Brothers in Arms-Part 1

Brothers in Arms

I Preston Dalton, dog tired and filthy, stood in the pouring rain, waiting to die. A quick musket ball to the head might be a merciful eighteenth birthday present. He thought back to his first battle, just thirteen days ago. They had been so pumped up and shiny and gray and confident, eager to drive the Yanks out of the valley and keep them runnin’ ’til the Fourth of July. Then the Yankee artillery had begun. On the first barrage Jamie Wells had been taken, screaming, into the next life. When the smoke cleared, they had seen the long blue mass of infantry rifles. The Lieutenant waved them forward and they had begun to die. Within a few minutes, men lay screaming and moaning all around him. Somewhere to his rear a plaintive voice cried, “Mama, mama,” over and over. Musket balls whizzed and whistled around his head like a swarm of bees. A ball had slammed into the butt of his musket, ripping it from his hands, and he had wet himself.

Since then, he pretty much figured himself a dead man. His thighs were chaffed from the scratch of dried urine. He did not ever remember ever having gone so long without washing. When he pulled out his shriveled little penis to pee, the rancid smell of it rose strongly to his nostrils. What he wouldn’t give for a long hot soak in the family tub back in Jacksonville.

In twenty minutes they were to advance again. It seemed crazy to Preston to keep advancing straight into the hell of smoke and fire and death. “Couldn’t we jest sneak up on the Yanks from behind or something,” he asked himself?

This story is a work of fiction. All characters are older than 18. They have fun having gay sex. If gay sex is not allowed in your country, you should consider moving to another one. The characters are not having safe sex, please use condoms while exploring your sexuality. As always, I look forward to your comments and suggestions. Thank you for choosing to read my story and I hope you enjoy! You may contact me at , also if you have your own story. Please send to this email , or click SUBMIT YOUR OWN STORIES! at the top right corner of HOME SCREEN. Also, If you include your name. I will give credit as due, otherwise, it will read as - Read By: Bobby Newberry. THANK YOU for helping to build Gay and Nerdy Archives Library of Erotic Stories and more. Note: We do not own these stories, only share. If you believe this story should not be here. Email and explain. If so, we will fix this mistake. Please keep in mind. IT COST MONEY TO KEEP THIS WEBSITE UP AND RUNNING. So with that in mind please consider purchasing something from one of our Adult Toy Stores (By clicking link, or picture below). Win, win for both parties involved. We get financing for website and you get pleasure from your toy purchase. No purchase is too small. Check out one of our stores listed here: Bobo Sex Toys,, and Sex MONKEY Toys. Store and DVD’s. SO WITH THAT IN MIND. UNZIP and ENJOY! Also check out: The Gay Classifieds.

The sergeants and corporals were receiving their orders all up and down the line, grouping their men for the attack. From across the long green meadow, the sound of the other side’s advance began. Press’s legs felt suddenly weak and shaky. He looked left and right, not really seeking a way out, just sort of hoping. He sighed deeply, affixed the bayonet to his rifle as the sarge was ordering them to do, and waited nervously for the order to charge. Could he really stick its ugly sharpness into a living, breathing man? Poke the blood and life from a lad much like himself?

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The ragged line of soldiers began to move slowly forward,dragging him along as if he were tied. The lieutenant’s voice rang out. “Charrrgge,” and the line moved faster, faster. Prescott couldn’t see the enemy, but the buzzing of the lead bees began again. Blood spattered across his face and he hoped beyond hope it wasn’t his own. In front of him a soldier twirled, fell. Preston jumped, landed, twisted his ankle and fell. Someone stepped on him, then another. God he hoped he didn’t have to, couldn’t, get up.

Dirt and grass, small rocks, bits of flesh and blood rained down on him from the constant artillery fire. Musket balls buzzed around him like hornets,often thudding into the ground, close, oh so close to his body.

His honor, his training, his bravery deserted him absolutely. Frantically, in absolute, blind terror he dug in his elbows and knees and crawled wildly away from the noise and confusion. He crawled ’til his elbows and knees bled. Crawled blindly.

Suddenly the ground disappeared from under him and he fell, tumbling head over heals, he crashed against something very hard. Sight, sound, consciousness left him and blackness swallowed him.

Sean McFadden lay on his back on the hard ground. Dust and smoke swirled around him, obscuring the battlefield. Cautiously his hands moved over his body, searching for the site of the wound that had driven him to the earth. He laughed thinly when he discovered that only his old deer musket had been hit, its beautiful maple butt, shattered by a musket ball. “Well!” He said to himself as if it were a huge joke, “I guess no one can blame me for not fighting, if I don’t have a gun.”

Sean was hardly more than a boy. He had turned 20 on his last birthday. He had never wanted to fight in this damn war anyway. He had taken the fifty dollars from a Dutchman from upstate only because it went a long way to fill the bellies of his eight brothers and sisters. He had thought he could run off as soon as some sergeant’s back was turned. But they had watched him constantly during his brief training, sent him south by train, and force marched him to this hellish battlefield, all in a matter of weeks. At an encampment along the route, he had witnessed the firing squad shooting of two deserters, and that had stifled his will to run.

But now all that was over. Despite the firing, the flak and the moans of the dying, he turned and walked. He walked slowly. Back. Back the way he had come. He wandered for hours, always moving away from the sounds of fighting, moving toward the quiet, the peace. No one stopped him. No one challenged him. No one saw him.

He had no idea how long he had walked, how far he had walked, where he was. It was the gnawing hunger in his belly, the ravening thirst, that eventually roused him, brought him to reality, to life.

By sheer luck he found an abandoned apple orchard, its farmhouse blown full of holes, its once crisp white fences trampled. He downed three apples immediately, scarcely pausing to chew. Water, he needed water. He went toward the ruined farmhouse. A wooden swing drifted in a lonely arc from the

arms of a huge oak. A cloth doll lay trampled in the soil. He found the pump, but its handle had been wrenched or blown off, its mechanism worthless. Sean entered the old house in search of anything. He found a worn gunnysack he thought he might fill with apples. Then in a pantry, half a bag of flour and a few wrinkled potatoes. He stuffed them in the sack and drifted upstairs, searching from room to room. From a side window he saw a far off stand of willows and knew that meant water.

Sean reached the river and threw himself face first in the shallows, gulping so deeply he choked. When he was sated, he sat for a time, reason returning. The utter quiet in the midst of turmoil was unsettling and a bit spooky.

Having no means of transporting water, he decided to follow the river. After several hours walking, he came upon what had obviously been a battlefield. The corpses had been removed, but the odor of decaying flesh and black powder still hung lightly in the air. He had made his decision. He was finished with war and all it meant. He gave no care for which side won or lost. Freedom, slavery, union, all meant nothing to him. Live! He waned to live.

Fearful that someone might still be around, might see him, he descended into the deep ravine the river cut here, keeping close to the bank and out of sight. Sean heard a sound, froze in his tracks.

The sound came again, a low anguished moan. There!

From the cliff on one side of the deep ravine a single gnarled willow hung suspended, and beneath it, a body. But not a body, a live person. A boy apparently several years younger than he, pale, ashen, close to death, dressed in the gray of the enemy. The boy’s foot was turned half around the wrong way, his ankle obviously broken. For long minutes Sean merely sat and looked at the boy, arguing with himself about humanity and decency and safety and self-respect and danger and. . . “Hell,” he said to himself, “I gotta do something!”

He went to the boy and knelt beside him. Though filthy beyond belief, wounded and charred by war, the lad had the face of an angel. His body was slight and slim, very white with deep eyes the color of the clear ocean, his hair a blazing red. Sean had never before been so taken with the looks of another man, but this was different. The rebel boy, though unconscious, radiated peace and gentleness, beauty and innocence. He set about wrapping and splinting the boy’s broken bone. During the painful process the lad had cried out, but not regained consciousness.

Sean left the innocent looking boy lying on the bank and went in search of whatever could be found to aid the situation of the two young men. Various detritus of war lie all around the abandoned battlefield, most damaged and useless. Sean found two usable canteens and several blanket rolls in usable if somewhat bloody shape. Just as Sean was about to give up his search and return to the rebel boy, he spotted an irregularity some way down the opposite bank. Making his way to the spot with some difficulty, he struggled through some brambles and nearly fell into a fairly large cave hidden by a grove of willows. Just inside the mouth of the cave, he set down all that he was carrying and spent a few minutes exploring. It seemed a miracle. The cave was clean and high and dry with some soft sandy spots and some large and small rock outcroppings. It would do for shelter, at least for now.

The beautiful rebel boy was barely a burden as Sean hoisted him to his shoulders and carried him to the hidden cave. Sean gathered wood, started a fire, went upstream to collect clear water and started a thin potato soup from the contents of the gunnysack. Some of the water he boiled and set aside to tend the youngster’s wounds. As Sean slit the trousers of the boys gray slacks, the lads thin white lips let out a painful moan. Sean leaned and spoke to the boy, attempting to wake him.

The rebel’s eyes opened in fear and he tried to scoot back away from Sean’s Yankee uniform, but the effort caused too much pain and the lad nearly passed out again.

“Whoa, easy, take it easy there Reb. I believe the war is over for you! Over for me too if you want to know. You are not too badly hurt and I know a little about it . My uncle was a doctor over in Ireland. Will you let me help you?”

It was all too much for the young southern boy, but he nodded his head in permission. Sean worked efficiently, first cleansing the area with hot water and cutting away the leg of the gray trousers.

“What’s your name, kid?”

“Ah ain’t no kid. I turned eighteen last month. And you don’t look so old yerself. Ah am old enough to be in this man’s army and get wounded, ain’t I?”

“I didn’t mean nothing by it, take it easy and let me help you. Sean held out his hand to the boy.

“My name’s Sean, what’s yours?”

“Name’s Preston. Preston Dalton and how come a Yankee soldier wants ta help me?”

“Well, Preston, Three days ago I had just about all I am ever going to take of this war. I am done with it all now and forever, And, well, If it weren’t for the war, and I saw you lying there hurt, I’d help you. Wouldn’t you help me?”

“Ah dunno, Ah kinda think maybe Ah wouldn’t, seein’ as how you was a Yankee, probly comin’ to burn down ma house.”

“Well, anyway, Preston Dalton, you’re stuck with me because you have a broken ankle and you are not going much of anywhere without my help. And my name is not Yankee or Damn Yankee, it’s Sean. I didn’t come down here to kill anyone or burn down anyone’s house, I came down to get fifty dollars so my family back in New York wouldn’t starve.”

“Now listen to me, Mr. Dalton, your ankle is broken and I am going to have to reset it or you will never walk straight again. And this isn’t going to be easy. We have nothing to ease the pain and it is gonna hurt like hell. And I would appreciate it if you didn’t yell too loud. I don’t want either of us to get caught and shot for a deserter. How about you?”

The Reb nodded in mute assent.

“Now here is how it is going to work, I’ve got you wedged behind a rock so I don’t have to put

my foot in your groin, but I am going to grab your boot and pull hard and turn. You’ll probably hear the pop when it’s right, then I’ll splint it and bandage it and hope for the best. Let me know when you are ready. You want something to bite on, like my pocket knife?”

“Nope, I reckon if you kin dish it out I kin take it.”

” Get ready.”

“Okay, I’m ready.”

Sean had to hand it to the Reb. He had barely made a sound as Sean yanked and twisted the fractured joint back into place. But he had passed out from the pain and shock. Sean quickly and easily made solid splints from willow branches and strips cut from their clothing as Preston slept on. Now both their uniforms were shorts and short sleeve shirts.

Sean now recognized the next imperative, food! A couple of half rotted spuds and a few dandelions and wild carrots were not going to do. He left the cave and went exploring.

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About two miles down river, and some distance from the bank, the rising hillside gave way to a dense forest. Sean knew it would be full of game, if he could just fashion a weapon. Though both in Ireland and in New York, Sean had been a city boy, and knew nothing of spears and traps and the like, he was determined to procure meat! He found a stout stand of relatively straight poplar and used his pocket knife to sharpen one end of a stick about six feet long. He practiced throwing it at a particular spot and decided he needed to be within about fifteen feet if he hoped to hit anything. That is if

anything showed up to hit. He knew he had been much too noisy so far, so he found a fallen log and sat quietly hoping that Mother Nature would pity him and send a blessing his way.

As he sat quietly, the vision of Preston’s beautiful face and flaming red hair kept flitting into his consciousness. Even filthy and ragged he was a sight to see. “What was it about that boy?”

Sean discovered that the woods indeed teemed with wildlife of all sorts. Many types of birds, of varied colors and shapes and songs, flitted here and there. Black and brown squirrels scampered

through the trees above his head, and all manner of small beasts, chipmunks and the like pranced and skittered around. But none came close enough. He was about to give up when, seemingly out of nowhere hopped a large furry rabbit. Sean had never eaten rabbit, but had heard that it was not only edible, but tasty. He held his breath, hoping the rabbit would be curious. Remembering the few dandelions and wild carrots he carried in his pockets, he leaned as far as he could and dropped a few to the ground as gently as he could. Very, very slowly, an inch at a time, he raised his makeshift spear over his head and sat perfectly still. Sean’s arm was aching and shaking from the effort of holding the spear aloft when the rabbit finally sniffed the air and came toward the vegetables. The beast was so cautious about the unnatural presentation of the veggies, that it took what seemed was forever before it came close and sat and sniffed the air about five feet from Sean.

I’ll only get one shot at this Sean thought as he drove his arm violently down and forward. He had done it! He had managed to pin the rabbit to the earth through one of it’s forequarters, where it scuffled and struggled to be free. Sean had never killed a living thing before, but his hunger drove him as he deftly yanked his pocketknife from his slacks, jumped up and threw himself on the pitiful struggling creature. Once the poor creature was finally dead from a series of pitiful jabs of the little knife, Sean secured its ears to his belt and headed back toward the cave. He had no idea how to skin or prepare his prey, but as he trotted back to the cave, his face, hands and shirt covered with blood he had an immense feeling of satisfaction, of the hunter home from the kill. He could understand the primitive need to dance his success before a fire.

As he entered the cave, a rock whizzed past his face, missing him by barely an inch. He dodged and whirled, raised his spear.

“What the fuck? You ignorant fucking southern hillbilly!” He charged forward and pressed his spear against Preston’s chest, who had fallen from his effort to attack Sean, despite an injured leg.

“Okay, that’s it you fucking bastard! You’ve got two choices, You can take an oath on your sacred doomed confederacy, never to try to kill me again or, so help me god, I will kill you right this moment.”

“You’d believe me? Take ma word?”

“I have to do that or kill you. What choice do I have? But I can’t sit around you and be worried that you are going to try to kill me every time I turn my back. So. Swear or die!”

“Okay, okay, Ah swear, I swear on the stars and bars and on Jeff Davis’ mother, just don’t kill me. Mr. bad Yankee man.”

“Okay, now seriously. Neither of us is going to survive this shit if we don’t work together. I managed to kill this poor pitiful creature. Do you know how to skin it and all that so we can eat? I am going to the river to wash off the blood. Here Is my pocket knife.”

After they had eaten, Sean decided to do something about the filthy condition of their clothing. “Hey Reb.”

“Ma name ain’t Reb, its Preston”

“Oh That’s right. I forgot. Excuse me Mr. Prescott Dalton. Do you think you can stumble around enough to get the fire going a little more? I am gonna wash our clothes in the river, but I wanna dry them by a nice hot fire so we won’t be sitting around here a long time without clothes. It would be a hell of a thing to have someone show up and us sitting around with no drawers on. And we are both getting to stink like a bat’s rear end.”

“Heh, heh, jest how many bat’s asses have you smelled, Yankee boy?”

Sean brandished his homemade spear at Preston, but only half seriously.

Sean left the cave for a while and in his absence, Preston stoked up the fire, fanning its weakness with his tattered old campaign hat until the flames soared up enough to banish the smoke up the cave’s natural chimney.

After a few minutes, Sean returned. “Okay, I’ve checked it out and as far as I can tell no one is around for miles. I head some faint sounds of artillery fire off to the west, but I don’t think anyone will see our smoke from so far away. Give me your clothes!”

“Huh? What the hell you mean? Oh you mean to wash. Okay.” Preston sat and awkwardly worked off his shirt and pants struggling with drawing the pants over his wounded leg until Sean helped him pull them gently off. Underneath, Preston wore red long johns, one leg slit open, the rest so smeared with dirt and piss and shit and blood as to be a dark umber.

“Those, too,” Sean mumbled, pointing.

“The hell ya say? Ah ain’t stripping down in front a you.”

“Look you dumb hillbilly. What would I want with your nasty bloomers and why would I want to look at yer scrawny ass. But just look at those drawers. They gotta be cleaned or burnt. How can you stand to even have those nasty things on you. And we both gotta stay clean or we’ll both get sick.”

“What’s being clean gotta do with bein’ sick Ah don’t get it?”

“I’ll tell you all about it later. My uncle over in Ireland was a doctor, before the famine, and he explained the whole thing to me. For right now give me the pants so I can clean ‘em or I am leaving you on your own. Also, I got this ratty hunk of flag I am gonna wash with our clothes, so we can dip it in the hot water and wash ourselves off. In fact, here take this, put that old ammo can I found on the fire and put some water in it. You can wash up while I am washing the clothes, then I’ll take my turn when I get back. We can dry ourselves off by the fire, too.”

Sean helped Preston out of his long johns, keeping his eyes turned away from the others nakedness. Once, however, when Preston gritted his teeth and shut his eyes with pain, Sean Looked directly at the other youth. In the crowded New York tenement, Sean had been in close proximity with nakedness of both sexes, but he had never seen anything like this!

Naked, Preston resembled the copy of Michelangelo’s David Sean had once seen in a Dublin museum. His graceful penis, small but beautifully formed, lay nestled in a curly mass of startlingly red hair. Sean quickly looked away, but, curiously, wanted to look again. His interest in another man’s cock surprised him. He was not THAT way, but found himself curious nonetheless.

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Sean left the cave and Preston began washing his body with the tattered remains of the flag. Even though there was no soap, it felt wonderful to wash himself. He kept the rag as hot and as wet as he could and steamed the filth from his face, holding the steaming rag against his face until it grew chilly, then repeating the process. He kept gradually adding more water from the canteens and waiting until it steamed, then soaking another body part. He wished there was enough water to wash his hair, but he merely wet it slightly and drew his fingers back through it like a comb.

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.

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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


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’.”

“Tha’s different!”

“How? How is it different? You think I’m queer? You think I’ve done this before? How do I

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know you’re not the one whose queer. Maybe you were laying there just waiting for me to do something. And I didn’t see you jumping up and running away screaming. Look, if I hurt you, pissed you off, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to offend you, to hurt you. If anyone had told me a few weeks ago that I would touch another guy. . . like . . . you know, like that, I would have punched him. But these last weeks, being with you. The feelings I been having about you. I don’t know. I don’t know anything. You were just lying there looking so. . . so. . . beautiful, I just reached out. I … I just couldn’t help myself.” Sean reached out and grasped Prest’s shoulder, turning him to see his face.

“Damn you Sean McFadden! Damn you to hell!” Tears were streaming down Preston’s face. “Why the hell did you think you had to rescue me? Ah would’a been okay. Ah would’a been jes fine. Now what am Ah gonna do. Ah gotta girl back home. How am Ah gonna? . . . I mean now that ya. . . . now that I . . . You think Ah ain’t had feelings? You think Ah haven’t wanted to . . . to. . . Oh Hell! Just Fuck you Sean, Just fuck you!” Preston turned away and ran off toward the Reagan farmhouse.

Sean stood there in the gentle shade by the running stream, the afternoon sun warm on his shoulders. Birds chirped merrily in the trees, the peace and serenity of the setting belying the storm which raged within him. He never wanted this. He made his way slowly back to the farmhouse that had been their refuge for so many weeks. He had really done it now, screwed up everything. Preston would probably never talk to him again. What would he do? Where would he go? Things could never be the same now that he had, well, done what he had done. But if he wanted it so much, if it felt so , so good, how could it be wrong? And he knew that really, down deep, Prest had wanted it too. Didn’t he? Well, damn it, didn’t he? He guessed that was what it all boiled down to. Did Press really want it? And if so did he know what he wanted. Would he admit he wanted it too? Why did life have to be so fucked up? All he wanted was to love, to care, and to have someone love and care back.

As he crested the small hill, Mrs. Reagan was clanging the bell to announce supper. For a moment he forgot his troubles, for the hunger of the past several weeks still stayed with him, gnawed at him. He hurried forward to supper.

All through supper and the pleasant chat by the fire afterward, Prest had been glancing at him with a dour, unreadable look on his face. At dark,the two boys lay alone in the loft of the Reagan’s barn. The silence was loud and accusing in Sean’s head. Had his actions earlier ruined his friendship with Press forever? Aside from “that” (whatever it was that was happening to him), or maybe because of that, but also because of the trials and terrors and hardships they had suffered together, It was a friendship Sean had grown to treasure. He decided to sound out his friends feelings.

“Hey. Hey Prest?”

“Yes. What?”

“You ever going to talk to me again?”

“Maybe not.”

“You going to at least tell me why not?”

“Ah think ya know that.”

“No. Not really. What did I do that was so bad?” Sean at least had Prest talking now, maybe he hadn’t lost him yet.

“Ya know, ya never have no thought for no one else’s feelin’s. Ya just barge ahead and do whatever ya want. Maybe think later.”

“Well, yeah, that’s what I did when I stuck my neck out to save the life of a no-account Reb.”

“And ya ain’t never gonna let me fergit it are ya?”

“I hope not.”

“Well, ya know what we, Ah mean you, did back there at the pond earlier, ya know. AH mean Ah ain’t never even done that ta myself. I was brung up right. I was taught it was a sin ta do all that stuff. Ah ain’t even never done nothin’ more than kiss ma girl Jennie . We was supposed ta be keepin’ ourselves fer marriage. Now look what ya gone and done. Nothin’ ain’t never gonna be the same again. Nothin’ ain’t never gonna be right again.”

“I sincerely hope not,” Sean replied.

“Now wha’d’ya mean by that?”

“I mean if we were doing what was ‘RIGHT’, what we are supposed to do, what everyone except Mrs. Nixon says we are supposed to be doing, we’d be killing each other. In my way of thinking, THAT would be the real sin. I don’t believe in ‘sin’ any more. I have already been to hell out there on that battlefield. And what I did with you earlier is the closest I have yet come to heaven.

My God Prest, can’t you see it? Can’t you feel it? Don’t you know we love each other with the kind of love only two people can have who have been through hell together? That night, the thunderstorm, remember, you in my arms?”

“Ya mean love each other like in love? Hell we can’t be that we are both men. That’d be. . . Well that’d mean we was, you know, queer, homosexual er sumthin’. How could that be?”

“I don’t know. Do you think I have ever thought of myself that way. Well, I haven’t. But I don’t know what you call it. I don’t care what anybody wants to call it. I just know I can’t see myself living the rest of my life without you. How about you? Could you just walk away tomorrow and never see me gain? Well?”

The long pause was excruciating for Sean. How would Prest answer? His heart began to ache with the thought that his friend might give the wrong answer. Or maybe the wrong answer would be the right answer for his life. What was he getting himself into? Where would they go? What would they do? How would they live? Would there be a ‘they’? Should there be?

“Well, listen Sean. Certainly Ah’ve grown ta care fer ya a whole lot. And sure Ah want to stay with you. But Ah thought maybe jes as friends, not that other thing.”

The loft was so quiet during the long interval while Sean composed his answer, that the two boys could hear the hay shuffling in the breeze that blew through the cracks in the old barn.

“Preston Dalton, I think you are a liar. I think you are lying to me and to yourself. How many times have I caught you looking at me, at my body, at my penis, my PRICK? How many times have you said to me in a half-joking manner that you would like to feel how heavy it is? This afternoon while we were swimming, how many times did you rub up against my body ‘accidentally’? How many times did I see you start to reach out to touch it and pull your hand back? How many times in the months we have been together have you taken a piss at the same time as me, just to look at me, at it? Are you going to deny it to my face or admit it to yourself?”

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Even in the darkness, Sean could see the other boy blushing. When Preston finally got his voice back, when the blushing and stuttering subsided, Preston said, “Ah know it Sean. Yer right. Ah have them funny feelings. Ah cain’t keep the picture of yer huge ‘thing’ out of my mind. But thinking ain’t the same as acting and now we have sinned together. You made up ma mind fer me before Ah ever got to think about it, sort things out. And. . . and Ah don’t know what to think now. What is my . . . er . . . our life gonna be like now? Ah can’t imagine living like. . . you know like. . .that. Ah just don’t know.”

“Well, Prest, I know how I feel. I love you. I can’t sleep for thinking about you, about being with you, holding you. I don’t know where these feelings come from, where I am going with them. I never had them for anyone else, not even for all those girls I have slept with. I just know that anything so beautiful as what I feel for you can’t be bad. And that I’d be willing to put up with almost anything to be with you, to stay with you. Maybe we could pretend to everyone else that we are brothers or something like that. Please take your time, take some time think it over, but please don’t say no to me, to our lives, together.”

Written By: Robert Reams

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