dropped from their chins. Jake’s cock went hard; quickly and with determination, as it always did.

“Now look what you’ve done,” mumbled Jake.

Dan looked at him with a smile.

“I’ve come prepared.”

Silently they moved behind a small store room that had been built on the roof. Without a word, Dan faced the wall, undid his trousers and pushed them down to his ankles. He handed the baby oil to Jake. They were both the same height, so Dan had to bend his knees slightly. It was no good unless Jake got it all in; and there was a lot to get in.

This routine was well established between them. Jake had screwed Dan within a week of meeting him. Jake had been blessed with one of those dicks that reacted very vigorously to puberty. He had the biggest cock in his class, however it was measured. When he first saw Dan he knew why he had been given such a beauty.

Dan loved being screwed by Jake; by anyone, almost, but Jake especially. It had been very good for both of them to go through adolescence with a real sex life. Masturbation was OK; sometimes it was really good. But in Dan’s mind nothing could beat a regular application of large, hard, circumcised cock attached to someone he loved.

Jake’s brow fell onto Dan’s neck. This was the signal for the end. By now the tears had stopped and steely determination was in its place, bringing this matter to a serious conclusion.

The feel of Jake inside him always filled Dan with joy. Tonight he felt triumphant.


“In case the enemy’s main fleet is berthed at Pearl Harbor, the idea should be to open hostilities with an attack from the air”.
Study of Strategy and Tactics in Operations Against The United States of America.
Japanese Naval War College, 1936.

St. Louis
Missouri.
February 1940.


The Greyhound Bus Terminal in St. Louis on Saturday night was a twin to the hundreds of other terminals around America. Cross roads for hopes and despair; crowded with fear and courage.

Brian Smith had Cooke County Tennessee stamped all over him. The walk, clothes, look and voice of the backblocks hung on the nineteen year old like his father’s suit. The terminal clock struck 8pm.

“Where are you headed, pilgrim?’ “

“Los Angeles, sir,” replied Brian, wide eyed and smiling.

“Hollywood?”

“No sir, the Navy in San Diego.”

“You a sailor?”

“Not yet. I’m joining up.”

Outside the terminal, the rain had turned to a dirty slush, falling horizontally in the wind. The temperature sat on thirty.

By 8.10pm Brian was drinking coffee with Harry in the diner. Information just poured out of him; about his family in the hills; his dad’s drinking; his mom’s cooking; his eight brothers and sisters; the struggle to live and eat; how President Roosevelt had saved America and his family in the Depression.

Harry said nothing. He just sat and looked at this vaguely good looking, wiry boy with his unaffected devotion to his family and to America.

“What does your girlfriend think?”

“I don’t have a girlfriend,” said Brian, a little too eagerly.

In the silence, they both picked up their coffee cups and drank.

“Do you have a wife?”