Brothers in Arms

When he began to wash his genitals, he began a remembrance of the time he and his dear Jenny had shared a bath, laughing and exploring and touching. They had both known that he was off to war and probably would not return. His small flaccid penis had doubled in size as he "washed" over and over. He found himself rigid and pointing straight up, nearly ready to cum.

Sean chose that moment to reenter the cave, his arms laden with soaking clothes and himself naked as the day he was born. Sean, appearing not to have noticed Preston's condition as the latter turned quickly away, set the clothes on a large rock and again left the cave. When he returned, however, it was Preston's turn to be amazed. Since both faced the fire as they shoved sticks into the soft sand on which to hang the damp clothes as they wrung them out, Preston could not help but see.

Sean's penis was the longest, fattest thing Press had ever seen. Not as big as his prize pony, but nearly so. Preston had great difficulty pretending not to notice. What must the other lad think, seeing Preston gaping at him, at his 'thing'.

Sean laughed out loud. "Don't worry. I am used to that reaction, from the other boys, swimming and stuff like that. And it really scares most of the girls, except of course the pros."

"Well," Preston replied, giggling, "as you can see, Ah'll never have that problem. Hey wait! Ya mean you actually done 'it' with girls? And wha'd'ya mean pros, what's a pro?"

"In the slums of the city there are lots of girls who will do 'IT' . I guess I have done it, oh I don't know maybe a dozen times, and twice with prostitutes, that's what I mean by pros. They have done it all, seen everything."

The talk about doing 'it' had made Preston's cock even harder, but the two boys continued to act as if nothing had occurred. Preston was amazed at Sean's experience and asked if Sean didn't feel sinful and ashamed at what he had done.

"Hell, kid, I was raised with all that religion and sin and stuff, but after the first time I figured the good lord knew what he was doing and why would he make it so good, feel so good. If he meant it to be bad, why didn't he make it feel bad. I don't think much of a god that would trick us on purpose."

They laughed softly together for a few more minutes. Sean went to the river for more water and the two boys chatted softly waiting for the water to heat for Sean's bath. The rebel boy was astonished at how easily Sean accepted their nakedness. Preston had never before been naked with another person of either sex. At first, Preston tried as hard as possible to avoid looking at the Sean's genitals, but after only a while he began to take the others nudity in stride, except he continued to be amazed at Sean's size.

Despite the warring differences between their positions on "The Union", the boys were fast becoming friends. "By the way," Preston informed Sean, "my friends and family call me Prest."

"How's the leg, Prest?" Sean inquired. "As soon as I have cleaned myself up, I'll take a look at it and change the bandages. I found some stuff to use and I think in the morning maybe we'll try to see if you can walk to the river. I think the cold water will help."

Sean rose and went to the fire. The water was hot and he began to wash himself in the same manner as had Prest. Preston watched Sean wash himself as casually as he would have watched one of his daddy's sows wallow, but inside he was agitated. He could not keep his eyes off that gigantic "thing" hanging so far between Sean's legs, swaying heavily with each of Sean's masculine movements. He wondered what it would be like carrying something that big, that heavy around all day. He wondered if it got much bigger when it got hard, wondered if Sean felt it there all day every day. God it seemed to Prest as though it would make him think about sex all day, feeling that hugeness hanging there. He found himself wondering how it would feel to hold that massive thing in his own hand, discovered he was beginning to get an erection thinking about it, then began blushing. With his fair complexion and flaming red hair, any blush was rampantly obvious.

"'Scuse me, I gotta piss," he said and quickly turned away, hobbling and hopping on his one good leg, over to the spot the boys had decided was the "waste" area, well away from their sleeping area. Once there, though, he watched from afar as Sean completed his ablutions, nearly gasping when he saw Sean draw back his foreskin and stoke himself with the same rag that had touched him. He told himself he was erect because he had been daydreaming about Jenny only a few minutes earlier. Yes that was it, of course, his dear Jenny.

Clothes dried and redressed hours later, the two lads sat and talked about their respective homes, each impressing the other with the deep emotion with which each described his home and loved ones. Both wondered how they could ever have wished to kill each other or others like them. They discussed what they would do next, where they would go, how they would survive. How they would keep from being discovered and arrested and shot for desertion. Through their discussions, like a vein of gold through a seam of ore, ran the unstated fact that each assumed that whatever occurred, they would be together.

Several weeks passed in this fashion. Though Preston's ankle was healing rapidly, Sean was mostly unsuccessful in his hunting and they were slowly starving, their clothes in tatters. One morning, after a breakfast of some skunk cabbage, wild onions and some roots and grubs Sean had dug up, Sean sat Preston down for a talk." Look Prest," he said gently, "we gotta get out of here, head west, find something to eat, someway to survive or we are gonna die. Can you walk well enough, you think, to travel?"

"Do I have a choice?" we gotta move on or we'll die. Not only that but I keep on hearing sounds like the war is comin' back this way. Kin Ah ask ya somethin'?"

"Sure Press, anything."

"How come ya don't just leave me behind and take off? Ah don't get it?"

"I don't understand either, Prest. It's like we were bound together by some force. Maybe fate or destiny or something like that. Also, er. . . I don't know what, I can't explain it" looking away, unable to meet the rebel boys eyes. "I think I have grown to really care a lot for you and about you in a very short time. Is that er, ah, stupid er. . . (Pausing a long time, searching for the words that wouldn't come.) . . . something?"

"Naw it ain't stupid ya stupid damn Yankee. Damned if Ah don't care a bit about you too."

Both boys stood together, trying to look at each other, trying not to look at each other, each lad overcome with sudden shyness. Something was happening between them that neither understood , but each felt inextricably bound to the other by some physical or spiritual force as yet unnamed.

* * *

The boys left their cave and wandered steadily westward, avoiding all sights and sounds of the war, scrounging whatever they could find. They kept well away from traveled areas and shied away from human contact. Each boys was afraid he would be shot for deserting his respective army. Sean used a piece of old grapevine to hold up his tattered trousers. He had lost so much weight that his pants just would not stay up. They ate grubs and roots and old vegetables left to rot in fields by the war. Nights were cold and they often slept close together, for they dared build only meager fires.

And as they walked, they talked, shared the boring commonalities of everyday life and the highest and deepest secrets of their dreams The bond between them grew stronger as they became weaker, more interdependent upon one another. Often one would touch the other; a brief scrub of knuckles on the back of the hand as they walked, a poke in the ribs, a tussling of the hair. Their clothing had become so ragged that it concealed almost nothing and each shared an intimate knowledge of the others physique. Sean was sure sometimes, that he saw Prest looking at him, at his maleness, in a more intimate way. And he could barely keep his hands from caressing the other boy. But he kept tight control of himself, of his emotions, for to lose the other to foolish action now was to die, emotionally and probably physically.

Finally, crouched over a small fire, shoulders touching and voices low, they agreed they had go to share their plight with other humans, to find a helping hand, a kindred soul if they were to survive. Later the next day they saw smoke rising from a farmhouse some distance away. They reconnoitered and decided that Prest would simply knock on the door and ask for help while Sean waited in a small copse of trees by a clear winding stream, whose bank would conceal him. The plan was that if Prest were seized, Sean could rescue him, for his presence would be unknown.

Sean waited anxiously, lying on his belly, keeping his eyes firmly on Prest's back as the young skinny lad approached the house. He was full of fear for Prest and for himself, but they were desperate, dog tired and dirty and nearly dead. Their only hope lay in the possibility of outside intervention. Without help they would starve, would die.

After a few minutes, Prest came running back toward him gesticulating wildly for him to come. The miracle of their luck had come through again. As it turned out, the small neat farm belonged to a Mr. and Mrs. Reagan and their four sons. Quakers. Dead set against this war and all wars. At the huge supper she laid for Sean and Press, she explained to them their Quaker ways, her words full of thees and thous, and thys; told of their family's and their religion's opposition to the war, told of how all five of her men had finally been hauled away from the farm and forced to serve, though all of them served as nurses and helpers to the fallen and the wounded. She read them letters from her husband and sons, full of the sorrow and the horror, the blood and the suffering of the war. She proclaimed the two deserters heroes to have left the war as they had and offered them the comfort and solace of her farm for as long as they saw fit. The one condition: They help her with the chores which now proved more than she alone could handle. The two of them, of course, would have to sleep in the barn. It would not be "seemly" for them to be in the house alone with her through the night.

One night, a fierce thunderstorm shook the barn and the farm. The two boys, sleeping in the barn, were awakened by its fury. After about thirty minutes of rafter shaking rain and thunder, Prestspoke out. "Sean," he called, "Sean?"

"Yeah, Prest, what is it?"

"Could Ah , er, would it be okay if Ah, er came over and laid by you for a while?"

"What is it Prest?"

"Just could Ah please come over close, okay?"

"Uh, yeah, uh, sure, okay, uh, sure."

Prest scuttled over and sat very close, stuttering and shuddering. Each flash of lightening or boom of thunder caused the rebel lad to jump. In the intermittent flashes of the storm, Sean saw that Prest's face was ashen, his shoulders shaking, hands trembling. "Prest, come closer," Sean said and drew the youngster into his arms. They passed the night, Preston sitting close against Sean's scantily clad body, drawing warmth and comfort from the arms Sean closed tightly around him. Through the long night of the storm, Sean slowly drew the story from the other boy. Years ago a great storm had torn through Prest's farm in rural Alabama. As eight-year-old Prest had raced toward the hurricane shelter, his puny young arms dragging his six-year-old sister along, the twister had torn her violently from his arms and away into the night, leaving Preston physically unharmed. The family had searched for days but never found the petite body of his sister Nell. Days later they wept over an empty box lowered into a grave on a corner of the farm. Ever since that night, Prest had been terrified of storms. He was ashamed of his reaction, being a man now, but could not control his feelings.

They sat through the long night and Sean held him tightly, his love for the fair boy overflowing, his cock huge and rigid against Prest's thin backside. The need was mighty in him to have this boy, to hold him and possess him and care for him. That need confused and confounded Sean, who had never experienced such feelings toward another male. Though the urge was great, Sean suppressed it, was content to succor his friend, to comfort and protect him through the crisis. Prest must have felt the iron hardness of Sean's need through their meager clothing, but no word of this had ever passed between them.

The next day, after their chores for Mrs. Reagan were through, the two boys went to a wide place in the creek, a tree with a rope swing and a swimmin' hole. "Last one in's a dirty rotten Yankee," Preston yelled, peeling off the plain cotton slacks and shirt Mrs. Reagan had supplied each of the boys and tossing them on a bush before throwing himself headlong into the creek. For several hours the boys played and swam, dunking one another, bodies often touching, often pushing or punching one another in that unique physical male-bonding horseplay which normally passes away with maturity.

Though Sean could not keep his eyes or his hands off Prest's wonderful body, he was very careful to do nothing that could be taken as directly sexual. He was uncertain of the other boy's re-action and fearful of alienating him by incautious behavior. The erectness of his penis was mostly hidden by its already imposing size.

On the other hand, Prest's own penis was semi-erect the entire time, its smooth length stretching out if not upward, its flawless foreskin tautening to reveal to about one-third of its satiny pink head. Prescott, too, took every opportunity to 'accidentally' brush up against his friend.

Eventually both boys had stretched out in the smooth grass beside the flowing creek and nodded off into innocent slumber.

Sean awakened slowly. At first he thought he might be in his gramma's house in the city, lying in her backyard. He rolled gently to his side and saw Prest sleeping softly beside him. That brought him back to reality. He gazed on the natural beauty of his friend, his face and body so perfectly formed, like gazing on a dozing angel. But did angels have cocks? Prest's small, perfectly formed cock lay stretched out along the inside of his thigh. His long smooth foreskin covered all but the very tip where the two tiny pink cock lips lay exposed. Throughout its pink length there was not a single blemish or wrinkle. His balls were smooth and almost wrinkle free. The entire package emerged from a fluffy almost translucent bush of pubic hair that was not exactly red, but nearly pink. His stomach was tight and flat and his abs tightly formed, his ribs were clearly visible from months of near star-vation, his pecks nearly flat and totally hairless, his nipples pink and firm inside perfect two-inch circles of darker pink. The rebel boy's arms and legs were as hairless as his chest and firm but not muscular. A stubble of several days covered his cheeks and chin, not quite the fiery red of his hair, which spread over his shoulders like the mane of a young pony.

The impulse to touch this perfect angel was strong in Sean. He had never touched another man "that way" and had never felt the urge, but the troubles and trials he had shared with Prest had formed a strong bond between them, not unlike romantic love. He sat up and reached out, laying the flat of his open hand softly on that flat white stomach, only inches from the velvety smooth pink sheath of Preston's cock. A huge lump had formed around Sean's Adam's apple. Would his touch awaken Prest to anger and disgust? Gently, oh so gently he ran his open hand down through the pink fuzz. Cautiously he ran his hand over Press' cock and balls, his thumb sliding over the top of the cock toward its tip, his fingers curled gently around the balls. Touching the young rebel's cock was like caressing fine silk. Prest did not immediately awaken so Sean left his hand there for a few golden

moments.

What did he want? What was he doing? Where would his actions lead him? These were questions his mind could not answer. He knew only his heart-pounding need to continue. He began softly moving his thumb in small exploratory circles. Prest's body responded. Sean's thumb could feel small contractions beginning in Prest's cock and his fingers felt the corresponding thrum under Prest's balls.

Sean felt a sudden stirring in his own loins, faint beginnings of need and urgency. He circled his friend's penis with thumb and forefinger and began to gently stroke, easing the soft foreskin up and back and exposing the smooth plump pinkness of Prest's cock head. He watched Prest's face closely for any sign of awakening. Preston's eyeballs roamed around behind closed eyelids, but his eyes did not immediately open, even though his penis began to harden and grow. A tiny drop emerged from the head of Press' cock, shining like a precious gem in the afternoon sun.

Sean smiled and nearly laughed out loud when he realized he was licking his lips. Yes. He wanted to lick it, to taste that sweet droplet. What would his future hold if he followed this impulse, now a strong need pulsing through him? Would he be one of "those" boys? A Nancy boy? A queer?

His own cock was turgid now, a bother to him as it had always been. His was not beautiful and slim and pink like Prest's, but long and dark , thick and menacing looking. His foreskin was long and wrinkled throughout its entire length and hung several crinkled inches beyond the end of his cock, his balls long and pendulous, dark and wrinkled. And everything covered with dense unruly curls of thick black hair.

As he knelt over Prest, several drops of fluid leaked from his hardening cock and fell on Prest's thigh. The redhead stirred. His eyes flashed open in shock. Before he could speak, Sean laid one finger across Prest's lips to silence him, took the pale delicate hand and laid it upon his own dark thick cock.

"You asked once if you could hold him, feel his weight," Sean said. "There he is!"

Neither lad spoke. Sean continued his stroking, unsure if the other would succumb to his affections or reject him outright. The younger boy moaned softly from deep in his throat, neither releasing Sean's massive cock, nor stroking it; merely holding it and gazing back and forth between the two cocks.

Sean began to stroke harder, faster. Almost immediately, Prest's legs went taut, his back arched, and he shot a large glob of thin white cum into Sean's hand and across his own taut stomach. Sean was amazed at the feel of the other boy's ejaculation. It felt so different than when he stroked his own cock. He looked at the other boy's cum on his hand, looked into Prest's pure blue eyes, held his gaze and brought his hand up to his lips. Prest's essence tasted of pure spring water with a touch of something deep and unknown, unusual, but not unpleasant.

Preston lay still for a moment, taking in all that had happened, then jumped up wordlessly, walked quickly to the tree, retrieved his clothes and began dressing, his back to Sean, his reaction unreadable.

Sean went also to the tree and began dressing. "You gonna say something?" No reply.

A few minutes dragged by in silence. Preston kept his back turned resolutely to Sean.

"Hey man you have to say something."

"Whatcha want me ta say?"

"Something. Anything. Whatever it is you're thinking."

"Ah don't know what ta think. All that talk about the girls you've had! You a queer? Saving my ass, takin' care a me, jes so you could . . . could. . . What? Seduce me? Turn me inta one of you? Fer yer own pleasure?"

"So you didn't enjoy what I, what I , what we, just did? And what about all that : ' kin I touch it, hold it some time? it must be heavy'."