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 objectionable to you, or if you are below the age where reading such material is legal, please read no further. Comments and criticisms are helpful and appreciated. All emails will be answered. macoutmann@yahoo.com
BEFORE "DON'T ASK DON'T TELL"
by Macout Mann
Chapter 9
Morgan had fun during his leave, especially with Gus. They got together as often as possible.
Gus never tired of hearing about Morgan's trysts with Pas and his discovery of what was going on in the crypto center. "And you told me you probably couldn't even find a place to jack off," he chided.
Sometimes they got together for a quick blow job. A couple of times they had dinner and some serious sex at Gus' pad. "You still have a neat bod," Gus would say.
Gus told him that Skip had contacted him and they'd been together several times. Gus even introduced him to his latest conquest, a champion tennis player at the university. He also had a wonderful body, an eager mouth, and a receptive ass. They had a passionate three-way the night before Morgan had to leave for Glenview.
Morgan again said that he'd probably be celibate for the next eighteen months. Gus responded, "Yeah, like you were the last eighteen."
He also enjoyed spending time with his parents. He brought his mother a strand of pearls he paid twenty five hundred yen (about sixty dollars American) for in Japan. It would have cost three or four times that stateside. And he brought his dad a 144 piece set of bar glass that he paid fifteen dollars for at the ship's store at Yokosuka.
His parents assumed, of course, that he would have met no "nice girls" abroad, but they gave two dinners for home town debutantes that wanted to meet their handsome naval officer son. And Morgan, of course, was charming.
Morgan had never owned a car. Pas' experience at OCS not withstanding, automobile ownership by young men at or just out of college was not that common in those days. But he had collected over a year's salary in Korea with very little to spend it on, so he was in the market. His father was a Buick man. The family had owned black Roadmasters as long as Morgan could remember. So with his father's help, he selected a late model two-toned Super coupe to take to CIC School and then on to the west coast. He had already researched a reliable place to store it, while his ship was in the Far East.
Taking advantage of his having a car, he went across the Ohio River to Newport, Kentucky a couple of times. There were a couple of bars over there where a guy like Morgan could pickup anything he wanted to fuck.
He also discovered that another college friend, a lawyer's son from Minnesota, had finagled his way into a local Naval Reserve Unit and was doing his active duty training at Great Lakes Naval Station, which was not too far from Glenview. Ben was straight, but he was fun to be with; so they exchanged letters and agreed to get together—no, not that way—when Morgan got to Illinois.
Morgan's roommate at Glenview was a Southerner, another jg, but from the Atlantic Fleet. Married guy, who had decided not to bring his wife for a four month stay. The routine was sort of like the beginning of OCS, except that everybody was already an officer.
Ben had made some friends at Great Lakes, who had gone to Northwestern; so they knew the area. They introduced Morgan to the Pizzeria Uno in Chicago, which made the best pizza and the best martinis Morgan had ever tasted. There was a restaurant in Highland Park in an old farmhouse nestled in a grove of trees which made hamburgers served on rye bread with German mustard. And they told Morgan that the Glenview NAS would get him free tickets to the Ravinia, the Chicago Symphony's summer home, which was also on Chicago's North Shore. So Morgan didn't lack for stuff to do. Given his attraction to military pageantry, he also showed up one Saturday morning at the Great Lakes Boot Camp Graduation Ceremony. The review was taken by Admiral King, one of the last living five star flag officers from World War II. Ruffles and flourishes and a nineteen gun salute.
While Morgan was at CIC School, President Eisenhower came to address a meeting of the World Council of Churches, which was being held at Northwestern. Air Force One arrived at Glenview, but everyone was advised that if they were in sight of the air strip, the uniform was Dress Whites. Morgan would have loved to see a presidential arrival ceremony, but his Dress Whites were still in a trunk in Cincinatti.
The Blue Angels performed one weekend. Morgan did show up for that.
And there was school. Underway a ship is handled on the bridge. Normally the Officer of the Deck is responsible for everything. CIC, the Combat Information Center, is the operational backup. Whatever action is taken on the bridge is second guessed in "combat." Maneuvering signals in a formation of ships are interpreted both on the bridge and in CIC. CIC "recommends" what the bridge should do minute by minute. Most important, "combat" keeps abreast of the big picture in an operation, while the bridge keeps the ship functioning as it is supposed to.
The school was mostly a rehash of stuff they'd studied in the operations section of the OCS curriculum, but it was a valuable experience. Practice makes perfect. By graduation Morgan could've done everything in his sleep. And he also became a Certified Air Controller. During his practices with real aircraft, he only lost track of his plane once.
His only sexual relief during the four months was with Ma Thumb and her four daughters (or in Morgan's case, sons).
He set out again for San Francisco. This time in his precious Buick. He got a late start and was delayed by Chicago traffic, so he was still in Iowa when he decided to call it a day. Had a solitary meal and decided to check out a tavern across the highway from his roadside motel. Dressed in a sport shirt and chinos (it's hard to realize these days that there was a time when everyone didn't wear jeans) he was sitting at the bar nursing a beer, when a good-looking guy who was in jeans and a t shirt slid onto the stool next to him. Blond, Nordic type, a few years older than Morgan. He ordered a draught and said, "Sorta cool tonight," to no one in particular.
"Goanna be a lot cooler in a few weeks," Morgan said.
"Oh, hi," his companion said, "I guess I was talking to myself."
"Happens," Morgan replied. "You just passing through?"
"Truck driver. Gotta lay over. Need a few beers to help me get to sleep in the goddamned sleeper."
"I'm headed to the west coast," Morgan volunteered. "Staying at the motel across the road." He let his hand caress his pouch. "You never know," he thought.
He was rewarded by seeing the driver's hand fondle his balls. "Any sort of motel room beats sleeping in a semi."
Morgan asked how long his new friend had been driving and was told ever since he'd got out of the navy six years ago. "It's o.k.," he said. "I don't have a family or anything,"
"Well, I'm still in the navy," Morgan said. "Goanna catch a DD over in Japan.
"Morgan Bowen," he continued, extending his hand.
"Jess Black," his companion responded. "What's your rating, Morgan?"
"Radarman," Morgan lied. After all he would be in charge of the radarmen on board the Stough.
They continued to chat. Jess ordered a pitcher for the two of them. And each increasingly found the opportunity to scratch his joint. Finally, Morgan suggested that Jess share his motel room. "I'm only goanna use one of the beds," he laughed.
"Like I said, anything beats a semi."
Once in Morgan's room Jess said, "I am reading you right, aint I?"
"Fucking aye," Morgan replied, removing his shirt.
"You hear about truck drivers getting into all sorts of shit on the road, but it don't happen near often enough," Jess volunteered. He pulled his t shirt over his head and unbuttoned his tight Levis.
Soon they were in the shower together. They soaped and even shampooed each other. No reason not to use the motel's free stuff. Couldn't resist tasting each other as the water cascaded over them, but they resisted the temptation to bring each other to climax. They dried each other off. Then Morgan snickered, "I guess we're still only goanna use one of the beds."
"Sure enough."
Jess took Morgan's dick between his hot lips and methodically pleasured him.
"Let me," Morgan said.
They took turns edging each other with their mouths, until Jess cried, "I just gotta cum." He unloaded squirt after squirt over Morgan's eager tongue. Then he added, "I want you up my ass." Morgan was happy to comply. Jess' hole had been well penetrated. It wasn't tight, but it flexed at all the right times, and Morgan was totally fulfilled as he exploded into his companion's colon.
The long drives and ample beers took their toll. Both men slept soundly until it was too late to have a morning session. Jess had to be back on the road.
Morgan had no further encounters during the long trek across country, but he did have a one night layover in San Francisco. He still had Jerry's telephone number, and the two of them spent a torrid night at the St. Francis. He didn't bother to call Dot Aronson.
The flight across the Pacific was uneventful, but Morgan did have a scare when the plane landed at Johnson Island to refuel. He was not the only one. Johnson was famous for its runway. On approach, Morgan was seeing blue water out the window when he heard the wheels touch down and the engines frantically reverse as the plane hurtled across the island. At the other end of the runway, as the plane turned, Morgan could again see not only blue water but also the wrecks of aircraft that had failed to make it.
The Stough was not in Yokosuka, when Morgan arrived, but was due within the week. Morgan spent it at the Bachelor Officers' Quarters. Pas was no longer there. His enlisted buddies had been scattered to the four winds. The enlistment of many was up, so they had been discharged. He took a couple of day trips to Tokyo, but chose not to revisit the Nikkatsu.
On Wednesday he was informed that the Stough was in port, berthed with the other three ships of Destroyer Division 17. A motor whale boat brought a somewhat timorous Morgan alongside. He ascended the companion ladder, saluted the National Ensign flying at the stern, saluted the Officer of the Deck, and reported aboard.
So began Morgan's final assignment in the Navy.
Copyright 2011 by Macout Mann. All rights reserved.