This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or to actual events is purely coincidental. This story also contains explicit sexual activity between males. If such is offensive to you, or if you are below the age where the reading of such material is legal, please read no further. Feedback is welcome. macoutmann@yahoo.com.
BEFORE "DON'T ASK, DON'T TELL"
By Macout Mann
Chapter 2
Classes moved right along. Morgan thought that the section on the customs and traditions of the Navy was probably the most useful. He thought that was the area where it would be easiest to make a damned fool of yourself once you were in the fleet. Things like how to go onboard and depart from a ship. That naval officers did not wear "cover," that is a hat, indoors, and did not salute when "uncovered." How many "sideboys" lined the companionway when rendering honors to senior officers of certain ranks.
Not that gunnery and navigation and all that stuff were not important. But Morgan thought that, if he wound up on a destroyer, it wouldn't matter if he remembered that the main battery of a battleship was 16 inch guns. Or unless he became a navigator, he wouldn't need to remember how to use a sextant. He did pay attention in Operations class, because that was really interesting. And he realized full well that it was super important that in formation one ship never collide with another.
So he was a very good student of the things that interested him, and he did well enough on the things that didn't, that he could pass the tests o.k. If you flunked out of OCS, you went to boot camp and became a seaman apprentice in the fleet. Morgan did not relish that prospect in the least.
And there was always weekend liberty to look forward to.
After his trip to Boston, Morgan decided he'd stay in Newport next time around. Not that there was a hellova lot to do or see in Newport. There was the oldest synagogue in the United States, a battered ruin of a tower alleged to have been built by Vikings, and a host of mansions lining a ten mile long drive that were built by Nineteenth Century Robber Barons, like the Vanderbilts.
Technically, OCSRs should be able use the Enlisted Men's Club on base. It was strongly suggested, however, that they would not be welcome there. Of course, they were not eligible to use the Officer's Club. So, there was "the beach," which meant the privately owned restaurants and bars in Newport. This being before the coming of the Newport Jazz Festival and the other events that later made the town a tourist mecca, these offerings were very limited.
There were only two hotels. One, built in 1926, now poshly restored and called The Viking. It was pretty run-of-the-mill in 1952; the other, the Cliff House, had been converted from one of the smaller Robber Baron mansions.
Only the better-off officer candidates could afford a hotel room. Most returned to the barracks to sleep. But the demand for hotel rooms still exceeded the supply. The likelihood of getting a room at the Cliff House was better, since it was further from the base and few OCSRs had cars.
With Saturday morning came the weekly inspection. Everything had to be spotless. Beds made such that a fifty cent piece tossed on the blanket would bounce smartly. Shoes polished so that they would reflect the inspecting officer's visage. White hats blocked just so. After inspection, liberty.
Pas invited Morgan and a couple of their section mates to join him; and that meant wheels, so Morgan gratefully accepted.
They had lunch at Howard Johnson's. Morgan was very fond of their New England Clam Chowder. The chef's at Yale had preferred New York Style, containing tomato, which he hated. Then Pas and Morgan got rooms at the Cliff House. The other boys said they'd return to the base.
Pas then drove the four of them the full length of the ten-mile-drive and they really marveled at the architectural splendors that surrounded them. They stopped and took a walk along the rocky shoreline, drove by the synagogue and tower, and, having seen all there was to see, stopped at the Viking Hotel, which contained the preferred OCS watering hole.
The bar was crowded mostly with officer candidates. Comradeship ruled. Morgan sipped martinis, carefully controlling his intake. Pas favored Old Fashioneds, and after several found he'd had too many. Their companions had returned to the base, and Pas decided that he'd just get a room at the Viking. There were none, of course; so Morgan convinced Pas to let him drive them back to the Cliff House.
Once there Morgan supported Pas on his shoulder, until he reached the front desk and collected the keys to both their rooms. He enlisted the help of a bellman to get Pas up to his room, then said he'd finish getting his friend into bed.
By the hardest he stretched the almost-incoherent Pas out on the bed and began to remove his still mirror-bright shoes.
"Oh, shit," Pas murmured. "Oh, Skip, I'm fucking drunk."
Morgan remembered that Skip Hollifield had been Pas' roommate at Yale, another Skull & Bones. "I'm not Skip, Pas, I'm Morgan," he said.
Pas was not dissuaded. "Yeah, Skip. I'm drunk, but I'm still horny. I need your dick, man."
"Damn," Morgan thought, "Pas likes guys?" His mind raced as he finished removing the other man's shoes.
He'd planned to leave Pas' uniform on, but this opened an entirely different set of possibilities. "I'm not Skip," he repeated. "This is OCS, Pas. I need to get you out of your jumper."
As Morgan struggled to get Pas' kerchief and jumper over his head, Pas reached for Morgan's joint, cupped him, and said, "I don't care where this is, I need your dick, man. I haven't sucked a dick...I can't even remember when..."
Morgan got Pas' t shirt off, unbuttoned his bell bottoms, and pulled them down, leaving his boxers at his waist.
"Pas," Morgan said, "listen to me. I'll let you suck my dick. I'd love for you to suck my dick. But I've got to be sure that's what you want me to do. I'm not Skip. I'm Morgan Bowen. You're fucking drunk and I don't want to take advantage of you."
"I want your dick, man, and shit, you're not even undressed."
Morgan stripped as quickly as he could. He thought Pas might pass out, and if he did, he'd go to his room and forget the whole thing. But when he was naked, Pas said, "Now that's better. Climb in the fucking bed."
Pas was stretched out on top of the covers and on his back. "You want me on top of you?" Morgan asked.
"Fuck yes," Pas answered. "Fuck my face."
It wasn't the most comfortable position, but Morgan maneuvered his body so that he could grasp the head of the bed while his now hard tool could reach Pas' waiting lips. He lowered himself, and Pas gagged a bit, but then took Morgan's ample member. Morgan began to flex his hips, thinking "This has got to be more like fucking a pussy than an asshole." Pas clamped his lips around the invading dick and grunted his pleasure. "Yeah, suck that motherfucker," Morgan panted. "That feels so good!"
The exertion of plunging his dick plus the continuing effects of the martinis he'd drunk began to tell on Morgan too. Pas eagerly slurped his cum when Morgan exploded in the other man's throat, and Morgan rolled over to immediately fall asleep. Pas' rolled over to entwine his arms around his partner and joined him in slumber.
That's how they awoke some eight hours later. The sun was streaming through the unshuttered windows. "What the hell?" Pas proclaimed.
"Good morning," Morgan said. "Remember me? I drove you back to the hotel last night and was putting you to bed. You thought I was Skip, and asked me to let you suck me. You finally convinced me it was o.k. So I did. And here we are."
"Oh yeah," Pas smiled after a second. "Now I remember. I was drunk and I did call out for Skip. But then I did realize it was you. Thanks for not taking advantage of me. You were o.k., and your dick was something else." He took it in his hand again.
"Well, I'd never have thought you were into guys," Morgan mused.
"I didn't have any idea you were," Pas replied. "I've wanted you ever since we got to OCS, though."
Pas rolled over and gobbled Morgan's dick before it was fully hard. Morgan said, "You can have me whenever you want. Well, almost whenever. Or whenever we're alone."
This time Morgan lay still and let Pas do the work. He was an expert. He let Morgan's oversized prong rub the back of his throat, and clamped his lips around Morgan's cut head on each stroke. Morgan dumped a pint down Pas' eager gullet.
"You like to get sucked?" Morgan asked.
"Sometimes," Pas answered. "I mostly like to suck and get fucked. I'd love to have that big thing up my ass.
"You know, Skip's working down in New York. He's 4F because of a heart murmur. Next liberty we could go down to see him. Have some real fun."
"You're on," Morgan responded. "And one weekend you can come up to Boston with me. I know a guy we might get together with up there."
"Right now," Pas said, ``my head's killing me."
"Mine's not feeling its best. I'll order coffee, and I guess we should get some clothes on."
Morgan called room service, ordered a pot of coffee and two Danish. By the time they arrived, both men were again spic and span in their dress blues. They took their time drinking their coffee, then Morgan went to his room, shaved, and rumpled the bed to make it look used. That's what you did in those days.
They checked out, drove back to the seashore and walked for a couple hours. They really wanted to get to know each other better.
Morgan wanted to know about the girl Pas had visited at Brown. Pas said he'd known her forever, family friend and all that. Said he'd never really been interested in her, but they'd dated several times. He'd even fucked her, but never thought that was what it was cracked up to be. He'd never had sex with a guy until he'd been seduced by Skip during their sophomore year. That was when he learned why sex with women wasn't what it was cracked up to be.
Morgan explained to Pas how it was important to be the macho man in the Midwest culture he grew up in. But somehow he'd always known he was different. He'd had tennis lessons beginning when he was ten. Got to be damned good. He was fourteen when the tennis pro at the country club took a special interest in him. Took an interest in his dick too. He was never interested in girls, but dated a lot in high school to keep his dad happy. Never dated at all at Yale. At an all-guy school as long as you talked a good line, it didn't matter if you were never actually seen with a woman.
When they returned to the base, Pas called Skip in New York and arranged for Morgan and him to visit.
Copyright 2011 by Macout Mann. All rights reserved.