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 reading 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 3
Pas and Morgan rushed from Newport to Providence and arrived just in time to catch the New Haven to New York. En route Pas told Morgan that he hadn't seen Skip since graduation, but they'd exchanged letters and phone calls several times. Skip was working for McCann-Erickson, the world's largest advertising agency. What he did, Pas wasn't sure. Something in tv, he thought.
Arriving at Grand Central Station, they caught a cab to Skip's Greenwich Village apartment. It was a sunny, fall day, and the streets were teaming with the assortment of NYU students, artists, retirees, and weirdos that the village is famous for. There was plenty of eye candy.
Skip unashamedly opened the door wearing only a bath towel. "High, fellas," he said. "Sorry, I was just finishing my shower."
He hugged Pas more lustily than brotherly, and Pas, acutely conscious of being in uniform, quickly backed away. "You remember Morgan Bowen, don't you, Skip," he said.
"Remember seeing you around the quad," Skip answered, warmly shaking Morgan's hand. "Glad we're going to get to know each other better." He led the way into his living room. "Pretty small place," he continued, "but it's big enough for a horny bachelor.
"What can I get you to drink? Scotch? Bourbon?" he asked.
"My usual," Pas replied.
"Scotch on the rocks, please," Morgan added.
"Have a seat. I'll be right back," Skip concluded.
When he returned with their drinks, Skip had removed the towel from his waist and hung it around his neck. Morgan couldn't help but stare at the other man's ample equipment, but said nothing. Skip didn't seem to notice.
"So tell me about navy life," Skip commanded
"A lot of shit mostly," Pas answered. "But it's better than being a dogface.
"But what about you? I thought you were going to be running NBC."
"Well, I interviewed over there. But it turned out that the system is that you gotta start out as a page, whatever your goal may be, and I just wasn't willing to do that. So I also had an interview set up with the tv guys at McCann. They said they could get somebody with experience for less than I was asking for, but the personnel department said I could be a copywriter, and that seemed better than escorting tour groups around Radio City. And so, here I am. I'll probably be made an assistant account executive pretty soon. Lots of leg work. Get to go back and forth to P&G headquarters in Cincinnati."
"That's where I'm from," Morgan interjected. "You'd probably like to get to know my old tennis teacher."
"Oh? Does he suck dick?"
"Anything you'd like," Morgan replied.
"Speaking of which," Pas said, "I need to get more comfortable." He began to shed his uniform.
"No reason to be odd-man-out, Morgan," Skip grinned.
Soon the three of them were naked, but they continued their small talk as they sipped their drinks. Skip reminisced about their last week at Yale. "A bunch of us are having a farewell drink. Here our parents are coming first thing next morning, and Pas gets so fucking drunk I have to put him to bed."
Morgan laughs. "Yeah, that's exactly how I found out Pas liked dick," he said. "I was taking off his fucking shoes and he calls out for you to fuck his face."
Skip joined in the laughter. Pas tried to change the subject. "So what are you doing to keep your dick and ass happy now?"
"Oh, here in the village it isn't hard to find a one night stand. Just go out and sit on the stoop. And there are always gals around the office that love to put out for a good dinner and a visit to a jazz club.
He turned to Morgan and added, "I'll go either way. Just follow my dick."
"Whatever turns you on," Morgan responded.
"Too bad I didn't know about you, when we were at Yale," Skip said. He came and sat on the carpet between Morgan's legs and cupped his balls, causing his dick to twitch to life. "Could've done tonight three years ago. Love your dick."
"Yours too," Morgan replied.
"He tastes good," Pas told Skip. "Try it."
Morgan leaned back in his chair and experienced the exquisite feeling of Skip's lips enfolding his now rigid pole. "Yes," he whispered, "suck me, baby."
Skip must've liked the taste. He immediately began to rapidly throat, then pull up on Morgan, sending him into a state of wild abandon. "Oh, god," he cried, "feels so great. Yes, eat that fucker!"
Pas was not the quiet observer. He came over, and rubbed his now hard dick and ball sack up and down Skip's back as he became more and more excited. Morgan blew a five day supply of cum into Skip's willing throat, and Pas pulled Skip back onto the carpet and drank the overflow from his chin.
That was the beginning of the evening and the morning. They did interrupt their orgy long enough to dress and go to Asti, the Greenwich Village restaurant where periodically all the waiters break into choruses from famous operas. Their waiter was particularly solicitous. Skip let them know he was one of the guys that shared his bed from time to time.
Overnight there was hardly anything that three guys could get into that they didn't undertake. Morgan and Pas had to urge their cabbie to extra effort to get them to Grand Central in time to make their train.
Meantime, Morgan had kept his promise. He had sent this letter:
Lt. Steve Matthews
Staff, Commander Destroyer Force Atlantic
Newport, R.I.
Dear Mr. Matthews:
I greatly appreciated the advice you were kind enough
to offer me, and I hesitate to request your good offices again.
I have a friend, however, with a similar problem. Would you be kind enough to meet with us?
The Monday after they returned from New York he received a reply.
Morgan Bowen, OCSR
U.S. Naval School, Officer Candidate
Newport, R.I.
Dear seaman,
I have a very busy schedule, but I will try to meet with you and your friend at the same location Saturday at 3 PM.
Morgan and Pas were already sipping their favorite drinks at the café on Scully Square, when Steve arrived, dressed again in his blue blazer and grey slacks.
"Well, Morgan, I really didn't expect to see you again," he announced.
"Nor did I," Morgan replied, "but I didn't expect to discover that my friend, Paschal Willingham, needed your advice as much as I had.
"Pas, this is Steve Matthews."
"Mr. Matthews, thank you so much for coming."
"I'm glad I was able to."
Pas signaled the waiter, indicated Steve's drinks were to go on his tab, and asked what he was drinking. Soon the waiter returned with Chivas and soda, and the three of them were soon chatting like they'd known each other for years.
They had an early dinner at Locke-Ober, a place which an Emmy-winning documentarian would later say "passes as Boston's best restaurant." Morgan didn't think the fare was as good as he and Steve had had last time. That had been prepared by a former chef of the French Line. Afterward, even Steve said they should've gone to Durgan Park. Food wasn't what they'd come to Boston for, however, and soon they were back in Steve's hotel room.
"As an officer of the court," Steve opined, "I should let the front desk know that we have double, no... triple occupancy. But I think they should find out for themselves."
Morgan fucked Steve, while Pas sucked him. Morgan fucked Pas, while Steve sucked him. Morgan sucked Steve and Pas in turn. And then the program began again in reverse. By checkout time next morning there were sore dicks and asses all around.
Morgan and Pas shared a room at the Cliff House a couple of weekends after that. But graduation day was approaching. The officer candidates had their picture taken for the classbook, wearing fake Dress White Ensign uniform tops. They ordered their real Dress Blue, Khaki, Dress White, and working uniforms from, where else, Brooks Brothers. And they got to request whether they wanted ship or shore duty for their initial assignment.
Steve had told them that if they requested sea duty, they might keep the same assignment for all three years of their active duty, or they could be transferred from one ship to another, but if they got shore duty initially, odds were that they'd be transferred to a ship after eighteen months, but they'd still have had some shore duty. So both Morgan and Pas requested shore duty. Pas lucked out. He was assigned to the staff of Commander, Naval Forces Far East in Japan. Morgan was sent to Korea, where the war was. He was to become a Communications Watch Officer on the staff of Commander, Sea Coordination Center, Korea at Pusan.
After commencement ceremonies, dressed in their shiny new Ensign uniforms, they went to spend a passionate night at the Waldorf in New York, before "enjoying" two weeks leave time with their families.
There was a big meeting at the Waldorf. That's why they figured they were put up in the Waldorf Tower in a room overlooking St. Bartholomew's Church. "My folks go there whenever they're in New York on a Sunday," Pas volunteered.
"Well, it's not Sunday yet, and I've got other things on my mind besides church," Morgan replied.
They quickly undressed and embraced. "I'm goanna miss you," Pas whispered, blowing gently in his friend's ear.
"Me too, but you never know. We may get together again."
Both knew that was a possibility, but they behaved like this was the last time they'd ever see each other. They stretched out on one of the beds and 69ed until each had drunk his fill of the other's seed. Then they just cuddled, enjoying their closeness.
They decided there was no need to leave the hotel, so they had cocktails and dinner in Peacock Alley, and returned to their room for more sucking and fucking. Exhausted, they fell asleep in each other's arms, the light still blazing in the lamp next to their bed.
Come morning they shared a cab to Idlewild. Morgan to fly to Cinci, Pas to Richmond.
Copyright 2011 by Macout Mann. All rights reserved.