Aggie Weston's
H.M.S. Hunter was tied up alongside in the Royal Naval Dockyard at Devonport, near Plymouth in the Southwest of England. She'd recently returned from a year in the Med, participating in wartime exercises and some flag showing in French and Italian ports, and was soon to be de-commissioned, at which time, we matelots would be dispersed to other ships and shore stations.
I was accommodated on small messdeck at the stern of the ship, just a space designed with no specific function which had been designated as living quarters. Having only space for six bunks (the Navy recently having abandoned hammocks) it was used as overflow accommodation, housing two seamen, two stokers, me, and Hug. I was a sparker (radio operator) and Hug was a writer (clerk).
Of course, Hug wasn't his real name. He was actually Hugh, but this had been shortened to Hug, inevitably, because he was what we referred to as "essence". This adjective was used to describe any rating who was slender, smooth skinned and effeminate looking. Today he'd be called a Twink. More often than not, Hug was called "fucking essence", with heartfelt emphasis on the intensifying "F" word, because of his extraordinary beauty. His hair was blond, worn as long as the Navy would allow, his eyes blue and his lips pouty in a slutty kind of way. If you'd put him in a wig, he'd have passed easily for a girl.
Back in those days, decades ago, there was no porn, no Playboy, no hustler, no X rated movie theatres, no internet, no gay chat rooms, so for sailors deprived of female company while at sea, their only source of sexual stimulation was their own imagination, fueled by occasional glimpses of an "essence" young rating naked in the shower, if they were lucky. This lead to extemely high levels of frustration so we all wanked at least daily. The Navy regarded homosexuality as a criminal perversion, punishable by an extended period in detention quarters which was a living hell, and/or dismissal from Her Majesty's Service. I'm not saying it didn't happen, but it was always shrouded in secrecy. Queers, called "brown hatters", were objects of derision and ill concealed hatred, which was utter hypocrasy. It was okay to be macho, telling a messmate how much you'd like to fuck his arse, but to initiate actual contract was fraught with danger. To be rejected would've been bad enough but to be reported, well, need I say. From the start of Hunter's commission, many ratings had mocked Hug, grabbing his arse in the dinner line, or making lewd comments in the bathroom during the dog watches when most ratings did their dhobying (clothes washing) in the wash basins, usually naked prior to showering. There was no proper laundry facility aboard. Invariably, Hug's response was to snarl, "Fuck off, you cunt!" and soon he was left alone, a gorgeous sexual fantasy object, utterly desirable but untouchable.
I always treated him with respect, though secretly, he filled my thoughts day and night. I would try to be in the mess when he was dressing or undressing and the sight of him in his lovely white "knicks" would get my cock instantly hard. He never noticed, or if he did, he was accustomed to being stared at.
That Friday night, I'd been ashore, doing some serious drinking in a pub just off Fore Street, quaffing pints of Plymouth Breweries bitter, not a bad brew, and at 2300, closing time, I caught the last bus to the dockyard gate and walked to the ship. I was pleasantly pissed, nicely relaxed but still steady on my feet as I walked up the brow, saluted the ship and stepped on board. The Quartemaster gave me back my station card and I went below to the messdeck. It was empty, except for Hug. The other occupants were all on leave and Hug and I were due to go when they came back. He was lying on his bunk, the middle one of a vertical tier of three, his pants round his ankles, his shoes still on and his shirt unbuttoned. We were allowed to wear civies on shore leave. I leaned over him.
"Hug," I said, but he was out cold. I gave him a gentle shake, but he didn't respond. I thought the least I could do would be to take his shoes and pants off, which I did, hanging the pants in the hanging locker we all shared. I stood beside his bunk looking at him. The lights of the dockyard shone in through the scuttle (porthole) and I could see him quite clearly. He looked as delicious as always, even more so now that I could stare as hard, and for as long, as I liked. He was wearing his signature briefs, one of three pairs he'd been wearing all year, washing them religously each day, so that although they were still nice and white, they could scarcely be called "tight". They'd become slightly baggy and there was a little space between the leg and his skin, as though inviting one to put one's fingers in. I called his name again, without any reaction. I knew he'd gone ashore before me, had probably drunk just as much if not more, and was well and truly "shattered" as we liked to say.
I took a deep breath, my pulse racing as I contemplated my next action. I was gonna grope him. I was gonna do what I'd longed to do for more than a year, namely put my hand on the front of his darling knicks and feel his lovely cock, a cock I'd seen many times, but never touched. He wouldn't know. He was heavily sedated with alcohol. If he woke, I'd duck down into my bunk below his and pretent nothing had happened.
I put my fingertips on the bulge in his knicks, running them up and down, listening for any changes in his breathing. Then I gently gripped his cock through the cotton and squeezed. Still no response. My heart was beating wildly and I placed the flat of my hand on his package and squeezed again. Oh, my God! Was he getting hard? Yes, his bulge was getting bigger. I looked at his face, noting that he was apparently blissfully unaware that he was being sexual molested. With finger and thumb, I lifted the front of his knicks up to give his cock room to lie pointing up his body, which it did, then let his knicks fall back. I put my hand on his now quite hard cock, sliding it up and down over the thin cotton, then squeezed just a little and began to wank him. He didn't move a muscle. His cock became perfectly rigid and I wondered how could he still be asleep. But then guys get erections during their sleep. We frequently wake up with them, making a morning wank that much easier, but was this just pure chance or was it the result of my touch? He slept on.
Although I was more excited than I'd been in years, I wanted more, so I pulled the waistband of his knicks up and slowly slid my other hand down inside and gently gripped his naked cock. The feel of it in my hand was electrifying, like steel covered with velvet. I moved my hand up and down, wanking him for real. I'd been given a priviledge no other crew member had come even close to and I was never gonna forget it. I kept my eyes on his face, checking for any change of expression, but also having my fill of his extraordinary beauty. "Essence" didn't even begin to describe him.
I had no idea how this would end, but events dictated the outcome as I felt the end of his cock swell, then pulse as he shot half a dozen squirts of thick, creamy cum on to my hand and his tummy. I kept stroking until the final shot, milking his cock, gently squeezing a few more drops out, then I removed my hand and let the waistband fall back. He still appeared to be asleep. I licked my hand clean, revelling in the salty taste of his cum, a taste that only I had been priviledged to enjoy. Then I got undressed, crawled into my bunk, pushed my own knicks down to mid thigh and had the best wank I'd ever had in my life.
I was wakened by the thud of Hug's feet hitting the floor as he rolled out of the bunk above mine. I was treated to a close up view of his white knicks, bearing a large cum stain on the front. He pulled them off, giving me time to gaze at the beautiful cock that I'd wanked last night, then he donned a clean pair of knicks and took off for the bathroom. I didn't catch up with him until breakfast, where I sat next to him and he gave no indication that anything had happened the night before, but just as I was finishing my mug of foul tasting tea, he leaned over and said, "How about you and me going ashore, lunchtime, get a few pints inside us?" This was quite unexpected. Although we'd been ashore together with other matelots, we'd never gone just as a pair. I readily agreed.
"I'll meet you at the brow after tot time," I said. Hug, being only nineteen, wasn't old enough to be issued a daily tot of rum. At twenty, I qualified, loathed the stuff but could never turn down a free drink.
At 1200 I lined up for my tot, drank it with shudder, the taste being fucking awful, and met Hug at the brow. We walked to the dockyard gate, caught a bus up to Fore St. and went into the same pub that I'd patronised the night before. We drank a couple of pints and ate oggies (Cornish pasties), played some darts with two matelots from other ships, then sat at a corner table. Hug leaned close and murmured, "Why don't we get rooms at Aggie's?"
Dame Agnes Weston, whom God preserve, in the early twentieth century, was a tireless advocate for temperance, with the aim of attracting sailors away from the demon alcohol and bringing them closer to Jesus. To this end she built several "Royal Sailors' Rests" in which to save the souls of Royal Naval alcoholics, and at first she was quite successful, but "Aggie Westons", as they became known, had evolved into little more than social clubs where servicemen could play snooker, table tennis, watch TV and more importantly, get a bed for roughly the price of a couple of pints. All you got in your cubicle was a bed, a chair, a coathanger and a threadbare towel, with the bathroom down the hall. At least the sheets were clean.
Hug's suggestion filled me with excitement. We finished our pints and walked rapidly down to where Aggie's loomed by the Fore St. dockyard gate. We booked two adjacent rooms, collected our keys and rapidly climbed to the third floor where we found our rooms down a dark corridor. I put my key in the door and opened it, then I turned to Hug, but without a word he shoved me inside, came in after me and locked the door behind us. He sat on the bed and murmured something softly. I sat beside him.
"I didn't hear you," I whispered. The walls of the cubicles were not exactly soundproof.
"I said, 'Thank you'."
"What for?"
"Last night's wank."
"So you were awake?"
He chuckled. "Not only was I awake, I set the whole thing up. Once I realised you were still ashore, I lay down on my bunk, pulled my pants down and unbuttoned my shirt. I know how sexy that looks. Only one of two things could happen. Either you'd ignore me and turn in, or you'd try something." A big smile broke out on my face. The sneaky little fucker had been awake! "I've been wanking to mental images of you for the last couple of months," he continued. "since one time when you got up at 0400 for the morning watch and for some reason you were naked and you had a magnificent hard on. I suddenly realized how essence you are, how much I wanted to take hold of it and wank you off, but I was scared."
"Me? Essence? You're the one who's essence. The whole fucking ship knows it, but everyone thinks you're unapproachable. Why didn't you let me know you fancied me?"
"I was afraid of rejection. Last night was a way to find out if you fancied me without any risk."
"Fancied you? I've fucking adored you ever since the first time I set eyes on you. Last night was the biggest thrill of my life. Afterwards I had the most magnificent wank ever."
"And now you're gonna get another. Stand up." I stood in front of him and let him unzip my pants. I kicked my shoes off and untangled the pants from my ankles, then unbuttoned my shirt and spread it wide. "Jesus! You're fucking hot in your knicks!" he breathed. My underpants, like his, were white briefs, and were now bulging in front, my cock fully hard inside. He reached his hand up and caressed it, then pressed his cheek against the front of my knicks. I stroked his hair. Then he pulled my knicks down to mid thigh, letting my cock spring out and leaned back and gazed at me. "There's nothing sexier than I guy with his knicks at half mast and a nice big stiff dick waiting to be wanked." He paused. "Or even sucked."
"Have you ever sucked a cock?" I ask. He shook his head. "It's fucking indescribable," I said. "You should try it."
He looked up at me, an eager look on his face. "I've wanked a few, but never one as beautiful as this." He took hold of it and began gently stoking it, pulling my foreskin back to expose my glistening wet head, then rolling it forward again, gazing intently at it. Then he pushed his tongue out and touched the end of my dick where a drop of precum hung. Suddenly his lips were round me, his tongue licking the head, his eyes filled with adoration as he looked up into my face. Briefly removing my cock from his mouth, he whispered, "This is awesome. My own cock's rock hard. I could suck yours all day and night. I abolutely love it!"
My wildest dream was coming true, the most essence bloke in the world was actually sucking my cock and clearly getting as much satisfaction from it as I would from sucking his. I could feel my orgasm mounting and I wanted to make it last, but then he said the most exciting words I've ever heard. "I want you to cum in my mouth." My heart felt like it was gonna burst with love. I was helpless to prevent myself and my cock exploded, shooting a long, thick streak of cum that landed across his forehead and cheek. He clamped his lips round me again to catch the rest. I lost count of how many pulses of cum I fired, all directly into his eager mouth. Then he milked my cock, squeezing the final blob on to his hand. He lifted his head to let me see an ocean of cum inside his mouth before he closed his lips, smiled and swallowed. Then he licked his hand, gripped my still stiff cock by its base and used it like a paint brush to smear that first streak of cum all over his face, forehead, cheeks, mouth and chin, grinning all the while. "So that's what cum tastes like."
"You like it?" as asked.
"Its fucking delicous," he murmured, leaning back with his head and shoulders propped against the wall. The front of his pants were tented with is cock and I would have instantly taken advantage of it, except that I was now drained and would need some time to recover.
I pulled my knicks up over my cock and sat beside him. "Sucking cock is fucking great, ain't it?" I murmured in his ear.
"Sucking yours is. I wanna suck it every chance I get, and you can suck mine any time you want." He stood up, took a last look at me and said, "Let's crash. I'm gonna leave my door open, so when you wake, just come in and . . . well, do anything you want." Then he was gone.
Holy fucking shit! Unbelieveable! He actually sucked my cock! He was gonna let me do whatever I want to him. What had I done to deserve such luck? I lay down and let the alcohol wrap me in its embrace and drifted off into a warm, happy dreamland.
I woke around 1800, stripped my knicks off, put the towel round my waist and headed down the corridor to the bathroom. There were only two matelots there, chubby, hairly blokes who were of no interest to me, so I quickly showered and came back, pushing Hug's door open and stepping inside. He had just woken, and was sitting on the bed. I gazed at his beautiful body in his exciting knicks. He looked down at my towel and promptly yanked it off. It goes without saying my cock was hard. I stood there, in all my naked magnificence, my cock pointing at his face.
"Fucking awesome!" he whispered. Being pretty much sober, we were acutely aware that we could easily be overheard so it was necessary to keep our voices low. He stood up, his cock now as hard as mine and put his arms round my neck. I put mine round his waist and pulled his body close to mine, our hard cocks grinding against each other. He put one hand on the back of my head and pulled me down into a kiss, our tongues thrusting into each others mouths as we breathed heavily through our noses. When we came up for air, he whispered in my ear, "Take my knicks off." Words to die for. I pushed his knicks far enough down for them to fall of their own accord, then thrust my hips against him again, our two naked cocks pressed together. We kissed again and then I murmured that I wanted to suck his glorious cock. He readily assented, but added, "Why don't we sixty nine. I wanna suck yours again." We flung ourselves on the bed, head to tail, me on top, each grabbing the other's cock and putting it in our mouths. We sucked for several minutes, each doing his best to arouse the other but after a while I had an irrisistible urge to lick his balls, then farther down to his perineum and then it just seemed instinctly right to put my tongue on his arse hole. I pushed my tongue in as far as it would go, then felt his tongue touching my own hole. I felt like my whole body was on fire. Eventually, I had to cum up for air and I rolled off him and knelt beside the bed, putting his cock back in my mouth. With one hand on his shaft, I put my other hand between his legs and pressed my middle finger on his darling rose bud. The tip slid in and I heard him sigh. I pushed it all the way in, then started fingerfucking him, thrusting in as far as it would go.
"Is this what it's like to be fucked?" he whispered.
"Yeah, but way better. Being fucked is the most incredibly beautiful experience it's possible to have." I put my mouth back on his cock.
"Fuck me, then! Go on, fuck me!"
Couple of problems. His arse was unprepared, way too tight and it would hurt. Secondly, we had no lube. The dilemma was solved when, with a dangerously loud groan, he came in my mouth, filling it with delicious creamy cum, which I eagerly swallowed.
When we'd gotten our breath back, he whispered, "You'll just have to fuck me later."
We dressed, headed out and caught a bus into Plymouth. We did some shopping, buying half a dozen new pairs of knicks each. I bought a bottle of sun tan lotion. "Going to the beach?" asked Hug.
"We're on leave next week, remember? Maybe I will hit the beach." We did a pub crawl down Union St., stopping at a cafe for steak, egg and chips, the matelot's favourite meal. By today's standards, the steak was thin and overcooked, the egg underdone and the chips greasy, but compared with the grub on board, it was food for the gods. We hit more pubs, drinking rough scrumpy to save money and finished up back at Aggie Weston's. We arranged for a shake at 0700, to give us time to get back aboard before our shore leave expired, then went upstairs to my room.
"Let's undress each other," said Hug, "and try on our new knicks." This we did, admiring each other in blinding white cotton briefs, "tighty whities" as they later became known, then embraced again, kissing furiously.
"I think I'm falling in love with you," he murmured.
"I've been in love with you ever since the first time I saw you take your pants off a year ago, Hug." He gave me a dazzling smile.
"Then take my knicks off again," he said, stepping back. I pulled them down and gave his cock a little encouraging suck. He pulled mine down and we collapsed together on the bed, our lips locked, our cocks pressed together. "I want you to fuck me," he said, his tone almost pleading. "I wanna surrender absolutely to you so you can do anything you want to me, anything at all."
I knew exactly how he felt, how he was experiencing the joy of submitting totally to the desires of one's partner, doing anything to arouse him, which in turn, aroused oneself to incredible heights of sexual ecstacy. The word "bottom" had not been coined back then, but it descibes us both perfectly. One might imagine that a top and a bottom would be a perfect fit, but two bottoms together works just as well.
I untangled myself from him, stood up and retrieved the bottle of lotion from our shopping bag. He grinned at me. "Were you planning this?" he asked.
"Actually, I always keep sun tan oil on hand, just in case someone wants to fuck me. Having vaseline on board would be a bit of a giveaway."
"Who'd wanna fuck you, except me?"
"Precisely! Now get on your hands and knees on the bed." I lubed up his arse, pressing oily fingers in to him, finger fucking him and twisting my fingers round and round to loosen him up. Just below his arse was the perineum I'd licked earlier, his lovely hairless balls, and his hard cock pointing down at the bed. I lubed up my own cock.
"Are you ready?"
"Go on! Fuck me! Fuck my brains out!" I touched the head of my cock to his hole, then pushed.
"Relax, Hug. Bear down. Pretend you're taking a shit." I felt his sphincter relax and the head of my cock slipped inside. He let out a grunt.
"Does it hurt?" I asked.
"Just for a second, but it's okay now. Go ahead, fuck my arse. Shove your magnificent cock all the way in." I started slow pushes, going deeper and deeper with each cycle, until I was buried inside him all the way to the hilt. He moaned with pleasure. If other matelots in adjacent cubicles could hear us, so what? I didn't give a fuck. I wasn't ashamed of what was doing. I was introducing my lover to the exquisite joy of having a cock up his arse. Hug was pushing back against me. I reached round his hip and took hold of his cock, hard as iron. I wanked it in time with my thrusts, letting him know that I wanted to take care of his needs just as much as my own.
"Oh fuck!" he murmured. "Oh, Jesus, this is so good! I'm being fucked! This is amazing! Fuck me harder, deeper! God, but I love your cock!" I was feeling just as carried away as he clearly was and I could feel my orgasm building, so I sped up my hand, hoping to bring him to his climax just as I came. "I'm cumming!" he groaned, and I could feel his cock pulsing as he shot his load on to the bedspread. It was enough to trigger my own orgasm and I fired deep into his bowels, pulse after pulse, until I was completely drained. We collapsed on the bed, me on top, still inside him. We lay there, gasping for breath, until our heart rates slowed, then I let my cock fall out of his arse and I rolled off him. I found the towel on the floor and wiped my cock clean.
"Holy fucking shit!" he said, "That was incredible! Fuck me any time you want."
"Next time, it'll be your turn to fuck me, you sexy little slut." He grinned.
"Yeah, I'm Hug the Slut. But I'm your slut, your's exclusively." He took the towel from me and wiped his cock on a clean part, then put his brand new knicks back on. He picked up his pants and shirt, opened the door and peered out. "All clear," he said to me, then was gone. Maybe someone might have seen him, creeping from one cubicle to another in his underpants, but I didn't care.
We spent our nights at Aggie Weston's for the whole of the following week, then our other mess mates came back from leave and it was our turn. Three whole weeks at home with our respective families, what joy!
I came back from leave. Hug had already returned. He was sitting in the mess looking at a piece of paper.
"Draft chit," he said, looking up at me.
"What ship?"
"Warrior, in the Far East." Shit, the other side of the world.
The next day, I got my own draft chit. H.M.S. Afrikander, a shore wireless station at Capetown. Almost a perfect draft, but I'd have surrendered it in a heartbeat to be back on a ship with Hug.
Thank you, Dame Agnes Weston., but alas, you didn't save either Hug nor me from the evils of alcohol, nor bring us any closer to Jesus. But if you're up there somewhere listening, rest assured you helped at least two young men, and probably thousands more, to find the most exquisite happiness together.
Bless your cotton socks.
The End.