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This is historical fiction - with the naughty parts included. It's entertainment. If you want to know more (which, quite honestly, I hope this tale encourages), search the facts out for yourself.
The story follows a young man as he meets (and, eventually, accumulates) lovers. Although it starts out as one-on-one, it eventually moves to group sex - which is why it is categorized the way it is.
This story is comprised of 8 chapters. All of those have been completed and are submitted to Literotica en-mass. The admins will release them as they see fit - but they generally publish one chapter per day.
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It was early in the summer of 1846. I sat on the bluff above the Mississippi River, watching it flow past. I spied a branch floating in the current and kept my eyes fixed on it as it sidled and glided through the various little eddies along the outer edge of the big muddy river as it passed by our farm - heading south towards Hamilton - the nearest town.
At eighteen years old, I knew my destiny. I would be a farmer - like my father - and his father. My brother, Philip, embraced this path like it led to the very gates of Paradise. To me, it felt like a cage. I was tired of the monotony - the day in and day out drudgery that never changed.
I could hear my little sister, Margaret, hollering for me. I'd slunk off to escape my work. Paul, my father, would probably lash me for shirking my responsibilities but I needed a break - no matter what it cost me. I'd left all of the work to him and my brother.
Mom, no doubt, had dinner ready and Maggie had been sent to find and retrieve me. I gave the wide expanse of churning brown waters one last look of longing and headed for the pump to wash up. Best not to have both dad and mom mad at me when I got to the dinner table.
It wasn't that I disliked my family. No one in the world worked harder than my father. My brother, Philip, had been his shadow since before I could even walk. He seemed to love everything about our way of life. Mary, my mother, made sure that our clothes were sewn, cleaned, and mended - in addition to keeping everyone fed and the house maintained. Maggie was not quite as committed to her duties as our older brother - but she got the strap far less often than I did. She was not nearly as prone to run off to daydream instead of getting her chores done.
At the dinner table, I learned that one of the neighbors had stopped by on the way back from Hamilton to talk to dad. The man's news - that Congress had granted President James Polk's request for a declaration of war against Mexico (to defend the Texas territory) - overwhelmed all other conversation - and distracted my father from asking me whether or not I had accomplished the tasks that he had assigned to me.
Beginning that very night, I pleaded with my father to let me travel to Springfield to volunteer to fight. The neighbor had mentioned that they were forming up a group from there that would be traveling south to join the war effort.
I admit that I was obsessed. I nearly drove my parents to the point of madness with my pleadings, promises, and threats. Finally, a couple weeks later, they threw some trail rations into a pack, gave me the best directions they could provide - and sent me on my way.
~~~
I traveled first to Quincy. There, I found a group traveling east and kept company with them - though - by then - traveling across Illinois was not that dangerous. I had my belt knife if it came down to it - but I never needed it.
We arrived in Springfield late in June and eventually found our way into the 4th Regiment of Illinois Volunteers. I officially enlisted, received my weapon and kit, and began to be trained as an infantryman. We mustered out a few weeks later, under the command of Colonel Edward D. Baker.
Over the course of the next several months, we traveled from Illinois to Texas and then pressed the battle - forcing the Mexicans deep into their own territory.
My first battle was at Palo Alto, a violent clash of men and machines in the dusty landscape of northern Mexico. The noise of muskets and cannons was deafening. The air was thick with smoke. My heart was racing in my chest. For the first time, I understood what fear truly was. There was, however, no time to think - or dwell on those fears. I had been trained to fight, and fight I did.
The battle raged for hours. Our company pushed forward, and we fought like men possessed. My gun never left my hands. Honestly, I don't remember much of that day -- just the sound of my comrades shouting, the smell of gunpowder, and the chaos of it all. At the end of the day, men (that I had trained beside and lived with for weeks) lay battered and broken around me.
As the sun began to set over the bloody field, the air was thick with the smell of death. My hands shook as I cleaned my musket, my mind still reeling as I tried to process it all. I had survived. Many had not. Some were just faces in the crowd, but some I had counted as friends. Now, they were nothing more than carrion.
As I closed my eyes that night, I tried to decide whether or not I had set myself on the wrong path. I thought back to that afternoon that I'd sat upon the bluff by our farm. No matter what, that was still not the life for me. I closed my eyes, prayed for the souls of my fallen comrades, and prayed for recovery for those with wounds greater than what I had received. Exhaustion claimed me and I surrendered to the darkness.
~~~
In April (of 1847), at the Battle of Cerro Gordo, our regiment surprised the command of General Santa Anna, capturing (among other things that he left behind in his rushed exit) his wooden leg. We brought it, and several other trophies, home with us when we returned to Springfield in May.
Before I left the state capital, I ran into an arms-maker who was very interested in the Colt model 1839 carbine that I had picked up on the battlefield. He had one of the second generation models of the Colt ring lever rifle that he had been taking apart and putting back together over and over again to learn how to recreate it and improve it.
In exchange for the Colt and several boxes of ammo, I traded him the carbine. He warned me that the rifle was not as well-received by most - but I had worked hard to turn myself into something of a marksman and I was certain that the rifling in the barrel of the older Colt would give me better accuracy over longer distances. He carefully went over the firearm's functions and upkeep with me before I left his company. The other thing that I left Springfield with was a horse. The army had few but they were looking to reduce their numbers. I had marched for long enough. I was ready to ride.
~~~
When I returned home to Hamilton - and then the farm - it was with a mixture of pride and sorrow. Nothing had changed much. My family welcomed me back with open arms, but they could see the change in my eyes, the shadows that lingered behind them.
I tried to sleep in the house - in my old bed - but it wasn't the same. I carried my kit to the barn and made myself a place in the loft.
I worked all day at the farm and then saddled my horse and rode to Hamilton. I went to the tavern, bought myself a drink, and looked for companionable company.
Most nights, I found someone who had served. We told each other stories - and raised our glasses to the friends we had lost. I never drank to excess - just looking for someone to talk to who understood. At the end of the night, I rode home. I unsaddled my mount, climbed the ladder to the loft, and fell asleep.
~~~
After a couple weeks of visiting the tavern, one of the waitresses struck up a conversation with me on a night when I was sitting by myself.
She invited me to come home with her at the end of the night. I knew what she was suggesting but I had never been with a woman. I blushed as I told her so. She promised me that it would be alright.
Bonnie's eyes were usually pretty hard. They were a steel gray that I thought went terrifically with her long auburn locks. She kept them in a braid that trailed down her back to her tailbone.
I had watched and listened as she had informed many customers and patrons that their advances were not welcome or appreciated. I was, as you might suspect, completely caught off-guard when she suggested the two of us spend time alone in an intimate setting.
Bonnie was patient with me - and a good teacher. She giggled at my innocent ignorance - and when she used her mouth on me, she totally blew my mind. I had no idea that such a thing was done. It was amazing and I enjoyed it so much that - when we met again afterwards - I readily traded using my mouth on her sex in order to get her to do it again.
Our first night together was life-changing for me. She told (and showed) me how to kiss her, how to make love to her breasts with my fingers and mouth, and how to move my fingers within and around her sex to bring her the most pleasure. She used her fingers on me as well (gently) and we kissed and cuddled and got to know one another.
Finally, she took me into her mouth and looked up into my eyes as I gasped from the intensity of the feeling of my ball-sacks being drained. She took my seed into her mouth, showed it to me, and swallowed it down with a lusty grin.
Her auburn hair, pale skin, and those heavenly constellations of starry freckles that lit up her skin worked together to make her seem like a goddess to me.
After she got me off with her mouth, we kissed and cuddled. She ran her hand over me until my peter responded. She got down on her hands and knees between my legs again and used her mouth again until I was as hard as iron.
That was when she climbed on top of me and made me into a man. I had already cum - so all I could do was to stare in amazement as she climaxed on my stiff rod. Once she recovered, her kisses were even hungrier. I ended up falling asleep with her on top of me.
I woke with the dawn, gave her kisses, slipped out of bed, got dressed, and left. I hurriedly saddled Slowpoke (my horse) and headed for the farm - and my chores.
~~~
