Hot Valley (21 page)

“Yes?”

If he wanted my cock, he was going to have to ask for it.

“That you might be inclined…”

“That I might like men? I do, sir. I prefer them to women.”

“Ah.”

“As, perhaps, do you.”

“Well, I mean to say…”

“And you need someone discreet who will satisfy you in that department, perhaps? Without having to go out looking for it.”

“Hmm…”

“So?”

Silence fell. I looked around the room at the rich decoration, the obvious signs of a well-run, expensively run, household, and decided that I was prepared to put up with Prentiss's timidity for a few minutes longer. Anyone who spent time and money on cleaning the chandeliers and polishing the brass in the middle of a war, when there was a shortage of basic foodstuffs, not to mention labor, had to be worth a little patience.

“Ever since my boyhood,” Prentiss began, clearing his throat, “I have been conscious of…well, certain needs that can only be satisfied by a fellow man. I love my wife, of course…”

But not well enough, I thought; why else would she be running after stagehands?

“Of course.”

“But there are certain needs that a man has… I've been married for twenty years…”

And how many cocks have you tasted in that time, Mr. Southern Gentleman Prentiss? How many times have you spread your legs and let some rough engineer or farmhand fuck that solid butt of yours?

“That's a long time.”

“And I love my wife.”

As you've said so many times.

“Naturally.”

“But I have to have…”

Would he say it?

“I mean I really need…well, you know.”

I looked him steadily in the eye. Ask for it, Prentiss, and it's all yours.

“I need your cock.”

I smiled, and he breathed a sigh of relief.

“There, it wasn't as hard as I thought. I need your cock. I want to suck it and hold it and…”

“Take it up the ass?”

“Yes.”

“Then go right ahead.”

He was down on his knees in a second, rubbing his face into my groin, which was already well engorged as a result of our interview. He was delighted, and pressed the hardness against his smooth-shaven cheek. I reached down and rubbed his head. He wore his hair short, and he was balding on top—not unattractively. Prentiss was a good-looking man who obviously took care of himself, unlike some of the fat slobs who hung around the Alhambra. When he felt the touch of my hands on his head, he looked up, a puzzled expression on his face.

“We don't have to pretend that we don't both want this to happen,” I said. “Let's just enjoy ourselves. You want me, don't you?”

“Yes.”

“And I want you.”

“You…want me?”

“Sure. Can't you tell?” I pushed my groin forward.

“Can I…”

“Yeah. But first…” I leaned down and kissed him on the mouth, pulling his head in toward mine with a hand at the back of his skull. From that position, we lowered ourselves gently down onto the carpet and lay side by side. We rolled around, we kissed, we tore at each other's clothes.

“Strip for me.”

He stood up and did as he was told, revealing a body that was firm and hairy, from the stocky calves right up to the powerful shoulders. I joined him, shedding my clothes as quickly as I could. We faced each other, both our cocks throbbing, and I reached out and took hold of his. I think this was the last thing he was expecting, and he jumped.

“Calm down.”

“I didn't expect you to…”

He was as nervous as a rabbit, so I dropped to my knees and started sucking him.

Over the next two hours, we cemented our new friendship in every way we wanted. We both sucked, we both fucked, and we came lying side by side on the couch, arms around each other's shoulders, kissing and masturbating.

When Prentiss saw me off the premises this time, he was much more friendly, and peeled off a considerable number of bills.

“I'd like to see you again, Aaron.”

“As often as you like.”

“I'd like you to come and stay with me all night sometime.”

“Whenever you want.”

“Are you real? Or are you a dream? Am I going to wake up when you leave?”

“If you're in any doubt,” I said, “just ask your ass. That should remind you.”

 

Life was sweet enough for some time. My income from the theater, from Prentiss, and a handful of other wealthy admirers meant that I was never short of the basic necessities of life. What I didn't spend on food and clothes (and on neither did I squander money) I saved in the bank, an institution in which I had little faith but which was perhaps marginally safer than a tin box under my bed. I had an idea that, when the present situation was resolved and I was free once again to pick up the threads of my life, a decent sum of capital would make for a fine new start. I told myself that all I had to do was wait. The war would end, life would begin. I could go wherever I wanted. Back to Vermont, perhaps, to find Jack and apologize to him for the time that we had wasted…

One night, after the Alhambra's main bill of fare had come to an end, Billy, Charlie, and I were cleaning up the stage when Captain Chester burst into the empty auditorium.
“Boys, boys,” he shouted, his voice slightly blurred with drink. “Put down those brooms! We have a command performance for a few special guests! No time to lose! Billy, get dressed!”

He hustled us backstage and explained himself quickly; a group of his friends had requested a performance “behind closed doors”—and just as well, for the nature of the performance would have got the Alhambra closed down and our asses hauled into jail if it had been advertised to the public.

“They want to see a sweet young Yankee girl—that's you, Billy, now see if you can get into that muslin dress without ripping the damn thing—raped by a runaway slave—yes, that's you Aaron, you don't need to wear much—and rescued by a gallant Southern soldier. Come on, Charlie, don't stand there catching flies, get into the uniform!”

“And I take it that the gallant Southern soldier then fucks the Yankee girl up the ass.”

“Well, that's the general idea.”

“How much do we get paid for this?” Charlie asked, always thinking of his wallet.

“I'll see you right, boys. Just put on a good show for my friends.”

“Any of them want to see a gallant Southern lad sitting down on a big black cock, by any chance?” I asked.

“Maybe, Aaron, maybe. I wouldn't mind watching that myself. You can take it, can't you, Charlie?”

“God damn, I ain't doing that!”

Charlie seemed to have forgotten what we did on the road together, before arriving in Richmond.

“He can take it, and he'll shoot a bigger load if I'm fucking him,” I said. “Do your friends pay by the pint?”

“Enough talk!” Chester said. “Let me get the house settled. You're on in five minutes.”

“How do I look?” Billy asked, tying on a straw bonnet with a pretty primrose ribbon.

“Hell, I'd fuck ya!” Charlie said.

“You do anyway, whether I'm dressed as a girl or not.”

“Hush your dirty mouth.”

I grabbed Charlie by the throat. “Since we got to Richmond, you been talking very high and mighty, young feller,” I said, shaking him. “Just remember who your friends are. Now, if I'm going to go out there as the big black buck, we better make sure that I look the part.” I hauled my cock out of my pants. “You better get me ready, boy.”

I pushed Charlie to his knees and slapped him around his handsome face with my dick. He was soon sucking it with a will, his protestations all forgotten.

We made our way to the wings, and I peeped through a hole in the curtain, specially made for the performers to spy on the audience. There were, perhaps, ten men in the auditorium, all of them well dressed, and Chester was doing the rounds, exchanging a few polite words with each. Then he jumped up onto the stage.

“Gentlemen! I don't think there are any ladies in the house tonight, are there?”

This was greeted with a polite ripple of laughter.

“The Alhambra is very proud to welcome the members of…well, shall we just say of an august society whose name is known throughout America as a byword for generosity and works of charity…”

He went on this vein for a minute or two; Chester really knew how to lay it on thick. I could feel my erection subsiding, so I forced Charlie to his knees again.

“…By special request, the Alhambra is proud to present a tableau of modern life, entitled Virtue in Danger, or the Rape of the Union.”

There was a quiet round of applause, and Chester stuck his head around the curtain to make sure that we were ready.

“Get her down on the ground, Johnson!”

Billy and I moved into position—he lay on his back with his stockinged legs kicking in the air as I pumped away between them—and the curtains parted. Billy screamed out in a pretty falsetto—it sounded about as convincing as Mrs. Prentiss's cries of distress—and I laughed what I thought was a dastardly laugh.

Billy landed a stage punch on my jaw, and I rolled off him, making sure that the audience had a good view of my naked nether regions as I did so. I heard a collective intake of breath as my dick, and then my ass, were revealed. Billy scrambled to his feet, picked up his skirts, and ran around the stage; I set off in pursuit, my hard cock bouncing and slapping against my stomach with every step. There was a certain amount of cheering. Finally I “caught” Billy, who swooned in my arms and allowed himself to be carried around the stage, the folds of his skirts cascading down around my prick. I laid him down at the footlights, pawed at his false bosoms for a while, and then stuck one hand down his bodice. I fumbled and grabbed, and then, to the audience's evident delight, pulled out a wad of cotton. My face expressed confusion; my hand went back in, and extracted another wad of cotton. Billy was now flat-chested. He moaned a little in his swoon, threw his head back, and thrust his hips upward.

This time, my hand went under his skirt, pulling up the muslin to reveal a shapely stockinged leg. I went further; at the top of the stocking was a creamy thigh. (Billy had taken to shaving his legs since appearing at the theater.) I gloated more and pumped my prick a few times, to the audience's evident delight. And then, with one triumphant movement, I reached up to “her” crotch—and when my hand made contact with Billy's stiff prick, I registered every shade of shock and dismay I could muster. I lifted the skirt, stuck my head under for a look, and emerged with even greater horror. The audience was laughing—so, positioning Billy so that everyone had the best possible view, I lifted up the skirts and showed them all what I had “found,” a very handsome and stiff cock framed by stockings and petticoats.

The men cheered; this was what they had come to see. Some of them were openly masturbating. I played with Billy's cock as if it was the first one I had ever touched, and then, glancing around to make sure that no one could see us (such was my idea), I leaned down and gingerly licked the tip of it. Billy chose that moment to come around from his faint, just as my lips encircled the head of his cock. He shrieked again, still ladylike despite all evidence to the contrary, and made melodramatic gestures of distress. The audience was on its feet to get a good look; hands were reaching out across the footlights to tug at his dress or my boots. I had a feeling we were about to end up at the bottom of a pile of very horny Southern gentry, so I pulled Billy to his feet and we moved upstage.

“Grab me by the skirt,” Billy whispered as I set him down again, and he feigned a struggle to escape. I did as he suggested, and the garment came away in my hand, leaving Billy in his ladies' shoes and stockings, a garter belt framing his fine hard cock, his ass bare naked. He screamed and ran; I tore at the bodice, and that too came away. He was naked now apart from those items on his lower body, and the absurd wig of bouncing chestnut ringlets that adorned his head. He ran around the stage, giving everyone a good view of what was he was offering, and then allowed himself to be caught. I roughly turned him so his back was to the auditorium, parted his cheeks and showed the gentlemen his rosebud-pink hole, rubbing my fingers around it in a way they found most exciting.

My cock was still at full attention, and I was looking forward to fucking Billy in front of a room of onlookers, when suddenly there was the sound of a badly played cornet from the wings, and in charged Charlie, evidently impatient at being
excluded from the performance for so long. He looked handsome in his gray uniform, and there was a loud cheer from the house.

“Fuck her!” cried a voice, which wasn't exactly the way the plot was meant to develop.

Charlie grasped Billy by one arm, I grasped him by the other, and we tugged him to and fro between us. Eventually Billy collapsed, falling forward with his head in my lap; I lost no time in ramming my cock into his mouth. Charlie drew his sword—fortunately it was only made of painted wood—and brandished it at me. I shook my fists back at him. He made a triumphant pass at me with his weapon, which I clutched under my arm, and I died, with much twitching and groaning, at his feet. Billy never relinquished my cock until I was well and truly “dead.”

“Oh!” he squealed, his wig falling over one eye, “My hero! My savior!”

Charlie, who was never one for delaying when there was fun to be had, was already yanking at his belt, and soon his own prick was drawing gasps of admiration from the audience.