From Chapter 7,
"I haven't felt this way for anyone in a long time," I replied as I rose to a sitting position. "I know that this is definitely against rules and regulations," staring intently into this young officer's eyes. "But, I know what I feel." 'Feel? Shit, I haven't felt this way since Russ,' I thought. 'At 6'3", this was hardly the "Russ type.' I didn't know what to say. This was a great fucking moment. I knew that this was the start of something special. "Mike, Just don't lead me on. I feel that I've just met someone very important in my life."
"Me too. I've haven't felt this way before...with anyone." He leaned down and lightly kissed me.
"Ummm," was all I could utter. I also wanted his hard dick in me. Soon.
Reading my mind, he said, "Next time we're going to do this right. I'm going to have some protection and lube and we're going to find a firm bed."
"Aye aye, Sir." I leaned in for one more kiss. Mike put his hand behind my head and playfully darted his tongue around my mouth. We both had shit-eating grins when separating.
"Come on guy, we both need showers," Mike said in an upbeat manner as he grabbed my hand, raising me. Walking to the shower hand-in-hand, he said, "We need to talk." He gently kissed me under the showerhead. "You go to your barracks and change into some dressy civvies. I'll meet you at the bus stop by the main entrance with my car and we can go to Memphis and have a bit to eat. How about meeting up at seven-thirty?" he said not bothering with military time.
"Sounds great," I replied as he turned on the shower.
I trotted down the hill thinking, 'Jesus, what just happened in the locker room between Mr....err...Mike and me?' Here I was, running on empty for two years and within two days had gotten recharged. Smiling, I crossed the boundary street demarking "Officer's Country."
What is it? Horniness, curiosity, conquest, love? 'Maybe all of the above,' I considered. 'That I could fall for this tall officer so completely in the space of a day is incredible.' Where was this going? How was Mike feeling? 'I'd find out soon,' I said to myself while seeing a vision of this beautiful, lanky, young man smiling at me.
Entering the barracks, I passed by the security window and recognized the guy on duty: Jim's heavy-set roommate. Casually waving as I passed by, I thought about Jim Weiss, 'a hot fucking guy that I had sex with, motivated by my lustful search as a young, gay, predatory male. Nothing more.' I didn't want to lead Jim on. I realized getting my rocks off was the primary mission with this Russ-type. I hoped we would become good friends.
Russ-types? So much for the past. 'I was definitely moving on in my life,' I concluded, entering my room.
I was not surprised that Brent was gone. As I changed into a short-sleeve Caf shirt, gray slacks, and my Doc Martin's, I thought about what just happened up the hill and my dinner "date" tonight. This guy had definitely rung my chimes...big time. I couldn't even begin to think about the ramifications of being involved with a Naval Officer. 'Involved? I was fucking falling for the guy!'
Turning off the room lights, I dashed outside the barracks and walked quickly to the bus stop by the base main entrance. Nervously looking around to determine if anyone was monitoring my moves, I saw a dark green Acura sports coupe moving slowly to the curb. The tinted passenger-side window rolled down. When I looked in, a very handsome man smiled at me and said, "Hey sailor, need a ride?"
"Mister, I'd appreciate a lift," I responded with a grin. "Are you going to Memphis?"
I opened the door and swung my legs into this hot machine. With the interior lights on, I noticed the military look was gone and replaced by a neat black polo and gray pants combination. Looking into his eyes, I knew that I had made the right move earlier. 'I didn't know about love at first sight. But this must be close,' easing in to the seat and closing the door.
Mike slowly moved ahead to the gate. The Marine guards saluted his officer decal and we pulled out into the mid-evening Millington traffic. He squeezed my thigh and looked at me with a deep, thoughtful expression in his eyes. We drove down the main drag that was home to every fast food franchise and turned onto the expressway to Memphis.
I grabbed his hand on my thigh and said, "I'm going to attack you on the spot if you don't get your hand off my body, Sir."
He replied in a seductive manner, " I have intentions of violating every inch of your body."
"Some very special inches are reserved for you."
"I noticed," he replied with a low chuckle. "All in good time. Tonight, I want to find out all about you." He turned and briefly looked at me. The glow from the dashboard illuminated the sparkle in his eyes.
"Only if I can do the same?"
"Of course. Tell me things that only a close friend would know."
"You mean how did a boy from Minnesota end up in the Navy, only to be lured into meeting this hot guy out of uniform?"
"Something like that." He reached up and playfully pulled at my earlobe and neck.
We traveled down the highway speaking in very vague terms about our lives. I found out that he was from the Chicago area originally. He told me about his college background. I mentioned my life in the Twin Cities and just tossed out that my parents were both gone due to an auto accident.
"I'm sorry to hear that. And no brothers or sisters?"
"No. But my folks were great. Just before graduating from high school, I came out to them. Mom and Dad were very supportive. They said if I ever found someone that I cared for, they wanted to meet him." I turned and looked at Mike. He turned slightly and smiled.
"I haven't crossed that bridge yet. But it's the first thing I'll do when that special person comes into my life."
This was a man I definitely wanted to know better. 'Shit, I was snowed by this beautiful man,' I admitted.
What had happened was wrong in the military scheme of things. I didn't care...to a point. If this relationship that was just incubating had some "legs," I'd have to figure out how to deal with it. I wasn't a career officer, for Christ's sake. But, I didn't want to be mustered out as a perv in the bigoted military's eyes.
Thinking back to my experiences with other guys in Boystown on Chicago's North Halsted Street and the gay bars in Ithaca, it was always about connecting, scoring - safely - and moving on for the next conquest. Other hot looking guys always targeted me. 'I had an appealing look,' I immodestly acknowledged. Staying in shape was a combination of vanity and taking care of myself.
Nine times out of ten, mostly out of shyness and the fear of rejection, I would stand at a bar and wait to be hit on. Unless someone interesting came on to me, I would politely tell the cruising guy that I was with someone. When the right one did approach, I would warm up immediately and leave after verbally exploring the stranger for an acceptable amount of time. I set my superficial standards high. The guy, my age, had to be cute, in shape, possess some smarts upstairs, project a good personality, indicate a bottom preference, and be HIV negative before I yielded. Jaded and snobbish? Maybe. Survival tactics? Definitely.
When we got to his place - always his place - I would be the aggressor. The only time I fucked was when the new "friend" would be a bottom. It wasn't that I looked at getting fucked as something not masculine or submissive. I just didn't like pain. The one time that I had experimented with myself really hurt. I smiled to myself thinking, 'A cucumber will never look the same to me again.' But, thinking about Dave, I might try it...with the real thing.
This was definitely moving beyond my shy M.O. of the past. And it wasn't being horny because of the chaste phase I had been in since going on active duty. Feelings were stirring that I'd never found before. What was going on?
After I hit my 12th birthday, in late August my voice was starting to crack on occasion. I had experienced a spurt of growth over the summer and was now almost 5' 8" in height. On top of everything else, I was sprouting a few hairs around my dick.
One night, in the basement recreation room of my pal Johnny, he asked me if I "did it" yet.
"Do what, doofus?" I replied.
"You know," as he looked at me and smiled as he cupped his hand in front of his jeans and moved it back and forth several times, "Beat off...jack off, ya know."
"I've heard the other guys talk about it. But, I really haven't tried it. Have you? Does it hurt?" asked sincerely to Johnny.
With that he responded by producing a bottle of his Mom's hand lotion. "Nah, if feels good jerking your hard dick. Wanna try it with me?"
My mouth dropped wide open and I just stared. "Um, what if someone comes in while we're doing it?" I stammered.
"My folks won't be back until after the movie. No sweat. Think of it as a game with your friend," Johnny added with sort of a laugh as he started unbuttoning his pants.
He had his fly unbuttoned and preceded to lower his jeans to the linoleum floor before I gulped and said, "OK." With that barrier broken, I kicked off my shoes, loosed the belt, and unzipped the Wrangler's. By the time I had done this, Johnny had already removed his Jockey briefs and was proudly showing off a semi-hard dick.
"Come on, Mike," he said with urgency, "I know you'll enjoy this." By the time I had taken off my underwear, Johnny had applied some of the lotion to his now-hard, thin, 4-inch red dick. I noticed the dark brown hair growth above his dick. Much more hair than I.
He gave me the lotion bottle and said, "Pour some in your hand and start rubbing the tip of it." "It," being my boner. I noticed as I took the bottle that My dick was a little larger than Johnny's, both in length and around, even though he was almost 13. I also noticed his cute little butt.
I followed Johnny's lead. He leaned with his back to the washing machine. I leaned on the dryer. "Hey this really feels cool," I said to no one in particular.
Watching the action, I matched him stroke for stroke as he sped up. After a few minutes, Johnny's breathing became heavier and his eyelids went to half-mast. I could feel a tingling sensation in my body as Johnny yelled, "Shit, Mike, I'm cumming!"
And, out of his cock spurted some white liquid stuff. I was amazed. As I continued stroking, my body started to stir and convulse. For a moment, I saw stars and nothing else. While Johnny dribbled more white stuff out of a still-swollen penis, I stopped my strokes because the tip of mine was very tender, and almost dry. Just a few drops of clear liquid that I thought was just pee.
Johnny opened his eyes and with a satisfied grin, "Well, Mike, what did think of that?" he said as he reached over for a towel to wipe up his mess. Finished, he tossed the towel in the washer.
"What's that white stuff you called cumming?" I asked. "This felt great but nothing came out of me," I mumbled, a little deflated.
"First, the guys call it cum. Or jizz," he declared while we both grabbed our discarded clothes. "When you shoot the stuff, you're cumming."
"But, why didn't I cum?" asking with a puzzled expression.
"Buddy, I guess you're going through puberty a little later than me." Johnny retrieved his briefs and started re-dressing. I followed suit. Johnny added proudly, "I've been shooting cum since Christmas. Every day." As I zipped up my jeans, he added, "Don't worry, Mike, it will happen to you soon." Finally, Johnny said as we walked back up stairs, "Let's just keep this game quiet between you and me." We smiled and gave each other a high-five.
'Game?' I thought, walking home. I couldn't get rid of the intense desire to touch Johnny's hard dick and do it for him.
The attraction would never leave.
As we drove down the expressway to Memphis, I wondered what this young sailor might mean in my life? This physical excitement and emotional explosion I felt was very intense. Our conversation was natural and fresh. Two guys from the Midwest thrown together in a chance encounter?
"After I get out of the Navy in three years, I'm going to look for a manager position with a non-chain restaurant where I can become a GM."
"Back in Chicago?"
"Naw. Too cold. I'm a real pussy to the winters. What are your plans?"
"When I finish, I want to return to school. My SAT's and first year transcripts from college will get me in most places. But I have no desire to return to the Midwest."
"Bright guy. I'm impressed."
"I've always done well in school. I just can't figure out what I want to do. Maybe law."
"You're going to stay in the South?"
"No, I'm ready for a complete change. California might be a possibility. My homeport will be San Diego. Plenty of time to check out the schools."
"Interesting. I've been curious about restaurant opportunities out there."
"I guess we've both got lots of time to find the right move back to civilian life," Dave concluded with a determined glance.
We continued with small talk for the remainder of the short, half-hour drive into downtown Memphis. Dave had not had a chance to really get out and see the Bluff City. Approaching the city limits, I said, "OK, Airman Swenson, your first indoctrination of Memphis will be to dine on dry barbeque at the Rendezvous," I tossed out as a tour guide.
"Dry?" Dave responded.
"Yep. These cooks prepare the ribs by painting them with a home-made barbeque sauce, rub in seasonings and then slowly cook the ribs in a low-temp smoking oven with hickory chips," I explained authoritatively, running through the process. "None of that funky gunk like Tony Roma's. You'll love it."
Dave was checking out the views of this big southern hub as we drove into the heart of Memphis. Off in the distance the moonlight and the lights on the large expansion bridge leading to Arkansas eerily illuminated the Mississippi River and barges with running lights. Rising on the riverbank was the superstructure of the steel Pyramid that would become home to the city's new NBA team in a year or so.
Driving past some of the other local landmarks, I eased over to South 2nd Street and stopped in front of a timeworn, century-old building. Immediately, a valet parker came to my door and opened it.
"Welcome to the 'Vous," the uniformed valet said. I got out, as did Dave. I nodded to the valet and walked around the rear of the car to open the trunk. Storing the mobile phone and Palm Pilot PDA for safekeeping, I grabbed a black Mani sports jacket and put it on.
As Mike went to the rear of the car, I noticed a Mercedes S600 emerge into the valet area in front of us. It stopped, and a distinguished, 50'ish gentleman impeccably dressed in a dark suit, got out of the driver's side. 'Good looking man,' I observed.
The passenger's door opened and out swung two long legs. From the Italian loafers to the well-tailored gabardine trousers, there was a familiarity of the body emerging. Shit. It was my roommate.
Brent put his matching jacket on and waited for the older man to join him after surrendering the car keys to the valet. His head turned my way, and our eyes connected briefly. Brent's brow frowned somewhat but was replaced by a sly smile as he saw my companion for the evening closing the trunk. Brent then turned and smiled at his friend as they walked into the restaurant. 'Fuck,' I reacted, keeping a now-forced smile on my face. 'Talk about timing.' Mike returned from the rear of the car and casually put on his jacket.
As Brent disappeared inside, I filed away the arrival just observed and turned to Mike. "Hey, do I have to wear a coat?" I had not planned on dressing up.
"No, buddy, you look great. I know the owners and I always dress a little bit formal when I'm here."
With that, we entered the Rendezvous.
Thanks to Lee for the suggestion of writing a small glossary for some of the Navy terms in the story. Since the Marine Corps is historically joined at the hip with the Navy, the same slang usually applies to that proud branch of the military service.
The easiest one is military time. It is a visual and verbal 24-hour clock. After 1259, to find out civilian time, subtract 12. As an example, 1430 is 2:30 pm; 2200 is 10:00 pm.
Head = Restroom.
Bulkhead = Wall.
Deck = Floor.
Overhead = Ceiling.
Topside = Upstairs.
Below = Downstairs.
Civvies = Civilian Dress
Cover = Uniform Hat
Go Ashore = Normally, leaving a ship. This also applies to leaving a Navy base.