Savannah Affair Part 03
Hank and Bo "Spend Time" Together
This story is entirely fictional--as any real student of the history of the Civil War will attest. Warning: I have done only a little research to ensure the accuracy of the history or the geography. All characters in this story are over 18 when the actions described took place.. © Copyright, 2025, Brunosden.
The story, set in Savannah under Sherman's occupation, in previous chapters, has traced Bo's early young-adulthood on the plantation (Howellwood), his initiation into sex, his injury on the battlefield, and the initial encounter between him and a young New England Captain in Sherman's army. They have "lain" together, and reached climax together, but neither has penetrated any orifice. Bo is a young son of a wealthy plantation owner, accustomed to getting what he wants. The war has potentially changed all that. Hank is a Puritan with a heightened sense of guilt and how much pleasure a man can allow himself. Hank has returned to camp after a brief encounter in bed with Bo, in Bo's family's city-home which is about to be commandeered to house Sherman's officer corps.
5
The story continues in Hank's voice....
Within a few minutes of night-dreaming in my cot, my member was rigidly erect again and crying for relief. I had been taught that masturbation was sinful, self-absorbed and "unmanly." I had done it, but tried to limit the practice. Doing yourself is a deep sign of personal character weakness. No. I won't touch it. That is not right. I can't touch it. Nor use my hand to relieve it. But, I was so hard that I hurt. Bo had turned on my sexual self to such a high flame that I was burning with desire. I would never sleep.
So with guilt and reluctance, I grabbed my soiled linen and wrapped my rigid member inside, being careful not to actually touch the flesh of the shaft. If it shot of its own accord, I wasn't responsible and wouldn't be soiled. I flipped myself on the cot and began to squirm--stroking my linen-wrapped erection against the thin mattress as I did so. There was almost enough friction to make it happen. I just needed an image. My thoughts inevitably moved to the boy in the bed--his nakedness vivid in my memory. Never before in my life had I been so instantly enchanted by anyone. And it was a boy, no a man. An angel. Does God send angels to tempt men? I think not. I could see and feel him as though he were still with me. Never have I felt such a strong and intense attraction to anyone. I was helpless against myself.
I feel him now under me. He is naked and squirming with desire--for me. He is warm, soft and hard, receptive. Our members are rubbing together. Then, in my mind's eye, I flip him and my cock penetrates between his thighs, slides within his muscled cheeks, and slips in, feeling the tight enclosure massaging my cock, squeezing it, coaxing it to release its creamy treasure. Ah, the intensity of the feeling. It doesn't take long. My cock lengthens and shoots over and over into the shorts. Relief is mine. No not relief, the incredible pleasure of shooting my seed inside my angel. It is a dream, but so real that I'm empty, yearning for his physical touch, still hard, still wanting. His anal muscles tighten again and massage again. Oh fuck, I'm hard again. I'm cumming again.
I filled the cloth, perhaps with more of my seed than ever before. Then, without removing the cloth, I fell into a guilty sleep, drugged by the musky smells beneath me. Curiously, my dream had portrayed me as the seducer--not the other way around. I had taken my first boy. In my dream anyway.
That same night I dreamed of him again. He was in my bed. Caressing me, as I did him. His fist was wrapped around my shaft, stroking. My hands were on his supple ass cheeks, pulling him hard into me. Our naked, warm, moist bodies were sliding together in rhythm. Our lips met. Our tongues dueled. My cock slid between his legs and stroked. I entered him, this time while staring into his eyes. I withdrew and plunged repeatedly, enjoying the sensations that radiated through my body. And then we climaxed together. I had had a taste of heaven. And I fell into a deep contented sleep.
I was obviously bewitched. And I was rewriting the script. He had seduced me and taken me--if only with two hands. But, in my dreams, I was the aggressor, the seducer, in command. Which would it be? Did I need him to be in control to feel less guilt? Or was I a man, a victorious army officer entitled to some of the spoils of war? Whatever! I must have him.
The next morning as I rose, I realized that I had deposited yet another load of my seed in the linen. I stunk. I smelled of sex. My brain was fogged, but I felt guilt in the mist. We had been together in the flesh--and twice more in my thoughts. I was besot. So I washed, redressed and prepared for another day, putting such thoughts aside. It would be a very busy day with much to distract me from such evil carnal thoughts.
I had decided. I wanted more of that boy. I wasn't really sure of what that meant. But I had to have him. And I had decided how it might come about. I would use my position and discretion. He obviously had been an officer, perhaps on the front. As a scout, he was always in the forefront of the action. He understood the vagaries of the remaining Confederate colonels, regrouping in South Carolina for the final battles. I convinced myself that he must have intelligence that would be valuable to Sherman. The war wasn't over, although nearly so. I needed to interrogate the boy. I needed time to break him down and extract intelligence. There was a special place for that, and coincidentally, since my current assignment--reconnaissance of the residences was complete, I would return to my role as an intelligence officer.
Fort Pulaski, on a long island in the Savannah River had been the major "downtown" garrison defending Savannah--assuming that any attack on the port city would come from the sea. It had been blockaded for months by the Union Navy. Sherman had easily taken it from the landside after only a brief siege and without serious damage. Inside was a small brig, deemed too small to handle the hundreds of POWs that Sherman took. So it had been commandeered as a place for "special prisoners"--who might have special intelligence, or who might be valuable as negotiating pawns in the future. The idea was not Sherman's. He wanted complete and unconditional surrender with punishment, typically a firing squad for officers and forfeiture of all property for the political leaders. Interrogation of and negotiation with the rulers of the old city were not in his playbook. But the powers in Washington had other ideas and had demanded that we round up and separately incarcerate the elite as future bargaining pawns, if not for their intelligence.
I would remove him to the prison--really just an abandoned brig in the harbor fort--and take personal responsibility for him. It was risky. I knew nothing about him--except how he looked. I wasn't sure what I would do with him. And I certainly am not a homosexual. There is no such thing in my family. But, his body was calling to mine--or at least a long, hard part of me.
I wasn't thinking with my "big brain." Perhaps for the first time in my life--but certainly not the last.
6
I returned to the house at the edge of the park the next afternoon with a medic (not a doctor) and two guards. The maid was at the stove, making something that smelled incredible. Where had she gotten the ingredients--and the fuel for the stove? But, I wasn't there to eat. I greeted her, and she smiled back. I felt quite comfortable for my safety. So I left the guards inside at the top of the stairs leading to the basement where he had taken refuge. The medic climbed down the steep stairs with me.
I entered the room and noted that the musty, antiseptic smell was gone. He sat in bed, clean and sweet-smelling, propped on pillows, his wavy red hair spread out around him like Medusa's famous do. He looked so innocent. Like a delicious candy waiting to be picked and eaten. He greeted me, "Captain Morris. How good of you to come so soon. I see you have brought reinforcements. I assure you that I am innocent and harmless--if that is indeed what you are hoping for. If not, we should talk. I am, so to speak, in your hands. I surrender." He lifted his bare arms toward me and smiled broadly.
The medic moved to the bed and removed the coverlet. This time, Bo was dressed--sort of--in thin cotton skivvies and a po-boy shirt. Both were white, fresh and clean, enhancing the angelic impression. They did little to conceal the body (and the manhood) beneath. A pair of patched britches hung over the nearby chair. The bandages had been changed, but it seemed that some leakage had seeped through. "I'm going to remove the bandages, boy. I need to see the condition of the underlying flesh. I presume the bullets or the shrapnel have been removed. But these wounds often fester and gangrene. If so, we will need to remove the flesh--or perhaps the legs."
He unwrapped the long cotton bandages and revealed the flesh beneath. One leg was barely injured. It appeared almost entirely healed--the bandages had been used for effect. As to the other, there was a bit of an odor. The medic lifted each leg and turned it slowly and carefully, examining the flesh which was unusually colorful--green, black, pink and yellow. There were several wounds, but they seemed to be healing. He remarked that he detected no infection. "He is lucky. No bones appear to have broken." Pointing to the wound on the upper part of his inner thigh, he joked, "A few inches to the right, and he would be singing soprano. Lucky boy. This boy has been well-doctored. It has saved his legs. But, he needs more time to heal--and the more sterile the conditions, the better. We can provide nothing of the sort at the prison. Might it be possible to keep him here under house arrest?"
I had been staring at the boy throughout the examination. He was everything I had recalled--and more. "Thank you, Sergeant. I think, under the circumstances, I will permit him to remain here for another day. But, the General is anxious to begin moving his officers and troops into these houses. It is getting cold after all. I will prepare a clean space for him in the Fort. And we will transport him there on Friday. I know you have others to tend to. Thank you. You may go."
"May I remind you that Friday is Christmas Eve, Captain?"
"Yes, but this is war, and I'm not feeling very celebratory. Maybe there will be some unexpected gift for all of us on Friday."
He left, leaving us alone. I stared at him for a few seconds, soaking in the masculine beauty. Priscilla then entered with a pot of soup. Then, the sense of authority between us shifted again. "Will you dine with me, Captain? Pris, please fetch another bowl. I'm sure the Captain is hungry."
She put the pot on a small table and left to fetch the bowls.
He made no move to pull the coverlet back over him, but sat up in the bed and adjusted his skivvies, carefully re-arranging his jewels, for my benefit I presume, which seemed to be larger. He was obviously conscious of my stares. I think he was putting on a show for me.
As he stroked his cock through the thin cotton, he spoke, "Is there something that I can do for you, Captain? Is there something that I have that you want. I'm afraid that any information I have is old and useless. So, I guess this will be our last time together. I'm willing to join my comrades in prison. I don't need special treatment."
