I ONLY ENLISTED because Mum and Dad thought it would make a man of me. The night the big decision was made I happened to overhear them discussing me as I came downstairs after my nightly shower.
"Let's face it, Marge," I heard Dad say, "he must be queer. Look at all the time he spends titivating in the bathroom, specially in the morning when I'm trying to get ready to go to the office. He's worse than a girl putting on her face to go out with her friends. No, he's queer and that's all about it."
"Whatever do you mean, dear?" Mum's voice was trembling.
"Holy cow, woman, they told me down at the nick last time he was found in the park that he deliberately goes looking for it. He's out till all hours, looking for men to have sex with. Do you want me to spell it out any plainer?"
"Oh dear, where did we go wrong with him, love?"
"We did nothing wrong. I guess he's got a wire loose somewhere. The Services will sort him out!" Oh Dad, if only you could have known!
So, here I am. My first night on guard duty at my first regular Air Force base. I'm supposed to be guarding the Kingsbridge Armoury, along with Sergeant Joshua Ellington of the USAF, comically known to all as `Duke'. The Kingsbridge Armoury was built in the mid-1860s as part of a chain of huge forts, munitions dumps and sundry other military installations all along the Channel coast, from Dover to Portsmouth, at a time when minor revolutions in mainland Europe had provoked an unreasoning fear of an invasion by the French.
The Armoury is a huge purpose built subterranean complex designed to hold vast quantities of explosives, ammunition, guns, mortar shells, and just about every other kind of munitions imaginable. The Americans share it with us so guard duties and the like are carried out jointly. Some of those Yankee guys have bulges that look as if they could be as deadly as the missiles we guard and should also qualify for protection. The Armoury is laid out as an underground warren of long dark tunnels and passageways, leading to cavernous dungeon-like areas and their deadly stores, sealed off behind enormously thick and heavy lead lined doors. Ever since the days of the Cold War, it has been used for storing munitions, warheads, vital parts of fearsome airborne weapons such as Rapier, Sentinel and Sting Ray, as well as some which do not bear thinking about.
Duke' Ellington is a big black guy, his skin glistening like polished ebony. About 11.30 in the evening (23.30 hours in military speak) Duke' calls me over and invites me to go with him for a cigarette break. I don't smoke but he don't know that. He leads the way and I follow, giving him a very careful examination, as if I am about to buy a side of beef. I guess he is about 34 or 35, big with thick thighs, a wide back and the broadest goddamned shoulders I've ever seen. The cheeks of his arse strain against the canvas material of his uniform fatigues, which are tucked into his highly bulled combat boots. I ought to mention here that we have to wear the most unattractive, cumbersome protective clothing I know, just in case some idiot sets off one of the horrors we are guarding. Duke's helmet is tilted forward on his head, shielding his eyes from the unwanted gaze of the curious – or the fearful. His neck is thick and bullish, from where it meets with his shaved head to inside the starched collar is his shirt. However, the most distinguishing features are his huge hands: one of them is wrapped around the butt of his rifle as if it were a matchstick. The other is gesticulating, pointing out where the dangerous' things are stored. Fuck me, everything in the damn place is dangerous', including him! As we trudge through the damp corridors of power Duke' emphasises the importance of keeping where we are heading a secret place'.
By now, my sexual antennae are on full alert: I can hear the warning klaxon in my head. We only met a few hours ago and already he is propositioning me, wanting to show me his `secret place'. He can barely restrain his lustful eagerness, reminding me somewhat of the men I used to come across in the local fleapit on a Saturday afternoon. Their hands would creep over the leg of my short grey trousers and rub the front of my Y's, until they made playful contact with my pre-adolescent balls and dick, not yet fully developed but sufficient to give me a truly hard boner. I have always wondered what, if anything, was wrong with me. I must have been giving off some kind of sexual body odour that has every post-pubertal male within cumming distance of me to get a hard-on and want to fuck me – and I'd be only too willing! The only consolation I could see was that life is never dull! Suddenly, my train of thought is interrupted when Duke stops walking and turns round to put down his only ground rule.
"By de way, man, you kin call me Duke only when we is alone." My hand is engulfed in his. "Ah t'ink you'm purty cute fer a white bo'." I am five foot ten and a half, with short blondish hair and ice-blue eyes. I have been called a lot of things in my short life, but `cute' is a first.
"My name is Vince," I softly murmur.
We walk on and descend a steep, narrow, slippery stone staircase into a musty smelling tunnel which broadens out into a vast, man-made cavern. Duke is right. This is a dark, humid secret place where no-one would ever find you if you got lost. Why would he want to come here? As if I could not hazard an educated guess!
He stretches out on the cold and damp stone floor, taking a pack of Marlboro cigarettes from the breast pocket of his thick fire and blast proof tunic. He flips it open, extracts a cigarette with his teeth, and then lights it with his Colibri. He takes a long, slow inhalation of smoke, throwing his head back and closing his eyes. He holds the smoke in his mouth for a few seconds, then gradually exhales, controlling the thin ribbon emerging from between his thick lips. He sighs, contentedly. He opens his eyes and holds the cigarette towards me. I did not even think of the fire hazard of having a lit cigarette and a bare flame in that environment!
Although I didn't – and still don't – smoke, I want to go through with it, just to see what he intends doing. I reach out to take it but he jerks it away from me and holds it pointing downwards over his crotch. It is dark in that cavernous space but the glow of the smouldering cigarette creates enough gentle radiance for me to see that he has a raging hard-on straining to break free of the confines of his heavy canvas trousers.
"Sitt'ee down heah," he orders, patting the ground next to him. I squat down on my haunches and he places the fag against my lips. I open my mouth and take it. His thumb and forefinger caress my lips as I take a deep drag, swallowing the smoke, leaning my head back against the cold, damp and uneven stone wall, striving not to retch or cough. I let the smoke seep lazily through my half open lips. Duke puts his fingers back on my mouth and manoeuvres them to prize it open. He uses my saliva to moisten his thumb and fingers and, before you know it, he is trying to fist-fuck my mouth.
"Mmmm! Ah'd like to put ma fist up yo' reah end, hunny an' give yo' a real treat!" His voice whispering seductively in my ear is silky smooth. I find this kinky and erotic – I have never tried to take a fist up my back end before!
He rolls over towards me and presses the lower half of his body against my lower half. I can feel the hard, giant prick throbbing against my thigh, even through our heavy duty trousers. He buries his head between my neck and shoulder, putting his big hand on my cock and balls, massaging them through my combats in a circular motion, which drives me nearly wild. He slowly humps my leg, rather like a randy dog. Duke's big fingers wrap around my groin and his middle finger reaches under my scrotum attempting to find its way to my where my anal opening should be, still protected by my underwear and cumbersome uniform. I lift up my arse to encourage his probing finger, wanting it to discover my itching pucker.
"We'm gonna have some fun times durin' these `ere breaks," he rasps into my ear, "but now we'm in a hurry. We don' wan' dem missin' yo' on yo'r fuss day, now do we?" For some reason, at this moment I cannot help thinking of Mum and Dad and what they'd make of all this – after all, they'd been instrumental in my signing on to get away from these temptations in the first place!
Duke reaches down and unzips my fly, followed by his own. He undoes our security fittings and trouser waistbands. Both of us lower the cumbersome combats and flameproof underpants in one swift movement. He climbs on top of me, sticks his hand back in my mouth and I go down on it, sucking as if it were an enormous prick. He rolls over, pulling me on top of him. He guides my mouth down to his huge, uncut dick and, as soon as I am on it, he flips us over to a sixty-nine position, swallowing my cock and both my balls like a vacuum cleaner. He nibbles, bites, slurps and sucks. My mouth wraps around the bulbous head of his massive prick. He fucks my face and sucks my dick like no-one has ever done before.
Soon, too soon, it is time for us to cum. Shoving his middle finger up my arsehole, he times his rhythm with my spurts. As thick, creamy gobs of spunk shoot out of my cock slit, he frigs me hard with his finger. He swallows every drop of my jism and keeps on sucking.
I'm spent, sore and want him to stop, but he has not cum yet. He rolls me on to my back and straddles my face. His huge, hairy balls bounce heavily against my eyes, nose and face. Whenever they get close to my mouth I gnaw, chew and lick. Right above my eyes, Duke is hand pounding his dick and I get a clear close-up of his foreskin sliding back and forth over the crown of his cock, lubricated with quantities of precum with every pass. He gasps and spreads his legs. My tongue slips into his arsehole. He thrusts down on to my face. He grunts and groans. Stifled cries echo through the chamber. "Oh, fuckin', fuckin' hell!" he yells. He lies backwards, with me under him, his hairy arse in my face and I can feel him trembling as he fires off his big cannon. "Careful," he gasps, "we don' wanna git messy on our uniforms."
He carefully clambers off me and stands up. His enormous cock is still dripping seminal fluid. He reaches out a hand to help me up. As I rise, I lick the remains of his cum from his prick. He squeezes out one more large wad. I take my finger, wipe it off his dick and then put the finger into my mouth. He watches me as I suck his cum off my finger and I can see the burning lust in his eyes. He'd like to do it all over again – and so would I.
"Ah cum a gallon," he says, pointing to the rough stone wall behind us. It is dripping with thick gobs of cum. "Yo' didn' do so bad yo'self, cutie bo'!" He milks my dick one more time and bends over to suck out the very last drop.
Duke and I did duty together frequently after that and by the end of each tour of duty, we had whitewashed the walls of `our secret place' several times over!
Laurie Page.