Reflections in a Golden Eye



They started having a Three-Way together—Ellgee Williams, Lenora and Pendleton. 

It was better than what Carson McCullers had originally planned—having Penderton shoot the young handsome voyeur in his wife’s bedroom.
Private Williams wasn’t just some dumb young animal—nor was he mentally retarded or slow like some young men are. 

He was smart and sneaky, good at slowly climbing the stairs up to Lenora’s bedroom wearing his quiet tennis shoes. 

And yet how stupid can you get—using knife to get into an officer’s house, sneaking up the stairs late at night and then playing Peeping Tom with a young beautiful officer’s wife while she sleeps in bed?

Scouting out the home after hours while the whole officers neighbored slept?  In the darkness of the night, Williams a young Peeping Tom checking out the nightly habits of Capt Penderton and his unhappy wife Lenora. Is that what the private sensed?

They slept in separate bedrooms. The captain working late at night in his study.  They didn’t have sex—they were an unhappily married neurotic couple.

Young Williams ogled at Leonora & and started cruising Lenora when she got drunk and stormed around the house in the nude.

Ellgee Williams was a virgin—but his strong muscular hands weren’t. Once he got into Leonora’s bedroom, that’s when he Unzipped his pants.

There was beautiful drunk Leonora passed-out — sprawled like a sleeping leopard or panther in bed. 
She had the same supple animalesque sensuality and naturalness as Private Williams as she slept passed-out in the nude.

Once, twice, three times. Young Williams got himself off, slowly, silently, quietly beating off. Sealing his lips with struggling Silence—as he did what all men do. Getting off, oozing, squirting, shooting his young fucking brains out.

He was just a normal decadent over-sexed Southern kid—with his extra-keen animal intelligence and naturally naive Male intuition. NO wonder the horses liked him—liked to be rubbed down by him and his big strong hands. They knew. 

Everybody pretended not to know—but Allison and Anacleto next door knew. They’d seen him at night cruising the Capt’s home—moiling about in the bushes and moonlight. The night knew.

Even Penderton knew—watching it happen every night. Penderton watched when the young private creeped up the stairs late every night. He’d watched the private come and go into Leonora’s bedroom and stared at him in bed. Wanting him, desiring him. 

Penderton was a Peeping Tom too just like the private, maybe even more so. There was dark passed-out Lenora—lying drunk and oblivious in her rumpled bed. There was Private Williams—usually buck naked, masturbating silently at the foot of the bed. There was Capt Penderton peeping in through the crack in his bedroom door as the kid came and left.

Instead of shooting him though, the Capt wanted something else. He wanted more than anything for the young private to fucking shoot him instead. But that, of course, was too queer a deal for an officer and a gentleman. He fought the impulse like most closet cases and yet he was a voyeur. 

Finally the Capt got his nerve up and talked Leonora into a three-way—that way the private could be had by both of them. The hung private would fuck Lenora to death (which she loved) while the Capt got to enjoy vicariously the exquisite forbidden pleasures of queer adultery with his tongue worming its way up the kid’s tight-sweaty asshole as he fucked Lenora inside-out and upside-down. 

Rimming the private at first, then as things got better the Capt joining in and starting fucking Private Williams as he was fucking his wife Lenora. All three of them doing the dirty all night long. And then some. The Capt slowly fucking the private and Lenora slowly fucking the private. Such was Southern Decadence, my dears. Slow and easy like black molasses, baby.

Allison and Anacleto simply shook their heads and laughed. The only one displeased was her husband Morris who'd been getting it on with Lenora when they went horseback riding. He fumed and pouted, but there was nothing he could do.

“How simply, simply, exquisitely... ” Anacleto started saying fluttering around his mistress Allison when he served her tea and crumpets. 

“Simply, exquisitely grotesque…” Allison said, completing his thought. The Deep South certainly has a way of shining its Golden Eye on human weaknesses and vanities. 

But that’s just the way things were back then, down there in the damp humid decaying indecent decadent South on that lonely isolated peacetime army base. 

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