Date: Wed, 18 Jul 2007 11:35:05 -0400
From: Aidan Wilde <aidanwilde@gmail.com>
Subject: Love Runs Deep - Chapter 2: The Homecoming

Disclaimer: The following quasi-fictional tale is based on a true story.
Some of the names, dates, and places of the story have been changed to
protect the not quite so innocent. This is not a 60 second tale of lust and
release. If you like a good story with believably real characters and a
good deal of dramatic elements, then please continue.

This story concerns love, romance, and of course a bit of consenting sex
bits between Gay males. Ages range from eighteen to twenty-eight in this
story.  If this type of writing is somehow illegal in your area, I first
recommend that you move, and second stipulate that the consequences of your
actions with regards to this story are yours and yours alone.

If you would like to comment on the story, or would like to offer
constructive criticism, please feel free to do so by contacting me using
the following Email address: aidanwilde@gmail.com. If you would like to be
notified by email about further postings or submissions by me on nifty,
please send an email to the above address with the phrase "Mailing List" in
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Please understand that while your opinions, feelings, and even criticisms
towards this story and it's author will all be very much appreciated, any
ignorant flaming will most emphatically not, and will be dismissed with
little regard or care. I reserve and hold all rights of use and copyright
to this story. With all that legal mumbo-jumbo out of the way, enjoy the
story.


"Love Runs Deep" -- Chapter 2: The Homecoming.


Someone once told me, that every day has its down moments, and so far today
has definitely been no exception to that statement. It couldn't have been a
second after I entered the shack that I realized things could, and often do
get worse. Chief was giving me that look again. The look that said: "I'm
about to bend you over this chair here and skull fuck you, and for no other
reason than I don't have anyone else available."

"Wilde, start writing Diver's tags, and before you give me any crap about
it, realize that no one else in your duty section has ever done em'
before," Chief held out his hand indicating the two other bodies in the
room, STSSNs Whitcock, and Robidoux. Chief Gelli pre-empted me again as he
handed me the ominous looking Work Authorization Form, or WAF for
short. "So you're all I got."

"Fucking wonderful. You know just how much I enjoy always doing Diver's
tags Chief," I muttered sarcastically as my eyes bored into the skulls of
the two useless NUBs in the shack whose heads were hung so low they looked
like scolded puppies.

Everyone else had already been cut loose, and it was just me and these
three stooges left to ensure the things that needed to be done in Sonar
during a return to port were done, and done properly. We had finally
arrived back in port off of patrol this morning, and of course wouldn't you
know it, my duty section had the luck of drawing the first day's duty.

I let my gaze purposefully linger on the two dirt-bag Nub's who were also
in my duty section, and of course they weren't qualified to pour piss out
of a boot yet. Even though Whitcock was technically qualified, which meant
he could hang or second check tags, he had his board three days before we
pulled in for patrol, and from all indications, it was a mercy
board. Everyone knew Whitcock was smart, but when it came to anything
involving a submarine, he was clueless. It's possible he loved the Navy
even less than I did; I guess he missed his mommy back home in Nebraska.

He might be "qualified" now, but no one that actually sat on his board
would ever say he "earned" the Dolphins on his chest, and if anything they
just shook their heads and sighed in disgust. But, it was his second run,
and if he didn't get qualified before we got in, the Chief of the Boat had
threatened to have him transferred to the surface fleet, and the threat
behind those words was enough to make any Submariner rethink their
lives. The sub force is a very tight knit community, and the regular navy,
or the "Surface Pukes" as we called them, was a big scary place that no one
wanted to visit, much less be a part of.

Wisely, the two dirt-bags kept their eyes lowered and pretended to be
invisible, hoping that whatever shitty jobs Chief Gelli was boning me with,
didn't trickle down to them. Sadly, they were overestimating their chances,
especially if I had anything to say about it. If I was going to hang these
fifty or so fucking tags for the next four hours, then these Nubs were
going to second check them, even if they had to hold each others hand while
they did it.

At the very least they should be learning to do this shit now, instead of
pretending they would never have to do them as long as I was around. I
wasn't going to be around forever to handle everything for Chief
Gelli. Eventually, he'd have to start making the other worker bees in the
division figure out how things actually fucking worked.

Being the "Bull", or most senior third-class in the division and damn near
the whole boat, meant that I had way more responsibility and knowledge than
my rank would normally indicate. I had been around long enough to qualify
everything I possibly could, and in fact I was qualified everything I could
be, and then some. I was far from being some NUB that didn't know his ass
from a hole in the ground. Unfortunately for me, that also meant that for
most things, I was about as good as it gets for Chief, who never failed to
have some fucked up job to "award" someone with.

In the sub community, this person would be known as "The lowest ranking
qualified individual available," or in the common vernacular of our times:
Bitch. Shit rolls downhill, as we say, and in the sub community
responsibility equates to workload. Any real authority was damn near
nonexistent for any third-class on a submarine, even for the most senior
third on board, like me.

This is how it works: The second-classes shit on everyone except the Firsts
and the Chiefs; the Firsts shit on everyone else except the chiefs, and
Chiefs shit on everyone except other chiefs, including most of the
officers. Officers usually play the "Good Cop" role and didn't shit one
anyone in public, except for when they were around enlisted guys actively
shitting on one of their own, in which case they would play along and
announce their disapproval for whomever the mob was currently bashing. And
as for the Captain, well ours constantly shit all over everyone, including
the XO, but that much was expected as he was the Captain.

Regardless, my status wasn't what you might call enviable. If anything, the
fact that I hadn't advanced to second-class yet was an issue of contention
with me that I might go into later, but for now I'll try not to totally
fuck you up with the particulars.

"Don't go anywhere Robidoux, or you either Whitcock," I warned, as I pulled
out our divisional tag binder from a nearby locker. The divisional tag
binder, which I had created and maintained for about 2 years now, existed
for the sole-purpose of making the job of tag-out writing for the division
easier, and thusly giving me a slim chance that someone else might not be
able to fuck it up badly enough to precipitate my personal involvement
anywhere in the process. At least that was the theory behind it when I was
creating it.

It had all the major tag-out procedures listed according to their PM
schedule, and even had sample tag-out sheets for the ship's tag-out log
already filled out. All anyone really had to do was look at what I had in
this binder, copy the tags and the tag-out sheet in our binder which I
already had samples for, go get them signed and approved, hang them, get
them second or third checked, and you were done. It was that freaking
simple, and damn near idiot proof.

The problem however, was that I created the binder, kept it up to date, and
had more experience checking, hanging, and getting tags approved than just
about anyone else in the division. This pretty much makes me the head
tag-out bitch for the division, and why in a pinch I would get stuck doing
them before anyone else would even get considered. Do I sound bitter? Oh,
I'm sorry; did I forget to mention how I hate this job? Ok, I'll stop
repeating myself, but remember: A bitching sailor is a happy sailor.

"Why do we gotta' stay?" Whitcock grumbled.

Chief Gelli shifted slightly in the Supervisors seat. The next thing anyone
was aware of, including Whitcock, was Whitcock's head flying forward from a
big, Chief-sized hand, slapping him across the back of his head.

"Because, you two delinquents are going to be second checking those tags
all fuckin' night, till they get hung," Chief replied, as Whitcock rubbed
the back of his fat, melon-sized head. "In fact, this is how it's going to
fuckin' work. Wilde will get the tags written, approved, and hung with
Robidoux going with him to learn where all of them are. Then Wilde's going
to fuckin' hand you the tag-out sheet when he's done so you can second
check 'em."

"But I don't know where all those valves are...," Whitcock protested.

"No fuckin' shit Einstein, that's why Robidoux is going to be going with
you when you second check them, to lead you around and show you where all
of it is, since Wilde can't be near you when you second check them," Chief
interrupted. "Got it figured out yet brainiac?" Chief Gelli retorted.

"Whatever," Whitcock grumbled, obviously not thrilled at hearing this news.

Chief Gelli was in perfect form. Every fourth word was "Fuckin", which
meant he was actually pretty calm. You could tell when Chief was mad
because he'd say as little as possible, like he was trying to do anything
but speak to you because if he did, a dam somewhere inside of him would
break, and all that anger would come spilling out. I learned to recognize
this through experience, but for the most part, Chief Gelli had all the
tact of a Pit Bull.

"Wilde, I'll go talk to the Duty Chief to make sure you don't have the
top-side watch tonight, since these two yahoos are going to be taking care
of that for you. I'll see if Chief Bagley will put you on the zero to six
below-decks," Chief Gelli said as he started shuffling towards the door to
the shack.

"Thanks Chief," I muttered. I guess I couldn't be too mad at him. Instead
of being up all night hanging diver's tags and standing six hours of watch
topside with zero sleep, I would at least be below decks and out of the
cold. It can get quite chilly standing topside in January since the wind
from the ocean side is usually always blowing. Despite the seasonable cold,
Georgia was definitely no Connecticut in that regard.

The below-decks watch was historically given out to firsts or seconds on
our boat, but apparently the Duty Officers and the chiefs realized that I
knew my shit enough to actually stand the watch.

The rest of the night passed fairly uneventfully. The tags got hung, I got
some sweet revenge on my two lazy Nub's by making them spend three hours
that night second-checking diver's tags, and I stood my six hour watch
below decks instead of topside in the cold. Of course, that meant that by
zero six forty-five in the morning the following day, when we were relieved
by the oncoming duty section, I had had a whopping total of zero hours of
sleep in the past twenty four hours. Then again, who's counting?

By now I've used the term NUB a few times, and In case you were wondering
what a NUB is, it's an acronym we use in the submarine community that
means: non useful body. It usually refers to someone of low rank who just
got to the boat and is fresh out of boot camp and isn't qualified to do
anything on board yet except get in the way.

He can't stand a watch, can't hang tags, and doesn't know what to do during
a casualty, or really do anything else a qualified guy can do to support
the operations of the ship. Basically, Nub's are useless until they get
qualified and can support the watch bill. They breathe the air that we make
on board, and eat the food, but their contribution to spreading the
workload is negligible, hence they are non-useful, even though they take up
space like every other body onboard.  This term is used almost exclusively
as a derogatory term. When you called someone on a sub a "Fuckin' nub,"
they knew exactly what you meant. It could also mean other things
however. For example, when someone is regarded as being very poor at their
job, or sloppy (or like in Whitcock's case - just plain lazy and stupid),
they get called a NUB.

Even first classes who report to the boat have to get re-qualified
everything since every ship has different systems and equipment. The
reality of life onboard a sub is, if you can't stand watch or don't know
what the fuck you're doing, you're pretty much a non-useful body, no matter
whom or what you are.

All in all, my first night back in port could have been much worse. With
all the things that had to be done, my thoughts didn't have much time to
wander to other things, like you-know-who, and the night passed
uneventfully for the most part. After watch, I started packing out my rack
and stuffing my sea-bag so that tomorrow I could get off this stinking can
as fast as Chief Gelli would cut me loose. I'd still have to get my truck
out of deployed parking tomorrow morning, but not much could really bother
me now. I was almost home free, so to speak.

Finally with everything taken care of, I headed for the mess decks largely
a zombie. A few cups of coffee while I waited for duty section muster would
hopefully get me through the next few hours. Since I was "day-after" duty,
I would probably be one of the first guys to leave the boat today. Anyways,
that was my hope.  Chief Gelli pleasantly surprised me, for once. He must
have gotten a piece from his wife last night, because when everyone met for
quarters in the shack at zero seven-hundred that morning, he had a regular
shit-eating grin on his face. I shuddered as I fought the developing mental
picture of that gruesome event.

"Did you get any time down Wilde?" Chief asked me as he saw the haggard
look on my face.

I simply shook my head no. Chief frowned but didn't comment. After he made
some announcements and passed out assignments in our divisional quarters,
he reached behind him grabbing a folder off the desk and handed it to me.

"I got this back from the COB this morning at Chief's quarters. The Captain
approved it. You can see Miles after you get out of here if you got
questions," Chief explained. "Now get the fuck out of here, but be quiet
about it. And good job on the tags last night."

I was dumbfounded. My chief had actually gave me a compliment, let me go at
an unheard of time, and gave me something worth more to me than gold, all
in the space of about ten seconds. Miracles never cease. As I nodded my
head and opened the folder, there inside was my request chit with a shiny
green signature from the Captain along with a check in the "approved"
box. I was free to move out of the barracks, and would actually start
drawing a year round housing allowance.

"I'm outta here," I replied. I couldn't but crack a grin about half-way out
of the door. I knew better than to hang around even a second longer after
being given liberty. You just don't give anyone a chance to change their
mind, or give things time to go wrong and jeopardize your liberty.

"Catch ya' later Nub's," I laughed, as the looks Robidoux and Whitcock were
giving me could have melted steel. They had quickly noticed that Chief
hadn't cut either of them loose. If my tenure spent on board as a nub was
any indication, both of them could be stuck here till Chief decided to go
home, thus was the fate of a nub. Oh well, sucks to be them.

I decided to swing by the yeoman's office and see Miles our second-class
yeoman since his office was on the way out. Miles wasn't a bad guy and had
actually stood watch with us in Sonar a few times during the patrol.

"Sup man," I said as I entered the yeoman's office. "Got my housing chit
approved today. When are those com-rats and the allowance going to kick
in?" I queried as I handed him the folder containing my approved request
chit.

"Well, I'll back date it so you actually get it for this month too, but
you'll probably see it in your next pay period. If you don't, come see me
and I'll take care of it," Miles said as he took the folder from me and
started making copies of the chit.

"That's fuckin' awesome dude, and thanks," I replied as I gave him
two-thumbs up in approval.

Miles turned back and handed me the folder. "Hey, no problem man. Let me
know when you're movin and I'll give you a hand."

"Yeah, I'll keep that in mind dude, but I got to run. I'll catch you
later," I said as I took the folder back from him and turned to leave.

Miles said something in parting, but I hardly heard it as I rushed back to
my rack to grab my sea-bag and head topside. After climbing the ladder and
getting my stuff passed up to me, I noticed a few other guys milling about
on the pier with their gear. From the looks of it, a few of the day-after
duty 'nukes' were being cut out as well.

Time seemed to rush by as I tracked down the duty driver and loaded my
stuff into the van that was waiting to ferry us to the deployed parking
area where my sweet Alex and glorious freedom awaited.

After we arrived at the deployed parking lot, the gate was unlocked by our
off-going duty chief, Chief Bagley, who had tagged along for the
ride. Everyone started to unload their gear and head to their prospective
vehicles. I headed for my ride.  I would need to swing by the base
convenience store and pick up my usual "return to port" fare: a six-pack of
Stella Artois , a pack of fresh Marlboro menthols, and twenty ounce
Mt. Dew. All three of them being things I didn't had access to in the past
three months.

Arriving at my vehicle, I pulled off the large waterproof covering off my
Truck and fished out my keys largely on autopilot. Damn, it was good to see
my baby again. I unlocked the door and popped the hood so that I could
reconnect the battery cables. I always disconnected them before I went out
to sea to ensure that I would have plenty of juice at this moment. Many
times I had seen some new guy make the mistake of not doing that, only to
arrive in port to be greeted by a completely dead and drained battery.

After everything had checked out, my sea-bag was flung onto the back seat,
the truck cover was stuffed back into its case, and the key found its way
into the ignition. And here is where I take a break from my normal diatribe
against the Navy to tell you about something that I really loved, Alex.

Simply put, my truck was my baby. Most of the money I had made so far in
the Navy had gone into Alex. With no wife, no girlfriend, and no real
bills, I was free to blow my wages on someone truly deserving of such
lavish attention.

I had named my Truck Alex because I personally found that name to be sexy,
had always liked it, and thus felt that it perfectly fitted such a glorious
and gorgeous monument to all things masculine. Honestly, in my mind at
least, I couldn't see a gay guy such as myself who had zero interest in
females or female qualities, identifying such an obviously male
personification with a feminine name. So, my Truck was christened Alex.

He was a sexy fucking man of a Truck; not some nagging, prone to violent
mood swings, mobile PMS wagon. Just looking at Alex caused most guys to
start bleeding testosterone, not estrogen. And just like any good man I
imagined, he required some maintenance to keep him in top form, and oh boy,
did he ever get it.

Since I had just been out to sea for three straight months, this meant that
none of my money was getting spent, unlike those poor married saps whose
wives were busily and happily burning up their bank accounts. Every patrol
basically ensured that I would have about six grand in the bank when I got
back, at minimum.

Alex was one well-endowed hottie too. I only bought the very best things
for my baby. He was a Quad-cab Dodge Dakota with four wheel drive and an
automatic transmission with a sport package and a custom three layer black
pearlized paint job, ensuring that there were clean black body lines all
around.

Aftermarket parts and modifications were everywhere you looked: five
percent limousine tint, twenty inch racing alloys with Pirelli Z-rated
rubbers, 5.9 Liter 360ci V-8, Holley Supercharger, custom ram-air carbon
fiber hood, larger throttle-body style fuel injectors, higher capacity fuel
pump, Borla ceramic coated headers, welded dual three-inch Borla exhaust
pipes, forged pistons, Venom high-performance computer with in cab digital
controls and monitoring, custom hard shell lockable tonneu cover with
pneumatic lifts. You name it, Alex had it.

Inside, Alex was just as studly, possessing a sound system that would make
even Mozart green with envy: Boston Acoustics mids and highs, a Panasonic
touch screen head unit, two Kove "Armageddon" series twelve-inch sub
woofers, two one-thousand watt class D mono-block Crossfire amps, and all
of it passed through a digital twenty-four channel equalizer capable of
reproducing accurate and distortionless thirty-five to twenty-four thousand
hertz signals.

In essence, pure symphonic rapture delivered at a ground shaking
one-hundred and thirty-five sustained decibels. What can I say; I'm an
audiophile at home and at work.  As a final touch, the inside of the cab
had been completely layered with Dynamat sound deadening material so that
inside the cab with the windows up and the volume cranked, a person
standing just ten feet away on the outside would feel vibrations, but would
actually hear almost nothing. You could carry on a normal volume
conversation. Likewise, inside the cab, unless I completely floored the
gas, the engine and exhaust noises were kept to a minimum. Like I said,
Alex is my baby, and I definitely spoil my baby.

As I turned the key over in the ignition and lowered the windows, the
throaty roar I was anticipating greeted me in welcome. I stroked the
steering wheel lovingly.  "Did you miss me babe?" I asked as I gunned the
motor a few times imagining Alex's affirmative response.

I reached above me and retrieved the lone CD that was stored in the
overhead visor case. A customary ritual of mine was about to be reenacted,
and this off-crew would be officially started through upon its
completion. The CD contained a song which perfectly described my current
state of mind and my overall persona. As the windows came down I could see
a couple of the guys at the gate chuckle as they knew what was
coming. Chief Bagley simply shook his head and backed away from the
gate. He had observed this scene a few times now and knew what was coming.

This moment always felt as if it was being played out in slow motion, and
my life was being made into a movie. In my imagination, I always pictured
Steven Spielberg somewhere barely out of view with his camera filming this
scene in the movie of my life. And like any good actor I lived for the
part. I lost myself in this moment so totally, nothing else existed; not
the lack of sleep, not my job, and not the people around me. Everyone was
gathered here to watch me. Sometimes one's fantasies have a way of swelling
one's ego.

I urged Alex out of his parking space and lined him straight at the gate
that was only about twenty yards away. My finger lightly tapped the head
unit until it displayed the track I desired. The play button was swiped,
and I engaged the four wheel drive transmission. As the Orchestral opening
to Megadeath's "Symphony of Destruction" blasted out of my truck at
ear-drum rupturing levels, I floored the gas pedal.

Alex roared to life as the lead guitarist finished the songs first defining
lick. Various car alarms around me chirped their dismay as the sudden
presence of powerful vibrations disrupted their sense of peace and
quiet. Alex shook as the Holley Supercharger pumped its one-hundred and
fifty horses into the Mopar engine.

Certain laws of physics and motion suddenly came into question as the
Supercharger radically spiked the engines power. The tires simply didn't
stand a chance against that force, and instantly lost any semblance of
traction despite their scientific engineering to the contrary. That much
torque, applied that quickly, was simply more force than they were capable
of of dealing with. White smoke began to angrily billow from each tire as
their rubber surfaces superheated.

A few seconds passed, and a high pitched scream from the tires mated and
fused with Dave Mustaine's withering vocals. The Pirelli's continued to
shed their outermost rubber molecules in a desperate attempt to futilely
grip at the concrete beneath them. As Dave chanted about "Taking a mortal
man, and putting him in control," I slightly eased up on the gas pedal.

The tires, finally reaching a working relationship with the forces of
torque and drag, found traction. The force of over five-hundred foot pounds
of torque transferred cleanly through the frame into the ground to send
Alex powering forwards. As the instantaneous acceleration nailed me into
the back of my seat, cheers and whistles of appreciation from those
watching the spectacle went up. About ten seconds after it had started, I
reached the gate, and as I crossed the threshold I threw my own voice into
the milieu.

"Watch him become a God! Watch people's heads a' roll!" I shouted in time
with the lyrics of the song.

Three months worth of pent up emotion came screaming out of me in a
simultaneous release of aggression, frustration, relief, joy, and
sadness. This void was replaced by a sense of euphoria and closure as my
life began anew.  A broad smile erupted from my face and all the sleepless
hours and heartache of the past three months of patrol vanished with it.

With the ritual now completed and the cosmic balance of my universe thus
restored, I slowed Alex down and let the adrenaline of the moment that both
of us shared drift away. As always, he had fulfilled his part more than
adequately, and would definitely be getting quite a bit of love from me
this off-crew as a show of my appreciation for his faithful devotion.

It took only a few minutes to swing by the base's exchange. While I was
there picking up my six-pack of beer and my fresh pack of smokes, I stopped
by the ATM to give a cursory glance at my bank account balance to confirm
all was as it should be. It was, and again I silently thanked the gods for
my independence. The cool liquid of the Mt. Dew brought its familiar and
pleasant taste as I downed it on my way from the exchange to the
barracks. Tonight was going to be a great homecoming. Little did I know how
badly I was underestimating that prediction.

Finally, arriving back at the barracks, I was greeted with the familiar
sights, sounds, and smells of home, or at least what would serve as home
for the immediate future. I parked Alex well away from any other cars, so
as to not give any less considerate individuals cause to harm him, and thus
harm themselves with my fist. I grabbed my gear and set off for my
room. For the next few days this was where I was going to hang my hat, and
god-damned if it didn't feel great to be back, even if it was some crummy
barracks building.

As I started the brief walk to the second floor of the three story
buildings, my mind was already contemplating things where my first night
back would take me. There would be the Prime Rib at Ruby Tuesday's I had
decided to treat myself to. Of course, I might decide to catch a movie as
well; no telling what was playing at the local theater. Anything other than
8mm boat flicks would work for my purposes. But first I would have to
shower and wash the boats tell-tale stink off of myself which would require
a very thorough cleaning and grooming session.

Finally arriving at my door, I unlocked it and entered the room to be
greeted by more comforting familiarity as everything in my room appeared to
be just as I had left it. It appeared that no one had been moved in;
nothing had caught fire or gone "missing" in my absence, all of which was a
very good thing.

The six-pack of Stella made its way into the fridge with a customary single
going into my freezer to receive an extra bit of chill while I went about
getting cleaned up. Disrobing from my uniform and chunking it in the
clothes hamper, I grabbed towels and other toiletry items from my ditty bag
which I had purposefully packed last into my sea-bag to ensure easy access
at this very moment.

I languished in the shower for far longer than necessary and decided that I
would come out after about thirty minutes. I might be a little
water-logged, but at least all traces of submarine life would be washed
away in the process. As I ran the soapy shower puff over my body, I
couldn't help but run an inquisitive hand over my body. The lean definition
that had developed over the course of the patrol was very pronounced, and I
realized just how much fitter I felt and would probably look.  Three months
worth of a solid work-out regimen of stair-climbing, a tread mill, and
weight benches along with watching what I had eaten during that time, had
apparently been well worth it.

I finally rinsed off and climbed out of the shower. I settled into a
comfortable position in front of my sink and mirror and began the follow-up
grooming with a good healthy dose of preening like a peacock. Sure, I was
no Brad Pitt, but it wasn't from lack of grooming or hygiene, just
genetics. A little further admiring of my self was definitely had.

I definitely noticed a difference in my upper body, abs, and legs, and with
any luck, maybe someone else would too. I silently made a promise to myself
that I would maintain this body as long as I could. My level of fitness and
my weight were the only aspects of my body I really could control, so I
resolved myself to keep it looking this way. I couldn't change what god had
given me, but at least I could be happy with myself and my ability to take
care of what I did have. All it required was some willpower and dedication
and these were two things which I had plenty of.

Although I was a bit pale from the lack of sun for the past three months,
this could easily be cured by a few days spent outside in small
increments. Sunburn was the bane of any Submariner just coming back from
sea, and one I was not going to fall victim to. Finally, having finished
with shaving and everything else, I threw my towel over my shoulder and
began to add the final touches which included a bit of styling gel in the
hair followed by a quick blow dry.

Convinced that I was once again acceptable to mingle with decent civilian
society, I turned around and headed back for my room to put on some clean
clothes from my closet. Anything other than a uniform would be welcome,
including nothing at all. Perhaps I could even sneak in a short nap for a
few hours. I turned the door knob and stepped back into my room.

"Oh, hey Aidan," Paul said. "I guess we're roommates now."

Time stood still and the Earth momentarily stopped its rotation.

"Uh...," I stuttered, as I couldn't think of anything to say in the state
of shock I was in at seeing Paul in my room at this very moment.

Paul kind of pointed towards me. "You might want to cover that thing up
before you put someone's eye out," He said with a chuckle.

"Oh shit, sorry!" I shouted as I recovered my wits long enough for my brain
to realize that I was completely naked and not even 6 feet away from Paul.

Quickly turning around and heading for my dresser drawers, I fished out a
pair of clean black Unico boxer briefs and slipped them on. I turned back
around to face Paul, still in complete shock at seeing him here in my room
of all places. Quickly looking around I saw his sea-bag and a few other
things that obviously belonged to him.

I distinctly remembered locking my door, so he had to have a key, which
meant that most likely he had been moved into my room legitimately
somehow. The last thing I became vaguely aware of was that Paul was looking
right at me the whole time.

Now modesty was not a quality I possessed any substantial amount of in case
you were wondering. In my way of thinking, modesty is something that people
with less self-esteem than my self try to burden me with to make me feel
guilty about my lack of it, when they are the ones with the bodily
hang-ups. Seriously, why be ashamed or embarrassed about a little nudity?

Shame in my own body was not something I was guilty of, so in reality, the
couple of seconds that I had been fully naked in front of Paul wasn't
something I was even worried about. He happened to see me after I just came
out of the shower. I knew I was clean, well groomed, and hopefully I
smelled really good. I was otherwise confident that if anyone was going to
see me naked, then that would have been the best time for it to happen.

In fact, it was a situation I couldn't have dreamed up any better. I wanted
for Paul to see me in just that manner, and now it had happened and even
though the situation wasn't a sexual one, he had the opportunity to see
what I had to offer. Now, I just had to figure out how to actually go about
offering it.

But, in order to not freak him out totally or make him uncomfortable, I
should at least pretend to be embarrassed or modest like any other
"perfectly straight" naked male would have been when placed in a similar
circumstance. Honestly, if our positions had been reversed I would have
enjoyed the show for as long as he let me without being obvious about
it. We might have carried on a complete conversation with him completely
nude before he realized it, or I made him realize it.

And that was the exact reason that instead of instantly wrapping the towel
on my shoulder around me like that perfectly normal guy might have done, I
just turned around and put on some underwear. Hopefully, I was giving him a
good view of my backside since he had already seen the front, without
making it too terribly obvious that I was giving him a chance to look. At
this point, what did I have to lose?

Logically, it made sense to me without seeming too weird. It was also a
good sign in my mind that Paul apparently hadn't turned away while I was
dressing. This could have meant several things of course, but the one I
wanted it to mean, was that he liked what he was seeing. More reasonably
however, it meant that although he wasn't physically or sexually attracted
to what I was showing him since he wasn't gay, at least he wasn't prudish
and could handle seeing a bit of same sex nudity. After all, we had seen
plenty of it in the showers during boot camp, whether we wanted to or not.

Logically, a straight guy who's perfectly confident in their own sexuality
would probably not have to look away or make a show of being offended just
to maintain their belief that they were completely straight. Wouldn't you
agree? At least all of that seemed very scientifically plausible in my head
at the time.

Looking back at this one incident with hindsight though, made me realize
just how clueless I was. But of course, that's why you're reading this tale
in the place that you are, aren't you? I didn't have the luxury of knowing
how things would ultimately turn out back then, though I did maintain a
sense of hope.

"I didn't mean to freak you out but no one answered when I knocked. I
didn't mean to surprise you like that," Paul offered as he gestured to the
bathroom.

"Um, what the fuck's going on? How did you get moved in here? I had it
worked out with the BEQ guy that I wasn't going to ever get a roommate," I
asked kind of tersely. Instantly I regretted my words, as Paul's reaction
changed from slightly amused to what I thought might have been
confusion. We're my eyes lying to me or did he actually look hurt that I
wasn't instantly excited by him being here?

"Well I checked back into my room last night and there was a note from the
BEQ officer that said I needed to start moving in here this
morning. Something about the room I was in getting closed for renovation or
something," Paul said. "I can go ask him for another room if you don't want
me here..."

"No! It's not that at all...I just, It's I had no idea, but you being here
is cool, totally. I mean awesome, It's just that I...," I stammered,
quickly grasping for control over the situation.

I realized one thing very quickly however, that this situation was a dream
come true. Instead of asking Paul to move in with me, which I wouldn't have
considered because it would have been just strange enough to invite
curiosity and unwanted questions, by some miracle my wish had come true and
all through no involvement of my own.

Unfortunately, Paul was now probably thinking that I was upset about him
being here and having my privacy taken away from me, which though true to
an extent, was easily overshadowed by the fact that Paul was the one person
I would sacrifice that privacy for.

I had to think fast and act quickly if I wanted to salvage this development
and restore my control of my surroundings. One thing was certain
though. There was no way in Hell he was going to just walk right back out
now that he was here. I needed a breather in order to think and develop a
plan. This changed everything. I also admitted quietly and quickly to
myself that this was all a bit overwhelming and resolved to not make a
total ass out of myself. In order to do that I needed to redirect the
conversation to let him know I wanted him here with more than just words. I
needed Paul to feel welcome here.

"OK, well since you've got to move, let's go get that done. The sooner we
get you out of your old room and into here, the sooner you can start
unpacking and get settled in," I said.

"Sounds good. You wanna help me grab the rest of my stuff? It isn't much,
just some more clothes and my laptop that's locked up in my closet," Paul
queried.

"Sure, lets go," I said as I walked to the door and put on a pair of my
sandals. I opened the door and headed out to the balcony. That was when the
cold wind hit me. Goosebumps instantly sprouted all over my body.

"You don't want to like, finished getting dressed or something?" Paul
asked, pointing out my lack of clothing. I quickly decided to not to let a
chance like this slip by.

"Nah, fuck it. I don't mind anyone getting a free look, but if they want
anything more than that they'll have to pay for it," I replied with a wink.

I turned around and started walking to Paul's room determined to ignore the
cold in favor of giving Paul some more time to look me over. Perhaps this
gesture and the signals I was hoping to send would let him get to know me
better. I wasn't very modest which he was probably aware of by now, but
perhaps he in turn would grow more comfortable with it, assuming that he
wasn't already.

Hopefully, my seeming lack of concern for him seeing me like this would
have the desired effect. In a perfect world, he would also reciprocate my
actions. After all, when in Rome, do as the Romans. I already enjoyed
hanging around my room with little on, and now that Paul was going to share
this space with me, I determined that these events would become the norm,
not the exception.

This whole situation would work to my benefit, and if I was careful about
it and didn't do something stupid, this event was like Christmas all over
again. If Paul played along, he would now be doing so in front of me and
not in the solitude of his own room where I couldn't enjoy the scenery of
his undoubtedly gorgeous body. I just hoped that the thirty-five dollars I
spent on this one pair of boxer briefs was worth the money.

I had first seen them online and instantly noted how they looked on the
model in the picture. They had long legs so they didn't ride up in your
crotch area, but they did a damn fine job of supporting and lifting the
intimate bits for greater comfort. As a side benefit, they made your
package bulge out quite a bit. I'd have to check out how I looked later to
figure out if they were doing a good job of that. Apparently these Unicos
were about as good a pair of underwear as you could buy.

As we exited my room, I could have almost sworn I heard Paul say something
like, "I'll keep that in mind," though at the time I dismissed it as an
over-fanciful imagination combined with a howling and cold wind.

It didn't take us ten minutes between the both of us to completely empty
out his room. Apparently, before we went out on patrol he had packed most
of his things inside his closet so he could lock them up, so everything was
already in some semblance of order waiting to be moved somewhere, except
now they would be moved to my room, instead of back into his. Arriving back
at our room with the last few loads of stuff, I set down a bundle of
clothes on hangers that I had grabbed out of his closet and headed for the
fridge.

"Damn, I almost forgot about this," I grumbled as I opened the freezer and
retrieved the now ice-cold bottle of Stella that I had placed there
earlier. "You want one?" I asked, as I turned to Paul and closed the
freezer door.  "Maybe later," Paul replied.

"Sure thing. I'll probably pick up some more now that you're here too," I
said as I un-wrapped the top of the bottle and popped the cap off with the
bottle opener I had retrieved from the top of the refrigerator.

"Damn that's good," I said while turning the bottle around appreciatively
in my hand. I set the rest of my beer on top of the fridge and started
towards his pile of clothes with the idea of helping him unpack.

"Let's go ahead and get your clothes into this spare closet. Then we can
worry about the other stuff," I said.

After going through his things and hanging some of his shirts and pants
into his closet I started to notice his lack of clothing. Being a "clothes
horse" kind of guy myself, this was yet another opportunity tossed at my
feet that I could not help but snatch up. Letting Paul borrow my shirts or
anything else he wanted to wear would be a good way of getting him even
more comfortable with the idea of being around me.

I knew that my closet and my clothes would be permeated by certain smells,
namely my smells. As a gay guy, I realized that I was actually attracted to
men's cologne and certain male fragrances in addition to just liking the
way they smelled. In fact, most popular women's perfumes I had smelled in
the past actually had the opposite effect. I just didn't like most of
them. If you're not Gay, you might think I'm nuts, and maybe I am, but if
you are you might understand what I'm getting at.

Remembering back to the previous off-crew when Paul and I shared some time
together, I recalled that he had similar tastes in such things, which was a
good sign. I already knew I was very attracted to his unique smells, but
perhaps things could go the other way. I knew that the science behind
smells and pheromones had some truth to it, and I figured it didn't hurt to
use anything anything at my disposal. In either case, it was another piece
of the grand plan for seducing Paul that was constantly being evaluated in
my mind.

"Are these the only clean shirts you have other than the ones you took
underway with you?" I asked him as I motioned towards the shirts I had just
finished hanging in his closet.

Yeah, not much of a clothes kinda guy I guess," He shrugged.

He wouldn't be for long I thought. "Well, feel free to use anything I've
got. My pants would probably be a bit too long for you but some of the
shorts I have would fit you, but they'd be kind of baggy. Most of my shirts
would fit you too, even if they were a little long," I said as I walked
towards my own closet and opened it wide so he could see inside.

As I turned to watch his expression I noticed his eyes get wider. Paul had
never really hung out in my room like this before as it had always been
casual and to watch TV or something. We were treading on all new ground
here.

"Oh wow," Paul said as the full contents of my closet came into
view. "That's a ton of clothes."

"Yes, though not as much as I'd like, but I definitely have enough to
ensure that I don't repeat any outfit too much. Though you'll forgive me if
I don't share my underwear," I replied as I adjusted the pair of Unico's I
was wearing by running my fingers underneath the waistband and letting them
snap back in place. Again, I noticed that Paul was watching my every move.

"I just got these last off crew before we pulled out," I added. "Do you
think they look ok," I asked, purposefully trying to see what his response
would be, and what his body language would indicate. I was always looking
for signs.

"They're kind of cool looking. Are they comfortable though? I like boxers
'cause they don't get all wedged up on me," Paul asked very nonchalantly,
giving me very little facial expression to work with.

"Oh they're very comfortable, and designed not to wedge up your crotch like
that," I replied. "Maybe we could order you a pair of these to try one
day. I get mine on-line from a company in California that just started
up. They're pretty high quality and on the expensive side, but I figure
it's the least you can do for such an important part of your body," I added
casually as I still purposefully observed his reactions.

His reactions were pretty vague, so I figured I would lay off a bit so that
I wouldn't step beyond the realm of reason. I began to pull out a shirt and
some other clothes. I would have paid a million bucks to know what was
going through his head right now, but his face had become pretty hard to
read. If he was catching onto my little game, he wasn't making it obvious.

Paul seemed all business all of the sudden, and I desperately hoped it
wasn't because the subject was making him uncomfortable. Just being half
naked in front of this gorgeous hottie was doing serious numbers on my
libido, and I was constantly walking a tightrope between my body's urges
and my mental reservation against sprouting wood in front of him. It was a
very exacting exercise in concentration and willpower.

Sure, this whole scene might seem kind of weird to a normal person, but you
have to remember, we were both in the Navy on board a submarine
together. Paul had just spent his first run getting used to the sexual
jokes and innuendo from all the other guys, including the homo-erotic
ones. Regardless of whether they were really joking or not we always
assumed it was a joke because of the whole "don't ask don't tell" thing.

This wasn't all that different, and he was responding the way a guy on the
boat normally would by appearing to not care or be overly concerned with my
lack of clothing or my propensity to keep focusing his attention on it or
my body. He seemed very nonchalant about the whole deal. Mixed signals were
very possible considering everything so I had to still play it safe
somewhat; nothing too overt, like pulling out my dick and asking him if he
liked that too. That would have just been ridiculous, out of character, and
potentially ruinous, not to mention something I would never ever do.

This was real life, not some fantasy story on Nifty. Unless I knew
one-hundred percent about the other person's sexuality, which was a
benchmark I very was far away from where Paul was concerned, I would never
be overt with revealing my own. It just wasn't in my character.

I had spent the past few years in the Navy taking care to hide my sexuality
from others, which wasn't hard to do, but still required effort and
thought. I wasn't about to just throw all that away on the very slim chance
that Paul was Gay. But unlike the time before now, Paul and I hadn't had
the time or opportunity to really interact with each other. Now that
opportunity had presented itself, I wasn't about to fuck it up by rushing
things. As they say, good things come to those who wait.

"I think that this is what I'll wear tonight," I said as I pulled out a
rarely used item of clothing and turned around to show it to Paul.

I had just remembered this particular shirt and instantly decided I would
be wearing it tonight. It was a mesh T-shirt with elastic in the sleeves
which made the hem snug against the wearer's bicep, and it was cut just a
tad short so that it didn't extend all the way down to the waist line. It
came to just below my belly-button, but just barely. Just enough of a
glimpse of the waist area to be interesting I thought. It was also made
from some kind of stretchy, yet metallic looking thread which caused the
shirt to reflect light almost as if it were made of some kind of metal
instead of fabric.

It fit tight against the body and really didn't leave much to the
imagination as it was mesh, but on the right body type, it would have a
definite effect. I definitely thought I now possessed that type of body
after all the extra attention to that area I had paid during patrol, and I
figured it would look as sexy on me as it had the first guy I had ever seen
wearing it.

I had seen him wearing this particular shirt in Connecticut when I was
stationed there and I literally did a double take on him. That guy was
built very nice, not too muscular, but cut enough to pull it off and make
my mouth water, so of course I went up to him and asked him where he got
it. A few hours later, and I had one just like it from the local "Hot
Topic". If it looked half as good on me as it had on that guy, then I felt
quite good about the look I would be presenting for myself. It might not
have been a huge, blinking neon sign above my head that said "Fuck me", but
I figured that by wearing it, my intentions wouldn't be that hard to guess
at.

"Oh, you have plans to go out?" Paul asked.

"Yes I do. And as a matter of fact, you and I are going to go Ruby
Tuesday's for lunch as soon as you get a shower and get changed. Maybe we
can also catch a movie or something if anything worth watching is
playing. My treat of course," I said as I made a show of putting on the
shirt. Out of the corner of my eye I noticed that Paul was still watching
me. I made sure to catch him in the act and turned towards him. Would he
pretend to not be watching, or would he maintain an air of casually not
caring that he had previously shown?

"What do you think?" I asked, as I popped a pose in the shirt.

"Not bad. Going to bother with pants this time?" he said jokingly.

"I suppose...damn you laws of societal decency!" I said as I balled my fist
in a Homer Simpson like gesture and shook it at him with a grin. I turned
back around and pulled out a pair of black loose fitting track pants and a
pair of white low crew-cut socks to finish the outfit which I also began to
put on. After I had put these on I turned back and noticed Paul going
through his things and pulling out various items of clothing as well.

"Well I guess I need to go get a shower then," Paul said as he gathered up
the necessary items.

"I agree. You still smell like the boat," I joked holding my nose.

"Ha-ha, very funny," He said as he headed towards the shower.

"You go shower, and I'm going to grab a smoke. Me casa es su casa," I said,
as I spread my hands and indicated everything in the room.

As Paul entered the bathroom and closed the door behind him I walked
outside with my beer and my smokes. The first smoke after three months at
sea without one would be kind of harsh, but the menthol flavor combined
with the distinctive bite of a cold Stella would definitely be worth it. As
I enjoyed yet another of life's simple pleasures that I hoped would never
lose its luster, I began to reflect on the recent developments.

Paul lived with me. The very thought of it still made me shake my head in
disbelief. Life was finally getting interesting, and as long as I kept my
wits about me and didn't screw things up, it would only get more
interesting as time went on. In my mind, this situation could only end up
one way. It must and would end with the inevitable; Paul and I would become
friends, and eventually that relationship would bloom into something else
altogether. The hard part would be finding a way to take the first
step. Even if Paul was completely straight, then at least I would have some
entertaining scenery for the foreseeable future.

As I finished the last of my cigarette and beer I cracked a sardonic
grin. To think, I could be falling for a boy that might never ever be able
to return the same type of feelings that I had for him. Sometimes, and
especially at moments like these, I thought that I could be pretty
pathetic. Here I was, potentially wasting my time and setting myself up for
emotional suicide, chasing after a guy who'd probably turn out to be
straighter than I pretended to be. The Papacy would no doubt canonize me
five hundred years from now: Aidan Wilde, Patron Saint of Lost Causes.

Finally, having finished my smoke and the rest of my beer, I walked back
inside and tossed the empty beer bottle into the trashcan. It was then that
I noticed the bathroom door was slightly cracked, because a good amount of
steam was drifting out of it into the bedroom area. Quickly observing the
room, I figured out that Paul was definitely still inside. No one else was
in the room except me.

I couldn't hear the shower running anymore either, and assumed he was
either still inside the shower with the water off, or that he was done and
was standing outside. It took only a few seconds for me to start my career
as a peeping-tom, and I moved as silently and stealthily as possible
towards the door. Trying to be careful and remain as quiet as possible, I
peered in. My mouth dropped, and the pupils in my eyes no doubt dilated to
soak in the beautiful sight that greeted them.

There was Paul, and he was standing completely naked in front of the mirror
with his back towards the door.

My heartbeat and breathing both took a brief holiday. Because he was in
front of this rather large mirror, I could see both sides of his body at
the same time. The effect of this simultaneous viewing of his complete body
was beyond describable. My heart decided that it was desperately needed and
started madly pumping blood to the only area of my body currently demanding
attention, and of course, my dick instantly sprang into a full-blown
erection.

He was simply perfect. His left hand was gripping the edge of the sink
counter-top, and with his right hand he was brushing his teeth. His whole
body leaned slightly forward with his legs slightly spread on a towel he
had put on the floor to soak up the water running off of him, as he tried
to keep directly over the sink. God had been feeling extremely benevolent
on the day that he had created Paul.

Of course, like any like minded fellow with hormones would have done in my
position, I checked out his crotch first. From my vantage point, his penis
appeared to be about four or five inches as it hung completely soft above a
rather largish scrotum which was lightly covered by a fine dusting of blond
pubic hair. He also had a small patch of blond hair above his penis which
he apparently kept neatly trimmed as its edge was formed by a distinct
line, and not a random tangle. He also appeared to be circumcised; another
thing that we had in common.

I couldn't get over how pale and clear his skin was; it was as white and
smooth as alabaster or pearl. There wasn't an inch of fat any where on his
body that I could visibly see. The muscles of his calves, upper thighs,
back, and arms, were well defined and prominent without being
disproportionately large. I also noticed that he lacked a lot of body hair,
and what he did have was very fine and golden in color as to almost be
invisible. Paul was a natural blond, and I had seen his proverbial 'short
hairs' to prove it.

Overall, Paul still retained the look and stature of a young boy just
moving into manhood. The effect this was having on my mind and body was
nothing short of a complete and total meltdown.

My heart beat heavily in my chest and my breathing was shallow and
quick. Paul was simply the most gorgeous boy or man I had ever laid eyes
on. After seeing this sight, nothing else would ever be able to compare to
it. Michelangelo should have sculpted Paul's body when creating his "David"
statue. The naked Paul in my fantasies didn't hold a candle to the real
Paul in the flesh. Paul's beauty was the kind that was almost so
overpowering as to be painful. The ancient Greek tale of Narcissus came to
mind as I imagined myself gazing longingly and lovingly at his beauty until
the very end of time.

As I continued to soak up the image of Paul's body and store that picture
in my mind forever, he finished brushing his teeth and cupped his right
hand under the running water which he brought up to his mouth. He tilted
his head back as he began to gargle with the water. As his head tilted
back, the lines in his neck stood out, and my only thought was how I would
love to run my mouth and tongue over his throat and nibble at him while
planting tiny kisses everywhere on his body.

Paul bent forward and spit into the sink, and after bringing his head back
up, he opened his mouth and inspected the job he had done on his
brushing. Just as I was about to go into visual overload as I soaked in the
naked beauty in front of my eyes, I noticed in horror as his depthless
baby-blue eyes darted suddenly in the mirror and looked right at the
door. It was like he was looking through me. Alarms went off silently in my
head. "Run!" my mind screamed suddenly.

I instantly jerked my head backwards and quickly backed away trying to get
as far from the door as possible. The only thought in my head was:

"Oh fuck me, Paul's just caught me spying on him!"




To be continued in: "Love Runs Deep", Chapter 3: Boy's Night Out.

-------------------------------------------------------------------

I'm sorry for the length of this one without any naughty bits guys and
gals, but there were some story elements that needed to be told and I felt
they were necessary to keep building the characters. Future chapters will
also be around the 100kbyte file size mark. Don't fret; in the next chapter
things get very personal between Aidan and Paul, and things will definitely
build to a crescendo that I hope will be worth the wait. Again, thanks for
coming along for the voyage.

P.S.  In case you missed it in the opening blurb, because of the increasing
interest in the story, and the renewed interest I have in completing it,
I'm developing a mailing list of regular readers that I will be using to
email out notices for when I post new chapters of the story to Nifty, or
when a new story is in the works. This mailing list will be for no other
purpose, so make sure you specifically request to be added to it. If you'd
like to get onto this mailing list, please let me know and make the subject
line of your email mention the words "Add to mailing list" or something to
that effect.

I'm also looking for an individual that would be able to permanently assist
me in the editing process as my official editor, receiving due credit for
such of course. A second pair of critical eyes is always more helpful than
one pair. I'm looking for a professional and objective individual who can
be critical yet still remain genuinely interested in the subject matter
while allowing me to retain my required level and sense of creative
control. If you feel you might be someone who can help me in this regard,
feel free to contact me with your pertinent information (qualifications,
background, etc.), but please, serious inquiries only.