I’d been late all day — late for morning chow, in the latrine too long, and late for Physical Training on the afterdeck. All I heard, hour after hour, was screaming from the sergeants.
How I ended up in the Army, I’d never know. At only 5’2″, I thought I was too short for the draft, but in 1942, the physical test for the US Army was, “You got two arms? You got two legs? You pass!”
As I went through Basic Training, Infantry training, and found myself climbing aboard a troop ship in San Francisco in 1943, something in the back of my mind sorta bothered me. I grew up on a farm in Kansas. Never saw a naked man. Oh, maybe once or twice when Pa took a leak, a few times when the boys went skinny-dipping in Japhus Pond. But never like the Army. Dozens of nude men in the showers every morning, many wandering around the latrine bare as they shaved and brushed their teeth.
Bothered me, sorta. Nowadays, being “gay” is a known thing, not so strange. Back in 1943 I couldn’t even spell homosexual. No such thing as far as I was concerned. I figured myself as normal as any guy, just that I was fascinated by cocks. Even before I knew what to call them.
Life aboard the US Navy troopship Docipetus had been awful for several weeks. We had no real idea where we were going except somewhere in the south Pacific. Only scuttlebutt “knew.” One version said we were on our way to Hawaii. When the weather grew too hot, we figured we were on our way to Guadalcanal, Pelileu, dozens of places. We had rifle drills, physical training, etc, etc, but man, time on the Pecitus was boring! A gray metal prison, a steel cage floating us to death and hell.
I had a lot of time to think.
One evening I was really hungry. Stomach rumbling. The Navy fed us aboard ship, and I wondered if I might find a friendly cook. I waited until the MP guards (on watch to keep us in the Army area) were distracted, and I slipped out into the ship’s passageways.
I actually did blunder upon a ship’s kitchen, and I asked the cook for a little snack. He looked from side to side then gave me a Spam sandwich. Nuts. The mess area was empty, so I took a seat at one of the cold metal tables. While I sat eating, he brought me a cup of coffee and a small dish of warm German potato salad (that’s what my mother called it, but in those days it was “Liberty potato salad”).
I took a deep breath. The frenzy of the day was over, and we were cruising on smooth seas. I shrugged the tension out of my shoulders. Good coffee. For some reason Navy java always tasted good.
“You one of them soldiers? What you doin’ here?” Deep voice. I turned to look. Damn. Very muscular sailor. Very dirty. Covered with black grease.
From the dark stains on his shirt, I figured he was one of the Black Gang — the engine room crew, mechanics, stokers, dirtiest job on the ship. But that filthy tank-top undershirt showed off thick, well-shaped shoulders and arms, and, jeez, his meaty hands nearly hid his coffee mug. It hit me I’d never been so close to such a big guy.
Curls of thick, dark, oily hair sprouted out of his shirt (shrunk from many launderings and tight on his firm chest muscles). Thick nipples poked through the thin material. I gulped, then realized I was staring. I took a drink of my own coffee.
But I couldn’t help but look back at the contours of that thin shirt over his lean belly and on into the well-worn crotch of his jeans. (Sailors’ duty uniform was bluejeans. We had to wear green fatigue pants). I didn’t really want to — it wasn’t “decent” — but as I took a bite of the sandwich, I noticed the bulge below his belt. Damn, what a man.
As I looked into his blue eyes, I got a strange feeling, and my cock twitched. Damn, never met such a handsome man! Well, he wasn’t “handsome,” really. More like Masculine. Powerful. Strong. Virile.
My bazooka hardened in my pants. Damn, what’s coming over me? “Yeah, I’m with XIV Corps.” I smiled. “You know where we’re headed?”
He smiled back. Not a handsome smile. Bad teeth. But something, something about him had a powerful effect. Like in my wet dreams. Incredible feeling: lust rose out of my balls as I sat in the flamethrower of his smile. That voice again: “No, I dunno. An’ even if I did, I couldn’t tell ya.”
Everything about the man gave me chills up my back. Voice like a pipe organ. He went on: “It’s been a rough couple of weeks for all of us. You wonderin’ where we’re goin’, us wonderin’ if we’ll get there…” He paused. “Maybe I don’t need to tell ya. I know how bad it is down in them Army quarters.”
I don’t know what came over me. I couldn’t stop soaking in his manly beauty. Almost with every movement, his biceps flexed, beefy muscles rippled under the hair of those dirty arms, and – Damn! — I breathed the musk of his sweat.
As he went on talking, my horny mind ran amok, slipping off his dirty shirt, touching those nipples, touching that damp chest hair. And tugging on his belt buckle, pulling down his pants—What. The. Hell?? What am I thinking?? Am I becoming a—what do they call them—Queer??
He paused. “You a little dis-tracted. Anythin’ wrong?”
“Sorry. It’s been a long day.”
“S’all right. I ain’t been myself, neither.”
My turn to speak, but I didn’t know what to say. “I’m, uh, not all that talkative… but you seem like a friendly guy.” I felt my fatigue shirt damp with sweat. From the heat of the day, right? But a powerful desire burned inside. What a handsome—no, not handsome—what a manlyguy!
Just then the cook passed by, and when he noticed my companion, he smiled. “You boys take your time. You have a lot in common.” He gave me a big wink.
A wink? What was all that about?
We both nibbled at our sandwiches. Finally: “How do you keep so trim?” My voice was weak. Nothing like his. He looked up, and I went on, “How do you, uh, have such a well-developed body?” Damn, my voice is still wimpish.
“Oh, I was pretty active at the fact’ry. Moving iron around, weldin’ a lot of steel. Workin’ in the Black Gang here keeps ya in shape, too.” He laughed. “Nothin’ like shovelin’ coal.” He flexed an arm, and his biceps rose up like a volcano.
“Damn, I’m impressed.” I wished I hadn’t said that. “Could you show me some exercises?” That wasn’t really planned, either. I didn’t care about body-building, I just had to have something to cover up the stupid I’m impressed.
He looked at the name tag on my fatigue shirt. “Well, Potter” — he lowered his voice — “Why dontcha go with me to where I got some weights stashed away? I’ll show ya some o’ my workout tricks.”
“What’s your name?”
“Manley”—
Manly?? Judas Priest!–-
“Thomas Manley. I don’t wear no nametag on my undershirt while I’m down shovelin’ the coal, but there it is, M-a-n-l-e-y.”
“That’s nice of you, Tom, but I don’t want to impose” — but I couldn’t help myself — “Yeah, I’d like to see how you keep in such good shape.” And as I spoke, I couldn’t stop imagining what Tom looked like without his undershirt. And without his pants.
My dong stirred at the thought of slowly slipping off his bluejeans and fondling his nuts. What in holy hell’s come over me?? I’ve never had such horny thoughts about a man!
Tom caught my eye. “What ya thinkin’ about, Potter?” He smiled. “Lemme show my stuff to ya right now.” He lowered his voice. “And I bet ya wouldn’t turn down a beer. I got a li’l secret stash up in the anchor locker.”
He led me through the gray passageways to the very prow of the ship, where he opened the hatch to a rusty, damp compartment holding machinery and huge chains. “Not much to speak of, but I come here when I got — special business.”
I followed him inside. Under a stack of crates, he pulled out two bottles of Beer. Blatz. East-coast stuff.Wish he had a bottle of good Kansas City Goetz. He handed me one. “Sorry they ain’t cold.” I took it and turned to look at the huge gears.
He moved behind me, and I felt the nearness of him, his breath warm on my neck, and I caught the scent from his armpits. I hardened, thinking his cock and scrotum are close enough to touch, if I just reach back. What the hell am I thinking?? Touching another man’s genitals?? Am I a queer?
Tom touched me, though. His hand on my shoulder moved me around so we were face to face. He brought his face close to mine. “Time for ya to get comfortable, Potter. It’s hot in here.” He took hold of my shirt with one while the other touched my throat in a gentle caress. His fingers pulled open the top button and reached in to stroke the curls of my chest hair. His fingers were warm, rough, and — masterful.
One button fell open, then another, and suddenly I realized what was happening. He’s stripping me! But deep inside, I was not surprised; I’d suspected it. My throbbing shaft told me I’d been hoping for it! Time seemed to stop as Tom pulled loose one button after another, and when the shirt was open enough, one of his fingers rubbed my nipple, bringing the soft skin to stiffness, something I didn’t know could happen!
When he pulled and pinched it, jolts of craving — and pleasure — shot down to my balls. My dickhead thrust against my white Army boxers, tight against my fatigue pants, and I was horny!
Then something happened I could not have imagined in a thousand years: Tom brought his face closer, closer, closer – and his lips touched mine! He kissed me! He pulled me close to him, overpowering me, blending my horny fantasy with reality: The strip is just the beginning — he’ll have his way with me!
My brain on fire, I wanted to feel him, wanted to feel his bare, hairy, sweaty skin. I reached around, grabbed the hem of his undershirt, and pulled it up until it slid over his chest and pulled free from his massive arms. We broke the kiss as I pulled it over his head.
Mine dropped back and fell to the floor. Our shirts came off at about the same moment, and he pulled me hard into his naked chest, his coarse body hair against mine. Then the kiss grew fierce. I shoved my tongue through his lips, probing deep in his mouth, the stout wetness of his tongue coming back at mine. He sucked forcefully on my tongue, pulling me deep inside him.
The fetid musk of men was all about us, thick, heavy, and overpowering. I lost all control. All instinct to protect myself faded away. Tom’s hands released me from the embrace to pass lightly over my body, across the fur on my chest, down my belly, and finally his hands were on my belt, loosening it. One clever hand pulled open the buttons of my fly. The kiss went on, but I held my breath.
He reached in deep to grope my balls, cupping them in the cotton fabric. Ahh, god! In his hand, they felt more like bollocks, the old word, heavy, swollen, churning inside with his hand on them! I’d never felt anything so erotic, so stimulating, so wonderful in my life!
Then the hand probed around, found the slit in the front of my boxers, and reached through. Unbelievable! He ran a finger slowly around the rim of my cock-flare, feeling every curve, the double-bumps at the bottom, every part, and the finger tickled my piss slit, by then drooling precum, slimy and juicy with it. He electrified every nerve in my body.
Blood pulsed into my erection until the skin stretched tight, my foreskin pulled back, exposing all my nerves to his slow caresses and fondlings. Ohh, Tom, my god! I could feel it coming. My family jewels rose in their sack, getting ready.
Tom broke the kiss once more, and his mouth moved close to my ear. “Gonna take ya, Potter. Ya made me so horny I gotta have ya.” His mouth nipped at my earlobe, and his tongue ran over my jaw.
In a second, my fatigue pants crumpled over my boots, and his hands yanked down my shorts. My prick caught on the band of my boxers, pulling it down horizontal for a moment — it was too fucking much! With one final groan, I cummed!
Bliss! Giant spurts of cloudy white shot out of my meat, blasting over Tom’s hand onto his bluejeans, and he froze for a second, looking down, a little disappointed. I suppose he thought I was such a wimp, I couldn’t control myself. I was past caring. I was in the mightiest jackoff climax I’d ever had. When I opened my eyes, his face was inches away. “Nice finish, Potter.”
I knew I should’ve been humiliated, ashamed, but I was too, too fucking drunk with rapture. My knees were weak, and Tom lowered me onto a pile of coiled ropes. While I lay there moaning, my softening boner drooling out the final oozes, Tom’s hands reached under to fondle my buns — “Nice ass, Potter” — then he reached down to unlace my boots.
This is shameful. We could get court-martialed for this! But I lay there, spread out for him, holding out my legs to him. I wanted to be au naturel for him, anything he wanted.
“So ya started without me, did ya, Potter?” He gripped my slowly softening pole (which started on its way back up). “We ain’t even to the Main Act yet.”
The front of his bluejeans bulged big with his own urgent, rampant manhood, and a rush of pride ran through me. He was hot for me. I reached for Tom’s belt, ready to strip him of his bluejeans, eager to feel his brawny, naked cock – but I bit my lip. Feeling another man’s pecker was something I’d never done. But, then, I’d never felt such desire. My heart pounded in my chest.
He stepped back from me, yanking down his jeans by himself, and I stared. Once out and free, his thick meat bounced hard, athletic, and menacing above huge gonads, a hairy sack like a tobacco pouch. A thick mat of hair covered his groin and marched up his belly, just like I dreamed it would.
“Damn, ya make me hot, Potter.” I actually blushed, not used to someone admiring my body, let alone when I was bare-assed with a raging hardon. Especially when the admirer stood a couple feet away, also stripped, also with hearty member pointing up at me.
His was a real cannon. Much bigger than mine. Longer, thicker. And he was horny. A drool of precum slithered down from it. “We’re ready, Potter.”
He took me in his arms, his energy against me, his cock stiff and hot against mine, and he kissed me again, more softly. He plowed his hips into me. “I want ya so bad right now.”
He pushed me gently back onto the pile of ropes and kissed me again, deeper, his tongue pushing my mouth open, sucking and fondling my tongue with his, his lusty, protective arms on either side of me. I reached up to feel his biceps, their firmness, their strength, their size. My fingers explored his furry armpits, wallowing in the sweat. Then I pinched his nipples, feeling their tenderness, their heat. As he had done to me, I pulled and stroked the erotic tips, and like me, Tom moaned and sighed.
I realized at that moment that he’d pushed open a door for me. I was not betraying feelings I grew up with — that I thought I liked girls and that I was just “interested” in healthy male bodies — but somehow I had moved beyond them. Tom himself sent me soaring into the sky, and as I pleasured him in return, I knew I liked men.
Son of a bitch. I like men!!
I wanted Tom with a fever. My stiffie – funny how familiar everything had become — ached, begging for release, and I. Had. To. Have. Sex. with the hairy sailor. But suddenly a fear. I didn’t exactly know what to do. I knew the mechanics of it, of course, but how do I get him to…? What if he doesn’t want to? How do I seduce…?
What would it feel like to have a colossal, hairy man ram his hard cock deep into my ass, filling me with his power, taking me as I opened up for him? Could I let this man possess me with his wild masculinity? Yeah. I wanted that. I wanted to hold his hairy chest hard against mine, to feel his thick, wet pelt of hair rub against me, to feel his hips pummeling against my butt, his undeniable manhood lunging deep inside me.
What would it feel like when his big bollocks erupted inside me, drenching me with his manly jism, his seed? I wanted to know.
But what would that feel like? I knew what intercourse felt like, of course. Your dick catches fire, and you burn up in the ecstasy of her pussy. But what does it feel like to get it up the ass?
Would I get more than just something gouging up my asshole? I’d stuck my finger up my butt once or twice (who hasn’t?), but it wasn’t much of a thrill – and I had a stinky finger.
I thought about that. A sweating, panting man lunging his hard cock inside me wasn’t the same thing. I would hear his moans and gasps as his orgasm built deep inside him. I wanted to hear that. Yeah, I wanted to feel his big staff stretching my asshole and erupting inside me. I wanted to hear him panting my name as he emptied his load.
We faced each other naked, and I gulped. My first time with a man. I didn’t quite know how to start. I decided to let him make the first move.
He stepped back and looked down. “Potter. I want ya now, and I’m gonna take ya.” His eyes were thrilling, filled with the instinct for the kill, for the conquest, a horny need, and that made me proud and eager myself. I reached down for his cock, and it oozed precum in my hand. My cock-grab was a sign of submission, and I trembled. It was going to happen.
He pushed me back and with a hand under each knee, he lifted my legs, pushing them against my chest, rolling my backside up into range of that monster cock. He mounted me.
Oh, shit, my first fuck! A scared (but eager) virgin, I reached down to grab his butt-cheeks and pull them toward me. I couldn’t wait.
On entry, he slid in deep, slowly, stretching my sphincter, filling me. He was thick. Hot. A fat piston. When his cockcrown pushed past my prostate, it sent yet another gush of precum out of me. It hurt, yeah, it hurt, but somehow it was like — dues. Dues I had to pay to get into the club, to learn what I’d always wanted to know.
Tom took me completely, deep in my ass, his thick, coarse cockhair pushing my balls up against the root of my dick, and he began to stick it to me. With each lunge, his hot, wet belly hair rubbed against my own erection, sending me closer to cumming.
He found his rhythm and soon his nuts slapped against my ass in a steady beat, a squishy sound along with the grunts and panting of two naked men making love. My nose filled with the spicy smells of his armpits and body, ever riper and stronger with the heat of his lust.
At first an uncomfortable pain, his fucking gradually became a strange sort of pain-pleasure, and the combination made a new sensation, a sort of ultimate-male feeling. Pain as pleasure! Finally my own lust made me thrust back against him with each of his lunges, and our hips found another rhythm, our natural rhythm together.
I gripped Tom’s biceps, my climax coming closer, the tension building to the boiling point, to the point of no return! Nothing else mattered, nothing else existed, everything became a blaze of red as Tom pounded away above me, drenching both of us in sweat. The slaps of hairy wet balls and our gasps turned to grunts and loud moans we climbed to the explosion.
With a loud snarl, Tom burst inside me, a torrent of boiling conquest filling me up, expanding thick inside me, and he triggered my own orgasm. I raved, I screamed, I writhed under him in a mind-boggling, titanic, breathtaking ecstasy from my asshole!! Who knew? Ohmigod, who knew??
A lunatic rapture also grew from my balls, burning up to unbearable pleasure in my cock, and my spunk shot out to splatter up against his still-heaving belly. I never, never had such ecstasy, such bliss, such delight! I craved the fiery feeling coming from the plunging meat spreading wide my asshole, and the sensation of another man’s load shooting up into me taught me the ultimate degree of sexual pleasure. I was intoxicated.
How quickly things had changed. Tom undid everything I ever thought was “normal.” His honey moving up into me was a wonderful new freedom. I know! I know what ultimate sexual pleasure is!
The room quieted, and our gasps turned to hard breathing, eventually to softer breaths. The sweat and cum ran off us in streams as we lay side by side, floating in the glorious warmth of the afterglow. Tom’s eyes were closed when I looked over at my new — I had to say it — “lover’s” face. “I’m sure glad I sneaked out to find a sandwich, Tom.”
He opened his eyes.
“But I’ve got to get back. It’s dark now, and I’ll have trouble getting by the MPs.”
He pulled me into his arms and kissed me again. “I hope we’ll see each other again, man.”
“Yeah.”
I made it back to the Army area. Couldn’t sleep that night, of course. I was covered in dried cum and didn’t have time – and didn’t dare — to rinse it off me in the head, and when I opened my eyes the next morning, I knew I was sweaty, cummy, and probably had “I got fucked” written all over my face. I lay in my bunk, my mind flying into the heavens. Never felt so free in my life. I know! I know who I am!
-==(^)==-
When the bugle sounded the next morning, I rousted out of bed. Sure enough: “What’s with you, Potter? You’re chirpy like a squirrel. You get laid last night?”
Technical Sergeant Kovachek looked over at me and growled, “If he got laid last night, he could only have done it with a male, and that’s court-martial charges.”
I better tone down the happiness. But something about me had changed. The shower facilities for us in the ship could allow only six men at a time under three dual-head shower nozzles. I’d noticed other men’s bodies before, but suddenly I noticed them with new appreciation, new affection, new lust. I paid more attention to crotches and built up a personal list of who was hung.
I dared not try to sneak out again soon; the MPs were suspicious. In my saner moments, I knew fucking with Tom wasn’t worth spending 20 years in a federal prison. But suddenly the boring hours in the ship were very boring. When I saw myself surrounded by hundreds of men who could fuck me into ecstatic oblivion, the waste of all that flesh itched at me like a rash. Once I knew it was possible (and how fabulous), I wanted somebody to plow this Kansas farm boy, put me in the male Nirvana I’d felt in the ship’s anchor compartment.
But MP surveillance of us got tighter, and I figured we must be approaching our destination. No time, no way to meet Tom. Shit!
One morning I was in the last group to use the showers. I did my usual inspection: Jacobson had a nice one. Uncircumcised like me. Never been fucked by an uncircumcised guy. We should try it.
Jacobson and I were the last, and when he left, for a moment I was alone, but then I got a surprise. T/Sgt. Kovachek walked in. Naked. Damn!
At 6’3″ and a good 285 pounds, T/Sgt. Kovachek looked even bigger nude than in uniform. He had a chest like the squared-off back end of a Sherman tank, and (I caught my breath) the cannon between his legs was like the Sherman’s front end.
Nipples like blackened silver dollars. Huge arms, even bigger than Tom’s. His belly was a hard cobblestone street of muscles.
And what a schlong! Hung better than an Army mule! Better than any GI I’d seen in the showers. I looked around to be sure nobody was coming in, and then, while Kovachek shook his head back and forth in the shower spray, I stared down at him. Damn, did he ever have a dong!
And something else—it was shaped like a Coke bottle. At eight, maybe nine inches, it was thicker in the middle than at the base, and only his cockhead flared out as thick. I could hardly breathe. Anybody he fucked would get two stretch-wide thrills with every stroke of that mega-dong.
Remembering the pain/pleasure with Tom’s big cockhead battering me, my knees went weak at the thought of what Kovachek could do. Damn, I’d love to feel that thing straighten me out.
I couldn’t help it — while he still tossed his head in the spray, I shut off my own shower with a quick twist of the knob. “Damn, this thing won’t work!” Then I stepped over to use the other shower head at his station. As I moved toward him, I couldn’t tear my eyes away from that huge hose, wishing, dreaming it was thrusting up through my itching sphincter.
He turned his back to me for a moment, then turned around suddenly, and I quickly raised my eyes. But although I knew he was looking at me, for all I tried not to, I could not stop one more quick glance down and back.
“Like what you see, Private?”
Oh, shit. “What, Sergeant Kovachek?”
“I saw you scoping out my cock, Potter.” He moved closer — we were practically touching each other. What a face. Chiseled out of granite. Jutting lower jaw like a gun turret. Flat (probably broken) pug nose. “Are you queer, Potter?”
“Queer? What do you mean? I wasn’t—”
–“I saw you gawking at my cock, Potter.” He lowered his voice. “What do you think of my it, Queer?” He stared straight into my eyes. His eyes were squinted. Close-set. Piggish. Pure thug. Probably drafted off the streets of the Bowery. Grew up with a switchblade. Spent a lifetime in the Army.
Hell, what else could I say? “It’s — gulp! — nice, Sergeant.” I looked down at it. Damn, that is one handsome cock. To my astonishment, it started to harden. Lengthen out. Swell fatter. I looked up, fighting to keep surprise off my face.
“You getting hard for me, Potter?”
What? Oh, no! I looked down at myself. Fuck! Like a stake. Straight up. Cockhead full out of the foreskin, glowing ruddy purple. Throbbing. “Sorry. Don’t know where that came from.”
I looked back up to his face. Strange expression. I glanced down between his legs again. Fuck! A monster. Bigger around than my wrist. Flaring cockhead. I could see big vessels pulsing in it. Could hardly believe my eyes.
His voice was low. “I know where mine came from.”
What did he say??
He shut off the water for us both. “Come with me, Potter.” He grabbed a towel on his way out and motioned for me to do the same. He led me down some passageways to a hatch. He opened it and stepped through. I followed.
We were in some sort of storage compartment. Stacks of cartons and boxes. He stood away from me, facing the wall.
He reached down, loosened his towel, and let it fall. I sucked in my breath. So muscular, from the back he was like a spreading tree of hard, sinewy meat — narrow at the hips, spreading out into the great fan of his back and shoulders. Broad, heavy-muscled shoulders, even more powerful than Tom’s. His buttocks like hard, rounded loaves. Fuck, what a man!
“Potter, I can tell you’re one.” He spoke away from me. To the wall.
I gulped. One what? But deep inside I knew. But if he’s caught himself a queer, why did he drop the towel and get naked?
Then he turned around. Full-on erection, his cockhead also fully out of his foreskin. My mouth went dry. The Technical Sergeant’s phallus drooled precum. “Potter, you know how long it’s been since I’ve had a fuck?”
To him I was a cockroach. Nothing. And he was asking me such questions? “Huh?”
He stepped closer. “Potter.” His voice was low and powerful. “I want a fuck.”
Could’ve knocked me over with a feather. I still couldn’t believe what I was hearing. It did register, though, that I was hearing what I wanted to hear. Still I was dumbfounded. Completely confused. All I could mutter was, “Uh, okay.”
I dropped my towel and looked around for a nice, soft box I could lie back on for him to mount me. Can’t believe it. Second fuck in two days!
Before I could move, though, T/Sgt. Kovachek dropped to his knees in front of me! I gaped down, again stunned, my mind going faster than a P-51, and I saw the him bend over and give my cock a kiss, a wet smooch.
I spread my legs wide, and he slowly slid his lips over my cockhead. Fuck, the Technical Sergeant, a huge motherfucking stud, is sucking my cock! I resolved to myself right then and there that somewhere, someday, I was going to get a tattoo next to my balls. A simple date. The date I got a blowjob from T/Sgt. Kovachek.
Damn, it was a turn-on! A taller, bigger man, a man who outweighed me, outreached me, a man who was better in everything — even had a bigger cock — wanted to kneel down to me and suck my prick. Fuck, what a turn-on!
When I heard him choking, spreading his jaws wide, tears in his eyes, I got a rush of pride. He’s choking on my cock! T/Sgt. Kovachek, biggest motherfucker I ever saw, is choking on my cock! I started humping. Couldn’t stop myself. Anything to show him who was boss.
He stuck his tongue under my foreskin and played with it, pushing it back and forth — which got me on the edge. But suddenly I didn’t want to lose my load in his mouth. If I could — not that I dared even think of such a thing — I wanted to fuck the Technical Sergeant. What greater thing in life could there be? I pulled my dong out of his mouth. Not knowing exactly what the procedure was, I muttered, “Wanna get fucked?”
Astounded, I watched him turn away from me and drop to hands and knees, then to his elbows, raising his rear end for me. And there it was, the soft, wrinkled hole about which Tom had taught me so, so much.
Incredible. I closed my eyes, my senses again overwhelmed at the jolts of electricity pulsing from my scrotum. I knelt behind him, between his legs, and I guided my throbbing cock to his portal. With a small push, I shoved it in, then I waited, remembering how much it hurt when I got it.
“Come on, Private, give it to me!”
Hey, he’s experienced. I rammed it in all the way. Since Kovachek was apparently already into the pleasures of fucking, I set to fucking him fast and hard. Like a paratrooper. He grunted each time I rammed into him, and soon I smelled the perfume of man-sex. I jackhammered in and out, and he spread his big legs to present his hole even more. “You — good fuck — Potter,” he gasped, “Take — my pussy — like a pro.” Damn, his pussy?
He moaned softly and whispered encouraging words of lust. “Yeah – Private — make me — your whore!”
In that, my first time fucking a man, I tried to keep my rhythm as something like Tom had with me. It must have worked. With a long, drawn-out groan, Kovachek arched his back and went into an ejaculation, jerking his hips and spattering colossal gobs of jism all over the floor — or “the deck,” as the sailors would put it. Four times. Four grunts escaped his throat, and four splashes of cream made the deck slippery.
I was amazed. He hadn’t even touched his cock — both hands were at his face, rubbing it in his ecstasy. My body hair hadn’t been rubbing against his cock as Tom had done to me. Kovachek was one horny fucker, getting off simply from being fucked.
As we struggled in the dim light, I reached under him to rub his sweaty chest and hold him in position – writhing in his orgasm, he’d begun to jerk out from under me. I rubbed his sweaty back, and on an impulse, I kissed up the side of his face, licking his jawline, and it must have worked. He froze beneath me, shivering like electric waves were shooting through him, and with another, louder growl, he cummed again!
I couldn’t believe it. More of his sperm splattered the deck under us. Multiple orgasms. Like a woman! T/Sgt. Kovachek was a complicated man.
Wondering what would happen, I pulled out my ol’ tool and for a second or two rubbed my knob around his rectum. “On the double, Private,” he gasped, “get back in the saddle!” He arched his hips and spread his legs even wider to give me better access.
Sex constantly amazes me. It was incredible to take control of such a powerful enlisted man, claiming his willing ass as mine. By then his juices had lubed my shaft nice and slick, and we’d been going at it for so long, I was getting a little tired. I slowed the pace to a smooth, slow fuck and spoke softly: “What — is — with you — Sarge?” I power-fucked him a few times then slowed again. “You like — getting fucked?”
He moaned. “What–you think?” He let out a big sigh, then, “You — fucking good – Potter — know exactly — what to do — make me — your bitch.”
Again, I couldn’t believe my ears. I tried something: “Sarge — you one hot fuck! -– You — my bitch now — right?” He let out a moan. “You -– mine — my big animal -– my — fuckhole!” He moaned again. “Gonna — pump you — so full — breed you — like bitch!”
With a final, deep-throated bellow, the colossal sergeant got his gun again! I could barely contain my lust: I was the owner of a much bigger man, a big stud, and I had the key to him. I cussed him more, and he loved it, moaning in pleasure and convulsing in more mini-orgasms. By then he was dry-shooting. He’d emptied his balls before I’d cummed the first time. A real bitch. Multiple orgasms.
But by that point the whole situation was just too much for me. The thrill of fucking the sergeant and the incredible discovery of how much he loved it pushed me over the top. Huge spurts — had to be a full cup — of my white clabber shot up his ass, and he felt it. His head arched up, and I fell forward, spooning on his back.
Like a good bitch, he kept his butt tight-sandwiched around my dick, accepting all my nuts could provide, but even while I was exploding, I couldn’t help but think how much more my brain had been fried with Tom’s cock up my ass. Fucking is fine, very fine. But I’m getting it only from my cock. When Tom had me, I got it from both sides, cock and ass.
As I came down, I started thinking: I’ll be damned. Fucking a man is a pride thing. “I got him.” “He surrendered to me.” Getting fucked by a man is pure, mind-melting pleasure. It’s worth it to give up the worthless “gotcha” to a dominant male. I realized I would gladly kiss the feet (or whatever) of a man who would fuck me into paradise.
At one point the sergeant turned his head back to me, and on another impulse, I bent over and kissed him, and I’ll be damned if he didn’t climax again! As my climax was winding down, he moaned and writhed. “Potter, ohmigod — anything you want — I’m yours – anytime — you got my button — ohh, you fill me up!”
When it was finally all over, I pulled out and straightened up on my knees. He rolled over onto his back. Beside him on the deck was a giant mess of slimy spuzz. Still breathing hard, he looked up at me. “Potter, I surrender. You got me. I’m yours. Outside this room, I’m still the Technical Sergeant, but, fuck, I’m in love. It’s been so long, and you did me like nobody else!” He reached up and stroked my cum-coated, greasy fuckpole. “You gotta fuck me, Potter, anytime you want it. Just give me a chance to find a place for us.”
By then he’d wiped my dick fairly clean. He bent over, kissed it, then licked at my cockhead. “You took me, baby. I’m yours.”
Again that night I couldn’t sleep. First Tom, who loved to give it, then Kovachek, who loved to take it. Sex with men was a forest fire of sensations. A little question nagged in the back of my head, though. What about a guy who’d never done it before? Like me. Could I seduce a guy like Tom did me?
-==(^)==-
I had a problem. I was short, not a great physical specimen like Tom or Kovachek. I do have a nice dick, if I do say so myself. As I’ve compared it to others in the showers, I’m among the hung — but maybe because it looks bigger on my smaller body.
I began to notice if anybody else noticed. Earlier, I was fascinated by so many nude men, but I began to look more carefully at their cocks. I watched even more carefully to see if anyone else was trying to be “unnoticed” as he looked at mine. I had a pair of fatigue pants a size too small. I began to wear them because they didn’t hide my bulge. In case anybody was interested.
One day in the little shower room, I stood at the urinal. Another man stepped up to the urinal beside mine. Much older. Forty, maybe even older. Maybe a Master Sergeant. Damn! I’d been acting as if I were still pissing but instead slowly squeezing my ol’ tallywhacker to get it to harden, trolling, you could say. But suddenly I wanted it down! From the corner of my eye I watched him, praying he wouldn’t notice. But I got another astonishment:
Son of a bitch! Bingo!
It was funny. I could see the emotions running through him. The old man didn’t want to, but — he glanced over. What the fuck, I decided to go for it. I slowly began to stroke myself, and I glanced over and down at him.
Damn! Nice cock! Maybe not the biggest, but it was good and healthy. And getting hard. I waited until he glanced over at mine again, and when he finally raised his eyes, I caught him dead to rights.
A quick glance at his showed me he was thick, bulging, and tight-skin hard. A nice old cock. Seasoned. Experienced. I spoke up: “Like what you see?” I used Tom’s line.
He blushed, his face bright red. “Naw,” he grunted and looked away. Damn! He’s probably thinking “durn young whippersnapper!”
But he didn’t leave. He was still officially “pissing,” although I couldn’t hear any tinkles. Now what? We’re frozen here. He says ‘Naw,’ but he’s not leaving – and he’s not pissing. I bit my lip. If the old man was some MP spy or a noncom do-gooder, if I went any further, I could put my ass in a sling. To say nothing of maybe getting the shit beat out of me. He was bigger.
I decided to go for it. I could always claim a “misunderstanding.” I moved back slightly, enough to show clearly that I was getting turned on. And I had a hardon. Damn, I’ll be lucky if I’m not put in chains for this.
He looked over. Then, incredibly, he slowly pumped his own cock. Shit, look at that! Gray cockhair!
Then I felt a hand on my hip, moving slowly toward my crotch. “Alright, kid, you win. I must be crazy for doing this.” His voice was like gravel sliding down a chute.
I looked up into his face. Looked like Edward G. Robinson. Round face, sharp eyes, wide mouth with voluptuous lips. Wrinkles. Thin hair, once brown but streaked with gray. The gravelly voice: “You wanna suck my cock, boy?”
Before I could answer, his hand gripped my dong. Shazam, what a thrill! “Yeah,” I hissed.
“Come on!” He led me out of the head and through some passageways to an empty compartment. How have all these guys discovered secret places? “All right, kid, go down on it!”
Hmm. I didn’t think it out this far. Am I going to do this? Suck a guy’s cock? He stood facing me, boots apart, his throbbing tool thrusting out of his pants. Nice cock. Not as big as mine, though. What the hell. I sank to my knees.
Weird. I realized I wanted to do it. Wanted to know what cocksucking was like. He was hard as a rock. Bulging veins the length of his dong. “Okay, cocksucker,” he growled, “suck my cock!”
At first “cocksucker” was a turn-off. But then, What the hell, it’s true. It’s what I’m gonna do. I took a deep breath. I’m a cocksucker.
But he gasped as I mouthed over his knob, instinctively teasing over it with my tongue, letting my teeth drag softly over the surface as it slid into my face. The sensation’s not too bad. Like mouthing a warm salami. If the legends were true, cocksuckers would walk over hot coals to suck a man’s cock, but I didn’t get such a thrill. Maybe it’s an acquired taste.
I tasted something salty. His precum! I’m tasting a man’s precum! Something about that gave me a thrill – I’d made him do that. I’d turned him on. I swallowed it and realized I control him! And that was another thrill.
I was catching on. Sucking a man’s cock is a power trip. He stands there thinking he’s got a slave, but in fact, I hold all the cards. I backed off, stopping the sucking, just licking his helmet like an ice cream cone, and damned if he didn’t go crazy. “Ahhng, god, that’s got me! Don’t stop! Suck me in!”
Your obedient slave, Sarge. I glommed back on, taking him deeper into my throat, and “Ah, my gawd!” His old-school Army cock shot me a dead-on bulls-eye of hot jism. He stiffened, his body out of control. I was right! He’s in my control. Gave himself over to me. He would up and die if I stopped sucking him right now.
Moaning, delirious, his knees buckled, and he fell back, his cock jerking out of my mouth, shooting his white salutes high in the air. He fell hard against a wooden crate, and for a moment I thought he might be out cold.
I knelt over him, but no, he opened his eyes and reached down to finish himself off; more drools of white clabber showed he had one motherfucker of an orgasm. A master sergeant jacking off right in front of me. I chuckled to myself. Men are all alike. And I felt a pride I’d never known before. For that few minutes, I owned him.
But more was to come. Still jacking himself, he looked up at me, at my cock, up hard, throbbing, leaking precum in a stream, long, clear threads of lust dripping down from my piss-hole – to land on his forehead. He let it hit him, staring at it.
I decided to go for it. “Look at that big cock, man!” I moved closer, and he rose up onto his elbows. I stood over him. “Go ahead, man, lick it.” I tried a trump card: “You know you want to.” In fact, I didn’t know that, and I wasn’t sure he did, either, but maybe saying it might tip his scales to my side.
It worked. Staring at my aching dong, he rose to his knees until it was two inches from his mouth. I let out a hiss: “Go on, man, suck it!”
“Goddamnit, I gotta have that.” His voice was hoarse. Lust-hoarse. Testosterone-hoarse. I never dreamed it would happen, but the old Master Sergeant opened his mouth wide and took my teenage manhood in for a blowjob! Instantly I got those familiar gut-flutters of lust. Before, I was consciously studying the “effects of sucking a cock,” but suddenly I was succumbing to the old feeling. Something important was about to happen. I was going to cum, and I was losing the ability to think straight, Sucking a cock – matter of power — he gives cock — to me. – But he — suck my cock – pleasure — pure pleasure!
One final thought before I lost it: also power – power pleasure – he goes on knees — to me — my slave — my cocksucker. I reached my climax and filled his mouth with Potter-jism.
And the event was over. He stood up, blushing, suddenly aware of what he had done, and he rushed from the compartment, buckling his pants as he ran. Alone again, I tucked in, thinking. Sonofabitch. Every man is both master and slave. Just a matter of knowing how to summon either one. I left a few minutes later.
-==(^)==-
Those were the only sex-adventures I had aboard the USS Docipetus. A couple of days later the task force arrived at Bougainville. T/Sgt. Kovachek was wounded on the beach in the attack. He was evacuated back to the States. I never saw Tom again, either. The troop ship sailed away during the battle. Never again saw the Master Sergeant, or whoever he was, either.
Those men left me amazed but enlightened. There is no sizzling pleasure greater than being fucked. But there is no greater boost to man-pride than fucking another man. I was torn between both camps, but I didn’t get any chance to apply what I’d learned for long, long months.
But I had a new power over other men, even bigger men, things that served me well even when I got out of the Army.