Freedom Fighter

Hidalgo smiled as he pointed to the house. "There we go, Mauro." he said to me happily. "There is where we shall spend the rest of the day and rest and eat and sleep and maybe, who knows, perhaps a pretty senorita or two to warm our bed as well."

"Do you know who lives there?" I asked.

Hidalgo only shrugged. "It matters not." he said to me. "Nearly all those who live in these hills support our cause. And if we find ourselves in the home of one of the few who does not...." He concluded his sentence by patting the strap of the rifle across his chest. If they didn't, he meant, we would kill them and take what we wanted that way.

I scowled, but not so Hidalgo could see. He was much more cold-blooded about being a guerilla soldier. To him, you were either an eager supporter, or you were so much rancid meat to discard. Me, I wanted to be a soldier of honor, fighting the good battle to free our land from the horrid "padrones," the rich men who owned the land and charged rent for the peasants to till the soil, taking from them all but the bare amount they needed to survive to plow the fields for the next years' planting. This was the system I had vowed to change, this was why I had come to these hills to join the guerillas, this was why I now walked home from a mission with Hildago, the two of us a splinter of the strike force, now making our separate ways back to camp and re-arm, and then to strike out again, elsewhere.

But Hidalgo was right, we needed to find food and a safe place to sleep if such existed here. I had heard rifle fire throughout the day. Not all of our force who had lived through the strike would be rejoining us at base camp, I knew. Perhaps even the camp wouldn't be where we had left it and we would have to cast about until we found where it had moved. Or until we ourselves were rounded up and executed.

Such was the life of a freedom fighter, when the government forces outnumbered us six to one or more.

We did not have to choose between knocking at the door or barging in unannounced; the door opened as we approached. A young man stood in the doorway. Solemn and serious-looking, he wore only a simple white shirt and pants, no shoes, no hat. Looking at us in our khaki uniforms, military boots and bandanas on our heads. We wore the bandanas as a badge of the freedom fighters, for our uniforms otherwise were the same as those of the government forces.

Perhaps Hildago had seen my frown for he didn't make any movement toward his rifle as I expected. Instead he called out, "Ay, friend! Can you spare a couple of soldiers some water and something to eat?"

The young man hesitated only briefly. "Yes, come in." he said to us. I followed him inside, and maybe some of Hildago's suspicions had rubbed off me in return, for I said, "Where is the rest of your family?"

The house was far too neat; it showed a woman's hand, even women's. Put a man in a house alone, and his bed remains unmade, the walls stay bare, the floors don't get swept. But these floors were clean, the bed smooth and covers aligned in neat precision, the walls held pictures of Mary and Jesus in simple, hand-made frames. A small table and two chairs formed the rest of the furniture.

"I live here alone." the young man said. "My mother and my father, they live in the village." And he pointed further along the road.

"Your mother or sisters come here and clean, then?" Hidalgo had seen as well, the place neat and orderly.

"No." the man shook his head. "You are thirsty and hungry. I have water, and I have bread and milk. And I have meat, if you will wait, I can fix you a full meal."

"We will take the bread now, and the meal after." Hildago said, and I just nodded assent. I was hungry after all.

We drank the water which was lukewarm from the heat of the day, but it was wet and it was clear, better than most water I drank these days. The bread was well-made. "Did your mother bake this bread?" I asked.

Again, he shook his head. "I make my own bread." he said. And defensively, "It is not a strange thing to want to live in a clean house with good food to eat, I think."

"If I were to live alone, I wouldn't know how to keep house." Hildago said. "Nor would I be able to bake a bread like this. You would make a man a fine wife if you had a slit where your bump is." And he laughed, harshly, like a soldier does. He was looking at me and I smiled, but no more.

The young man turned his attention away and said, "I shall make you a meal. I have not a lot of meat, but I will fix it all for you."

Building up a fire in the stove built into one wall only made the room hotter than it already was, for the afternoon was only well begun. By the time the meat cooked over the open flames, it was like we were the ones in the oven.

"Thank you." Hidalgo said as the man placed the small plate of meat (less than a half pound of it lay on the plate) before us. And to me, "I don't know about you, but I am going to lie down for a siesta when we are done eating."

"One of us should keep watch." I pointed out.

"You may do that if you wish." Hildago yawned. "Me, I must rest." He gulped down more than his half of the meat in a few mouthfuls and polished off the glass of milk that the young man had poured, and patted his stomach. "Now, me for bed. Sure you won't join me?"

I shook my head. "One of us should keep watch." I said again.

"So keep watch." Hildago looked at the young man. "How about you? You want to snuggle up to a real freedom fighter?"

The man blushed and looked away, shook his head. Hildago laughed again and stood up, unbuttoned his shirt. "Well, if you change your mind, just nudge me over. Only a fool or an American stays awake in this weather."

Hildago peeled his shirt off and t-shirt and was bare to the waist. His rifle he placed against the wall near the bed. An experienced soldier, he never had his rifle out of easy reach at any time. He laid out on the bed and his snores started less than five minutes later. Another mark of a seasoned soldier, he could sleep at any time.

"Would you like some water?" the young man asked me. I smiled at him and shook my head. "I am fine." I said.

The youth hesitated "The army never comes here." He said. "If you want to take off your shirt and lie beside your friend, you will be safe here."

I looked at him and he wasn't looking at my face, but at my chest. Then over to Hildago, who was bare and arrogantly male in his siesta, atop the covers. Back at me.

"I keep watch." I said, and then hesitated. "But it is hot in here. I shall take off my shirt like my friend, I think."

"Yes, please do." the young man said. His eyes never left my body now as I stood up. His tongue seemed to want to join my fingers to help me undo the buttons, push the shirt away from me. My t-shirt was plastered to me by my sweat and it peeled like the skin of a grape as I pulled it over my head.

"That is cooler for you now, yes?" our host asked me. "If you wish to take off more, you can." Then he realized how that sounded, and said, "I mean, please, you are welcome here. Make yourself comfortable. Nobody ever comes here. You are safe."

"Not even your mother and father?" I asked. "Do you go to see them instead, then, in the village?"

He shook his head. "I live here alone." he said.

"It is not good to be alone." I said to him. "You should take a wife, at least."

He shook his head again. I started to say more, then realized why I didn't have to. "Ah." I said instead, only a small sound.

But he understood even that small sound for what it was. "They talk about me in the village." he said. "They say I am not right, they say that God has turned his back on me." He looked at his pictures, one of Mary and one of Jesus. "So I do not go to the village often. I live here. I do not need a wife. I do not need anybody."

"And you have no friends, then?" I asked him. "Nobody who comes to visit you?"

A shake of his head, a miserable gesture.

"It must be lonely." I said.

"It is." he said. "Usually. But not today. Today, at least, I have you here to talk with me a little while."

"Or more than a little while." I added. "We would like to stay until morning, if we are welcome."

"You are." I think that made him feel bolder, for he said, as he drew closer to me, "It is good to have someone here. To talk to, that is."

"Yes, to talk." Hidalgo's snores were comfortingly solid in sound. "It is good to talk."

He drew a little closer now, just barely out of reach of me, if I were to extend a hand toward him. "It is why I built two chairs. For someone to sit and talk to me."

"A person needs friends." I agreed. "At least one good friend."

"Like your friend is to you?" he gestured to Hidalgo asleep on the bed.

"He is my comrade in arms." I explained. "He is not my friend. I am like you in many ways, I think. I, too, feel alone much of the time."

That made him brave enough to move the chair very close to me indeed. "I am sorry you feel alone." He said. "Is there anything I can do to make you feel less lonely?" His hand reached up and toward me, caught itself, drew back again. "Anything at all?"

I licked my suddenly-dry lips and nodded. "I can think of something you could do." And my own hand reached out and stroked his arm. Just a single, careful stroke, and I drew it back again.

But that was all I needed. The young man cast one quick look to be sure Hildago still slumbered (he did) and then he rose from the chair and bent over me and our lips met. It lasted longer than a mere meeting of lips but not much longer, perhaps five or ten seconds, then he let go. "You are a freedom fighter?" He asked me.

I nodded. "I want to free our people from the rule of the padrones." I said. "Everyone should be free to live their own life on their own land."

"Yes." he agreed. "Free to live their lives as they choose, not as others want them to live."

"Exactly so." I said and now I reached for him, and we kissed again. He straddled me in my chair and sat on my lap like that and his hands felt and brushed my back, tracing the lines of my muscles won in the battles of the jungles, while his lips roamed across my neck and onto my shoulder.

The shirt he wore was all of one piece, I had to reach under it, and felt his body begging to breathe free, and I grasped the oppressive shirt and I lifted it over his head. He let me strip it from his body and now our bare chests were mere inches apart, and he dared to adore my breast with his hands, feeling and shaping his palms around them, as he smiled toward me, and I smiled back and we kissed, short kisses, but over and over again.

His hands felt my breast, felt my ribs, felt my stomach, felt the still-clothed place below that, and the fingers of his hand took on an urgency, his breaths came faster and a groan insinuated itself into them, like the whimpering of a pet dog eager for his supper. The feel of his fingers upon my rod was as joyful as the kisses of an angel in heaven! I groped his own basket in turn, feeling his energetic rod pulsing towards me, wishing that the chairs were more, that Hildago would vanish like so much smoke and free the bed for us. All I could do was send my hands into the top of his loose-fitting peasant pants, sidling them past the constricting tie at the top, and onto the bare flesh underneath. My hands cupped his buttocks like that, and he groaned, threw his head back, and I kissed the sharp triangle of his Adam's apple, and he ground his erection against my stomach, and if our clothes had disappeared, I could have sent my rod up into his eager bowels then and there.

As it was, I was forced to pedestrian maneuvers. "We need to get up." I panted to him in words I hoped were soft and passionate. "If I am to make love to you, we need to get up."

"Why not bring him over here?" came Hildago's voice.

Startled and a little frightened, I looked over at Hildago. He was sitting up, his grin declaring his delight at my discomfiture, and I said, sheepishly, "I thought you were asleep."

"I was, until your groans awakened me." Hildago said. "I thought perhaps you were being strangled, not enjoying the attentions of an eager young thing. Bring him over here."

I heard the youth's sharp intake of breath, and I said quickly, "He is not a whore that we can treat him as such. He is kind enough to give himself to me, and I don't think that...."

"Why don't you let him decide?" Hildago butted in to my incipient stern lecture. "How about it, young fellow, you want to share this bed with two lusty soldiers, or stay perched over there on that chair like a parrot?"

"Forgive my friend, he is a crude soldier and does not understand all that we have talked about." I said. "Say but the word and I shall forbid him to touch you in any way."

"Hey!" Hildago protested.

"You would do that, for me?" the young man breathed.

"I would." I said.

"Hey!" Hildago put in again.

"But if I choose, you will let it be the three of us?"

"I will."

"Then let it be the three of us." the man decided. "But I want it to be you who enters me first, for I know you will be gentle."

I felt a vague disappointment at this, but Hildago would not be one to quietly vanish when pleasure was to be had. I didn't think for a moment that Hildago was like the young man and myself in this, he merely saw an opportunity to ease his juices and nothing more, not caring about the shape of the vessel that would catch them.

But I was committed, so I lifted the young man gently off of my lap and then followed him to the bed. It was too narrow for more than one to lie on at any time (Hildago's offers to share it had been empty things), but Hildago rose from the bed and our host shucked his pants and lay down upon it, bare as the day he was born, ready for us.

I started to mount him and Hildago stopped me. "Wait, if you want to be gentle, you're going to have to do better than that."

I looked my confusion.

"You really are a virgin, are you, Mauro?" Hildago said to me with glee. "Both of you are, to think that a man's bottom hole can be breached without lubrication." And to the young man in the bed, he went on, "If you want Mauro's tool up your asshole, you're going to have to slick him up first. Whether it's cooking grease or your own spit, you need his tool as slippery as you can get it."

"Then I will use my mouth on you. Mauro." the man said my name like it was that of a saint.

I bowed my head in ascension. "But before you begin...my name is Mauro. What is yours?" We hadn't asked our host's name before, as a guerilla learns not to press for personal information from those who help them.

"I am Tomas." the young man smiled at me.

"Tomas."

"Mauro."

"Kiss him later." Hildago advised. "Now you unzip, Mauro, and when he does, you, Tomas, you get to slobbering on him."

And with Hildago's rough advice guiding us, Tomas plied his lips upon my prong, driving me to delighted tumescence, I felt nearly ready to burst before Hildago indicated he had done it enough. Then I lifted Tomas' legs into the air and I began to worm my cock into his ass. It was as tight as Hildago had warned, and I had to reach down to steady myself more than once. Tomas grunted in pain and discomfort, but there were other grunts of delight and desire to urge me on. Finally, I had myself firmly inside Tomas' warm softness, that coated my cock like a velvet wrap used upon high-quality weapons. Only that is to secure the weapons in travel, this wrap was to let me fire it.

From here, I didn't need any more of Hildago's advice, my body knew what to do. I began to thrust into Tomas and with every shove of my hips against him, Tomas let out a soft cry of ecstasy. Hildago had his own rod out and Tomas saw it, caught hold of it, and began to pump it in time to my ramming of his butt.

"Easier, easier, don't rip him up." Hildago advised.

"I'm not." I said. "He is as smooth as butter."

"Hmph." Hildago considered this. "Must be in love with you. The men I've fucked before always bled and brayed like donkeys when you whip them. But then, those men weren't as willing as this one." And the laugh that he gave wasn't a kind one.

I wished more than anything I wasn't sharing Tomas' generosity with Hildago. But there was nothing else for it now, I leaned forward and kissed Tomas as I humped his butt, and I felt Hildago's prong slapping at my back as Tomas pumped it, and I humped and Tomas pumped, and all three of us were gasping with our joy.

I rose up on Tomas and that thick dong of Hildago's slapped my face, I looked at it and something inside me took over, and I caught it on my lips and I crammed it into my mouth.

"Oh, oh, oh, God, Mauro, no, no, oh, oh, God, oh!" Hildago gasped as I slurped on his man-shaft. "Oh, God, no, not this, don't, you, shouldn't, gah, uh, oh!" His hands tried to pry me off his cock, but I held on firmly despite his flailing at me.

"AH, AH, AH, GAH-HUNNHAHHHH!" Tomas scrunched up his face and he shot his jism onto my body in a healthy blast that coated me. I had brought my young lover to his climax and I felt the joy shuddering through him and it transmitted itself from his body into my cock and from there, up throughout my own.

As my orgasm triggered, I began to suck Hildago fast as I could, I wanted him to come in my mouth, not to be left to shoot his load in after my own up Tomas' kind, warm body. This was why I had done, interposed my body for Tomas' so that Hildago's lust couldn't corrupt him, couldn't share the joy that Tomas and I had together.

Even in my coitus, even while I ejaculated heavily into Tomas' butt, I continued to suck on Hildago, and Hildago groaned in his protest, and his groans rose and as I finished, weak, wondering how much longer I could endure, I heard his groan turn into a roar and his salty semen gushed into my mouth and I drew it out, swallowing it so that not a single drop could land upon Tomas, I would protect him with myself, and Hildago was cursing me now, declaring he would report me to the commander at the base and I would be disgraced, and I had disgraced him. How that meshed with his expertise in how to fuck another man was beyond me, but I took it for what it was, I had thwarted Hildago's plans to fuck Tomas, and that was more than worth it for me.

Sobbing in his frustration, Hildago finished and pulled his pud roughly from me, and he said, "You idiot, Mauro, do you know what you've done?"

"Saved Tomas for myself." I said.

"If the commander finds out what you did, he'll have you arrested and shot." Hildago said. "It's one thing to fuck a captured enemy, it's another to whirl on your fellow freedom fighter's cock like you did, you bastard!"

"So what are you going to do, tell him when you get back?"

"No." Hildago said. "But you know what I do when I get drunk."

I saw it then. "Oh." Hildago would tell anybody anything when he got drunk. People sometimes got him drunk just to see what he'd say about someone else when they asked him. If they asked him about me...he'd tell them everything.

"What do you want to do?" I asked him.

"You do whatever you want." Hildago said as he got up and zipped his pants, fumbled for his t-shirt and shirt. "Me, I'm beating on back to base camp. You go wherever you choose. Just know if you come back where I am...." He didn't have to finish that.

"I understand." I said in a whisper. I didn't say anything else, and neither did Tomas, as Hildago left.

"I have to decide what to do." I said to Tomas.

"Stay with me." Tomas urged me.

"I can't do that." I'd already considered that and rejected it. "Anyone knows me who comes back through here, well, deserters get shot as well. No, best if I get far away from here if I can. I could go back to my home village." It was far enough from here, nearly across the country. I had done this on purpose, to avoid the chance of shooting one of my childhood friends in battle.

"Then take me with you." Tomas said.

I'm not sure what kind of life I was going to have any longer. A former freedom fighter, no land of my own, no good way to get land (I had fled my former padron and no new padron would take me on without a letter from the former), my future was as uncertain as it could be.

I explained all this to Tomas best I could. "I have nothing to offer you." I ended. "Nothing at all."

"Nothing but freedom." Tomas pointed out. "Without you, I was trapped here. With you, I am finally free."

Yes, there was that. "Then we can be free together." I said, kissing him again.

And I realized that, in a way, I was still a freedom fighter.

THE END
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