Hobbits Across America

Frodo gingerly poked at the soil in his victory garden. Nothing was growing, nothing at all. "Harrumph," he harrumphed, greatly frustrated at the lack of fecundity in the rich Indiana loam he had tended so carefully. "Why won't anything grow?" he asked the empty garden.


Inside, Bilbo was smoking on his pipe and sitting on a rocking chair with a shawl over his lap. He had the radio turned way up, because he was hard of hearing. Frodo walked in and joined him. "Nothing will grow in that stupid garden. How am I supposed to help the war effort when I can't even grow a stupid cabbage?" Frodo asked, half-rhetorically.


"WHAT?" Bilbo yelled loudly.


"Never mind."


"I can't hear you. SPEAK UP!" Bilbo shouted. Frodo just shrugged and went into the kitchen. He sighed a little and then picked up a newspaper. He looked to see how the war was going. He couldn't wait until it was over so that all of the hot young men would come back, especially his friends Merry and Pippin. He missed them a lot. It didn't seem like the war was going to be over anytime soon. Until then he was just going to have take all of his frustration out on his Victory Garden, which at the moment wasn't even close to victorious.


"Bilbo?" Frodo asked.


"Yeah, what?" Bilbo sputtered.


"I'm going into town to catch a newsreel."


"Bring back some carrots for the stew."


"Why can't we eat the carrots out of my Victory Garden?" Frodo moaned.


"Trust me, no one is ever going to eat anything out of your Victory Garden."


"Is that supposed to be a double-entendre?"


Bilbo laughed. Then he stopped laughing and became very grave. "No, it's not. I'm being totally sincere. You're a horrible failure, Frodo. You got rejected from the army, and you can't grow an edible vegetable. You'll never be a decent husband, and you'll never find one, either." Bilbo threw his bottle of scotch at Frodo's head. "Now bring me back my carrots by dusk or you'll be sorry!" Frodo sniffled and shuffled out of the house.


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At the theater, Frodo paid his nickel and got a popcorn. He sat down in the back row, but it reminded him of how he and Fred had used to neck back there before Fred's plane had been shot down over Rouen. Frodo tried to cry silently, but he couldn't contain himself. Loud wailing bellowed noisily from the back row. Some people turned around to gawk, but most of the people watching the newsreel before the movie were wailing loudly themselves.


After the movie, Frodo walked back to his home. He passed the fenced-in wasteland generally known as his Victory Garden on his way in. Honestly, it did look a little sad. How was he going to find a way to grow vegetables?


Just then, Frodo noticed a stocky teenager examining his vegetables, or lack there of. "Excuse me!" Frodo whinnied.


"Oh, sorry," the handsome stranger replied.


"Who are you? I hope you're not planning on stealing any vegetables out of my Victory Garden."


"What vegetables?" the stocky hunk replied.


"Umm..."


"The name's Sam."


"I'm Frodo. Aren't you too handsome to be not fighting in Europe right now?" Frodo batted his eyelashes, flirting unabashedly.


"I'd like to think so, but I'm only 16. Still in high school, sir."


"Oh, I see. So why are you lingering around my Victory Garden, you pretty young thing?"


"Well, I consider myself an amateur gardener, and I was thinking of ways I could help this sorry plot of land."


"Oh, really? I could think of a few ways..."


"Yes?" Sam asked unproductively. "Tell me about a few ways to shape up this vegetable patch."


"To be honest," Frodo admitted, "I haven't got any."


"Well, if you ever need some help, let me know." Frodo flinched, and when he flinched (as was his luck) every one of the correct muscles seemed to flinch as well, making him particularly attractive, which he was not. He was unusually skinny and lacked any bulk whatsoever; he also had thin, longish black hair in an age when light and short were in. His skin was the color of rotten milk, and he had voluptuous, rosy-colored lips — not necessarily from birth, mind you, but Frodo generally employed his lips often (unsurprisingly) and (surprisingly) carefully. Sam, having thin, pale lips, was much more in-vogue. Of course, nobody in suburban Indiana knew this except for Frodo. He subscribed to Vogue and, as it happened, The New Yorker.


"Tell me," he said dryly, observing the youth's well-defined upper arms. "Where do you live, Sam?"


"I beg your pardon, sir, but will you first answer me a couple of questions?"


"Sure," Frodo said flippantly.


"How old are you?"


"Well!" Frodo snapped. "I knew we'd get here eventually. I'm 28, Sam, not that you are ever permitted to discuss that fact again." They both smiled wryly.


"And why aren't you in Europe or, failing that, Japan?" Now Frodo smiled sadly.


"Very interesting, Sam. The answer may upset you, so you might want to cover your ears. No? Well, all right then."


"Well?" Sam said as he crossed his arms.


"Well, indeed, Stan..."


"Sam. It's Sam."


"Yes, anyway, the reason I'm not in the army is because they wouldn't take me."


"Why? Do you have multiple sclerosis or something?"


"Heavens no! They seemed to think I had some mental issues that made it inappropriate for me to be around so many men all the time, if you know what I mean." Frodo winked awkwardly.


"I'm sorry, I don't."


"That's good. Now help me with my garden."


"Okay, I've got nothing else to do. Where do you want me to start?"


"Well, you can start by removing your shirt. Ha! Ha!"


Sam sexily stripped. His bulging pectorals made Frodo almost forget about Sam's equally bulging gut. "What else?"


Frodo though for a moment. "I think my back area needs to be hoed."


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A few hours later, Frodo popped back into the house. "I'm ba-ack!" he chimed.


"Do you have my carrots?" Bilbo pestered.


"Um..." Frodo looked down at the one sturdy carrot he held in his grubby paw. "No."


"Gosh darnit, you useless little..."


"I'll be in my room, bye!" Frodo ran into his room and slammed the door.


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Over dinner, sans carrots, Frodo squawked cheerfully. "I met a boy today," he said.


"Oh, great," Bilbo snidely whiplashed.


"No, I mean that literally. I met a boy."


"Oh, even better. How old is this boy?"


"I don't know, 12 or so."


Bilbo almost spit out his carrotless stew. "Twelve!"


"Okay, he's 16."


"That's still illegal!"


"Is it?"


"I actually don't know."


"Well, it's good that you can't get arrested if you don't know the law, because I'm meeting him at a coffee shop tomorrow afternoon."


"Actually, ignorance isn't an excuse. You can get arrested if you don't know the law."


"Oh well."


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The next day, Frodo rode his bike into downtown Lafayette, Indiana. He gazed longingly at the new Amana refrigerators in the window of the appliance store. 'Those could probably keep carrots fresh for months!' he thought. He locked his bike to a parking meter and went into the coffee shop. Sam was already there.


Sam waved gingerly. "Frodo! You're here! I didn't know if you'd come."


"Really? I thought for sure you'd be a no-show."


"I told my pa I needed some math tutoring, so if anyone asks you're my math tutor. Capesce?"


"Sure. I'll tutor you anytime. So, what's up, you stud?"


"Not much. I bought some seeds for your garden."


"Seeds? You need seeds? I had no idea," Frodo said slowly. "Tell me more."


"What do you want to hear?" Sam was getting sultry.


"Actually, can you show me?" Frodo batted his eyelashes.


"Let's go to your victory garden. I can show you there, where it's nice and private."


"Let's go."


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Back at the victory garden, Frodo swooned in ecstasy after hours of vigorous, sweaty activity. "I never thought it would be so perfect!" he chimed.


"I know," said Sam.


"Who knew you could plant that thing so deep?"


"Not me."


"Anyway, it's beautiful," Frodo said sweetly, petting his new tomato plant. "And these rows are so straight!"


"I'm just glad you liked it," Sam agreed. "Well, it's time to be getting home. I've got algebra homework."


"Wait!" Frodo cried. "Let's do something!"


"Um, what did you have in mind?" Sam asked.


"You look hot and sweaty," said Frodo. "So let's take a shower!" Sam gave him a weird look. "One after the other," he added sheepishly.


"It's been great, Mr. Frodo, but I've got to go. Give your regards to your uncle for me."


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"I'm so fucking disappointed. Why won't that piece of hot ass just jump me already?" Frodo yelled as he slammed the door loudly.


Bilbo craned his neck around the corner, grabbing his large brass earhorn from the carpet. "What was that? I couldn't hear a word you said, young Frodo."


"I said, I'm so lucky and pointed. I won't have a piece or pass to jump already.’ " Frodo slyly covered up.


"Oh, okay. Make me some stew. Did you bring home those parsnips?"


"Yes, just take them. I have a feeling I won't be needing any cylindrical vegetables for awhile."


"Great," Bilbo grumbled.


Just then someone knocked on the door. "Who is it?" Frodo sing-songed.


"It's me, the Widow Rumble. I brought over some rutabagas from my victory garden."


"Wow, those are huge." Bilbo gawked as he opened the door. "I wish Frodo's rutabagas were as big as yours."


"My rutabagas are plenty large, thank you very much." Frodo nipped.


"Frodo, go put these in the stew." Bilbo chided.


"Is that even what you do with rutabagas?" Frodo asked. Bilbo and Frodo both turned to the Widow Rumble expectantly.


"What are you looking at me for?" the Widow snapped, "I have no idea what you do with rutabagas."


"They're a root vegetable," said an annoying little voice behind the Widow. "They're delicious boiled or steamed, or, my personal favorite, mashed with a little olive oil for flavor."


"Sam!" Frodo cried, nearly jumping into the boy's arms. "I had no idea you knew so much about rutabagas!"


"Hello," said Sam awkwardly, with just a hint of 'what are you doing in my arms?' "I'm here to water the cabbage."


"Oh, boy," said Bilbo. "I think the widow and I will have a cup of tea and discuss the war effort."


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"They're totally having sex," Frodo said crudely as Sam followed him out to the garden. " 'The war effort' is like his euphemism for a blow job."


"You mean like with a hair dryer?"


"No." Frodo and Sam looked at each other awkwardly for a moment. "Look, Sam, you're a handsome young fellow."


"Thank you," Sam said shyly. "Rose thinks so too."


"Well, it's nice of your sister to compliment you like that."


"Rose isn't my sister. She's my girlfriend."


"What?" Frodo asked. "You have a girlfriend? Since when?"


"About a year. After I finish school I'm gonna join the army, and when I get back we're going to get married."


"Have you ever heard of inversion, Sam?"


"Is that a mathematical principle, sir?"


"Not quite."


"Hee hee," Sam giggled.


"What's that for, sexy?" Frodo was heavily putting on the moves.


"I just think it's funny how hard you are trying to seduce me," Sam said flatly.


"Whatever are you talking about? Are you coming on to me, young man?"


"Oh, come on, your flirting is as obvious as Hitler's moustache is stupid."


"Umm..."


"Don't worry. It worked." Sam said as he pounced on top of Frodo, tearing off his shirt in one brutal motion.


"My t-shirt!" Frodo yelped.


"You won't be needing that anymore."


"Oh, take me, you big strong man, take me and take me now."


"Yes, sir, Mr. Frodo."


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The next day, Sam didn't come to water the vegetables. "So, how are things with your little friend?" Bilbo asked awkwardly over dinner.


"Bad," Frodo pouted. "We made it, and now I think he hates me."


"I know what you mean," Bilbo confered. "The Widow Rumble -- or, as I call her, Agnes -- told me that she wants to see other men. Other men! There are no other men. Except for you. And high schoolers. Everyone else is dead, or in France."


"Or Japan."


"Yes, or Japan. But anyway, my problem is more worthy of complaint than yours."


"You're right, it is." Just as Frodo was about to ladle some delicious stew -- new and improved thanks to Sam's alfalfa sprouts -- the doorbell rang. "I'll get it!" Frodo cried. He waddled to the door. "Sammypoo!" he snivelled.


"Hi, Mr. Frodo."


"I love you! I mean, how are you!"


"Um, I'm fine."


"Those alfalfa sprouts were to die for Sam. How many more times do I have to blow you for some carrots? Why weren't you there today to help me with my garden?"


"I had a date with Rosie. We got to third base. Isn't that cool?"


"Why are you telling me this? Of course it's not 'cool' if that's what you youngins are saying these days..."


"Actually it's not. I'm way ahead of the times"


"Whatever. I thought you were going to dump that hussy."


"No way. We're planning on getting hitched when we turn 18, which is conveniently on the same day, April 6."


"What about me? Didn't I give you the best blowjob of your life?" pleaded Frodo.


"Yes, of course. You rocked my world. I don't want to end things with you, not ever. But I'm going to keep seeing Rosie, and we're still planning on getting married."


"Does she know that you're a big fat homo?"


"Let's not bring my weight into this, Mr. Frodo."


"Well, does she know that you thing her vagina is disgusting?"


"I never said that."


"But you know it's true."


"Yeah, I know. Vagina, gross."


"Well, Sam, I guess it's time for the part in the story where I use a lot of disgusting planting metaphors to describe our sex," Frodo said sweelty, slipping out of his dungarees.


"Mr. Frodo, why are you taking off your pants on the front porch?"


"What? Oh, right." Frodo and Sam went back to Frodo's bedroom.


"Lovely twin bed you've got here."


"Shut up, Sam. Now, where were we?"


"You were taking off your pants."


"Yes, I sure was." Frodo came over to Sam and undid his overalls. "I think I've got a rough patch of garden around the back that needs some planting," he growled.


"This is really weird," said Sam. "I'm perfectly happy to have sex with you, but could you cut it out with the metaphors?"


"What? No. Oh!" Frodo swooned as he pulled his lean little cock out of his tight, white briefs. "Come here and give Frodo some sugar."


"Okay! Okay! Go back to the metaphors."


"Damn straight. That's like the whole point of this story."


"Story?"


"You know, episode. Our little fling. Whatever. Now tend to my back area!"


Sam was confused. "What is that supposed to mean?"


"Have you ever heard of analingus? Because I want some, and I want it now."


"No, I'm afraid I have no idea what you are talking about."


Frodo sighed. "Okay, let me see if I can think of how to put this into gardening metaphors. You know how if you’re not careful, and your garden is overrun by nematodes and you need to find a cure for it fast?"


"Can you just tell me what it is? I'm not getting any of this."


"Just lick my butthole, you clod."


"Umm..."


"What? You don't want to?"


"It's not that. I've just never done it before, and I'm nervous."


"Look, I'm really clean if that's what you're concerned about."


"It's not that..."


"I'll do it to you first..."


"Okay." Sam stuck his butt out and Frodo began to work his magic.


"See," Frodo asked, wiping his mouth. "Mission accomplished."


"What mission?" Sam sassed. "You weren't on a mission. And I didn't even come. How is that accomplishing anything?"


"Look, Sam, I don't know and I don't care. Now, you do the same to me." Frodo spread his wonderfully rounded bottom. "Right there, big boy. Give me some of that sweet, sweet tonguin'."


"See, Mr. Frodo, I'm not very comfortable with this."


"All right, fine. Just fuck me." At this, Sam perked up. He placed the head of his wee-wee at the entrance to Frodo's La-La Land. "Now, stick it in."


"Um..."


"Oh, yeah!" Frodo remembered. "Here." He handed Sam a tube of Astroglide. "Rub some of that in my butt, okay? Then, for the love of god, fuck me!" Sam slid his eager cock into Frodo's waiting anus. "Yay!" he cried, nearly swooning. Sam grunted.


"Oh, boy," Frodo lolled. "Can we go a little faster?"


"Um..."


"Yes, Sam. The only answer is 'yes.' "


"Um, yes?"


"That's right. Atta boy." Sam fucked Frodo faster. "Now do it harder," Frodo ordered.


"You want it harder and faster?"


"I've got news for you, Sam: That's pretty much how it goes with sex. Now, harder!
Faster!"


"Yes sir!"


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Meanwhile the Widow Rumble and Bilbo were facing a similar predicament, but nobody wants to hear about that...


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The next day Sam showed up right on time to help Frodo with his garden. Frodo was delighted. "Samwise!" he shouted seductively, "Come to the garden shed. I want you to show me which tool to use to plant some bulbs real deep."


Sam replied huskily, "Oh, I'll show you which tool to use." Sam playfully chased Frodo into the tool shed where Frodo had already laid out a sheet and lit some cinnamon-scented candles. Sam tackled Frodo to the ground where they had a quick fuck before getting to work on the garden. “Getting to work on the garden” of course meant more sex.


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"What was that?" Bilbo asked, lifting his head out from between the Widow Rumble's legs.


"Nothing! Just get back to work."


"No, I think it was the doorbell." Bilbo put on his robe and slippers and shuffled to the door. He opened it to reveal a middle-aged man wearing a plaid flannel under light-blue corduroy overalls.


"Hullo," said the man.


"Hi," said Bilbo. "Can I help you?"


"You Baggins?"


"Yes, I'm Bilbo Baggins. Who the hell are you?"


"I'm Hamfast Gamgee, but everyone calls me 'the gaffer.' "


"Are you a lighting gaffer?"


"No, I'm a gardener."


"Why does everyone call you 'the gaffer?' "


"Look," said the gaffer, pulling out a knife, "you're not the one who should be asking questions. I have reason to believe my son, Sam, might be lurking around, and I want you to take me to him."


Bilbo, who knew exactly what Sam and Frodo were doing but had no sense of decency or honor, smiled. "You know what, I think he might be out back helping my nephew, Frodo, with the garden. Should I take you back there?"


"You'd better." Just then a naked old woman wandered out of the master bedroom.


"Agnes!" Bilbo squealed.


"Bilbo, what the hell are you doing? I told you, I'm not interested in a three-way. Leave that French crap to the odd girls downtown."


"Oh, no, this isn't what it looks like. I just have to take the gaffer here to Frodo. Then I'll be right back. Is that okay, honey?"


"Sure, whatev. I'll be raiding your fridge."


Bilbo continued to lead the Gaffer out to the garden. At first it seemed like nobody was out there, but even Bilbo's less than keen ears could hear the loud moanings coming from the toolshed.


"What's that racquet?" the Gaffer asked.


"Oh, you'll see," Bilbo replied knowingly.


They walked up to the door of the toolshed, which Bilbo briskly opened, exposing Sam with Frodo ear-deep into his crotch.


"It's not what you think!" Sam shouted.


"Mmmrmmhph!" exlaimed Frodo, his vocalizations blocked by Sam's enormous cock.


"Sweet Jesus!" shouted the Gaffer, immediately suffering a small heart attach unbeknownst to him.


"Frodo!" shouted Bilbo, half-shocked, half-bored.


"What?" Frodo asked, disloding Sam's penis from his dainty wee throat.


"What the hell are you doing?"


"Oh, don't be shocked," Frodo wrote off. "You knew I was gay when you married me."


"We're not married!" Bilbo sputtered. "But now that you mention it, Agnes said 'yes.' Say goodbye to the Widow Rumble and hello to the Widow Baggins!"


"Are you going to die?" Frodo asked, one little tear forming at the corner of his eye.


"No."


"Oh, thank god," the gaffer sacasted. To Sam, he continued, "Now, what's to be done about this sodomitical little jaunt of yours?"


"Send me to reform school?" Sam asked.


"Send him to reform school?" Frodo ventured.


"I would also like to put in a guess for reform school," Bilbo concluded.


"Worse," said the gaffer. "I'm sending you to live with your cousin Holman in Columbus, Georgia, where's there's absolutely no gay sex."


"Are you sure about that?" Frodo asked.


"Positive."