From: harvey69@euduramail.com (Harvey Jay)
Subject: NEW STORY: Naval Exercises (m/m/m/m/m/m) (real)
Date: Wed, 25 Feb 1998 07:11:34 GMT
Approved: moderated.stories@bigfoot.com
Keywords: xmmmmmm xreal

NEW STORY: Naval Exercises (m/m/m/m/m/m) (real)

Someone on the list asked for Navy stories. Here's one as told to me by a
friend of mine who was a U.S. Navy commander and a ship's doctor during World
War II. I've put it in the first person, repeating it as best I can remember as
it was told to me. In the final scene he wasn't quite as specific about himself
as I have been, but from what he implied and what his son told me much later I
don't think I'm far off reality there. He was a horny bi guy, the father of my
best friend when I was in high school, and my mentor in male sexuality. Back
when it was not at all okay to be gay he let me and his son know that it was
okay, healthy, and normal for a guy to have feelings for other guys and express
them. His name has been changed in the byline to protect the innocent.

The byline BTW is taken from a real family in town. There were two Dickhaut
(yes, it's pronounced dick out) brothers about my age and a favorite pastime
was thinking up nicknames for them. Perhaps I'll write about that later.

Any comments would be welcome, especially to my e-mail address below.

 NAVAL EXERCISES

By Lt. Commander Randolph (Randy) Dickhaut, M.D., USNR

As told to Jay Harvey (Harvey69@Eudoramail.com)

We have been at sea for about three weeks following a long lay-up for repairs
at Pearl. I figure the guys have pretty much emptied their balls while on shore
and it is a good time for a ship wide short-arm inspection to check for VD. We
have also picked up some new crew -- young, raw recruits -- who should get the
standard VD protection lecture again before we hit port. Besides, our three
weeks at sea since Pearl have been uneventful and everyone is bored, especially
me. This will be a break in the monotony. I love talking and thinking about sex
and I really love doing short-arms. Some of the dicks on sailors are really
handsome. There must be something about the salt air.

Among the new men we have taken aboard is the chaplain. Name's Gray. He's a
spanking new lieutenant in his early twenties, just sworn in. He seems to be
kind of a fundamentalist theologically. I have never heard of the denomination
he comes from or the Bible school he attended. He is kind of cute but
everything he says and does indicates he is a straight and naive arrow.

Navy SOP is that both the doctor and the chaplain conduct the VD lecture, but
since he is so green I sit him down in the wardroom to go over the drill with
him. Several other officers are sitting around drinking coffee.

"I always tell it the way it is," I say. "This is a bunch of young, horny guys
and I've found that the best way to get through to them is to acknowledge
up-front that they're going to seek release one way or another, and that's
perfectly natural. I tell them how to tell if they've picked up a disease and
how to avoid getting one. I don't tell them not to have sex when in port
because they are going to anyway. But I do tell them the safest way to get
their rocks off is to masturbate themselves, but if they think they must visit
a prostitute while on shore most whores will be happy to jack you off and some
of them are pretty damned skillful at it and may even give you a discount, at
least so I understand."

The other guys in the wardroom laugh. The new chaplain glares at me. "My faith
does not permit me to condone that," he says.

"Well, shit, haven't you ever jacked off?" All ears are at attention now.

"No, sir! Certainly not."

"Ever had a wet dream?"

"I beg your pardon, sir."

"Okay, a nocturnal emission then."

No answer. His face is flushed. He lowers his head. I don't know whether he is
praying or looking at his crotch. Anyway, that's where everyone else is looking
and he definitely is getting a hard-on. I can't resist goading him a little
further. He is such a hypocrite.

 "Well, at least I see you do know about erections." Everyone roars with
laughter.

 That's when I get my devious idea about how to have a little fun with the
chaplain. We have to do this VD orientation thing in a series of small groups
because no enclosed area on the ship is big enough to assemble the whole crew
and besides some men are always on watch or sleeping. Usually I do the
short-arms in the dispensary while I give my medical talk and then send the
guys on to the chaplain wherever he wants to do his thing. But this is a
different chaplain. The last one wasn't hung up about sex. In fact, he was
about as horny as I am. In no way am I going to let this new guy imply to these
men that male sexual urges are abnormal, immoral, or anything to be ashamed of.
It will take longer to do the whole thing in the dispensary, but that is my
territory and I can control it there.

The first group is 20 guys. Most of them know the drill. As they stand hip to
hip in two rows facing one another, I stand before each guy in turn and look
closely while he takes his pecker out, skins it back and milks it down. I am
looking for any signs of infection -- sores, blood or pus. While I move from
one man to the next I keep up my running commentary about how cocks work and
what to do about it if they get sore or start oozing pus. I try to put a little
humor into it to help put the shy ones at ease. The finale of my spiel is a
horror story about a guy who is too bashful to seek treatment when his dick
gets sore and his balls swell up. Then one of my corpsmen does a condom
demonstration with a broomstick. Jack is the most talented at it. He puts the
broomstick between his legs, letting it protrude about two feet in front of him
at an up angle. Then he strokes it, rubs the end and groans appropriately
before installing the condom.

This generates a good deal of laughter, some crotch rubbing and some erections.
As Jack does his act Chaplain Gray watches intently, covering his crotch with
his notes for his part of the training. Jack is going to be a hard act to
follow.

Now if you haven't had a short-arm inspection, let me tell you about it. You
can tell quite a bit about a guy by the way he reacts. Some are very timid and
obviously hate it. You have to wonder what they've been taught about sexuality.
Other guys are outright exhibitionists and like to show off what they've got.
The timid guys pop it out quickly, halfway skin it and milk it, and pop it back
in. Sometimes I have to have them do it over again and sometimes they're fast
because they've got a problem they don't want me to know about. Some of the
exhibitionists haul out their balls as well as their dicks and skin and milk
with such energy that they're practically jacking off.

Some guys show erections when they take their schlongs out. Some get erections
before they can get them back in. Before I am half done with the first group it
is obvious that the chaplain has thrown a rod. In his talk he keeps his notes
over his fly and can't seem to think of much to say -- mainly that in his
religion any sexual activity is reserved strictly for marriage and for
procreation, that men must learn to control their primal urges. That brings a
few laughs and a question: "How do YOU control it, sir?"

"Force yourself to think good thoughts. Or you might recite in your head some
of the Bible verses you learned in Sunday School."

As the men in the first group file out I hear one say, "I can't think of any
better thought than fucking."

"Yeah," another replys, "and I can't think of any Bible verse better than that
one about some king who fucked his harem non-stop every night." Personally,
I've never come across that verse, but I don't know my Bible all that well.
Maybe it's there.

 When we take a break for lunch, I tell the chaplain quietly that it would be
better for him to take care of his problem than to risk priapism.

"What problem? What's priapism?" he asks.

"Priapism is a dick that won't go down. It can become painful and there can be
serious consequences. Yours has been up for about three hours now. If you don't
take care of it I may have to -- with a needle. You won't like it."

The chaplain looks away from me, head down, embarrassed. "Mr. Sawyer just came
off watch. Right now he's probably in his bunk in our cabin trying to get to
sleep. We have an agreement that I don't intrude on him when he's just come off
watch and trying to get his rest."

Sawyer, eh? I know him pretty well. He is something in the engine room; I don't
just what. A few months ago he came up with a pretty bad case of the clap. He'd
let it go without doing anything about it. He finally came to see me, but not
because of his sore dong. He couldn't get to sleep. And the reason he couldn't
get to sleep was because it hurt to jerk off and jerking off was what he did to
put himself to sleep. I am tempted to tell the chaplain that if he hurries to
his cabin he'll probably find Sawyer stroking his eight-incher and can help him
get to sleep while Sawyer helps him get his rocks off and get his erection
down. But I don't say that. This kid is so fucked up that I feel sorry for him.

I outline the medical facts for him: "Look, guys have dicks. Dicks get hard,
usually at least once a day, sometimes about every five minutes. Any guy who
says he has never had a hard dick is either sick or he's a liar. So is any guy
who says he's never played with his hard dick or claims it didn't feel good. If
he doesn't pursue that to its explosive, orgasmic conclusion he's missing the
best thing about being a man and sooner or later his dick will take over and
show him what it's like.

"It is perfectly natural after spending a morning looking at dicks being
manipulated to get a hard-on. I sometimes do myself. It is most unusual for a
dick to stay up for three hours and if it does it can be a symptom of something
seriously wrong. Shit, when I was your age I could maybe keep mine up for an
hour if I could keep the fantasies going, but never for three hours.

"I think you do know something about masturbation. You've just told me Lt.
Sawyer is in your cabin. Okay, fair enough. Here's a key to an out-of-the way
storage locker where we keep some bulk supplies. My corpsman, Jack, has the
only other one, and he's at mess, so you'll have privacy. Go in there and do
what you have to do to get that thing down or I'll strap you to the gurney and
get it down with a needle. I don't want you turning on the rest of the crew all
afternoon." I send him on his way.

Gray doesn't show up in the wardroom for mess, but he's in the dispensary when
it's time to resume the short-arm inspections. He looks a little sweaty and his
cheeks are flushed but he looks happy and the tent pole in his pants is gone.

It isn't long before he tents again, and this time I can't say I blame him. I
throw a rod, too. Until it's time for the condom demonstration I don't realize
Jack isn't there to do his routine. While I'm trying to find the broomstick and
a rubber one of the veteran seamen who has been short-armed many times pipes up
with "I'll do it, sir. Where's that damned rubber?

"Before I can answer he whips out his stiff cock and dangling balls and stands
there skinning and milking his pole, turning for all to see. I finally locate a
condom, but it's too late. The seaman -- a very able seaman -- shoots the first
spurt of his wad on another guy's shoes, the second on somebody's pants, and
the rest if it on the deck. Everyone but Lt. Grey and I applaud. The chaplain
is standing there pop-eyed. I am speechless. It turns out to be an impossible
act for Lt. Gray to follow. He gamely tries but he is somewhat less than
coherent. In desperation he consults his notes, but that exposes the tent in
his pants, highlighted by a growing wet spot. More applause. "Dismissed" is all
I can say.

I should put my demonstrator on report, but I didn't notice his name. I kind of
think I have seen him with Jack. Where the hell is Jack? Yes I have seen him
with Jack. He is one of Lt. Sawyer's men. Jack suddenly appears.

"Sorry, sir, I fell asleep after lunch and just woke up." I knew that Jack
often went to the storage locker, "to check the inventory," he would say, or to
find something we needed. Is he sacking out down there, or jacking off? I don't
really care. He is a good man, cute too, with a nice chest, tight ass, and a
handsome dick. I have seen him naked a few times when we had swimming parties
while anchored in some Pacific lagoon.

Then I remember that when we were at Pearl Jack, Lt. Sawyer, and the guy who
had just jacked off for us arrived at the dock together in a cab, all happily
drunk and considerably disheveled. Do these three have something going -- maybe
in the storage locker? And then it hits me. Geezus, were they in there when I
sent the chaplain to get his rocks off? No wonder he looks so tented and
contented.

Chaplain Gray and Corpsman Jack are strangely silent most of the afternoon.
They do not look one another in the eye but I catch them stealing looks at the
other's crotch. Gray keeps his tent up all afternoon -- another three-hour
erection. Jack is up and down. So am I, looking at them. Jack doesn't do his
broomstick act with his usual zest. I keep thinking what it would be like to
see him put the rubber on his own stiff cock, like his buddy almost did.

When we finally finish up with the last group at about 1600 hours Chaplain Gray
clears out fast. Jack is not far behind him. It is then that I realize Gray
hasn't returned the key for the storage locker. Better check on that, I think,
or should I let nature take its course? Hell, if nature is taking its course I
might like to see what's happening.

I find that the locker has not been secured. I open the door a crack and see
that the light is on. I hear a noise. I quickly step inside and close the door.
There are the chaplain and Lt. Sawyer, wearing only T-shirts and socks, stiff
cocks nearly head to head. The preacher's dick is no match for Sawyer's, but he
has a fat uncut six-incher that is pointing upward and oozing pre-cum that runs
down his shaft onto beautiful, big hairy balls.

We stare at one another in silence for an instant. I can feel my cock reacting.
Since I am the ranking officer and this locker is my territory the next move is
up to me. One part of me says to order them out of here. Another other part of
me is rising to control. I can't have a priapismic chaplain on my hands, now
can I? I have told him to get it down and he is trying to get it down and I
shouldn't stand in his way. Quickly I unbuckle my belt and start to push down
my pants and shorts. Just as my dick pops out I yell "Ten-shun!" It is standing
ramrod straight. I stroke it a little bit and say, "As you were."

Sawyer laughs and says "Sir, I don't think it's going to obey.

The chaplain's left hand is now holding Sawyer's throbbing cock. Gray seems to
be staggering a bit and holds on to the rigid handle as if to steady himself,
but the handle is squirming as Sawyer's hips begin gyrating in a rhythmic
swivel and thrust. As I stand there stroking my throbbing pole, Sawyer squirts
rope strings of cum onto the chaplain's cock, balls and legs.

Just then there is a thud from a dark corner behind some crates. Still stroking
my dick, I hitch up my pants enough to move to where I can see around the
crates. There are three sailors -- Jack, my condom exhibitionist, and another
guy who is also one of Sawyer's men. All three are butt naked. Terror is
written on their faces. All three are sporting rigid, dripping cocks. Jack's is
the biggest, skinny and long. Not quite a two-foot broomstick, but a good ten
inches. They snap to attention and the third guy even tries to salute.

"Carry on, men," I say as I hobble back to officer country. "Continue naval
exercises." Sawyer, I notice, is now on his knees, licking his cum off the
chaplain's dick and balls. I move closer as Sawyer expertly skins the
chaplain's foreskin back, exposing his swollen, purple cockhead. Sawyer then
milks him down and licks the honey dribbling from his puckered foreskin. As I
watch and stroke myself I can see there is a logical sequence to it -- skin,
suck, milk, and lick. The chaplain's left hand moves out to fondle my balls,
then his fingers move up and down my pole while his thumb smears my juice
around my cockhead.

This guy is either a fast learner or he has been through graduate school many
times. I am so hot that it takes only a few trips with his hand up and down my
pole and I have arrived at the point of no return. I hose down Sawyer's eye,
ear and nose while the chaplain gets into the swing of fucking his throat.
Shit, I'm a surgeon, not an EENT man.

My first intention when I entered the locker had been to leave things as I had
found them, each one to his own duties. Now I would like to stay but my watch
tells me I am due in the captain's quarters in just five minutes. I struggle
into my shorts and pants, but it's not easy. My dick is still waving around
trying to decide whether to be at ease or come to attention again. The chaplain
is moaning and muttering "Oh my god, my god, I am going to heaven." From behind
the crates I can hear scuffling and slurping and breathless comments, such as
"Yeah, you fucker. Fuck my fucking ass" "Give me an injection, Jack. Shoot your
load down my throat" "When this ramrod gets in there it will be all the way
through your stomach and sticking out your asshole." The last voice is Jack's.

I see a key on the floor -- the key I loaned the chaplain. "Last one to cum
mops the floor," I say, as I pick up the key and go out into the companionway.
I secure the locker, so they won't be disturbed. You don't need a key to get
out. I don't know who was the last to cum, how many rounds were shot, or when
the last blast was, but I don't see any of these guys until the next morning.
The chaplain has an angelic, satisfied smile on his face and about half a
hard-on in his pants. Sawyer and his men are in the engine room, doing what I
don't know. Jack is his efficient, ebullient, self again. "Commander Dickhaut,
sir," he says, I checked out the storage locker early this morning and found it
in better shape than it's ever been."


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