Innocence Lost, Paradise Found Ch 01

Andre and Finn meet at the water hole

This story is set in rural Massachusetts at the very end of the Age of American Innocence. The Great Depression was theoretically winding down–although most had yet to feel the difference. Roosevelt was President. The New Deal was in full throttle. US participation in “Europe’s War” was still in the distance. All of that would change the US tremendously in the next five years. But, Americans were still enjoying their innocence–although they didn’t realize it. All characters engaging in sexual activity are over 18. This chapter is a slow burn. The story is based on real life–the story of a great uncle who disclosed the outline much later in life when he came out. Unfortunately, for him, I’ve changed the ending. I’ve also tried to capture the literary style of the period. BD

The summer of 1940 was blistering hot in the US. Everywhere. Even in New England where primitive air-conditioning was mostly confined to the larger cities and the wealthier suburbs. There were only a few cool spots in the small western Mass town of Noubois: the doctor’s and dentist’s offices, the “new” grocery store, the pharmacy (which had one of the old-fashioned soda bars) and the water in the swimming hole (named French’s Pond), fed by cool underground springs and a waterfall which carried water run-off from nearby Mt. Ste. Marie and the summer rains. The rest of the small wooden homes in town and the nearby larger farm houses were not, and thus they were very warm, often very warm.

It was mid-August and throughout the day and night, the low hum-buzz of fans could be heard for miles. All the awnings were down; all the curtains were pulled; all the windows were religiously opened to the cool side and shut to the sun. Those who were not required in the fields or the kitchens could be seen rocking on the wide L-shaped porches that adorned most of the Victorian-style homes. Sipping lemonade. (Not beer or anything alcoholic: Noubois was dry.) Everyone prayed for the late afternoon thunderstorms which brought some relief.

The town was nevertheless busier than normal. There were signs the Great Depression was ending, thanks in part to mobilization for war, but the ranks of the “regular” population were still swollen by refugees from the cities with the promise of farm work and food. Almost every family had taken in “cousins” or was rooming farm-laborer-renters.

Noubois, re-founded seventy years earlier by French-speaking settlers from Canada, was, perhaps for the first time in its history, “booming”–although that word seemed inappropriate, given the national context and the European war clouds on the horizon. At least the folks of Noubois could eat–and this had brought more than a hundred newcomers. Time would tell whether the national economy would improve and whether they would leave. But, for now, although miserably hot, the merchants of Noubois were pleased.

As in most New England towns, there were two churches in Noubois: Catholic St. Anne’s and First Congregational. The former was stone, newer, larger, and at the edge of town; the latter was wood, steepled, very old and on the main town square. With the influx, St. Anne’s was filled every Sunday while FC was sparsely attended, but well-endowed. Neither was a “fire and brimstone” church, but the times called for sexual moral absolutism: strict marital fidelity, no pre-marital experimentation and of course, sexual “deviancy” was foundational belief. It didn’t matter which church you went to. Neither the priest nor the minister had to preach about it–it was part of the town’s ethic. (Even the French Catholic tradition of overlooking mistresses had been abandoned at the border.) Quite unexpectedly, and at Yvonne’s insistence, the DuBois family attended FC, not that “rowdy, low class” place outside of town.

Sox-footed Andre DuBois had just entered the kitchen of his family’s large farmhouse at the edge of town. Acres of vegetable fields surrounded the old Victorian–although Andre’s mother insisted on maintaining the “allee des arbres” on either side of the entrance drive and small flower beds in front of the surrounding porches. Yvonne was French, the wife of the oldest grandson of one of the first settlers. It was his farm, but she owned him. She had pronounced immediately after their marriage that she would not live on a farm; she wanted a “manoir.” The fields remained, but she got her “manoir” gated and tree-lined entrance (the “allee”) and a remodeled interior. And later she got a kitchen helper, but Raymond had absolutely refused live-in servants. In return, or perhaps in revenge, she got them to join FC. (The rest of his family promptly disowned him for leaving the “one true” Church.)

Andre was the only boy and the youngest and very fortunate–at least by the standards of his peers. Noubois’ school system was rudimentary and had only a few rooms. He had been yanked from St. Anne’s when he was 12 and sent to a boarding school in Springfield for high school. It was not one of the prestigious “prep” schools for the wealthy, but it had an excellent academic reputation. So he had traded the Catholic routine of daily mass,, morning prayers in the classroom, religion as the fist subject of the day, prayers before and after lunch, a short recess overlooked by beady-eyed boy-hating nuns to an day-ending contrition for all the assumed sins he had committed during the school day–for an equally regimented but secular rich boys’ routine.

He had been accepted at Harvard College–where he was soon going to be a junior. He had played football at Harvard, but he was not a star and did not make varsity–so this year was his first without a demanding sport schedule. He was studying classics “plus”–like almost half his class at the time–with no specific ideas about his future. (But, he fervently hoped that he wouldn’t need to return to the farm.) Ten or so weeks each summer of hard labor was tolerable, but not a permanent feature of his future plans. He was a hard and diligent worker, but he was not cut out for farming. Raymond was probably the last DuBois farmer.

Andre had been in the fields all day, picking vegetables, weeding and managing the manually-operated sluice gates of the irrigation system. He worked alone and often day-dreamed as a consequence. He was an intelligent and sensitive boy, but naïve and immature despite his two years of college experience. His youth had been rigidly regimented. But despite this, he was a genuinely nice kid. In that sense, he was like most of the other “boys” of his generation. He was technically a man, but socially he was still a child.

He was hot, sweaty and dirty. He grabbed several pieces of fruit from the bowl on the kitchen table, called out to his Mama that he was heading for French’s Pond, but would be home for the family dinner. She didn’t acknowledge, but grunted approval to herself; at least he wouldn’t be destroying her clean bath or using up the hot water that her husband would demand.

Yvonne was very proud of her son. He was polite and would soon be well-educated. But, even more, she knew he was the kind of boy who attracted young ladies–wealthy and well-brought-up young ladies. So he (or maybe she) could have her pick, perhaps even elevating still more the position of her family in the community. He always did what he was told, she thought.

He was about 6 foot, which was tall for the time, with a head of thick and curly raven colored hair that took on reddish-gold highlights after a day in the sun. He was lank, but muscled from farm work, wide-shouldered, thin-waisted, with heavily muscled arms. (At times she regretted his need on the farm–French gentlemen didn’t display heavy muscles. That was for the working class.) He had a gaunt,but square and wide, “French” face with sunken cheeks, supple lips and emerald green eyes framed in long lashes–of the bedroom inviting variety. He was clean shaven, but could have very nice facial hair if he chose. Most would consider him to be at the edge of handsomeness. Naturally dark and even darker after all the summer sun. His mother was really pleased that he didn’t burn like so many of the “English” newcomers to Noubois. In short, he cut an aristocratic Continental image–not like those sissified English mama’s boys.

Only the farmer’s outfit he was wearing belied that image: tight cotton britches with a laced-up crotch, pant-legs tucked into boots and a billowy homespun shirt with laces at the throat and long sleeves. And now of course, all was heavily soiled and sweat-soaked.

And like any other farm mother, who had regularly bathed her men–or watched them as they bathed in the large tub on the porch which the helper had filled with hot water. So she knew he was carrying some pretty impressive equipment–even larger than her husband’s. No surgeon had been permitted to defile his reproductive organs. So his hood covered the head quite modestly. Some young lady would appreciate that someday.

She had already inventoried the crop of eligibles in Noubois and decided that she needed to cast her web farther afield to find someone worthy of Andre.

Andre slipped back into his boots outside the screen door, loped down the three wooden steps and headed for the pond, not far away. He was looking forward to the cool water, and hoped that, as was typical, it would be deserted or nearly so in the early evening. At a minimum, he knew all the young ladies and children would be home. Perhaps a few farm hands or friends, but no one else. He would swim in his drawers–or preferably in the nude.

As he walked, Andre’s thoughts drifted to the future. He had a few more weeks until he returned to Cambridge–away from the backbreaking labor of the farm, but more importantly away from his mother’s hovering protectiveness. She would rule his life if he let her. And so, to keep her at arm’s length, he had put on the “polite gentlemen son” exterior, agreeing to everything she said, working hard to help his father, but keeping his own ideas to himself. Andre was absolutely bursting with sexual energy, and he had almost no outlet, except his own callused palms at night.

Social life was beginning to open at Harvard, but students were still required to attend daily chapel, dress “appropriately” for class, behave as “gentlemen” at all times and meet curfews. This was true even for student athletes. Women were of course prohibited from the houses–except for chaperoned events, and did not attend classes with men. But there were quiet corners and a little free time which, by comparison to his mother’s minute control of his life, amounted to freedom.

Andre reached the pond and found it deserted. It was very quiet. You could even hear the whir of the few dragonflies floating above the crystal waters. He breathed in the cooler pine-scented air and smiled. He stripped–even the baggy drawers, dove in, shivered in the coldness (and at the risk of swimming nude) and swam a few laps, then over to the waterfall where he sat on the rocky ledge, after drenching himself with the cool mountain falls. He moved to the edge of the rock which was slippery and sunny, but not inundated by the falls. It was perfect: a long wide moss-covered ledge with a gently sloping rock “backrest.” He rested back and began to dream. He was a stunning apparition–a male “Odalesque”–nude, relaxed and magnificent in every way.

Being a young man in good health, his thoughts of course turned to sex. Although young ladies were attracted to his looks and athletic appearance, it was still 1940. He had now had six “dates” (he could recount each in detail)–really a few dances each and conversation over “punch” in a crowded room, all with different young ladies. He had managed to kiss two of them. One had responded with an open mouth and an active tongue. His arms surrounded her as he hugged her in, pressing her breasts to his. He couldn’t tell if she was big-breasted because of the rigid corset and padding, but she did have a nice small waist and soft hips. She immediately felt his heat and hardness–but unexpectedly had not bolted, but had pushed back, rubbing her thigh against him. He was so excited that he had shot in his drawers and had to make excuses and leave before he was embarrassed. But he was pretty sure she knew what she had caused. He looked for her a week later, but she didn’t appear.

That was his sole sexual experience–except of course for the routine mutual jerk sessions that the boys at the school had engaged in. It was the single most important way that they could thumb their noses at rules and convention. He knew what an orgasm felt like, had done it to himself many times but had never permitted any of his mates to do it for him. He knew they were attracted to his beauty–and the unusual size of his cock. But that was it.

Despite the cold and the fact that he was near a frigid waterfall, his dreams produced a semi, then an erection as he slowly stroked himself. He was in another world, oblivious to everything. Soon he was rigid and at the edge. His thoughts tried to picture someone (female) doing this to him.

Then he felt a subtle change in the atmosphere. Andre realized that something was different. It was warmer. He jolted upright and released his shaft, but it was seconds too late. He felt the automatic spasms take charge and the ever-wonderful feeling of release. He blasted several long shots of cum into the pond before opening his eyes.

“Fuck. It looks like you really enjoyed that, boy.”

Andre jumped and opened his eyes to find another young man, maybe a little older, who had apparently entered the pond and headed to the familiar perch near the waterfall. He was leaning on the rock, still mostly in the water, his head only a few inches from Andre’s still swollen cock. Andre didn’t know him, so he probably wasn’t from Noubois. He had never seen him before. So he was wary. And his use of “fuck” certainly marked him as foreign to their town.

“Don’t let me stop you. Please continue. Nice dick. I’m Finn, by the way. I’m going off for a swim to let you finish.” With that, he pushed off and demonstrating a strong crawl, Finn completed several laps of the pond before pulling himself back up on the ledge. While he swam, Andre considered leaving, but the mystery of another nude guy in “his” pond held him in place.

Finn stood under the shower fall without embarrassment. He too was nude. He was fair-skinned, arms and face rosy from the sun, freckled and with a riot of curly red hair. His body color (redder arms and neck) and tone suggested that he too was a farm worker. He was nicely endowed, long and thin, over egg-shaped balls, set in curly rose pubes, but cut–so probably Catholic and from the city. He seemed to be older, or at least more experienced than Andre. Certainly his body language suggested he was quite comfortable with nudity in the presence of another guy. He was showing off as he stroked and fluffed.

Finn immediately realized that Andre was scoping him, perhaps a little more intently focused on his crotch and concluded that Andre might be up for something more. Finn himself was not very experienced. He had never taken a woman to bed, but he and a few buds had stroked, blown, and once even rimmed a bit. Several older guys had offered him money to stroke and blow them. He had accepted–the strokes, not the blows, with strangers. That was just too much even for a poor lad. But, he knew he enjoyed it. Finn leaned back, insured his dick was free of his thighs and hanging forward and moved to his side to face Andre as though he too owned the ledge. He introduced himself and made small talk, while frequently moving his free hand to his cock or balls to reposition them. He was like a cobra, hypnotizing his prey, but holding back and not attacking.

Finn was indeed from Boston. He and his brother were in Noubois for the summer working to send a bit back home. He was a third generation Irishman, but the O’Neill family hadn’t made much progress up the social and economic ladder in those fifty or so years. He had graduated high school–on the vocational side–thanks to the largess of the Boston Democrat political machine. He was a stone mason, with several years of experience, but no one was building now. Finn held up his hands as evidence–they were huge and callused, with a few scars, but with very strong long fingers. Immediately after the demonstration of his large hands, Finn unselfconsciously reached down again and cupped his balls, causing his semi to point outward at Andre.

The seduction seemed to be having the desired effect. Andre licked his lips. His eyes were hooded, but glued. And despite his recent ejaculation, he was chubbing again. The shaft began to rise from the supporting balls, highlighted by Andre’s un-tanned midsection. Finn guessed that he might have some fun with this guy after all. He had a few more weeks before the harvest was over, and he had to return home to an uncertain future.

Andre responded with a very brief bio, claiming his Noubois pedigree, but leaving out much and denigrating the size of their farm.

Suddenly, reading the desire in Andre’s eyes, Finn reached over and gripped Andre’s cock, feeling the moisture from the residual cum from of recent ejaculation, rolling the hood back to disclose the angry purple head. Andre jolted, colored immediately, but didn’t back off. He loved the sensation as he felt the rough fist on his cock and the blood pumping into the shaft. Andre was a beauty. That cock was one of the best, almost sacred in its size and shape, Finn thought. And Andre was so fucking sensuous! And so fucking ready! He was thrusting his hips forward with each stroke, asking for more. He was a ripe peach ready to be picked and sucked. Finn reached under and cradled the balls, fondling them in his fingers. The shaft hardened even more and a droplet of precum emerged. Finn knew he had him, but decided it was time to let Andre make the next move.

But, Andre needed time to process all these events. Finn had moved too quickly, assumed too much. No boy had ever touched him before. Andre stood and dove into the cold pond. Finn watched carefully. Fuck, that ass was a bloody work of art. And that dick was a trophy! If he could tag this guy, it was the equivalent of shooting an eight or ten point stag. (He had never hunted in his life, but he liked the image. He might spend his days gathering on the Coogan farm, but his time was for hunting.)

Despite his horniness and apparent forwardness, Finn was not terribly experienced in “matters of the flesh.” As a Catholic, everything was sinful. Maybe even in the marriage bed. He had gone to high school and lived at home. At the time there were no sports for vo-tech students–so he’d seen very few locker room nude boys his age. He had no boarding school adventures and no “special friends.” But so many bros and sisters that he never found any time to be alone. He hadn’t dated–although he had “felt up” a few indentured servant lassies in the park at dusk. But, he had imagined a lot after the older guys had approached him, and paid him to do them–and he had a vivid imagination.

In fact, the risks he had taken in the last few minutes, probably revealing himself to Andre, were the first time he had made the first move. And the first time that he was actually attracted to a guy. He made up his mind on the spot that he’d be returning to the pond frequently, maybe every evening. He was a bright boy, and as he pulled his soiled work clothes back on, he realized that he hadn’t really been the seducer. Andre had seduced him! He might look the alpha, but Andre owned the title–if he wanted to claim it. Finn was going to get this guy–and Andre was going to think it was his idea! Yes, trips back to the pond were a must.