New World Order - 1. Chapter 1: The Old World

We waited in shadows, in the underbrush a few yards from the clearing. The heat of the forest was oppressive, only slightly relieved by the deep shade in which we hid. We waited because we were told to wait, not knowing why or for whom. Our mission was to meet someone and escort him to the regional headquarters and make sure he arrived alive. A small part in a much larger game.

As time went by, my mind wandered over the events, both personal and global, that brought me to this place. I could now barely remember what the world used to be like, before the collapse of order and peace. My life was typical, for that time. I had a wife and two young children. We lived in a comfortable house and lived comfortable lives. I had a job that paid enough to make all this possible. Life stretched on before us in quiet happiness.

And then, far away, in distant lands, shrill voices raised up against my country, against all the countries of the West. What seemed like unrelated acts of scattered terrorism coalesced into concerted and protracted war against my country, our allies, and my life. For a while the explosions and killings were in other countries. Then one day the terror entered my life.

I had gone to work in the city, as usual. I worked with technology, applying it to business, contributing in a small way to the world’s prosperity. A good job, a clean job, a job I liked and did well. It was a typical workday until a coworker leaned over to tell me that news had just broken about an explosion in my hometown. With growing dread I searched the electronic news services until I found the article, just minutes old. A bomb had been detonated in a shopping mall near my home. I called my home and received no answer. I called a neighbor, an elderly woman who sometimes looked after my children. She answered the phone, sobbing, I could not make any sense of what she tried to say except that I should come home immediately.

With my heart in my throat, I ran to my car and sped home, passing the still smoldering remains of the shopping mall, surrounded by police. As I pulled up to my home, my fear mounted. A police car was in my driveway and a uniformed policeman at my front door. He turned toward me as I got out of my car and approached me. His face was coursed with tears. He spoke slowly and clearly – words I not so much heard as felt. Among the many people killed in the bombing were my wife and children.

I awoke to find myself in a bed, not my own. My neighbor hovered over me, touching my brow, crying softly. She told me I had collapsed in my front yard and that a policeman had asked her to care for me and had carried me to her house. He had more people to see.

From that day I heard of events in the world, escalation in terrorist bombings, the collapse of many countries as governments could no longer protect their citizens, the breakdown of our societies’ infrastructure. First electricity was compromised, then clean water supplies. Soon the basic services our lives depended upon were no longer available. And the deaths. My loss was but a drop in the sea of carnage across the world.

Why? Why this war on our society, a society of freedom and prosperity? A message arose from terrorists, a message of intolerance and hate, hate for anyone different, anyone who spoke of another belief, another way of life. They pronounced rules and laws of behavior and any opposition was met with death. They had exploited the proponents of intolerance in my own county, promoting them, hiding behind them as they worked their terror undermining the country until what was once the greatest power on the planet succumbed to hatred and intolerance.

I watched it happen, sitting in my darkened house, waiting for death to end my pain, not caring what happened to others. And then it happened, it came into my house and forced me to take action, to come alive, to participate.

***

He came through the front door, not knowing that I sat in the dark watching him. He was breathing hard, whether from fear or exertion I did not know. A few steps into the house and he collapsed. I rose and carefully walked toward him. He heard my steps, tried to rise but fell to the floor again. “Help me” were the words he spoke in a hoarse whisper. I stepped past him to close the door, taking a small flashlight I kept nearby. I played the light over the man, seeing blood on his face and clothes. He had passed out. Who was he?

I heard noises from the street. It was not unusual for bands of men to wander through the neighborhood, ostensibly for the protection of residents since the collapse of civil government. The voices called out for surrender, declaring the impossibility of escape. I peered through curtains, seeing the mob stopping at each house, demanding entry, clearly searching for someone.

With no conscious plan, I dragged the man into a back bedroom and covered him with a blanket. It was only a moment before I heard pounding on my own door. My steps were measured as I went to the door. I slowly opened it. A flaming torch illuminated a small group who demanded to know whether I had seen anyone. I stood in the doorway, not giving way, but in an acquiescent posture. “No, no one. I have seen no one in days,” the lie passed easily from my lips. The men tried to look past me, about to push into my house. One of the men lived on the next street and recognized me. “Don’t bother with him, he’s been a ghost since they killed his wife and kids.” The group withdrew to continue their search.

I closed the door and turned to see the man behind me, struggling to stand, holding an automatic weapon. Strangely, I felt no fear, my life had already ended. In the same moment that this thought registered, he dropped the weapon and staggered toward me. I caught him before he fell. I led him back to the bedroom, laying him on the bed. I carefully shuttered the windows, pulling the curtains before turning on a light.

He could not have been more than twenty-five years old, filthy and battered, clearly at the point of physical collapse. He said nothing, only stared at me, questioning me with his eyes. I left him for a few minutes, returning with a basin of hot water and some towels. He offered no protest as I began to remove his ragged clothing and bathed him, carefully cleaning several wounds. It took some time and several trips for clean water, but then revealed the man to be very good looking, indeed handsome and well formed. He spoke not a word, even when I cleaned his genitals. He just looked into my eyes, searching for something.

I broke the silence saying only, “you are safe with me, they have gone.”

“Why, why did you hide me?” he asked in reply.

I sat on the edge of the bed, pausing to wonder myself why. “I suppose you were in need and somehow that answered a need of my own.”

“Is it true, what that man said? About your family?”

“Yes, my life ended seven months ago. I guess I’ve just been waiting to die.”

He struggled to sit up, taking my arm. “I can’t claim to know your pain, but I do know that you are needed. Everyone is needed. To strike back, to not give in to the abuse and intolerance.” He looked intensely into my eyes, capturing my attention, bringing me to focus as I had not been since the awful moment in front of this house as the policeman gave me the news.

He leaned into me and kissed me fully on the lips, wrapping his arms around me, holding me, drawing me to lie on the bed. A great ball of grief rose up in my gut, spilling out in a cry and a wave of tears. And he held me to his chest, stroking my hair, kissing my face through the tears.

I lay in his arms for a long while. I felt his hands loosening my shirt, pulling it off me. He pushed my pants down my legs and onto the floor. Then, moving slowly in some pain, he placed his mouth on my long flaccid cock and drew me in. I had not had a glimmer of desire I could recall, yet my cock responded to his lips and tongue, hardening quickly. He worked his mouth up and down my cock until in a very few minutes, I felt an orgasm rise up and burst out the end of my cock. He sat up smiling and again lay down next to me, drawing me to him.

“You know, the penalty for what we just shared is death.”

I was barely able to speak, in part due to the surprise of this stranger’s actions and the pleasure they brought, and in part due to the emotion that continued to awaken in my heart. “I don’t know about a penalty, but I do know that what you shared with me is life.” I returned his kiss and embrace, pained by his wince as I held him too hard.

I realized he would probably need food and drink and rose to get them, first pausing to cover his body with a blanket. I returned a few minutes later with provisions, to find him asleep on the bed. I got into the bed again and gently took him in my arms and also fell asleep.

***

Morning came and I awoke to find the man sitting in a chair across the room eating and drinking. I pulled aside the curtains to let in some light and propped myself up in the bed to look at him. He smiled, almost shyly – he was indeed very handsome, perhaps more so due to the slight growth of beard. He was still naked.

My eyes wandered over his form, noting that he was too thin, apparently the result of too little to eat recently. He was tall and well muscled with hairy legs and a light dusting of dark hair on his chest. To my embarrassment, I felt my cock swell, forming a tent in the blanket that covered me. He smiled more broadly, rose, and crossed the room. His slack cock swung with his steps, his balls hanging low. My erection hardened further.

He sat on the edge of the bed, much as I had done the night before. He took my hand in his, raised it to his lips and kissed it. “Thank you, you saved my life last night. They would have killed me for being gay if not for opposing them or any other act I have done in defiance.”

My face must have shown puzzlement. He continued, “To be different, to follow your own truth, to love who you must – if it is not according to their rules – means death. It started with religious fundamentalism and grew into state sanctioned terrorism. Whether Right-wing Christians, Maoists, Muslims, whatever group – they have formed together to press their orthodoxy and wipe us all out. Us, whoever doesn’t follow their rules. And they don’t care how many others they hurt and destroy, even if innocent of any so-called violations. So I’m fighting for my own life, my own rights, and for every other man, woman, or child who is denied dignity and freedom.”

“I don’t mean to push my problems on you, these are my own choices. If you want, I’ll walk straight out that door and none of this every happened – though I’d appreciate waiting until dark and something to wear.” Again a smile whose charm only grew for me. “Oh yeah, I’m Jim. You don’t need or want to know anything more about me, just Jim.”

I sat silently taking all this in. He reached out and gently stroked my cheek. “And you are?” he asked.

“Tom, Tom Sheridan” I heard my voice reply.

“Well Tom? What do you think of all this?”

For the first time since my life whirled out of control, my mind cleared. I felt hunger, thirst, sexual desire. I also felt anger, a deep and wrenching anger at those who had killed my own, who had destroyed me. I knew in that moment that I would join this man in whatever outrageous act he or I or anyone else could conceive to take back any portion of the world for the side of sanity, civility, and love.

My thoughts must have played across my face. I could see his understanding as he leaned in to me to kiss me fully, his hand purposely closing on my still hard cock. He felt me pull back and released me. “Oh, you thought you’d never be attracted to a man? I don’t mean to press you, to suggest you do anything your not comfortable with. But this is just between us two. It doesn’t have to mean anything except that by pure chance we met and connected and shared ourselves in a time of desperation. I’m grateful for the safe harbor you gave me and expect nothing more. But don’t close yourself to your feelings – accept my affection and my sincere attraction for what it is.”

On saying this he again kissed me his hands playing over my chest and groin. My hand sought out his hard cock, amazed to touch another man’s organ, pleased at the heat and texture. I felt a hunger rise, a hunger to have this man’s cock in my mouth, to give him pleasure, to feel his orgasm. I shifted in the bed to place my mouth on his cock, his hands caressing my back and butt. I inhaled his scent and felt a growing attraction. I placed my mouth on his cock, pushing down too quickly, gagging on its hardness. I pulled back and looked up at his face, silently laughing. “Easy there, Tom. Go easy.” I again closed my mouth over his cock and began to suck and tongue it, feeling shocks of pleasure in my own body.

Jim arched back, gasping both from the pleasure I was giving him and a little from the pain of his battered body. His cock pushed back and I quickened my attentions, feeling the head swell in my mouth a moment before his orgasm erupted, filling my mouth. He put his hands on either side of my head and pulled me up to face him. And he kissed me, my mouth still full of his orgasm. His tongue pushed into my mouth, searching and probing and sharing the load of cum.

He lay back on the bed, smiling yet again. “Hey, where are my clothes?” I pointed to the heap on the other side of the bed. He reached over and searched through the pockets, pulling out a tube of some sort. He squeezed some of its contents into his hand and began pressing it into his ass. He reached for my cock and rubbed the slippery ooze along its length, pulling it toward him. “It’s been a while since I’ve done this and you’re kind of big, but I want this, I want you in me right now.” He placed the head of my cock against his ass hole. The pucker opened slightly, almost drawing me in. With one hand he reached around placing it on my ass to pull me toward him, with the other he guided my cock into his hole.

All the instincts of my body called me to push in, to take this pleasure, to join with him. He gasped once, holding me back, then eased onto my cock. The sensation was unlike any I’d experienced before.

The few times I’d had sex before marrying were hurried and unsatisfying, despite quick orgasms. My wife and I made love often. We shared our lives on all levels and each time we were together enriched us. The softness and warmth stays with me yet.

But on entering this man, I realized a different experience. Never had I been with someone who was as aroused and eager as I was, who met my passion with an equal passion. This was not an accommodation, not a favor. This was lust met by lust, animal needs coinciding. The warm tightness surrounded my throbbing cock.

His eyes were locked on mine, his mouth a slight smile, his nostrils flaring. He moved his hands to my hips and initiated a slow in and out motion. My arousal was so great, I feared I would explode immediately, not having had enough of this amazing sensation. My lust took over control of the motion, quickening and adding force. I hung on to my orgasm, concentrating on his face, his eyes, now pumping furiously, seeing want on his face. “Fuck me, lover,” he said in a growl, “Fuck me.”

The orgasm began in the ends of my fingers and toes, concentrating and building force as it accumulated on its course through my body, thrusting deeply into him, and blasting out of my cock. It felt as if the entire contents of my body were being pumped out through my cock. And then as my cock deflated, so did my arms and legs, slowly dropping down to come to rest fully upon him.

He folded me yet again in his arms. Again I wept.