The Sunday Club

By: Nicholas Hall
(© 2022 by the author)

The author retains all rights. No reproductions are allowed without the author's consent. Comments are appreciated at...

nhall@tickiestories.us

Chapter 16
 

“The years between 1958, the year we graduated from high school, and 1965, a year most of us will remember well, were years of happiness, sadness, and life forming. Life and death seemed always just a short breath away! One was joy and the other sadness. Just about the time I thought things were going to level out and be smooth sailing, our luck ran out!”

Hardy and I enjoyed our two years at the Community College and, after completing our coursework and receiving our certificates, went to work full-time at “Uncle Lou’s.” Skeeter completed his studies shortly thereafter and joined his Mom and Pudge in the kitchen preparing meals for the general public and for special occasions, such as the Sunday Club and Heirs meetings, and private parties.

The very first private party was for a sad occurrence. Mr. Williams finally succumbed to his age and fragility of his body. His death wasn’t unexpected, not preventable since he’d been in declining health, yet made somewhat easier for Buzz and Mooch, since they were at his bedside; Mooch, the tender, caring nurse and Buzz, the loving grandson Mr. Williams never biologically had.

Buzz, speaking at the dinner, a celebration of a life well-lived and loved they had, following the service and internment,

“Grandpa Willy was lucid to the very end. He looked at me and whispered softly, ‘I do love you so, Buzz and I’ll miss you terribly!’

“I could do nothing more than kiss his forehead and tell him how much I loved him and much I’d miss him and all the good times we had.”

‘I know you do,’ he answered and looking at Mooch, smiled, and said “Thank you so much and please take care of my Buzz!’

“With that, Grandpa Willy closed his eyes and drifted off while I held his hand.”

 *******

We were all teary-eyed when Buzz finished. The crowd was silent, until I stood, raised a glass, and shouted out “To love; to life; and to our dear friend, now departed!”

It was met with glasses raised and a shout back in kind! We settled into a great discussion of how important our friends and mentors were for us, the Heirs. Our celebration ended, after a great meal, with Skip at the piano and singing a medley of Mr. Williams favorite songs.

Skip’s studies went well at Hartman College. Somewhere along the line, while studying music and playing gigs (when not working at “Uncle Lou’s”), he managed to strike up a friendship with a musician in one of the groups who was, by occupation, a realtor and property appraiser. Skip decided to study on the side for his realtor’s license and property appraiser’s license. At the time, he didn’t realize, nor did any of us, how much those licenses would benefit us all!

Hardy and I moved into the small apartment at the back of “Uncle Lou’s” in 1961. We’d decided to leave our homes and establish one for us- a place where we could be together as a couple should! We couldn’t marry (the law forbids it and so did social norms outside our little group), but we certainly could live together and love each other to fruition and completion without worrying of the sounds of our love-making would disturb other members of the household.

Uncle Lou offered the spare bedroom, next to Pudge’s and across the hall from Skip and Skeeter, at his big house, but we decided we’d take up residency at the restaurant since Uncle Lou offered that as well. It didn’t take much to remodel and make it our home. Besides, it was close to work and we didn’t have to drive anywhere. In addition to our wages, Uncle Lou also provided a profit share stipend for the four of us. It was quite similar to the one Pudge had and, according to Uncle Lou, “has served him quite well.”

Our first night in our own home on our first real “together” bed, Hardy and I coupled more than once. He lay on his back, wearing only a smile, legs spread wide, and raised them when I came to bed. I scooted forward on my knees, my well-lubed phallus twitching and jerking as I anticipated what pleasures awaited us both. My lover, my soul-mate sighed in satisfaction as I slowly penetrated his anal ring and seated myself.

Hardy reached up, gently pulled my head down, clasping his arms over my shoulder and around my neck, and engaged his lips with mine, our lips and tongues dancing the dance of love to the music of our hearts, until our bodies reached a resounding reenactment of the finale to the “1812 Overture,” firing cannonades of thick, white, abundant rounds of semen and sperm deep into Hardy and slicking my abdomen in his deluge!

Pudge decided, in 1963 (he was 68), in was time to take it easy. We thought (Hardy and I) he’d settle down in Frenchtown, but he didn’t! Pudge said he was tired of cold and snow in the winter and decided to spend the winter months, which he defined as October through May, down south in New Orleans. He loved the area, made numerous friends over the years while visiting, still had some family, cousins, in the area, and owned a place to live. So, October the first, he boarded the train and headed south. He never returned!

Ove the years, visiting and spending time there, Pudge made connections with family he’d never known he had, friends he enjoyed immensely, and the warmer winters.

The coroner’s report only said he died of natural causes. Pudge was overweight and enjoyed a good meal. We found out later he died well-fed and extremely happy.

In remarks Skip made at the cemetery where Pudge’s cremated remains were placed in an above ground crypt, he said Pudge used his wealth, and he did have some stemming from his association with Uncle Lou, his personal investments, and from associations with “investors” in the New Orleans area. A bit havey-cavey I thought, but made no comment.

“Uncle Rance,” Skip said using what he and his family knew Pudge by, “was a charitable person who gave back not only to his family, but to others in need; the homeless shelters, the food pantries, various charities, and was always ready to contribute to those community causes or just to families he found in need. He expected no financial reward or personal recognition, just knowing what he contributed and seeing the happiness on other’s faces was reward enough!”

That and his thick, white, sticky contribution up the butt of some willing young man or a young, hairless street kid who needed a free meal and a place to sleep. The young boys had to be careful because of Pudge’s considerable weight. Even though his belly hung over his cock, concealing it when flaccid, once hard, it was quite visible and he could still sink it deep and often.

The night he died, early morning the day after Fat Tuesday around four in the morning according to the coroner, Pudge fucked himself through a half-dozen young men and boys. A cousin in his mid-twenties and an often “guest” of Pudge, worried on Ash Wednesday when Pudge didn’t respond to phone calls.

“I found him in bed, naked and alone when I went over,” he told the police.

Enough said about that topic! However, Pudge didn’t give all of his wealth away willy-nilly! He did leave a considerable sum and his Louisiana investments to the cousin (hung just like Skip we later discovered) who found him and other family members. The cousin visited us a couple of years later and we found he could pop that big baby to full mast quicker than you could say “Hard to Port!”

Skip was the beneficiary of Pudge’s life insurances, properties, investments, and bank accounts in our area. Pudge’s will made it very clear Skip would be his major beneficiary and would act as executor and make decisions concerning any other distribution of wealth or properties designated in the will. Skip also became a partner with Uncle Lou in several joint investments Pudge and Uncle Lou had in the area. Those included several farms, several apartment buildings, and stock in a developing camper business in the northern part of the state. All in all, Skip became a very wealthy young man and, by extension, so did Skeeter. Skeeter already knew he was well rewarded and wealthy by having his horse-hung, damned good-looking lover fuck him at his pleasure whenever he chose to do it.

Uncle Lou took Pudge’s death extremely hard. They’d started together working in the restaurant before Uncle Lou received it in a will and had known each other since they were quite young. They were friends and business partners and never, as far as I can recall, had a disagreement on any issue.

Hardy and I thought, with Skip’s new found wealth, Skeeter and he would find a place of their own and move out of Uncle Lou’s house. Not so! They chose to accept Uncle Lou’s invitation to live in the big house with him. Grandpa Thompson thought this was a fine idea since he didn’t really think Uncle Lou wanted or should be alone. He was really pleased when Uncle Lou made the same invitation to Hardy and me. We didn’t hesitate a minute and moved into one of the upstairs bedrooms.

It worked out well since Sketch and Sling, with Neil and Ernie’s permission, decided to remodel the cabin and turn it into a year-around home. To do so, they’d have to raise it to prevent floods from damaging the home; they added another room facing the river with spacious windows for a studio for Sketch; another bedroom was added, and they improved the lane to the house from the county road.

“While you’re at it,” Skip advised, “you may as well electrify the place by having the power company extend a power line to you. Maybe a back-up generator wouldn’t be a bad idea either.”

They needed a place to live while this was going on so they moved into the apartment behind “Uncle Joe’s.” Neil and Ernie spent the winters in their small place in town, but it only had one bedroom and was too small for all four of them. I could only hope Sketch and Sling didn’t bring some of their young models with them.

They didn’t!

Uncle Lou and I were talking about the cost of all of this. With a knowing smile and wink, he indicated Sketch and Sling had anything to worry about.

“Sketch has done well, I should imagine, and this would only be an investment and a trifle of his earnings. To say Sling has done well in the fishing department would be an understatement.”

I didn’t press on where the money came from, for what, and where it went!

Time seemed to move so rapidly as Hardy and I became more and more involved in the daily operation and business functions at “Uncle Lou’s.” Pudge’s death had a larger impact then we realized or Uncle Lou determined it was time he cut back and opted to have Hardy, Skip, Skeeter, and me do more of the work. While Skeeter concentrated on the kitchen, Hardy and I handled the dining room, bar, and all the business operations of the business. We always consulted with Uncle Lou first when it came to price changes, menu changes, specials, or ordering. His experience and counsel was invaluable as we learned the business. He claimed Hardy and I had more business “savvy” than he ever had.

In the space of one year, Carl (Preacher) Suiter, retired from the factory, and Pete (Dickey) Peterson, also retired, died! We all mourned their deaths and our loss, but Uncle Lou’s bereavement was significant. Four of the original “Sunday Club” were now gone and in the grave, leaving four!

It was 1965, the same year Johnny graduated from high school, the year Hardy and I turned twenty-five, Uncle Lou announced he would retire-sort of (semi-retired as he put it) and turned the business over to the two of us. Uncle Lou, born in 1895, was now seventy years old and “about time I took it easy.”

The day Johnny graduated from high school was a day of pride, happiness, and hope for the future. His grades were excellent, graduating in the top ten percent, and his participation in school activities included track, swimming, and music. He lettered in all of them.

His Grandmother and Grandfather Marchetti, along with several aunts, uncles, and cousins on the Marchetti side, as well as my grandparents, Uncle Lou, the remaining members of the original Sunday Club, and all of us, the Heirs, were in attendance as well. We all cheered and clapped loudly when his name was announced and he walked across the stage to receive his diploma.

God, I was so proud of my little brother! He’d not had it easy so far in life, but he was loved by many who supported and encouraged him.

We had a reception with a buffet, prepared by Skeeter, his mom, and staff) for Johnny and his grandparents. It isn’t easy for grandparents to raise a grandchild alone. At least I had Mom to help. Although the Marchetti’s said they never felt alone since so many others, especially my friends and I, took such an active role in his life. Johnny and I grew so lose over the years. He was part of my family; Hardy, Johnny, and me. Well, I couldn’t forget Skeeter and Skip; they were like, you know brothers, but not quite, as far as I was concerned. They were more than that! After all, we did fuck each other on a regular basis.

All the relatives and close friends were invited to the reception. Skip provided the entertainment, playing and singing a variety of songs while we ate dessert. Johnny received a great many gifts; many were money which he’d use for college. His thanks to everyone was so heartfelt! Unbeknown to him, Uncle Lou, Hardy, and I matched his earnings at “Uncle Lou’s” and deposited in in a separate bank account. He was surprised to tears when he opened the envelope with a bank book and a note explaining the gift.

Johnny definitely was heterosexual (I think in today’s terms it would be “straight”). He dated several young ladies while in high school but didn’t seem to “go steady’ or get anyone pregnant. I think part of that was the box of condoms I gave him with the pronouncement, “You have to try on a pair of shoes to see if they fit, but you don’t want to shit in them so you can’t take them back.” I made certain he had access to a supply by keeping them in our medicine cabinet, which he would visit whenever he thought he needed a new supply.

He enrolled in Hartman College and entered in the fall. He hadn’t announced a major course of study, although he seemed to leaning toward science, maybe medicine. In November 1965 he received his draft notice. He was able to finish the semester and then it was off to boot camp. Hardy and I, along with his grandparents cried our eyes out the day he left. The War in Viet Nam was really heating up and service men and women were dying every day.

Son-of-a bitch! After having been trained as a medic he was shipped overseas!

It was a long couple of years for all of us, living day-to-day, fearful of dreaded news, watching the war unfold on television. Johnny’s letters home, those he was able to send, were generally upbeat, gave no indication where he was except “Southeast Asia”, and only hinted at his duties.  One comment he made to me in a letter, mentioning “treating some of the locals for wounds and disease. Brother, you can’t believe the conditions these poor, beautiful people live in. I wish I could do more!”

Wars bring on suffering at all levels, on the battlefront and the home front!

While Johnny was overseas, Neil Moore died, leaving Ernie to grieve the loss of his mate and a commercial fishing business. Ernie decided, he too was getting too old to battle the elements and turned the business over to Sketch and Sling. Oh, he stayed at the cabin during the summer and fall, but the first hint of cold weather and he was off to his townhouse. Sketch and Sling made the decision to take on some extra help, as needed of course, and arranged for a couple of high school boys to help out. Good looking boys, I thought.  I hoped they were “birds of a feather.”

They were!

Johnny came home after his tour of duty was over. Hardy and I threw a big homecoming party for him. It was well attended, having invited some of his classmates, friends, and family. He was overjoyed and said so many times. However, I thought he was changed, somewhat reserved, deep in thought as if something was working on his mind or conscience.

I wasn’t the only person who noticed Johnny’s reticent demeanor; Hardy mentioned it to me one evening as we’d gone to bed. I responded my concerns for his well-being, thinking he was carrying some baggage from his tour of duty overseas.

“Not to worry, Love,” Hardy consoled, but with the wanting grin I was so familiar with, “he’ll reveal all in his own good time.”

Reaching down, Hardy wrapped his hand around my now stiffening cock! One hand on my version of the Washington Monument, the other around my neck, he pulled me closer and engaged our lips.

Man, Hardy can kiss! He can also suck! Often thought he could suck a tennis ball through a garden hose!

“You make me stiff as a fence post!” I moaned in pleasure at the hot hand slowing stroked my dick and his lips made mine tingle.

“You’re always hard!” he giggled before swinging one leg over me, straddling me, and guiding my cock to a welcoming tightness, full of hotness and dampness, ready to be bred. As he sank down until his butt cheeks rested on my crotch and his balls nestled in my pubic bush, we both groaned our pleasure! He took his time rocking, riding me, pushing, raising, lowering until his actions brought us the pleasures we both sought. I came deep inside him as he squirted his, free of any hand action, onto my stomach and chest.

We both agreed there was really nothing better in life than loving and fucking each other!

Two weeks later, after working a Friday Fish Fry, after we cleaned up and were enjoying a closing drink, Johnnie broached the subject we’d been anticipating. He sat at the bar with us, took a sip of his drink, and announced,

“I’m entering the seminar at semester. Maybe I can do more in that life, as a priest, than I could on the battle front.”

Hardy and I offered him our understanding, support, and approval. There was no doubt he’d succeed academically; no, that wasn’t my concern for him at all. You see, my concern was for what was now tucked away in his pants.

Johnny loved to fuck and did so on a regular basis!

To be continued...

Posted: 07/01/2022