Date: Tue, 21 Mar 2000 12:14:58 -0500
From: John Ellison <ellisonj@pwgsc.gc.ca>
Subject: A Sailor's Tale - Part 3
Author's Note:- This is the 3rd and last part of my story. It contains
graphic scenes of gay sex and if you are under 18 years of age, or live in
a state where this writing is illegal - move on. I wish to thank those of
you who e-mailed such encouraging notes. They were, and are, much
appreciated and have encouraged me to go on. I emphasize once again that
the buildings and scenes are fictionalized and an amalgam of "A" Block in
Halifax, and Nelles Block in Esquimalt. The characters depicted are total
fiction and bear no resemblance to anyone I served with. I must also
apologize in that there was some confusion as to how I ended each segment
of the story. Instead of writing "to be continued" I just ended the thing.
I promise in future to make sure that each section is clearly ended. Once
again, please remember that much, if not all of this story takes place
prior to the AIDS horror. Play safe, be safe.
A Sailor's Tale - Part 3
Chapter One
After dropping Sean off I drove back to the Barracks, went
to my room, made up my rack, crawled under the cool sheets and died. I
slept soundly until around 1500 when I awoke. The room, even though all
the windows were open, was very close and muggy. I showered and settled
down to plow through the pile of papers the Kid had given me only the
morning before. It was a no go. The room was far too hot for my liking,
and the breeze blowing in from the sea was moist and warm, a portent of a
storm brewing.
Since the Barracks was not air conditioned, and not likely
to be in my lifetime, I could strip down and suffer, go to the Mess, which
was air conditioned, or I could do something about it. Since I wanted to
get some work done I decided to do something about it. I grabbed my check
book and boogied on over to the CANEX, where I paid about 10 per cent above
market for a window air conditioner, which served me right for being too
lazy to drive into Victoria. I also hit the beer store, and picked up a
pizza. Food in the Mess Hall on the weekends was usually abysmal, since the
place was manned by the most junior Cooks and one pissed-off Cook Petty
Officer (Pissed off because he had to work the week end). Besides, I liked
pizza.
Back in my room I loaded up the fridge, wrestled the air
conditioning unit into a window, flashed it up, cracked a bottle of beer,
and settled back to my reading. Truth be told, come Monday a.m., I would be
a glorified hotel keeper. The info package contained roster sheets,
booking sheets, linen inventories, and duty rosters. I was responsible for
safety and discipline. I was responsible for cleanliness. My list of
duties seemed to go on and on, boiled down to keeping the riffraff out
(mainly women), the beds supplied with clean linen, and the pissers clean.
To assist me I had a staff of five, plus civilian cleaners
who came in daily and cleaned the common areas and the heads and wash
places. During the summer and fall training periods I was on duty from
0800 until 1600, and on call for the balance of the day. While the desk
was manned until midnight, and we usually knew well in advance how many
bodies were expected at any given time on any given day, I had to be
available in the event of trouble, or a busload of ratings showing up
unannounced, a fight in one of the rooms, or an obnoxious drunk.
Permanent residents were mostly low ranking support
staff, Cooks, Stewards, Storesmen and the like, who, according to a neatly
lettered and laid out Watch and Station Bill, stood one watch (4 hours) in
142, manning the desk.
According to the Booking Rosters we could expect every
non-transient cabin to be in constant use until September.
I continued to read well into the night, polishing off the
pizza, and sipping beer. I was vaguely aware of the deep rolling thunder
of a storm approaching when I crawled into bed, exhausted, and not a little
drunk.
Sunday dawned like any other day on the West Coast, with
clear skies and a warm sun. I stretched and scratched, then got up,
showered, and dressed. Shortly after 11 I left the Barracks and wandered
over to the Chiefs' Mess where, for $4.00, I purchased a ticket for brunch.
It was good value for money, and was not catered out of the Mess Hall. I
loaded my plate with food and walked into the dining room. Sunday was
family day, and more than half the tables were filled with families - wives
and kids of the Chiefs and Petty Officers assigned to the Dockyard. It was
also open to all ranks, and here and there were families of some of the
more senior ratings, and an Officer or two.
I found a small corner table and was about to start
eating when I heard someone call my name. I looked up to see Chris, with
his characteristic rolling strides, heading towards my table.
I had known him from my first days in Gunnery School.
He was my height, with close cropped dark blond hair - he always had what
we called a brush cut, nice blue eyes, and an open, friendly face. He also
had slightly bowed legs which gave him a rolling gait that all sailors are
associated with but most never have.
From time to time we all come across a guy whose pants
we would really like to get into, but who was yesterday, is today, and will
be tomorrow, totally and completely straight. Chris was one of those
guys. He was happily and firmly married, with one kid, and another on the
way. He had this presence about him that seemed to say, loudly and
clearly, you can look all you want, but don't touch. If he suspected that
I was gay, he never mentioned it. He wasn't the type. He was secure in his
sexuality and untouchable.
He was a good mate, fun to be with, and a first-rate
Gunner. He was also the only man who could, and would, deliver a lecture
on Slack Ball Navigation. I saw him do it during an after course party and
it shocked the shit out of me. Here I was, modeling my still developing
Stevie Straight Arrow routine after him, and he goes and gives one of the
most Homo-erotic exhibitions ever seen.
Slack Ball Navigation involves the angle of the dangle
of one's penis in direct ratio to the hang of one's testicles. For some
reasons whether one hung low right, or left, made a difference. Visual
aids, in the form of one's genitals, are required. As is standing on a
chair with one's trousers and drawers around one's ankles, and is best
given when well in one's cups. Chris's lecture is a sight. Unfortunately,
his visual aids were somewhat lacking. His dangle wasn't bad, very neat
and trim, with a smooth, dusky-pink, well defined mushroom head. The other
two essentials, however, while nicely shaped, were encased in a tight sac
which seemed greatly affected by the cool night air. Still, what he lacked
in visual aids he more than made up for in enthusiasm, though I don't think
that falling off the chair and breaking his wrist was part of his game
plan. And you all thought that the only thing colorful about the Navy was
its underwear.
Chris had only stopped into the Mess to pick up some
beer - it could legally be sold over the bar - and was on his way to a
family picnic. I inwardly shuddered. Better him than me. We chatted for
a few moments and he left. As he walked away I couldn't help but think,
gazing at his tight butt, his brief lines clearly outlined under his thin
slacks, that I sure would like to get into those pants.
That was to be my only thrill of the day. I bummed
around most of the afternoon. I drove to the beach, but if was infested
with families enjoying a perfect day. Both the Chiefs' Mess and the Fleet
Club were hosting afternoon barbecues. I hate barbecue so I drove into
Victoria and stopped at the news stand in the Empress Hotel, bought a shit
locker full of newspapers, and returned to the Barracks.
The place was eerily quiet, with no one but the Duty Hand
around, which was not surprising. When you live on one of the most
beautiful pieces of real estate in the world you don't spend much time in
your room. Normal routine for anyone not on duty, and with wheels, or
access to them, was to take off up island, or over to Vancouver. On the
weekends the Dockyard, and the Barracks, were virtual ghost towns.
I read my papers, wandered over to the Mess Hall for
dinner, then wandered back to the Barracks. I chatted with the Duty Hand
for a bit and then went into the office. This was nothing special, the
usual desks, chairs and locked filing cabinets. On the desk that was to be
mine was a stack of file folders, on top of which was a neatly typed note
that requested me to read the documents and sign them. They were the
dreaded DA accounts, which listed, down to the last pail and scrub brush,
every item in the Barracks inventory. Beds, dressers, lockers, the whole
nine yards. I was responsible and accountable for every item in the
accounts. According to regulations I was supposed to "sight" each and
every item detailed in the accounts. Since this would have taken me God
knows how long - with no guarantee that everything that was supposed to be
there was actually there, I did what every right thinking sailor would have
done. I signed off on everything and said a silent prayer that the place
would burn down before a muster could be taken.
I went to bed early, and, lulled by the low drone of the
air conditioner, was soon asleep. Only to be abruptly awakened by an
almighty crash.
I sat up with a start and saw a huge, bulky shadow, with
what looked like the bowsprit of the VICTORY jutting out from it, pointing
upward at a sharp angle. I blinked the sleep from my eyes but by then the
shadow had disappeared into the bathroom. Suddenly the room was flooded
with light as the bathroom fixture was turned on. Since my bed was less
than 20 feet away, and in a direct line of sight, I saw a young man, just
over six feet tall, well muscled where it counted (and an ass to die for)
trying to maneuver the biggest prick this side of a porno flick down to
point into the toilet bowl. The thing had to be all of a foot long, and
was very thick. It was superbly cut, and looked very smooth. Pendant hung
a well formed set of very large testicles. It was a handsome weapon.
With a little straining and flexing of his ass cheeks, he
let loose with a roaring torrent of piss. From the size of his dick and
the force of his piss I figured that if there was ever a fire I had no
worries. Its not often you see a two inch firehose attached to a human
body.
When he had finally emptied his bladder, he shook his
massive hose, shaking loose a few errant drops of piss. With no pressure
on his prostate his dick shrank a little. I figured that the floor show
was over. He'd had his piss and would go back to bed. Little did I know
this was only the intro. The main act was about to begin.
Now, ordinarily I am no big fan of horse cocks. I like
sucking cocks but anything over a mouthful is a waste. Since I didn't have
any intention of sucking this beast, and since I am a bit of voyeur, and
since from his actions he was about to do more than just piss, I thought,
what the hell, I might learn something new. A raging hard-on this size had
to be a two-handed job. Who knew, I might learn a new technique.
As I watched he stood looking down at his dick, which he
held in his right hand. Then he began to slowly stroke himself. His dick
rose to its full glory. He stroked slowly, lovingly, his eyes closed,
breathing slowly through his nose. He raised his left hand and rubbed two
fingers along his piss hole, coating them with his pre-cum. Using his
pre-cum as a lubricant his fingers slowly massaged his magnificent
mushroom. Up, over, around, back over for a new supply, back around and
down the shaft. The skin above his cut line darkened and his balls
constricted. He moved his right hand up to just below the head, and fisted
the bottom half of his dick with his left hand. He began to pump his cock
with both hands, speeding up slightly. It was still a long, slow pump. He
quickened his pace and dropped his left hand to his side, clenching and
unclenching it in time with his pumping right hand, clench for stroke. He
moved his right hand up again, his forefinger bent and rubbing the
underside of his glans. He began to breath in short, sharp gasps. He bent
his knees, and his hand moved faster and faster. He threw his head back.
His face contorted and he clenched his lips. His body began to quiver and
he pushed his massive, distended cock down, pointing directly into the
toilet bowl. His thrust his hips forward. His breath stopped and a huge
wad of creamy white cum exploded from his dick and smashed into the water
of the toilet bowl. From the echoing effect of the bowl I thought a depth
charge had gone off. He shot another, then another, each time thrusting
his hips forward. He must have been saving this load because he continued
to shoot massive loads into the toilet. Each time he pumped a gusher he
pushed his hips forward, and as the supply diminished his hip thrusts
became less forceful until, at the end, they were just short, quick little
thrusts, each spurt of cum and smaller. Finally, his balls had no more to
give. He passed his hand over the top of his dick head, wiping off the
last few drops. He was finished and his dick began to shrink to what was
still a man sized piece of meat. He turned to the sink, turned on the
water and began to clean his hands
While he was busy I turned over in my bed, my back to the
bathroom. I figured, what the fuck, I had enjoyed the show and there was
no point in letting on that I had seem him pound his meat. Far wiser to
turn my back and pretend to be asleep. Besides, just watching him service
himself had left me exhausted.
The water stopped running. Although I couldn't see him I
knew that he was about to get a shock. When he turned to reenter the
bedroom he would have a clear view of the corner bed and a clear view that
the bed was not empty. I was right. Just before the light went out I heard
a very clear "Oh Fuck!".
I drifted off hearing a quiet stream of "Oh Fuck"'s coming
from the other side of the room.
Chapter Two
The next morning my internal clock woke me at a few minutes
before six. I'd been getting up at six every morning for years, and my
body had just naturally adjusted to it. I sat up and looked around the
room. The other bed was empty, unmade, and with what looked like a remnant
sale strewn around it. This offended my sense of order and discipline. I
was quite prepared to suffer in silence a wank every so often in the
bathroom, with or without the door closed. I was not prepared to have the
room looking like a rubbish tip. I determined to have a chat with my room
mate and instill some common mess deck courtesy in him.
Since he wasn't around I got up, and headed toward the
bathroom only to be brought up short as the blaring sound of a bugle
reverberated throughout the Barracks. I recognized it as The Rouse, or, as
we called it in the Navy, Wakey-Wakey. I had been awakened by that same
call every morning for 18 weeks when I was in CORNWALLIS, the Recruit
School in Nova Scotia. I'm an old traditionalist when it comes to things
Navy and I rather enjoyed hearing the bugle blaring. Bugles had, for the
most part, gone the way of all flesh, replaced by the shrill sounds of the
Boatswains Call.
As the bugle notes died away I began my morning routine.
When I was finished in the bathroom I dressed, or "cleaned" into the rig of
the day: dark green trousers, light green, open necked, short-sleeved
shirt, mirror shined wingtips. On my way out of the room I picked up my
peak cap - also green, and walked into the main lobby. From Ankle Biter
Alley I could hear the moans, groans, and assorted noises a large group of
young males when rudely awakened. More noise drifted down from the deck
above. The Barracks was waking up.
I walked over to the Mess Hall and ate a leisurely
breakfast. Fed, I walked over to the Lower Parade Square, where
everybody's working day began. I might be the NCO In Charge of the
Barracks, but I still had to attend Divisions.
Divisions is a Naval tradition that goes back to the days
of the sailing ship. Essentially it is a way to ensure that everybody is
up and functioning, ready to work. Each Division - Deck, Gunnery, Supply,
and so on, would report to the Executive Officer, who would report to the
Commanding Officer. The flag (in our case, flags - the so-called Maple Leaf
Flag - an ill-conceived and poorly designed banner which I never cared for,
and the Command Flag), would be raised on the mast-like flag staff, any
special orders or instructions read out, and then we would be dismissed to
carry on with the work day.
Divisions at NADEN were held on the Lower Parade Square.
The Upper Parade Square, which was the vast expanse of concrete directly
across the road from the Barracks, was used for special parades where large
numbers of participants were involved. This happened only once or twice a
year, always in the summer, and usually being a Reserve or Cadet graduation
parade.
Monday to Thursday Divisions were fairly simple. All
Officers and Ratings not on duty, or at least without a plausible excuse,
would muster around the edge of the Parade Square. Shortly before 8
o'clock the Parade GI would call for markers and the preappointed marker
would double out to his Divisional marker painted on the concrete square.
When the markers were aligned, and in order, the Parade would be ordered to
fall in, facing a huge concrete and metal dais, behind which was the flag
staff. Beside the flag staff was an elderly 12-pound field gun - the
Court-martial Gun. When everyone was in place the Duty Quartermaster would
pipe the "Still" on his call, the flags would go up and, if there was a
Court Martial beginning that morning, the gun would be fired. Any special
orders or instructions would be read out, including who was being
Court-martial and why, and then we were dismissed. All in all it took
about « an hour. Sometimes less if there were no announcements. Once we
were dismissed we then went our many ways.
Friday morning was hell. Friday was Ceremonial Divisions.
We would clean into Number l's, there would be a 100 man Guard, and the
Band would march from the School of Music, along the road separating the
Barracks Blocks, down the ramp separating the two parade squares and,
crashing and thumping out a martial air, take up their position. If the
majority of the bandsmen weren't too hung over they didn't sound too bad.
The Chaplains, resplendent in cassock, snowy white surpluses, and Naval
stole would stroll out and take up their position. A work party would
amble out, each member carrying a varnished and painted drum. They would
form an Altar of Drums in front of the dais and disappear. The pecker
checkers and stretcher bearers (usually Sea Cadets) would position
themselves strategically around the square. They would go into action when
anyone fainted (or pretended to).
The Band would play the Anthems, the Flags would be raised.
The Chaplains, three of them - C of E, RC, and a Rabbi, would pray, the
Band would play the Naval Hymn and only then would the Base Commander's
staff car drive up to the dais.
The Base Commander, a miserable four-ringer, owed his
position to knowing when to bend in the prevailing wind. Up until 1969 he
had been "Blue" Navy. After 1969 he was "Green" and he enforced every
directive from Ottawa, no matter how outlandish or foolish. If the then
Minister of Defense (whose grave I will live long enough to piss on!) said
shit, our gallant CO was there with the ass wipe. To the old hands who
loved and cherished the Old Navy, he was a Queen's Hard Bargain, and more
or less ignored. To the new hands, who hadn't known anything but the "New"
Navy, he was a prick, and more or less ignored.
The CO would then, depending of his level of grumpiness,
trailed by hangers-on unto the 9th generation, and the ship's cat,
inspected, some, none, or all of the Parade. On a good day we averaged two
hours, and a dozen fainters. On a bad day, when the old fucker inspected
everybody, it took a good three hours and upwards of twenty or so
casualties. It wasted the morning and guaranteed a full house at the Fleet
Club at lunch.
Normal Divisions over - without, I might add, the members
of the Barracks Staff - I went to work.
Chapter Three
When I arrived at the Barracks and entered the office I
found the troops all lined up. They were clean, shaved, and didn't smell
of booze, so I figured the day had gotten off to a good start. I
introduced myself and put out my hand to the first man in line, a Leading
Seaman Admin type, whom, in a way I had met during the night. I hesitated
a moment - I knew what he'd been doing with the hand he thrust at me, then
remembered he'd washed it - and shook the hand of "Bob, Bob the Writer."
He was about 25 years old, well turned out, and bespectacled. He wore an
ugly pair of black horn-rimmed glasses - without which he could barely see
to navigate. For some reason he wouldn't make eye contact as we shook
hands.
While Bob the Writer was almost a total stranger to me, the
other members of the staff were not. Much to my delighted surprise three of
them were Reservists and had been my trainees. They were Cody, Todd, and
Rob, Marc the fourth lad, was a Regular, whom I knew very slightly. The
youngest were 19 (Cody and Todd), the oldest Marc (21).
Cody and Todd were Canada's version of a California beach
boy. They both had slim, trim, golden bronze, swimmers bodies, their hair
bleached by numberless days in the sun. They were twin brothers, and while
not identical, resembled one another. Not only did they look alike, they
seemed to think alike and invariably one would start a sentence and the
other would finish. Both were good looking, although Todd possessed
softer, almost feminine features. They were the Barracks dogsbodys. During
the day they drove either the passenger van or the quarter- ton truck
assigned to the Barracks. They drove for me, and for the other Barracks
NCO's, shuttling people to and from the airport, picking up supplies, and
so on. When they weren't out they would hang around the office, bickering
as brothers will do, or admiring each other. They were very much in love
and shared a room together. I had known for quite some time that they were
gay. They didn't advertise it, seemingly only had eyes for each other, and
didn't bother anyone. It was more or less accepted that they were a couple.
As long as they were discreet I did not foresee a problem. They were on
CND and, with the manpower shortage, the Navy was prepared to overlook
their perceived failings. These two I would have to keep an eye on. I
knew from past experience that they were totally indifferent to anything
involving discipline. When I first knew them they were constantly in
trouble. Nothing serious, just enough to piss you off. It was sorta like
living with two very curious chimps.
Rob, the third member of the staff, was the Storesman. At 6
foot, he was the tallest of the lot. He was dedicated to hockey, and had a
firm, muscular body, with a perfectly formed butt that strained the fabric
of his uniform pants. He was blessed with the rosy complexion of the truly
health young male, and had dark brown hair, which he kept long on top and
teased into a sort of a pompadour. His most arresting features were his
eyes, which were so dark brown they were almost black, with long, silken
lashes. During the day he handed out, and took in, the hundreds of pieces
of bed linen issued and returned by the Barracks occupants. Like Cody and
Todd he was a Reservist on CND.
Rob was a Navy brat from Uplands, in Ottawa. Like all Navy
brats he tended to stick to his own kind and the year before, when I had
first met him, he could always be found in the company of an odious,
scrawny, towheaded little git named Paul. They lived next door to one
another in the Uplands marriage patch, joined the Navy Reserve together,
and were in training together. Rob was open and outgoing, with an
infectious grin. Paul had a thin, secretive, sly, fox-like face, and
always looked at me like he knew exactly what I did under the covers when
the lights went out. He was as skinny as a snake, and as mean as one,
particularly when crossed or drunk. At the best of times he was surly. At
worst he was plain obnoxious. About the only thing he had going for him
was the fact that he was circumcised. It was instant dislike on my
part. What the attraction between him and Rob was only God and they knew.
I hoped it wasn't sexual. Neither seemed the type, but then, what do I
know? Anyway, I never asked Rob where his winger had gotten to (jail, I
hoped), and he never volunteered to tell me.
Marc was the Barracks electrician, and Rob's room mate. He
was Regular Navy. Originally from Toronto, he stood about 5'8, had brown
hair and a lean, compact body, with an open oval-shaped face, and slightly
overlarge, jugged ears. He was tightly muscled from years of playing
lacrosse. He was quieter than the other boys , yet friendly and had warm,
hazel eyes that lit up when he smiled. I was quite smitten with him and
more than once almost lost my composure when he smiled shyly at me when I
told him one of my dirty jokes or chucked shit at him. This one I had to
be careful with. He was very gung-ho. His work uniform was always
immaculate, stiffly starched, and ironed to perfection. His hair was cut
so short he looked shaven and would have made the Parade GI's diseased old
heart go pittypat with delight. He was the most "Pusser" sailor I had seen
outside of the Gunnery School in many a day. He was gaiters without the
gate. My Stevie Straight- Arrow routine went into overdrive.
I shook hands in turn with all of them. I gave them a pep
talk, basically an "England expects . . ." speech. It was the usual
bullshit speech and they knew it. When I turned around Cody would look at
Todd, who would shrug as if to say "Here we go again." Marc would stare at
the deck and shake his head. Rob scratched himself. Only Bob the Writer
seemed to be paying attention. What the goofy things didn't realize was
that there was a mirror attached to the bulkhead right beside them and I
could see everything they did. They were not prepared when I segued into my
"Gotcha" speech.
"Gentlemen," I began, "I am sure that anyone who knows me
will tell you that I am a fair, but firm man."
Three heads nodded their agreement.
"They will also tell you," I continued, "that I expect what
I give: professionalism to the job."
The same three heads nodded their agreement.
"Now I know that all of you are professionals. Which
leads me to ask the question: why, when I came aboard on Friday afternoon
all the professionals were off gigaloing up island?"
The Twins winced, Rob hung is head, Marc rubbed one well
formed butt cheek, and Bob the Writer blushed! They now knew that I knew
that they had skived off on Friday.
"Being professionals, I think you will all agree that The
Kid should be compensated for him doing your job."
Five heads nodded reluctantly.
"To that end I think it would be nice if the next five
times his name comes up for a duty watch one of you would deem it an honor
to stand in for him."
Bob the Writer nodded. As Barracks Writer he kept the Watch
and Station Bill up to date. He would "make it so". Four heads turned and
four sets of eyes glared at him. They couldn't do much. I had them cold
and they knew it.
"It also occurs to me that as professionals you must all
set an example for the other ratings who come to stay here."
No nods, they were leery of me now. "Which means, of
course, that you must, in all things be above reproach. Your quarters, for
instance," and I looked at Bob the Writer, "your personal quarters must be
immaculate. No fuss, no muss." He hung his head and nodded slightly.
Four heads turned and stared at him. They didn't know what
I was talking about. He did.
"In addition, as professionals, you are all aware that we
all have our little idiosyncrasies. I am not unaware that from time to
time you all have special needs. You are all, after all, young men, and
all young men have special needs. I am also not unaware that from time to
time you might feel it necessary to satisfy those needs."
Cory glared at Todd, who glared at Cory. Rob blushed and
Marc seemed totally confused. Bob the Writer stiffened to the extent that I
was afraid he would do himself an injury.
"Frankly, gentlemen, what you do does not concern me. So
long as you do it behind closed doors!" I finished sharply.
Bob the Writer opened his mouth, about to say something. I
motioned him to keep silent.
"Lets get some work done around here, gentlemen." I said,
dismissing them.
The office was vacated at a great rate of knots, except for
Bob the Writer, who was stuck with me.
The morning passed in a maze of papers and telephone calls.
The Twins had grabbed their run sheets and disappeared. Marc found a work
order that required his immediate attention and he disappeared. Rob
disappeared in the direction of Linen Stores where he suddenly discovered
that he had to muster all the blankets in the place.
Bob the Writer went about his duties. It did not take me
long to realize that he was a master of his trade, a true craftsman who
loved paperwork. He had a mind like a steel trap and knew exactly who was
in what cabin, their trade, and when they were due to leave. He knew how
many cabins were occupied, and how many vacant. The Watch and Station Bill
was up to date, each square neatly filled in. His files were as neat as
any I had ever seen. He knew exactly where each file was located in the
cabinets. He could type about sixty words a minute, without a strike over
and no erasures. If I asked him for a form it appeared as if by magic. How
the Flag Building had missed this gem was a mystery.
He worked quietly, filing, typing, and, as needed, placing
forms and papers on my desk telling me quietly what they were, and what I
was expected to do with them. He was very polite and twice asked my
permission to go to the heads. At noon he asked permission to go for
lunch. When he returned he resumed his seat at his desk and carried on
working.
The afternoon was, if anything, busier. The clerks and
writers in the other buildings had been busy and the pile of paper in my In
Basket grew higher. Demands for accommodation, cancellation of
accommodations, accommodation rosters, demands for supplies to be
requisitioned. Every piece had to be logged and actioned. Rob brought in
his demands for linen. Cory and Todd appeared at irregular intervals,
picking up new transportation orders. Marc came in and checked all the
light fixtures. They addressed each other by rank. They were all polite,
and very formal, with each other and with me.
I might have been impressed if I hadn't seen Cory punch
Todd's shoulder when they the left the office and give him a silent,
nodding grin. If they thought their little act was fooling me they didn't
know me very well.
At 4 o'clock Bob the Writer locked the filing cabinets and
put the cover over his typewriter. Our work day had ended. He shut the
office door and walked to my desk.
"Um. . . PO" he began, "I, um, cleaned up the room. It
won't happen again." he gulped. "And I'm sorry for knocking over the chair.
I didn't have my glasses on." he fingered his horned rims. "I . . . um
. . .I hope I didn't wake you."
"You didn't wake me", I lied. I looked up at him. He would
not meet my gaze. "Is there anything else?"
"Well. . ." he hesitated, "I. . .um. . . I'll keep the door
closed." He was very embarrassed. "I won't do it again." What it was I
could imagine. Not being one to put a crimp in anybody's sex life, I
leaned back in my chair and looked directly at him.
"Leading Seaman, you do what you have to do." I said. "I
do however, have one question."
"PO?"
I leaned forward, and gave him my best shit eater grin.
"Just how big is that thing of yours?"
"Hard or soft?" He answered without thinking. Then he
covered his face with his hands and shook his head.
I started laughing. I laughed so hard I all but fell out
of the chair. Bob didn't know if he should shit or salute. He stood
there, grinning like a loon, rolling his eyes and shaking his head.
He opened his mouth to speak and I had another fit of
laughter. I held up my hand, and managed, to compose myself.
"Enough already." I wiped the tears from my eyes.
"Boychick, you take the prize." I stood up and offered my hand. "Friends?"
He nodded. "Friends." We shook hands. Then we both
started laughing.
When we had recovered I picked up my hat. "I'm going to
the Mess. I need a drink. Tell those Barracks Stanchions to come
alongside after supper. I'm buying the beer."
Chapter Four
Our beer bash was monumental. The Twins, Marc and Rob
forgave me all my sins, and we had a hell of a good time. Bob the Writer
proudly informed us that his dick was 9 and 3/4 inches long soft, and 11
and 6/18ths inches "when it's angry". The Twins sat together on the sofa
and held hands. Rob sang "The Harlot of Jerusalem" (which I had taught him)
and Marc passed out. It was a pleasant, if very wet, evening. Since I had
not tied one on since that night with Jim, I was massively hung over next
morning. As were the rest of them. None of us made it to Divisions and I
don't think we were missed.
Despite my hangover I began the routine I would follow -
more or less - from now on. I would read through the overnight messages
and signals, read Routine Orders, listen to Bob cursing under his breath
some nameless clerk who had fucked up some piece of paper or other, and
then, clipboard in hand, go off and do my Parish Rounds. I walked the
decks and noted any deficiencies in cleaning and the like. I stayed well
away from the permanently occupied cabins - the ratings who lived in them
didn't have all that much in the way of comfort and I felt that I should at
least respect their space - and inspected the Reserve cabins, transient
cabins, and Ankle Biter Alley, looking for damage, making sure that the
rooms were neat and clean, and so on. Unmade beds, overflowing waste
baskets, clothes left out, were all cause for a "chit", which I would write
out and leave on the offender's bed. Ankle Biter Alley and the Transient
Quarters were given a more than casual glance. If these spaces were a mess
- and they usually were, I was supposed to write up another chit and send
it off to the Base Accommodation Officer, who would send a report off to
the offenders' home unit. I emphasize supposed to, because no one really
gave a fuck anymore.
Unification had fucked the Services. Instead of
distinctive uniforms for each arm of the service, with their own rank and
trade badges, their own identity, we all wore the same uniforms. The
customs and traditions I had grown up with were long gone. Pride and
professionalism had been replaced by apathy and a decidedly civilian
outlook when it came to the work ethic. The work day was from 0800 to
1600, Monday to Friday, weekends off. Except for the few offices that had
to manned 24 hours a day, and Duty Watches on board the ships, everything
shut down at 4 o'clock. Duty Watches were annoying and an inconvenience,
especially on the weekends and especially for those who lived off base.
At 4:00 o'clock the offices would empty. At 4:00 o'clock
the ships tied up along side would empty (3:30 if the Officer of the Day
wasn't looking), and the exodus began. You took your life in your hands if
you tried to cross Esquimalt Road at this time, the traffic was so heavy.
Nobody worked "overtime" if they could help it. If they did, they had to
be given "compensating time off". Which meant that when the Twins took a
group of Officer Cadets up to the Comox Glacier for the Venture Training
phase of their course, which they did every Monday morning, they never got
back much before 10 or 11 at night and could then claim, and sometimes did,
a half day to compensate them for their "extra" time worked.
This mind set was endemic in every branch of the Service.
This was not surprising. There were very few of the old Navy types still
around. The older hands - the vets of W.W.II and Korea - would have
nothing to do with the ruination of "their" Navy and voted with their feet.
From Admirals to career Able Seamen, they got out as soon as the paperwork
could be completed. This left a vacuum that could not be filled. The new
hands knew nothing of the old days. Which was sad. Things were better
done. What had been a vocation was now just a job.
But I digress (whine mode kicked in, sorry).
My inspections taught me a firm lesson in just how bad
things had become. The old Navy always taught us that you left a ship or a
mess cleaner than it was when you moved in. Now the Transient rooms and
Sea Cadet Quarters would be littered with the flotsam and jetsam of hasty
departures. Newspapers and magazines predominated. I also found odd socks,
a jock strap once, briefs and boxers tossed into corners and forgotten, and
skin books. Skin books of every description, ranging from pussy and tits
to hard core male/female fucking. No gay skin books - nothing queer about
this man's Navy. I would scoop these up and take them away. The cleaning
staff were mostly older Chinese ladies who would not have appreciated the
literature being read at night. I sometimes wondered just what the hell
the Cadets and young transients did at night - mass jerk offs was my guess,
and I sometimes wondered if the story about the "Phantom Wanker of QUADRA"
was true. I would give the books to the Twins to add to their already
impressive collection of porno magazines. They didn't read the things.
Even Twins need their camouflage. They left them strategically placed in
their room on Inspection Day - which happened once a month - to be found by
the Inspecting Officer, usually the Supply Officer, a nice old duffer who
told me he always enjoyed inspecting the Barracks. That way he could keep
up in the latest trends in smut and pornography. He also opined that if
the Twins didn't look out they'd end up wearing glasses.
Most of what was found ended up in the dumpster. Articles
of obvious value - I once found a super pair of binoculars - were logged
and kept under lock and key until they were claimed. After 30 days they
were up for grabs.
The rest of the day I spent shuffling papers and directing
traffic. At 4:00 the office closed, the building filled up and emptied as
the troops went about their night routines.
My relations with the boys became warmer as the weeks past.
After standing around on Friday CD's being demeaned and abused (and we
didn't even have to take our clothes off) by the CO, I told them that they
had more important things to do and to skip the whole issue. I wasn't
planning on going in the near future, so why should they? Eventually we
packed in morning Divisions. We were just too damn busy.
On more than one occasion the PWA flight from Vancouver was
delayed, which meant either Bob or I had to put in an appearance and handle
the paperwork. One night two minesweepers on night exercise (what the hell
they were doing in the middle of the night is beyond me) collided and had
to be towed in for repairs and I ended up with 60 guys, all looking for a
bed. I rousted Bob and Rob out of their beds, Bob for the paperwork, Rob
to open up Linen Stores. The guys from the sweeps had just started to fill
the lobby when the Twins decided to have a domestic in the rec. room. They
were beating the hell out of each other when I arrived (Todd had a mean
left hook). I separated them, kicked them both in the ass and sent them up
top to help Rob and Bob. When the dust settled - about 4 a.m. - I banished
them to separate rooms - which pissed them right off. I let them pout for
three days, then made them shake hands (a useless gesture, they weren't mad
at each other, they were mad at me) and told them they could go back to
rooming together. To teach me a lesson they pouted for another day.
On another occasion two courses in Halifax for Officer
Cadets were canceled. Of course they were sent to Esquimalt. They all
ended up on my patch because the Wardroom, and the Annex, were full, as was
the depot ship. Marc, Rob and I spent two days scrounging beds and we
ended up putting extra two-Decker bunks in all the Reserve Cabins. Which
pissed every body off, the ratings because they had to bunk with Officer
Cadets, the Officer Cadets because they had to bunk with the ratings. I
told them all to lump it or sleep on the beach.
To make matters worse that summer was the hottest in years.
The sun beat down on the flat roof of the Barracks and the place was an
oven. When the troops weren't moaning and dripping about their
accommodations, they whined about the heat. There wasn't much anyone could
do about it. The place wasn't air conditioned and the Navy sure as hell
wasn't about to put any in. I managed to scrounge two old units from one
of Joel's cousins, and it cost me three 40-pounders of rum to have them
installed by the Chippy-Chaps (Shipwrights) in the rec. room. Which meant
that it became a substitute for the cabins everyone was supposed to sleep
in. Every night it seemed that half the Barracks was down there dossing
down on the leatherette sofas or on mattresses they had taken from their
rooms. The rec. room was a hell of a lot cooler than the cabins up top,
but still there was grumbling and it did not help matters when the Twins
appointed themselves walking wake-up calls, which ended when Todd poked
Harry the Farmer in the balls with an iron marlin spike. Harry the Farmer,
a huge, muscular boy from Manitoba, was one of those people whom it was
almost impossible to wake up. He never heard the pipe, and if anyone tried
to shake him he would come up swinging. Anyway, he did not take kindly
having his balls so assaulted, woke up with a roar, and, clad only in his
white cotton briefs, and swearing vengeance, chased the Twins out of the
Barracks and across the Upper Parade Square. Unfortunately there was a
huge Sea Cadet parade being formed up at the time. . . More paperwork and a
stern lecture to all hands.
I dug into my savings and paid through the nose for two
window units, an additional one for the bed room and one for the office.
At least Bob and I could sleep and work in comfort. Which of course caused
much grumbling from the Twins, both permanently barred from sleeping in the
rec. room, and when Rob and Marc started whining I told them they could kip
in the living room if their cabins got too hot. They wasted no time in
taking me up on my offer. The bastards practically moved in. The twins
discovered that the sofa could be converted into a bed, and slept there,
while Rob and Marc found some old roll-up cots. The place looked like a
flop house for most of the summer.
Most weekends everybody took off for cooler climes. Marge
had wangled a transfer to the Recruiting Office in Vancouver and was living
full time with Butch, so I had a ready excuse to go over to the mainland. I
did go a couple of times, when Joel was in town. Most weekends I just
stayed in and enjoyed the solitude.
In a way I was glad to see the tail end of the lads. Bob
slept in the nude and invariably woke up with a hard-on. The other four
thought nothing of lounging around the place in their underwear. Not to
mention that when I shook them awake in the morning at least one, and on
occasion, all four were standing tall. Then I had to listen to them bitch
while waiting to take their turn in the bathroom. It was all very
stressful.
Thinking about it now, it was as if each of the boys had
been hand-picked by The Manning Office just for me. Rob, Cory and Todd
were, I knew from past scopeings in the training ship, circumcised. Cory
and Todd had just a hint of a ridge of skin under their pink
mushrooms. Both had very tasting looking low-handing ball sacs (although
Todd's eggs were a bit on the small side). Rob was smooth from base to knob
with a surprisingly well-defined circumcision ring. He too had a very nice
set of balls - not huge, not too small. Just about right, I thought. At
first I could only hope that Marc was cut. They all lived, and showered on
the second deck and there was no legitimate reason for me to be lurking
about the wash place to check him out. Fortunately for my reputation he
put in for a two day pass and filled out a Next of Kin form. This was
something we all had to do whenever we went on leave. The Navy wanted to
be able to send a Chaplain of the right denomination to your folks if you
OD'd or drove into a tree or something. It turned out that Marc was Jewish.
There was a God.
Needless to say, they drove me crazy. Like just about
everyone else, they wore tight cotton briefs under their pants, which gave
each of them a nice, compact basket, and, when they bent over, compacted
their butts into glorious twin orbs.
Like everyone else they hated the green uniforms we were
forced wear, and lost no time in changing. This usually meant shorts or cut
offs, and tees, with or without sleeves. Since they had the run of my
quarters they usually ended up there most nights, watching television and
drinking my beer - evilly I kept the fridge full. They would lay around,
on the furniture, on the floor, arms and legs akimbo. Sometimes they kept
their tees on, more often than not they went bare chested. Only Marc had
hair on his chest, not much but dark and lightly spread across his pecs.
He, along with Rob, had a treasure trail of hair extending beyond the waist
band of their shorts, spiraling upward toward their navels. The Twins had
no hair on their chests, and fine, peach fuzz on their arms and legs.
They would laze around, drinking beer, and chucking shit at
each other. They would talk queer, especially when Bob the Writer was
around. He normally wore oversize boxers which, on the whole, covered his
prize dick. Except when he stretched, or sat down, usually with his legs
spread. Everything would fall out, or the fabric would ride up, exposing a
good portion of his cock, and all of his balls. He had, I admit, a very
good body, well muscled, and very firm. The other boys would admire his
chest and ass, and compliment him on the size of his balls. He grumbled
privately about it, but I sure as hell don't recall him running away, or
putting on long pants.
Rob and Marc usually wore sport type shorts, the ones with
the built in support. These showed off their baskets, their smooth, oval
balls, pink under the white nylon fabric, with tiny dark hairs curling out
from the leg band.
The Twins wore plain, run of the mill, white cotton gym
shorts, which were part of their kit issue. They had no tan lines - they
lived in the sun and every lunch hour they would sunbathe on the flat roof.
They very rarely wore underpants. When they did, they both wore briefs of
the same color, blue, white, and once, fire engine red. More often then
not they wore nothing under their shorts. When they sat down and spread
their legs, which seemed to be their favorite position, their genitals were
on full view, each set encased in light brown, curly pubic hair. As I have
said, they were cut, with their darkish cut lines clearly visible. Their
dicks were identical, both of them were the same length and thickness, with
smooth, mushroom helmets ringed with a tantalizing ridge of skin. Their
ball sacs were smooth and hung low, well below their dick heads.
They were not at all embarrassed. Quite the contrary.
They were deliberately teasing the rest of us - all of whom they thought
were straight. Titillating and teasing a straight was a game for them, a
game they could only play with people they trusted. Rob and Marc seemed
indifferent and usually tossed ice cubes at whatever offending dick was in
view. Bob the Writer, who in his own way was just as much an exhibitionist
as the Twins, pretended not to notice. When he did, and the twins saw him
glancing down at their crotches - and they always caught him - they would
grin broadly. Bob would blush deeply and the Twins knew they had won
another round in the game. Guy stuff.
The only fully clothed person in the place was me. I kept
my tee shirt and baggy old shorts firmly on and always wore boxers. I kept
my dick firmly in my pants.
Most nights we would laze around, talking and usually
watching some sport on TV, swearing at the refs or umpires, armchair
quarterbacking, and drinking beer. Some nights we played cards, arguing
and swearing at each other and the cards.
No harm meant, no harm done. Guy stuff.
With the end of August came peace, quiet, and a return to
normalcy. The Reserves went home. The Sea Cadets went home. The Officer
Cadets, finally, went home. The Barracks was half empty and would remain
that way until the next training season in April.
As my release date approached I began to make plans for my
new life in the real world. Joel came over from Vancouver, talked me into
investing some of my money in the firm he worked for, and persuaded me to
come and stay in California for a while. There was nothing waiting for me
back in Ontario, so I agreed.
Chapter Five
The seasons turned, barely noticed. A little more rain, a
little less sun. Before I knew it December rolled around. Time for me to
swallow the anchor.
On December 22nd I spent the day doing my Out Routine. I
had signed everything that had to be signed. My kit was returned, my final
pay in my pocket. My plane ticket was bought. My bags were almost packed.
Tomorrow I would close one chapter in my life and begin a new one.
The Barracks were eerily quiet. It was Christmas Leave
time and everyone who could had wangled leave to go home. Bob the Writer
had been gone for two days - home to Calgary. I had the rooms to myself.
I undressed and threw the green uniform in the trash basket. I wanted no
reminders of the CAF.
I puttered about in my boxers and socks, finishing my
packing, leaving a note for the guy who would move in after the New Year.
With nothing else to do I settled back with a beer watched some TV. I had
another beer, turned the dial on the TV and found a Christmas Show, all
carols and choir boys. I turned the volume down low, and was preparing
myself for a quiet night in when there was a light tap and the door opened.
It was the Twins. They walked across the room and stood in front of me,
two good looking bare chested beach boys in shorts.
"We've come. . ." began Cory.
"To say good-bye." finished Todd.
"We have . . ." said Cory.
"Two gifts." finished Todd.
"Gifts? What kind of gifts?" I replied, intrigued.
Todd pointed at Cory. Cory pointed at Todd.
"Us."
They dropped their shorts. I hoped this wasn't a joke. It
wasn't.
Cory dropped to his knees in front of me and spread my
legs. Todd moved to the side of the chair and leaned over. We kissed
hungrily while Cory reached in and pulled my rising cock through the slit
in my boxers. He felt the base of my dick and massaged my balls, then
reached up and pulled on the boxers. I raised my hips and he pulled them
down and off.
I felt his warm mouth kissing my knob, engulfing it, and
sliding slowly down. My dick began to throb as Cory deep throated me.
Todd began to massage my chest, then rubbing my hardened nipples. I
reached down and began to rub the back of Cory's head, feeling the hard
bristles at the back, then the longer, silky hair on the top. With my
other hand I reached over and took Todd's dick in my hand. It was rock
hard, and it jumped a little when I touched it. I stroked him and then
made a fist just under the head. I massaged it with my thumb. He began to
shoot pre-cum and I gently massaged his mushroom. Around, under, over, just
a slow, gentle rub. He began to lick my chest and nipples, moved up and
buried his face in my neck, sucking and kissing.
Cory was an expert. He sucked and licked up and down my
shaft and over my head. I could feel the cum starting to boil in my balls.
I was nearing an explosion and warned Cory. His lips tightened around my
dick head and he began to suck in quick, sharp movements with his moist,
warm mouth. I lubed my thumb with a new supply Todd's pre-cum and
quickened my rubbing. His head was buried in my neck and he started to
moan softly, his breath coming in short, quick, gasps. His hips gave a
short, quick thrust, then another. I kept my hand firmly under the head of
his dick and rubbed harder. Another thrust and a blast of cum shot forward
from his piss hole and landed on my chest. He made small, mewing noises as
his dick pulsed again and again. More cum blew from his dick and dribbled
down the front of my hand.
As Todd began shooting I lost all control and exploded.
Cory sucked eagerly as I pumped wad after wad into his mouth. The feeling
was indescribably wonderful as he sucked and sucked, taking every drop I
had. He continued to suck and lick me as my dick softened. Todd lay on my
chest, breathing heavily, his lips buried in my neck. Finally he stood up
and stared at me.
I stared back, raised my hand, and slowly licked his cum
from my fingers. He reached over and caressed my face. He smiled gently,
then leaned over and kissed me, his tongue tasting his own cum and my
saliva. I pushed him gently away and sat up.
Cory was sitting back on his heels. He was still hard, his
pink-tipped dick pointing upward. I leaned forward and pulled him to his
feet. I fingered his dick, rubbing my fingers down the shaft, and felt his
balls. Then I leaned forward and took him in my mouth.
His dick was just the right size for sucking. I moved my
mouth down his shaft and buried my nose in the hair at the base of his
cock. He smelled clean and fresh, with just a hint of talcum powder. His
dick tasted even better. He began to move his hips and his rod slid
smoothly in and out. I put my hand on his hips and stopped him. I wanted
to suck him off. He stood there while I massaged his balls and licked him.
I tongued the underside of his cock, from the base of the head down to his
balls. I took one, then the other, then both of his balls in my mouth,
sucking eagerly. His dick bounced gently. I returned to sucking him and
fondling his balls, which tightened rapidly. He was breathing through
clenched teeth, sharp, wet sounds. My mouth felt his dick thicken. I let
go of his balls and concentrated on his mushroom. He pushed forward and
grunted, and his cum began shooting down my throat. I sucked harder and
more and more cum gushed out. I sucked and swallowed every drop of
ambrosia he could give me.
I had been so engrossed in sucking Cory I hadn't noticed
that Todd had moved behind his brother and placed his once again hard dick
in Cory's butt crack. He rubbed his dick against Cory's ass, pumping
slowly at first, then quicker as Cory began to reach his climax. Todd had
his hands on Cory's shoulders and matched his pace with my sucking. Within
seconds of Cory's cumming, Todd blew another load onto his brother's back.
Cory leaned forward and rubbed my back and neck as I sucked
him clean. He reached around and felt Todd's dick, then wiped the cum from
his back. He straightened a little and rubbed Todd's cum on my lips. We
kissed, exchanging cum and spit.
We drew apart and then Cory sat between my legs, his head
on my thigh, his hand stroking my still tight ball sac. Todd sat on the arm
of the chair, put an arm around my shoulder, and nuzzled my neck. I reached
over and held his balls and cock in my hand. They were still heated from
our sex.
"You like this," said Todd firmly. His tongue licked my
ear and he held his head close to mine.
"You like it a lot." said Cory. He kissed my mushroom and
tongued my piss hole.
"We could tell." Todd rubbed my nipples. "We can always
tell."
"You can?"
"Yes." said Todd. He sat back and looked at me. "We knew
you liked us." He shrugged. "We liked you, but we had to be careful."
"I understand." I said slowly. "Boy, do I understand."
"Good." Said Cory. "Now we can make up for lost time."
He leaned down and took my dick in his mouth. Todd lowered
his head and began sucking my chest.
Suddenly the door opened and Rob and Marc were in the room.
Cory, Todd and I jerked up heads and stared at them staring at us.
"Oh fuck." I muttered.
Rob looked at Marc, then look at us. Together they
unbuttoned their shorts and let them fall down around their ankles.
"Party Time." grinned Rob.
Chapter Six
The twins uncoiled themselves and walked over to Marc and
Rob. Marc began tonguing Todd, and Cory knelt before Rob, taking his penis
in his mouth. Rob shivered as Cory began to worship his dick. Marc said
something to Todd, who nodded. He turned from Marc and stood behind Rob.
He began to massage Rob's back, his hands moving down, kneading Rob's hard,
compact cheeks. Todd knelt down, spread Rob's cheeks, and began to rim his
glory hole, his tongue darting in and out, around the little brown hole,
and back in again. Rob arched his back and thrust his hips forward,
pushing his dick deeper into Cory's mouth. His arms and hands began to
quake as the ecstasy of pleasure coursed through him.
Marc came silently to my chair, climbed up and sat on my
stomach, my now hot, stiff dick throbbing against his butt crack. He
leaned forward and began to rub my chest. I rubbed his waist and stroked
his butt. I reached down and felt his hard-on. It was not bad at all,
about 5 inches of hard meat, and thick. Three quarters of it was a light
tan, the balance, from his cut line to his helmet, was a pleasant, rosy
pink. A treasure trail of dark brown hair curled down from his navel to
the base of his raging cock.
I fondled his loose ball sac, and then, with my other hand,
began to stroke and pump him. He raised his hips and guided my helmet
toward his tight hole. I felt my knob being guided in. I pushed gently,
and half my dick was in the moist, warm cavity. Marc grimaced briefly,
relaxed his muscles, and pushed back, taking every inch of me. I felt my
pubic hairs against his ass.
My dick pushed through his sphincter with a soft thrust.
Marc, his eyes closed, his mouth slightly open, began to move his hips up
and down. He tightened, then loosed his muscles. Every nerve ending on my
dick started exploding. The pleasure I was feeling was close to
unbearable. I didn't want to cum, I couldn't cum, because I knew if I did
I would be out for the night. As Marc was on an up stroke I reached down
and pulled his hips forward. My dick pulled out and Marc moved up my until
his sweet cut, dick touched my lips. I bent my head forward.
My mouth consumed that beautiful, compact dick. I licked
his knob, and ran my tongue down the underside of his dick, my spit lubing
the pulsing vein. With one hand I reached around and slowly inserted two
fingers into his hole, massaging the soft, wet, flesh within. Marc groaned
softly and I moved my hand up and down his shaft. I moved my fingers in
time with my sucking mouth. With my free hand I reached down and rubbed
and rolled his tight, large balls. I could feel him tightening and
thickening, so I moved my mouth upward, just above his cut line, tonguing
his head and sucking his shaft.
As he grew close Marc's body began to convulse. He threw
his head back, moaning.
"Fuck. . .suck it. . . oh fuck. . OH FUCK". His creamy
sperm filled cum shot into my mouth. I swallowed gust after gust of thick,
creamy Marc cum. His dick and balls pumped load after load into me, and I
swallowed as quickly as I could, taking all he could produce. When he was
finished his dick continue to spasm with pleasure as I cleaned and sucked
his mushroom. He collapsed on me, groaning, his body aglow with sex.
Rob began to climax, groaning and moaning. He thrust his
hips forward and grunted loudly. I saw Todd's cheeks move in and out, then
his Adam's apple began bobbing, as he swallowed Rob's dick juice. Rob bent
forward, his mouth on Todd's back, kissing it and moaning. His hips thrust
sharply as jets of cum assaulted Todd's throat. When he was finished, Rob
collapsed on the floor, lying on his back, breathing heavily.
Todd dropped to his knees and moved closer to Cory, their
dicks, hard, crimson with sex, touched. They began to mouth one another,
hips grinding, their hands moving slowly along each others body. The rubbed
and stroked each other's dicks. Todd reached down and began to rub Cory's
butt cheeks, pushing their bodies closer. Cory did the same, and almost
immediately they came, gouts of cum shooting up and over their dick
heads. Their bodies slowly sank to the floor, and they lay there, hips
moving gently as they lotioned their bodies with their mingled cum.
Marc left me and lay down beside Rob. He propped himself
on one elbow and with his free hand began to stroke and fondle Rob's soft
dick. Rob, his eyes closed, began to squirm in pleasure. He moaned softy
as Marc's hand stroked his dick to rigidness.
Cory rolled away from Todd and crab-crawled over to where
Rob and Marc lay. He pushed his head between the two boys and took Marc's
semi into his mouth. Marc moved his body slightly, giving Cory full access
to his now stiffened dick. He leaned down and took Rob's hard-on into his
mouth, sucking it with noisy, wet sounds. With one hand Cory cupped and
squeezed Marc's balls. With the other he began jerking himself.
For a moment I thought Todd would join the other three
boys. He glanced at them, stood up , walked to my chair, and pulled me up.
We sank to the floor, our tongues intertwined, our hands exploring each
others body.
It was going to be a long night.
Chapter 7
When I awoke the sun was just peeking over the horizon. My
whole body ached. I was lying on the floor, with Rob's head resting
against my shoulder, lying on his side, his arm across my chest, one leg
bent across mine, his body warm and soft against me. We had finished the
night together, in the classic 69 position. I tasted his cum in my mouth
still. I reached down and felt his soft, smooth cock. His balls
contracted a little. His dick and balls, the taste of his cum, would stay
with me for along time.
Moving Rob gently aside I sat up and saw that Marc was
sandwiched between the Twins. Cory's hand rested over Marc's balls, while
Todd's held Marc's soft dick, the head, a healthy pink, soft in his hand.
The scene before me and beside me gave promise of a long
day - if I let it go on. Of course, I couldn't. I had a plane to
catch. But there was still a little time left.
I lay down again and began to feel Rob's perfect, peach
fuzzed cheeks. Gently I kissed and sucked his orbs, moving slowly toward
his puckered brown little hole. Rob stirred and gently pushed his ass back
and into my face. I nuzzled his hole, rimming and licking, thrusting my
tongue into his hot and eager boy hole. I spread his cheeks and my tongue
darted in an out, tasting the wet, moist flesh inside.
Rob began to moan and groan, overcome with pleasure. His
ass began twitching and he moved his hips in time with my tongue fuck. I
threw my arm over his hips and found his dick, thick, hot, pumping out
pre-cum. I oiled his head and shaft and pumped him. He began to groan
louder.
I was so engrossed in what I was doing I almost didn't hear
the other moans and groans coming from the other side of the room. I
glanced backward.
Marc was standing up, his body slightly bent as Cory fucked
his perfect butt. Todd was on his knees, his mouth on Marc's raging
hard-on, his hand on his boner, jerking his beautiful, rosy boy meat. Each
boy had fallen into the same rhythm, Cory fucking Marc's ass, Marc fucking
Todd's face, Todd beating his meat. It looked like a well choreographed
ballet.
I rolled Rob on his back. His dick stuck up at an angle,
the skin above his ring dark red, his bulbous head covered in pre-cum that
seeped from his piss hole. I kissed and sucked his groin, which set him to
moaning and twitching, then moved on to his perfect balls. I took both of
them in my mouth, sucking and tonguing them, my nose buried in the base of
his wonderfully smelling cock. Leaving his balls I licked my way up to his
cock head and took it in my mouth. My lips tightened around Rob's sweet,
smooth, hard dick. I closed my eyes, tasting him, my taste buds roaring
with the flavor of him.
Rob ran his hand through my hair and then pushed my head
forward. I had every inch of him in my mouth. Jesus, God, did I love
sucking his dick. With my tongue I massaged his mushroom and I began
bobbing my head up and down. I reached down and slipped two fingers into
his boy chute, rubbing slowly and gently. He jerked and I felt his balls
tighten against my chin.
"Oh, suck. . .suck it . . .oh fucking. . . Christ suck
that. . ." Rob began his cum ritual. His hips began thrusting and I
increased the pace of my finger fucking to match his thrusts. I loosened
my lip lock on his dick and let him fuck my face. I felt his knob banging
against the back of my throat, and swallowed the pre-cum gushing from his
dick.
"Fuck . . . it's . . .Oh fuck . . ." Rob yelled. He
thrust violently and his cock exploded, salvo after salvo of sweet boy cum
smashing down my throat. I swallowed every drop, sucking madly as his dick
twitched and jerked.
I continued to suck him as I reached down and took my dick
in my hand. I was so hot I came in about six strokes, creaming the carpet,
spreading cum over my stomach. I blasted and sucked Rob into whimpering
post-cum pleasure.
I heard Marc's cum cry, then Cory let out a yelp as he
slammed into Marc's ass. Todd was a second later, moaning loudly as Marc
flooded him with his cum and his own dick pulsed out a massive load.
The three boys collapsed in a heap of sweat and cum. I
released Rob and we lay for a few minutes in each other's arms, serenely
happy.
After a few minutes we all drew apart. The room was ripe
with boy cum and sweat. I opened the window to air the place out, while
the boys cleaned up the more obvious stains.
We all crowded into the shower, spending a pleasant half
hour washing each other's bodies, sucking and jerking the semis we each
had. As we watched Todd dropped and sucked on Cory's dick, getting him off
in what seemed like a minute.
Although I loved what we were doing I finally called a halt
to the tomfoolery. We got out of the shower and the boys reluctantly found
their shorts and got dressed.
As they moved toward the door Cory kissed me lightly on the
lips Todd gave a me a full-bore lip kiss. Marc traced the outline of my
chin, lifted it and kissed me softly. Rob hugged me tightly.
"I'll never forget what we did. Never" he whispered. "I
don't want to go."
"You have to." I said, pushing him gently away.
Robb followed the other boys from the room.
I showered again, dressed, and checked out the room. It
still smelled of cum and males. I opened every window, picked up my bags,
and left.
I stood on the broad steps, waiting for a taxi when they
straggled out. Cory, Todd, Rob and Marc, changed now into long pants, and
white tees with blue banding. They stood in a circle around me.
"You guys should be in bed." I said. "You had a long
night."
Rob shook his head. "We came to say good bye"
Cory nodded. "And to say thanks."
Before I could ask, Marc supplied the answer to my unspoken
question.
"You helped us find our real selves." He said. "Cory and
Todd, they always knew what they were. Me and Rob, we were just fuckin'
around before. Now we know it's different."
"It's hard, Marc. Trust me, I know." I replied. I waved
my arm around, indicating the sprawling base. "This place makes it worse.
The Navy makes it worse."
"The Navy isn't everything." replied Rob. Marc nodded and
put his hand in his pocket. He pulled out a piece of paper and handed it to
me. It was his release form.
"When did this happen?" I asked, handing it back.
"Last month, when I realized that I wanted to be with Rob."
said Marc. He turned and smiled at his lover.
"You green-sheeted, then?" I asked Rob. As a Reserve, he
had only to request termination of his CND by signing a green form. In
doing so he had effectively ended his Naval career.
Rob nodded. "Marc and me, we're going home for Christmas.
Then to Toronto. I've already been accepted by U of T. Marc has a place
at Ryerson Poly."
I nodded my chin at the twins. "And you two skates?"
"Home today. . ." said Cory
"For Christmas . . ." continued Todd.
"Then UBC . . ." said Cory.
"Pre-law. . ." ended Todd.
My cab drew up and I shook hands with them. "I'd like to
hug you guys, but . . ." I looked at the facade of the Barracks. ". . .too
many eyes."
They nodded and Marc handed me a large envelope I had not
noticed before.
"A going away gift. Don't open it until you get to where
you're going." he instructed.
"Promise?" asked Todd.
I promised, tucked the envelope in the side panel of my
carryon bag, and got into the cab. As the cab moved down Esquimalt Road I
saw them waving good-bye. I imagined I could smell the difference of each
of them. I looked away, knowing I would never see any of them again.
Joel met my plane and we drove into the hills above
Brentwood where he had his house. He showed me to my room and I began to
unpack. I remembered the envelope, took it out of the carryon and opened
it.
There would two 8 x 10 color pictures. One was a shot of
the four boys, wearing shorts and tees, standing in front of the Barracks,
smiling broadly, their arms around each others shoulders. A picture to be
found in countless albums across the continent.
The second picture, also full color, had been taken
somewhere inside a room. Against a light blue background were four
figures, viewed only from the neck to the knees. They were all slim, and
trim. Two with bronze, swimmers bodies, two with strong, athletic bodies.
All were circumcised, each dick a near replica of the other. Two were
identical in length, with just a hint of a ridge of skin under the pink
mushrooms. One had a surprisingly well-defined circumcision ring. The
fourth was a light tan with a thin rosy pink band between the cut line and
pleasant, rosy pink helmet. A treasure trail of dark brown hair curled
downward from the navel to the crotch. All had low hanging balls, although
one set was a bit on the small side.
On the back of the photo was a neatly printed message.
To remember. . .
The End.
I hope you have enjoyed this first time effort. As always, comments are
welcome.