and needed nothing Next Spring and Summer, when the sound of the lawn mower was heard in the land, the sight of two nicely muscled guys, with lots of hair on their chests, was on view on our lawn. Both of us are nice guys regardless of what some homophobic gossip said and, shortly, those who did the gossiping found themselves in an polite version of an Amish Shunning. It was around then that Pete became the lead Baritone at St. Andrew's Episcopal church and his voice persuaded even some of the non-believers that, well, as they sniffed,"Theres' always one good one....". What that left me I've no idea. The bad one?

That Sunday so many nice folks were really glad to see us if only for the break in the isolation of being stuck indoors. People, those who trusted us, knowing what we were and all, were thrilled stupid to allow us to arrange a neighbourhood snowball fight for all the kids not to mention making snow Angels, snow men and, we noticed, a couple of "older" children, had stomped out some surprisingly realistic genitalia. We added wings and let it go at that.

What was odd was that the guys who lived in these houses were almost more glad to see us than their wives. After about two hours, we had about two twelve packs of beer-in singles- stowed-for our picnic-and another six pack in us-for medicinal purposes. While one of us was riding herd on the snowball fight, I was giving basic lessons in snow shoeing and how to make your own. Thing is, you can only go only doing good deeds and having fun for just so long. Even though we could drop our packs and leave the sledge, running and playing is exhausting particularly when you're playing with the young who have the energy and stamina of Locusts swarming a field. We were pooped.

That's when pay back occurred. Two blocks away was a house that looked ill tended, not quite equal to the neighbours. Of course we knocked and, after rather a long pause, it was opened by a great looking man, about 55, who had been slowed because he had to put on his prosthetic leg. As he said, when I'm not expecting anyone, which is most of the time, I just stomp around with my crutch and wear a T shirt. And I know all about you so come on in. I think I can offer you something you'll like.

He was Bill Jones, formerly Colonel Bill Jones left over from a war far away. His foyer was more like a mud room and he encouraged us to strip off all our outer layers, right down to our long johns. As he turned to leave us he said, "By the way, I'm the other gay guy.You don't hear about me 'cuz I posed no threat. Figure it out. When you get peeled, come on in."

Pete and looked at each other and, as the man/Colonel/Officer said, started peeling. What you forget as you are getting ready to go out and are adding layer after layer is that when you take these layers off, and you've been hot and sweaty, there's an odor....masculine but sweaty. Combine a locker room after the game with a marathon runner and you've got an approximation, just not the totality of the smell.It also reminded us why people had mud rooms with lots of hooks on which to hang the just removed layers.

"Hey, Colonel...."

"It's Bill and yeah, what?"

"Two sled dogs smell better and..."

"What the fuck. See the door that looks like a closet? It isn't, it's a bathroom with a shower. I don't personally give a shit what you smell like but, since this is your first visit, go ahead, be pristine, shower down.....and then what?"

He had a point. To put on what we'd just scraped off wasn't a positive but... walking around the home of a strange stark naked seemed a bit....forward.

I could hear him chortling.
"Not that I wouldn't like to see you available for appraisal but there's a linen closet in there with some extra large bath sheets, play Romans, make Togas."

And that's what we did. Surprisingly, or maybe it wasn't, the shower easily held the two of us and had a built in stool, about the height a man Bill's size would need to sit on, plus hand grabs where you'd need them. He, or someone, had thought things out carefully. With two of us at once, showering went quickly and, just as promised, there were some of the biggest towels I'd ever seen. As most men do, we wrapped them around our waists but found if we put them there, we'd trip over them. It was easy to see why he'd mentioned togas. We looked at one another, sort of shrugged and headed down a short hall with a large arch in it on the left. Once in, there sat the Colonel, more or less stark naked; He had removed his leg so what was left was an old T shirt. Period.

"I, uh, feel over dressed."

He laughed,"You're cold, actually your body core temperature has dropped a bit whereas I've been in doors most of the day except for doing laps." He jerked his thumb towards a set of partially draped French doors and beyond back yard but a pool that filled it.

"Hey, I have to do something to keep in shape." He showed us his guns that proved the point he was making. "Actually, part of it is a lap pool, one of those with water that is jetted over you so you have the feeling or swimming forward when you're really in one place. This time of year I keep it about 80, 85, anything above that and it's not really refreshing, just heavy, like being in a liquid swamp. It was easier to put that in than do lawn work or hire it out. I like my privacy-notice the Lombardy Poplars, fast growing and shield me from whatever goes on. They don't look like a fence but you can't see through them."

There was one more thing and I thought I knew but felt I had to wait to be told. In the interval, we told him about us, where we lived, what we'd been doing. He interrupted me....

"Proving to the straights that there are one or two 'good ones'. I'm one you're two, if there are any more around here, I don't know of them but I was fucking glad when I heard about you two, I've felt bad for not coming by but I hoped...we'd meet casually, something like today.If they seeing us together, they think, Uh, Oh, the homos are getting ready to cluster fuck us......Okay, we've made polite, stand up, drop the towels and present yourself for inspection."

And so we did. Bill made a joke of checking us out only saying, pointing at Pete, I'll have him first-guys its been a long, long time and dildos don't do it-then you, no offense, I have a thing for men with black hair. Got some Injun in you I'll bet."

"Half Mohawk."

"Well, what I said, some Injun...or are you part of the gang that wants every positive Indian epithet, like the Washington football team, striped away due to sensitivity."

Pete laughed. "Buddy I don't care shit about all that. Some one from their 'movements'-sounds like something in your shitter doesn't it-came around to my job site and tried to get all the 'Indians' to sign some sort of petition saying we wouldn't work if we weren't acknowledged and given more money which, by the way, we could contribute to the 'cause'. Funny thing, couple of guys, maybe Hurons, took him up and showed him the view from the 70thfloor, course they showed it to him on the end of a crane with him upside down. Never came back but the company got some dumbshit letter about Native American Rights and respect for representatives of Native Americans when they came around." He had a good hearty laugh the sort an officer should have the sort of laugh that inspired respect and confidence. Suddenly I was deeply sorry we hadn't known about him but also realized the sense of what he was saying.

Maybe to prove what he said, he reached out and grabbed Pete's cock."Here's my bet, you can take being my crutch when I get up. Just pull on this tree branch, get me up, you get on the other side, head out the doors and throw me in the pool and then follow."

Pete had an evil smile that said I'm up for this one and Bill, true to his word, only using one hand on the arm of his chair slowly used Bill to rise. I could see the pride in Pete when he did it and the pride in the Colonel that he could do it. He turned to me. "Son, don't worry, your time is coming. Now, hold on to this side, get the doors open, prepare for the blast of cold-I had the paths underlined with hot water coils so your feet don't freeze and neither do the paths.Head toward the deep end 'cuz that's where any officer goes off. When we get there, have some fun, pick me up and heave me in then follow quick before your hard ons crack."

That's what we did and for the next two hours did laps, just floated and....we both blew Bill. It didn't take much to know that his times between sex that didn't involve his hand, were long so, while we were there, we drained his balls. I could see there was one more thing...

"Course you get to fuck us for your hospitality and, if you'd like it, we'll screw you. Just...not in the deep water." He laughed.

"More fun that way, little dangerous, come back some time and we'll try the old SEAL trick of going in fully tied up and then having to get out of it. All you need to do is stay calm. First one undone gets to fuck everyone else. Course, I doubt if the SEALS do that's horny to think they would. Over there, looks like some steps for me to walk down but it's actually some platforms to lie on in the sun or whenever I just want to get wet. Who ever wants to go first, roll over on their belly and I'll know what to do after that."

And he did, too. Both of us. Maybe we should have drained him some more as the old goat fucked like a tank headed for a revetment. Jesus his upper body was strong. His cock was deceiving in that while you could see it had good length, what you couldn't see, probably due to the water, was that it extended a surprizing distance. None of us were possessed of meat that would be photographed in magazines but all three of us knew what we were doing and enjoyed doing it. It was almost dark when we finally scooped the last bit of cum from the surface and dropped in cans of beer we'd brought out at some point.He was right, it was my turn. One hand on the steel grip and one on my cock, I pulled him out of the water using my cock and we reversed course and this time Pete took his other side.

Back inside it was almost cold compared to the warmth of the water. Bill was prepared...he had some boxes that held cowled robes, floor length with his service emblem on them. Without saying anything I realized they represented a hope for company that had never materialized until we knocked on his door. Such a great guy and, like so many Vets, almost abandoned in what looks like a really fine situation. Probably had some one come in weekly to do some housekeeping, groceries but, apart from a sort of necessary conversation, no companionship. On the wall were several pictures of him with the troops and, almost where you couldn't see it, a series of framed pictures of men, each with a cross on the frame and a date. No point in even asking.

"I've got at least two dozen beers in our packs. I'm betting you wouldn't mind if we off loaded most of them here. People meant well but....the weight adds up."

"Nothing like having a stocked fridge when men drop by...." and his words drifted off the clear meaning that "men" didn't drop by and unless he drank them all, they'd sit for a long time.

I didn't even consult Pete. "Soldier, what're you doing tonight?Don't tell me, nothing. Well, now you are. I know you have to have your winter gear around and here's what going to happen, in exchange for taking the beer off our hands, we're taking you back to our place to ride out the storm. No objections, I know you're strong as an ox but there are two of us and we're not exactly puny as you know.Dinner, maybe some television than one of us will grab you by your cock and get you up the stairs. Sure we got a guest room, we'll show it to you but you're sleeping with us. Any soldier knows to be prepared and our room in where the lube and, uh, some other things are."

He was caught between his rank and his overwhelming thanks and gratitude and desire to accept. I could see him head that way, just a little.

"You can come polite or, I just may know where the cuffs and manacles are.Got me?" He just smiled, almost a bit of lechery in it but it was a smile.

Looking for his winter gear took a little time; It had been put away a long time ago so remembering where all that he needed was a scavenger hunt in camouflage and Army green. Found his boot, his leg and a spare and, although I didn't see it as I was down stairs, Petes surreptitiously packed some of his change out clothes, got his razor, foam, tooth brush, couldn't find anything but he did ask if there were medicines he should have with him; There weren't.

Mercifully when we started to dress again, things had pretty much dried out, particularly our long johns and socks. Putting it all back on took almost longer than the first time and, of course, we were trying to arrange things so that Bill could go on the sledge which both of us would pull. His door was automatic and, just like ours, was frozen until I produced my torch and got it loosened. One thing, I made sure his face was well covered, the wind had come up and, of course, our journey home took us straight in the face of it. Again the Eskimo slits made it easier on our eyes and we almost blinded Bill telling him, which he immediately understood, about the effects of sharp wind on ocular fluid.

In one sense, going back was easier in that it was a non-stop flight.Problem was we were already tired and facing into the wind plus carrying about 180 more pounds than we'd started with. Nothing to do but just bend down, coordinate our steps and start home. Took an hour but we got there, grateful I'd blocked the door slightly open, got us unloaded, took Bill in first and told him to start undressing. It actually took us another hour to get everything where it needed to go including leaving some things out that we'd need again.

We'd had him put on his leg and, as with many who have had a prosthetic for years, he was as agile as we were. Got things we handed in to him unpacked and, given his military experience, arranged everything so it would be easy for us to put away. He was wearing shorts and a T shirt but his leg had a knee high boot, it only looked odd for a moment. Set us down, fully clothed, put a large Brandy in our hands and told us to swallow it all. We did. It helped. While we were there, on the couch he got behind us, started to massage our shoulders, going back and forth and then moved around, found a stool, sat down and started to untie our boots. Ever had your feet rubbed when they're cold and you're tired? Little by little he got us stripped and, could go to work on our whole bodies. He'd found our robes so draped us for warmth and his strong, intelligent, caring hands.

"Sir, if you could pause for a moment....My partner and I are grateful to you and you're our guest for a little while. I'm guessing no one is coming by and if you want to be alone, we both go to work everyday.Except maybe we'll have all day to just lounge around the house, do whatever we want to do?"

"Ever played Hanoi Hilton. Interesting game, I get to be the commanding officer...."

Pete and I smiled at each other. If we had tried to find someone like this, couldn't have been done.

"You guys sit there and I'll rustle up some grub. Don't suppose you have any K rations, I'm a real artist when it come to using them...."and laughed. Don't get up, although I doubt if you can. I know what a kitchen is and what to do in them. Actually, I know lots of things to do in them. Ever played garbage disposal mumbletypeg? That's were you stick your dick in and everyone makes bets on yes or no, what might happen. Have another Brandy, I'll bring whatever is going to be dinner in a bit."

It was then that Pete and I realized how physically tired we were. We snuggled together, didn't even have time to kiss and were sound asleep.

Coming to we faced a smiling Bill, a plate full of good looking food and from an angle we had to look up to see it; Apparently we'd been out for a couple of hours and slid onto the floor.

"I was tempted to leave you there. Just real cute, like two little boys who've run away are lost and go to sleep worrying about where they are. Climb up, get comfortable and we'll chow down."

When you've cooked for yourself for a very long time, anything, that isn't charred or still on fire, that is cooked by another is delicious even if you're unsure as to what it is. He'd found some steaks, cans of corn-the vegetable of all men-made biscuits, fried some onions, fixed a salad even concocted a desert by boiling a tin of condensed milk and added some sliced bananas carefully sprayed with lemon juice to keep them white and firm. We had to thank him with our mouths full.

One of the joys of not having pets is that you can leave dirty plates out without thinking they'll eat what they shouldn't or break something.We sat there, like happy toads, hoping that our bloated stomachs would return to our normal six pack. Bill just watched us. Smiling.

Given our nap, dinner and sitting there stupefied it was approaching eleven. Out the window the snow had resumed-probably filling in the winged genitals. Bill was looking out the window. "This is gonna add up, already every squashed bit of white has refilled, can't tell that anyone or anything even has been here."

There was a happy silence until I burped. It was also then that I realized that whatever Bill and Pete were, I was beyond resuscitation; It was bed or the floor. Pete was only a little better off and Bill could read all the signs.

"Okay, soldiers, upstairs, strip, short shower, get in bed. I, uh, have some ideas as to what to do once everyone is settled in. All I need to find are some open holes. Hope you don't mind sex as you sleep, some say it gives you the best dreams." Sounded like a workable plan so the three of us-Bill had kept on his leg-climbed the stairs, wearily, dropped our robes in the hall, more or less marched through the shower and, when we go out, were toweled dry by other hands. Fuck that felt good. Bed was next and we managed to get on board without incident. Only thing left to do was the group snuggle so we all were comfortable. In my ear I heard Bill whisper, "You won't mind if I turn you now and then, I can only fuck one side just so long....."I think I smiled at him and completely relaxed.

My last words to my wonderful partner...."You see, I told you the thing to do was go out for a picnic." And then groaned happily as Bill stuck some greased fingers in both of us and rubbed both our prostates.....Out side the snow continued to heap up the reason we could stay home for another day or two..... and I slept dreaming of a picnic on a Sunday with Pete in the park.




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