Return of the Loon

Gregory Harrison Polk stared out over the moonlit lake near his new cabin and thought of what he had lost during the damned war now thankfully over. The English had burned his homestead in the Alleghenies. The French had destroyed his crops. The Indians had taken all of his livestock. Only his life had been spared, his life and his determination to rebuild. He would survive. The colonies would survive. No Englishman, Frenchman or indian could stop him. The war was over.

But there was an Indian Gregory longed to see, longed to hear his call of the loon across the lake, signalling the arrival of his canoe from across the lake to Gregory's landing. Gregory longed for Whitewater, an Iroquois brave who had broken with the French due to his love and devotion to his great friend and love, Gregory. It had been so long since he last saw his lover, so long since the end of the war. But his heart could not let go. On moonlit nights like this, he waited on the shore. He waited, alone, for years.

He was alone, but not without memories. Standing on the shore, he remembered the first time he heard the call of the loon. Whitewater had glided his canoe onto the shore, stood and faced Gregory for the first time. There was an immediate connection that neither man could or wanted to deny. Gregory approached Whitewater and said, "Welcome. Do you need shelter for the night?" "Thank you, brother. Yes, I am far from my village." As the two disparate men walked to the homestead, they apprised each other. Gregory saw a lithe, tall Indian with smooth, bronze skin and flashing black eyes. Whitewater saw a sinewy redheaded Englishman with honest green eyes. They entered the wide, low door together, exchanging names.

Gregory was overcome as he remembered that first night. He had never had feelings for a man as he did for this Indian. As he prepared for bed, Whitewater had sat in a corner, watching him. Gregory stripped to his longjohns and climbed into his comfortable country bed. As he began to settle under covers, he saw that Whitewater was in the same position in the corner. "You can't sleep there, Whitewater," he lifted the cover, "come, sleep in the bed." Whitewater ambled to the bed and said, "I do not sleep with blankets or clothes." Gregory threw back the bed covers and wiggled out of his longjohns. Whitewater shucked off his deerskins. They smiled at each other's nudity as Whitewater crawled into Gregory's bed.

Niether man could sleep. Whitewater threw his arm over Gregory's lightly hairy chest and said, "Gregory, you are a handsome man. It would be a lie if I did not tell you that I am drawn to you." Gregory did not know what these feelings racing through body were. He just knew that he wanted to touch this naked Indian all over. He stroked Whitewater's smooth bronze chest and his feelings concentrated themselves in his cock.

Whitewater stroked Gregory down his chest past his flat stomach and took hold of Gregory's now erect pole. "Whitewater, I have never been with a man before." "I will teach you how to love a man." Whitewater engulfed Gregory's cock with his mouth. Gregory's body went rigid with pleasure. They spent the night sucking each other's cocks. Gregory said, "Whitewater, I have never felt like this about another man. Is it love?" "I have never loved a white man, Gregory. But I share your feelings. I know that this is love, as only two men can experience it."

The next few days were a joyous celebration of man-love. They fished and hunted in the nude, and made love. But Whitewater said, "Gregory, I must go back to my village so that they do not think the English have killed me." "The English?" "You have not heard. The English are warring against the French. My tribe has allied with the French. Your land is in an English colony. If English soldiers come here, they will kill me." Gregory was shocked, "Then you came here to spy on me?" Whitewater hugged Gregory, "No, my brother, no. I came across the big water to find a path to move my people. I was not successful, but the spirits guided me into your arms."

Gregory was overwhelmed with love, "And you must go?" "I must. I must help my village. I may be too late now. I will not fight for the French. But I will return. Listen for the call of the loon on a moonlit night. It will be me returning to your side." They embraced and kissed. Gregory prepared food for Whitewater's journey and helped the Indian pack his canoe. After one more session in Gregory's comfortable bed, Gregory helped Whitewater push his canoe into the lake and watched the craft get smaller to the horizon.

Whitewater had good instincts. He wasn't gone an hour before a small regiment of English soldiers appeared, looking for French-sympathizing Indians. When they found Whitewater's deerskins with Iroquois markings, they burned Gregory's homestead to the ground. Days later, the French burned his crops. Then starving Indian bands raided his livestock. But Gregory was a true pioneer. He cut trees for a cabin and salvaged seed from his ravaged fields and replanted.

Then he waited. Waited for his love to return. Travelers told him the war was over. When Gregory asked about the Iroquois, he was answered with shrugs and vague points to the north, maybe Canada. So Gregory waited. And on this moonlit night, as he stood on the shore, Gregory heard the call of the loon! As he waded into the lake, he saw the outline of a canoe! He swam as fast as he could toward his vision. He would find Whitewater or drown. Just as he was completely exhausted and began to sink, a strong bronze arm grabbed him and pulled him into a canoe. 

Whitewater had saved his lover's life. They kissed and for the first time in his life, Whitewater cried for joy. The days that followed were a celebration of manhood and of love. For truly, these two men deserved the loving company of each other.