NOTE: This story is set around 1942 and everything should me imagined with a slightly yellow tinge.

A Seperate Piece Of bum

“I was wondering where you got off to,” said Trout, standing in the doorway of the one room tar paper shack, dim crepuscular light seeping in around his frame “I haven’t seen you all week.” There was no response. “I thought you’d be at Bertram’s for my going away party. I was a little hurt you weren’t there.”

Silence, except for the crackles and pops and Jimmy Dorsey’s smooth voice coming from the General Electric record player Robin Trouterstein had bought for his little Jalapeno, his little firecracker. Hal Penzo didn’t even turn to look at his visitor. He just sat in house’s sole wooden chair, staring at the wall and sipping gin from a tin cup.

Robin closed the door, walked to his friend, and laid a soft hand on his shoulder. “Please don’t do this.”

Jalapeno’s shut his eyes, “I just don’t,” his tender reed of a voice cracked, “I just don’t get it, Trout. Why you gotta go fight the Gerrys?”

“Because I love my country and she needs me right now.”

“You don’t love me anymore?” The tin cup was thrown against the wall and the chair knocked over at Hal bolted up and spun to face Robin. “You think I don’t need you?” Tiny hands clutched Trouterstein’s shoulders. “Who…who’s gonna keep them mean boys from up on the hill from breakin’ my windows? Who’s gonna teach me letters? And what if…”

“What if what?”

“I hear them spanish boys is real pretty…what if you like them better th-” A kiss cut off the words. Robin probed Hal’s mouth with his tongue, making sure his lover hadn’t lost anymore teeth.

“Hush with that nonsense, Hally,” Trouterstein said when he pulled away. “No spanish boy or french or british boy could take me from you. Not even them little jap boys in their silk kimonos. And no German bastard can kill me while your sweet feet still walk this earth.” He stroked Hal’s cheek, “And you’re doing so good with your reading and writing you won’t even need lessons anymore. You’ve been practicing, right?”

Hal hesitated, he knew the punishment not practicing got him and it was almost as enjoyable as making his love proud. Finally, he reached down and picked up a piece of paper from beside his bare matress. Upon it, scrawled in the chalky black of burnt stick were a few phrases: “JANE BOT A DOG. SHE NAYMED IT SPAWT.”

The soon-to-be GI looked over it and smiled, “Hey, that’s real good, Hally. Real good. You might even be able to send me some letters. Mrs. Caruther’s would probably help you. As long as you don’t visit her wearing those garters I got you. That was real hard to explain.”

Jalapeno blushed. Trouterstein slipped away to flip the 78 record over. As the needle dropped and Jimmy Dorsey began to sing about green eyes, Robin took his sweet Hal and danced him around the room. “You’ll see, everything will be tops. We’ll live it up when I get back from winning this war. We’ll go to New York City and see good old Tommy Dorsey at the Copa. Maybe we’ll stick around and see Ella when she comes through.” Penzo smilled and pressed his head against Robin’s chest.

“We’re gonna paint the town, huh?”

“We’ll go on a town painting tour.” Robin looked his lover in the eye, “There’s one thing I need from you before I ship out tomorrow. I need it if I’m going to have the strength to fight the Gerrys. I won’t be able to rest all those European boys. I need,” he put his lips to Jalapeno’s ear and whispered, “your sweet bum woman's genitals.”

Hal lead his soldier boy the matress. The pair unbumoned and unzipped as they traveled. “It’s too bad Jimmy Dorsey didn’t write a song about brown eyes, huh, Trout?”

“Sure is, Hally,” he replied, lowering Penzo onto the matress. Soon, his little soldier had slipped into his love’s foxhole as easy as a tank pbuming through the Maginot line.

“Ooooh, Robin, I’m gonna miss this.”

“Me too, Jalapeno,” Trouterstein said as he buried his face in his partner’s neck and his male reproductive organ into his partner’s bum. “Now I know I can’t die with prime real estate like this waiting for me.”

Four times that night they wrote the story of their love in sweat and reacharounds. By the end there was enough blood on the matress it could’ve been a battlefield. However, there was too much semen for anyone to make that mistake.

They parted long past midnight in a flurry of kisses and promises.

Robin Trouterstein died in the battle of the Kbumerine Pbum. The fate of Hal Penzo is unknown.