Originally published in Advocate Classifieds magazine - July 13, 1993

It happened to me.

_____

Independence Day, 1974. Our minesweeper is anchored in Monterey Bay — has been since 800 hours — and by now most of the crew have gone ashore for their first liberty since we left the canal. They'll straggle in tonight, some of them pleasantly sloshed but few having found the muff they talked about all the way up here.

The reason I'm still aboard is that Chief Boylan hates my guts. No big deal. It's the natural dislike of a vinegary, old, career, boatswain's mate for a brash, college kid who's in only for the duration. I made it worse by putting in for officers' training, and he finds that infuriating. He thinks officers are all a bunch of fruits anyway. From my limited experience, he's not far wrong.

Being confined to ship doesn't faze me. At the very least, it gives me the chance to jack off without a bunch of sailors popping in and making lewd remarks, cramping my style. Ever since those warm, lazy hayloft afternoons in Pinchwood, Nebraska, I have liked to do my thing leisurely and alone.

Somebody else has pulled skeleton duty too, and I doubt if I'll lay eyes on anyone prettier at the fireworks in Monterey. This is a crumpet we call Pip, a fresh young quartermaster third class who signed aboard at Pensacola three weeks ago. Of course, laying your eyes on Pip is one thing; laying your hands on him is quite another. For he's on the reserved side, kind of remote and mysterious — and so beautiful you want to smack his face. Besides, he's already practically on special assignment to the junior officers' mess. They have their pets among the enlisted men, invariably the cute ones. The night we left Tobago, I saw Pip coming out of the wardroom, blushing and tucking his blue chambray shirttails into his dungarees. I rest my case.

Pip is nearly my height (five feet and almost ten inches), but he's willowy and undeveloped, whereas I'm stocky and hard-muscled from working on the ranch and playing high school football. Over his whole slim figure, his skin is smooth, soft, hairless except at the crotch, and the color of (oh, I don't know...) maple-nut ice cream. Sneaking glances, I wonder weirdly what he tastes like. His face is gentle, a trace feminine, with its plump cheeks and long, curved eyelashes. His eyes are almond-shaped, as if there might be a sixteenth of Japanese blood in him. Yet the irises are gray, romantic... and disconcerting. They blow my mind.

His penis makes me wonder seriously for the first time in my life if it would be fun to suck dick. It's pale and lovely with shadowy blue veins beneath the surface. It hangs long and supple out of a patch of crisp, shining, brown pubic hair, and the cock head gracefully swelling the soft foreskin that sheathes it.

It swings as he walks naked across the deck in the crew's quarters. While the ship was rolling in a heavy sea in the Caribbean, Pip was holding on to a bunk to stay upright, and his cock was swinging with a flip so saucy, it just took my breath away. Nobody says anything about his seductive nudity, but I can't believe I'm the only sailor fixated on Pip's pretty prick.

You can see I'm real hot for him. At night with everybody snoring all around me, I lie awake and fantasize myself in the same bunk with him. My cock head presses against my blanket or the mattress, and I imagine I'm slipping it between Pip's ass cheeks. I'd be embarrassed if anyone saw me doing this. I move my hips like I'm fucking him, and by the time I shoot my load into a handkerchief or my T-shirt, I half believe, in my delirium, that my tightly enclosing palms are Pip's virgin butt hole.

And so this morning under the warm shower, I'm fantasizing about him as I fist my cock. However with an effort of will, I hold off my orgasm, even to the extent of grabbing my own wrist and pulling it away from my pulsating shaft just before I will get the familiar tension in my nuts that means the climax is irreversible. After all, I have the whole afternoon and most of the evening for playing with myself, and I want to make the most of it.

I feel my pulse returning to normal. My cock begins to soften, though its nerve ends still crave the touch of my hand. I have the feeling of being in control of myself.

Well, just one more stroke. I feel my cock hardening again and begging for a third stroke. I am caught up by it. I can't let go of it. I can't stop. I can't stop! I shoot a white arc of semen about two feet in the air and fall back against the wet bulkhead.

Oh, well, I think in the afterglow, it was fun. I'll do crossword puzzles this afternoon. I rinse and without drying wrap the terry-cloth towel around my wet waist. I like to feel the water evaporating on my skin. I'll probably get horny again around twilight, before the guys start stumbling aboard.

Just then, Pip saunters into the head, looking rumpled, sleepy, and more human, less a phantom from another planet. He nods indifferently and clops in his sandals over to a sink. He's wearing a pair of nainsook boxer shorts with his name stenciled just above his curvaceous butt and a T-shirt that shows the imprint of his beadlike tits. Stretching in front of the mirror like a house cat, he yawns and slips his hands up under his shirt to stroke his smooth midriff. The sight of his slender beige waist between the shirt and boxers starts my cock warming again and my heart pumping.

Should I make a friendly pass that I can back away from if he takes offense? After all, the guys are all the time pretending to put the make on one another as they horse around in the shower. So for all he would know, I'd just be joking. The chance may not present itself again till we hit Pearl Harbor — and maybe not even then. You don't have any privacy in the Navy. So go to it, Lincoln!

Heart jerking, I step up behind him, press my cock against the crack of his buns, and slip my arms around his waist. The feeling on my cock flesh of that resilient butt, even through the towel and Skivvies, is mind-boggling. I start to panic, then think to myself, Yeah, I can go this far and still seem butch.

But I have trouble controlling my own body. The fingers of my left hand slide by an instinct of their own up under his shirt to his BB-sized bare left tit, and my right hand, before I can draw it back, is fingering his limp cock through the thin cotton. I haven't touched another guy like this since I joined the Navy. But my heart is thumping in terror as well as sexual excitement because I don't know how he will react. He could have me court-martialed.

He's uttered a gasp of surprise, and his whole body jerks. But he doesn't pull away from me! He begins to move both his chest and crotch in a voluptuous rhythm that makes both tit and prick rub against my fingers. And the sensation of his ass crack rubbing my cock practically flicks off my headlights.

His warm, gentle hand touches the back of mine to brush it away? No! He's drawing my hand with tantalizing slowness in between the loose flaps of his fly, and I feel for the first time the full, naked, suede-smooth, lengthening, warming, stiffening shaft. I am so fucking dizzy, I'd fall down if I weren't holding on to him.

He arches his head hack against my left shoulder, where his fragrant brown hair tickles my skin. I feel goose pimples run down my left arm, while my cock goes as hard as a hawser in the warmth of his butt cleavage. His dick heats up. It thickens, hardens, and now lengthens dramatically. God, the kid has a bigger one than I do! I imagine the ensigns playfully stroking it while he stands bashfully at attention. I feel his pulse beating through the velvety skin. I feel the rigid core, against which the skin is sliding smoothly as I fist it.

He moans and whispers, "Fuck me, man," in a throaty urgent way, as if he can't wait a second longer. He pulls down his shorts. Then, takes my hand again in his warm grasp, and I feel myself cupping his moist, hot, hairless halls.

"Come on, Linc," he urges, rubbing his butt crack up and down the underside of my stiff cock. "There's nobody here."

"What are you doing?"

"Oh, Jesus!" he groans. "Don't play with me. I know you want it, and I'm so hot to be fucked, I can't see straight!"

"The Chief'll catch us!" I whine.

"Shi-i-t!" says Pip through those cherubic lips. "That fucker's in the galley drinking torpedo juice."

I feel his hand clutching at my towel, which falls from me. My bare cock is sliding like a cooked frank between his bare buns, which he's spreading, leaning over the sink. I'm gettin' outta here, I tell myself. But instead, I feel the tip of my cock nuzzle his smooth, hairless, half-open, fuck slit. I am feverishly stroking his nipples.

And then, I see the Chief's irate face in the mirror, and I just about die!

In his south Boston accent, Boylan orders us into his private cabin and locks the door. My hands and knees are shaking. Pip, on the other hand, seems calm, but that might be the effect of shock. We stand in front of the Chiefs desk while the leather-skinned, little man sits there, leaning hack, looking us over with his watery pale-blue eyes. Pip has pulled up his shorts, and I've re-draped my towel about me, covering even my belly button in my effort to restore modesty. But the way the Chief stares at my crotch makes me painfully conscious that I still have a knob there.

"You know what this means?" He barks the question like a fox terrier. He thunders the answer: "Portsmouth!" He nods and smiles grimly, as if carrying out his bounden duty in this case is going to be a distinct pleasure. I just can't keep my knees and hands from trembling. I visualize myself behind bars. I see myself returning home to Pinchwood in disgrace. He picks up a black ballpoint pen and makes circles with it to get the ink flowing. When it still fails to work, he puts it down.

"Unless ..." He narrows his eyes.

Pip leaps into the pause. "I'll do anything," he says meekly.

I wait for the Chief to take offense at the brazen offer to deal, but he stops looking for another pen. "And you?" He scowls at me, as if he'd just as soon throw me out with the slops.

"Oh, yes, sir!" I blurt out. "Anything!" I rather have in mind something like a permanent assignment to swab the head or wash the Chiefs Skivvies, and that doesn't seem too painful to agree to. He's got us by the short hairs.

The Chief leans hack in his chair. "Strip!" he says abruptly. His eyes are slits, and his mouth has taken a determined dip downward.

We stand uncomprehending.

"Get naked, you smart-ass college sons of bitches!" snarls the Chief, his voice taking that Navy tone that says "Don't try to get reasonable with me."

Pip quickly pulls off his T-shirt and peels down his boxers. I nervously shed my towel, my skin crawling from the implications of what the Chief is saying. As reckless as I've been with Pip, I've really had little experience. Well, the truth is I haven't had any, if we're talking about sucking cock or taking dick up my ass.

Now, the Chief seems to have trouble speaking. He opens his mouth several times. Finally, in a surprisingly choked contralto he says, "Make... love... to one another."

We stand stunned. "Go ahead," he says primly, as if we're naughty children. "You were doing it in the head. Do it in front of me."

Is this some kind of trick? If I show I'm homosexually aroused, will it go worse for me? Maybe he'll take pictures and use them as evidence? I look at Pip, and he looks at me. Now he seems just a bare-assed, frightened kid. My cock has retracted into a soft nub. But Pip's dick, though flaccid, still hangs long. And now it seems to fatten, blush, and arch out from his slender thighs. The pink tip of his cock head is peeking out of the foreskin.

Staring at it and at his round balls in their long hairless pink sack, I feel my crotch warming up again, and I know my cock is betraying me, lengthening, and filling. Pretty soon it will hang at full length and then swing up hard till it taps my belly button. I feel his smooth hands take hold of my cock and force it down level with his own. I feel the soft tips touch. I feel the wet slipperiness of his pre-cum flowing over my cock head. I feel his satiny foreskin slide over my knob. His hands slip around my waist and slide up to my shoulders. He exerts only the mildest of pressure downward against my deltoids. I could wrestle this kid to submission with my left hand, but I sink to my knees. His wet cock tip brushes my chest, then my chin, then slides across my forehead, leaving its snail's trail of pre-cum.

The tang of his sexuality is now raw in my nostrils. I lose every vestige of resistance to my powerful urges. I touch my tongue to his bubbling piss hole, then let the warm, wet, spongy head slide between my lips and fill my mouth. It's as if I've been doing it all my life instead of for the first time. It's better than anything else I've ever had in my mouth.

I begin to suck him, at first in a kind of wonderment at this live, hot, pungent flesh sliding down my tongue, and then with a wild urgency as every part of me responds to the sensation. Pip grips the sides of my head with both warm hands and lunges his hips into me. I grab the base of his shaft to keep the tip from having spasms in my throat, and the velvety hard fuck tube feels so intimate against my fingers that my whole body shakes. I milk it and slurp on its luscious head and feather its ridge with my tongue, the way I've seen it in a porn flick in my college fraternity.

Pip (the kid who has seemed to me as remote and cold as a star) is swaying this way and that, moaning as if he's suffering. Pushing as far into my mouth as my fist around the base of his cock will let him, he grabs my other hand and brings it around to his butt. He takes hold of the ends of my fingers, and I feel the soft, gooey wetness of his asshole. He takes my middle finger by the first joint and presses it into the warm hole.

I feel my middle finger slide through the soft, slippery, tight muscle of his ass opening. And then, it's in the grip of what seems at first like the warm, gently squeezing electric milking cylinder I used to let my cock be serviced by on the ranch . Now, I want like mad to feel my cock in him. I stare speechlessly up into the mysterious gray eyes, silently begging him.

Everything else is radically different, too. Looking hypnotically into my eyes, his fresh, youthful face turning rosy, Pip stands astride me at my hips and slowly squats. His smooth fingers steady my upright cock, and I feel the tip tuck into the soft indentation of his ass cheeks. At this moment, I don't care whether I go to Portsmouth or not. A rich surge of lust starts at my piss hole and begins to move like a hot tide through my hard cock and my body.

Pip parts his buns and does a deep-knee bend. And then, I feel my cock head gripped by his soft, warm sphincter. Oh, Lord, I am praying giddily, don't make me come right away! I'm grateful now that the good Lord made me shoot my nugget in the shower. That may give me some staying power, now.

I set my whole mind to staving off my orgasm as I feel the ridge of my cock plop through the slippery but oh-so-tight muscle at his ass entrance. The pressure on my cock just under the ridge drives me out of my mind. I give up trying to hold back.

Pip's hips descend relentlessly, and I feel the squeezing go all the way down my shaft until his smooth butt is resting against my thighs and balls. My hands have taken a tight hold of his cock as if they are gripping the horn of a saddle, and I slide the loose skin up and down the hard, slippery shaft. Pip moans as if he is dying, and then, grabs the backs of my hands with his and squeezes and pumps them violently.

He whimpers as his brilliant, white cum shoots over my face and lands in my hair.

My hips jerk, my cock recoils, and I feel what's left of my semen discharging up into his tight ass.

Now, there's a cry like that of a wounded rhino. It's from neither of us. It's from the Chief!

When I finally scramble to my feet, I see the old guy sprawled back in his swivel chair, eyes sightlessly staring, very possibly dead but certainly happy. A small puddle of rusty cum blots the middle of the document next to Chief Boylan that would have sent us to Portsmouth... if Navy pens worked.

THE  END