This story is fiction (the complete first chapter is true.) The characters are adults in adult situations.
Warnings: The only person you can ever hope to truly know is yourself. Trust no one; use condoms.
If you are not of legal age or in a jurisdiction in which this document is illegal, go way.
This is my story. Please respect the copyright. If you enjoy it, let me know.
sojourn1950@yahoo.com
Please donate to Nifty. http://donate.nifty.org/donate.html
Jim Ford sojourn1950@yahoo.com
"REFLECTIONS OF A REGULAR NAVAL OFFICER"
AUTHOR'S NOTE:
THIS IS NOT LIKE MOST STORIES PRESENTED IN THIS CATEGORY! I was actually in the military. The situations and settings are real. The names have been changed for obvious reasons. Although I try to explain most acronyms and jargon, you may have to google some terms. Google is my bible... resistance is futile!
The following account is true, and by that I mean, IT'S TRUE! you dickhead!
If interest is sufficient, i.e. Encouraging emails. I propose to follow this up with more salacious recollections that may contain a bit of sexual wishful thinking. All the better to jerk off to. Like the supply officer who got caught jerking off on his first night onboard and wound up getting butt fucked. Or the Intelligence officer who, in Bahrain, having been introduced to boxer briefs by his teenage son, shared a pair and their contents with me... wait a minute, that may still be classified. Or the Army Major who promised to make my bed, and warm it, if I took him along with me on my minesweeper/supply boat. Oh, and you will meet two admirals sons, different families, but each are living proof that NEPOTISM is a nautical term. And thanks to Nathan, who took time out from getting his front end aligned to edit and Beta read it. Thanks Nathan, you're a good guy.
Chapter one (maybe)
I had been assigned to a destroyer, homeported in Charleston, S.C. Previously, I had spent ten years in northern climates and was tired of shoveling snow and fighting icy roads. When locals, unpacking my household goods, asked what the two broad, flimsy, aluminum shovels were for, I knew I was in the right place.
Onboard my destroyer, I first served as ASWO, Anti Submarine Warfare Officer, in the Weapons Department. This meant I was responsible for personnel assigned to maintain and operate the ship's sonar, torpedoes and ASROC. About 18 months later, I was transferred to the Operations Department where I served as CICO, the Combat Information Center Officer. There I had Operations Specialists (OS's) and Electronic Warfare Operators (EW's).
I avoided the engineering department at all costs. I sure as hell didn't want to be down in the belly of the ship when the bridge demands, "EMERGENCY! ALL BACK FULL"! You see the bridge doesn't explain their reasons... Are we about to collide? Are we avoiding a torpedo, or worse yet, a missile? They don't have time. And they wouldn't explain it even if they had the time. I have had engineering call up to ask for info on the sound powered phones. But, only well after the emergency has passed. You've seen it in the movies where the poor bastards down below are burned with steam or drowned without ever knowing the circumstances leading up to there demise. I knew my job was to go into harm's way when necessary. I was in the military, for god's sake. I just trusted my own judgement better than someone I didn't really know. I figure if anyone is going to yell orders like "RIGHT FULL RUDDER! LEFT FULL RUDDER! ALL STOP!... well you get the picture. If someone was going to drive the ship into danger, it might as well be me. I put engineering at the bottom of my wishlist. I spent just enough time in engineering to earn my Surface Warfare Officer's qualifications and to wear the pin.
I will tell you about my first time ever kissing a man. This will be a little bassackwards, because I am going to tell you first about the later part of my time on my "tin-can" first, and then come back to my first onboard assignment. Trust me, it will make sense. Remember, the first assignment was as the ASW division Officer, in. The second assignment was as Combat Information Center Officer, where I was in charge of the OS's and EW's.
THE LAST HALF OF MY TIME ONBOARD FIRST!
As CICO, my LCPO, Leading Chief Petty Officer, was newly minted, CPO, J.N. Morrison. Fondly known by his subordinates as `Nick the Dick'. His immediate subordinate was Petty Officer First Class Mosely. Mosely was one of the most well read, intelligent men and most effective Petty Officers with whom I ever served. He is the only character, I feel, might actually read this.
As the divo, Division Officer, I was not privy to the relationship between Morrison and Mosely, but it was definitely not harmonious. Nick had a lot to learn about being a Division Chief and Mosely was not patient with superiors who refused to listen to him. He was not one to suffer fools lightly. As illustrated by the following...
I came to know Mosely while still ASWO. While getting my Surface Warfare Officer, SWO, qualifications signed off. He was a great wealth of knowledge and was always patient and ready to help me.
One night on the midwatch, while the ship was underway for an exercise, I watched him toss an officer's combination cover, hat, overboard. (The round one that has the Navy Shield in front, above the black brim.) I saw him. He didn't see me. I found out later it was because the pompous ass of an Operations Officer had belittled one of Mosely's watchstanders because his coffee, fetched from the Wardroom, was not hot enough. (This guy was not well regarded by the crew and everyone breathed easier once he returned to civilian life. In fact, the Captain refused to appear on the quarterdeck when asshole was piped ashore for his last time. That was a direct and intentional insult.)
Back to that night... Once relieved of my bridge watch I quickly headed into CIC to watch asshole search for his cover. Everyone wore a cover onboard, although it wasn't required inside the skin of the ship, unless on watch. Asshole was going to "Quarters" shortly and needed his cover for saluting. As I entered I heard Mosely say, "I told you sir, it's on that console". He pointed to a video console used to track surface contacts. Lt. Asshole was frantically looking below, behind, all around for his combination cover. Asshole began to panic, "I lost my only other combo cover while standing watch with you fuckers the last time we were underway. I know one of these bastards stole it. Now, where the fuck is my hat!"
Petty Officer Mosely, finished turning over to the oncoming watch. As he approached asshole, he said, "It's right there, sir", indicating the screen. It was then I realized he had marked the spot where he had tossed assholes hat overboard. His hat was represented by a glowing little dot that showed asshole's hat was now about two thousand yards behind us. Of course Mosely dissembled by saying, "That's strange, the last time I saw it, it was right there", again pointing in the general direction of the screen. I tried not to laugh out loud.
Asshole was livid. "Well, it's damn sure not here now! If I find out who did this, they're going Captain's Mast and their gonna buy a new cover." With that he stormed out. I had been brow beat myself, several times by asshole and was not a fan. Mosely was about to head to chow. I took the seat at the console. "Petty Officer Mosely, can you tell me about this contact? It never showed up on the console on the bridge. It apparently passed us just as you walked out onto the starboard bridge wing last night."
Mosely knew he was had. "Mr. Ford, I don't care if you tell him or not. He was riding Seaman Jenkins for no reason, other than he didn't wake him up while his coffee was still hot. I might go to Captain's Mast but that bastard should be court martialed for sleeping while on watch. Everybody falls asleep sometimes. That motherfucker doesn't even try to hide it. He sleeps through the entire watch when he has the mids."
"Petty Officer Mosely, I can't talk about something I am not sure about. As far as I know, nothing out of the ordinary happened during my watch. You came out to the bridge a couple of times to discuss closing contacts. That's it." Mosely was visibly relieved. Once I took over the OS division, Operations Specialist division, we worked very well together. He covered my ass on numerous occasions.
Now, on the other hand, Chief Morrison soon became a thorn in my side. So much so that I began to wonder if I had some deep resentment toward CPOs in general.
We were in dry dock in the Charleston Naval shipyard. The ship was up on blocks and my division was tasked with painting the mast. Now, I have never liked heights. I don't mind looking in the distance. As long as I don't look down, I'm ok. Believe me it was with some trepidation, that when Chief Morrison brought me the "men working aloft" chit, I added my name. This chit meant no radio or radar operations could be conducted within the shipyard. (A `chit' is a written request.)
The Chief was incredulous. "Mr. Ford, why would you want to climb the mast? Nobody wants to climb that high. Me and Mosely are capable of determining what scraping needs to be done before we send a paint crew aloft next week."
"Chief, this is not about you being able to do your job. I'll be sending our guys up there to paint. Some of them are probably scared to death at the prospect of being that high off the ground. I won't ask them to do something I am not prepared to do myself." He walked away shaking his head.
Our new replacement for asshole wasn't much better. He had the nervous habit of sniffing his fingertips, as if they had just been someplace interesting. He was amazed at my logic. He couldn't fathom why I felt I needed to do this. He offered that he would refuse to climb the mast himself and had directed his men to do exactly that on his previous ship. I think he may have muttered `fool' as I walked away with the signed chit. I never liked that man. More than once I wanted to put my boot where I think his fingertips had been.
The actual climb was as nerve wracking as I had anticipated. I didn't spend a lot of time sightseeing, but we were definitely higher than the surrounding buildings. To see men on the drydock floor appear no larger than piss ants was unnerving and slightly nauseating. Mosely didn't help when he recalled the last time they had painted the mast. He had been a Seaman Recruit (SR). One of his buddies with him had puked. He offered in great detail how it was a good thing no one was directly below them. He graphically described the fall of shot from such a height. I gave Mosely a warning, yet impotent, glare. I felt like a death row inmate who had been granted a full pardon when my feet touched the deck on the 02 level.
The next week Chief Morrison, presented me with the "men working aloft" chit for the actual mast paint crew. Our prior excursion had revealed only a minimum of paint chipping was needed. I scanned it casually, but stopped dead when I saw the name, "Seaman Jenkins".
A couple of weeks before, Seaman Jenkins had been found precariously perched on the starboard side bridge railing. When told to get down from the railing Jenkins replied, "I'm going to get down. I just haven't decided which way." Meaning he was contemplating suicide. The roving patrol, had called the Quarterdeck and help soon arrived. Jenkins spent a few days in the psych ward before being declared "fit for duty" and returned to the ship and my division. I had talked to Jenkins upon his return and he assured me he would not try anything like that again and he would ask for help if he needed it. He mentioned that while some people shunned him, PO Mosely was being very helpful and encouraging. Chief Morrison had, over PO Mosely's objections, added Jenkins name to the "men working aloft" chit.
"Is this some kind of joke, Chief? You can't seriously believe that I would let you send a man aloft who less than two weeks ago seriously threatened to fall to his death."
"Mr. Ford, Jenkin's is a dirtbag, a worthless piece of shit. I figure if he's gonna off himself, the sooner the better. Hell, I hope he jumps, the world and my division would be better off."
We were in my stateroom with the door open. I directed the Chief to close the door and take a seat. I pretended not to notice him roll his eyes. "Chief you and I have butted heads ever since I was assigned to this division. Now, I have been patient with you because you are a new CPO, and I'm new to the division. But Chief, this isn't your division any more than it's mine. You pretty much ignore and ridicule half of "your" division. You have systematically chosen the people you like and pretty much abandoned those you perceive as weak or less competent. Those you don't favor describe the ones you do favor as being "in the clique with Nick the Dick". Did you know that"? He shook his head in obvious disbelief. "It's understood that `your' guys get preferential treatment in even the most routine tasks.
"Chief, your job isn't to pick the cream of the crop and ignore or harass the rest. The Navy is manned by some of best this country has to offer. There're ways of dealing with misfits... through documentation. But, according to you, half this division is beyond redemption. I don't agree with that. The evaluations you gave me a few days ago show exactly which of the men assigned to this division you like, mostly those that already are or want to be AICs. Two of those you dislike had been selected as Sailor of the Month within the year just prior to your coming onboard. Has their performance really slipped that much, there's certainly no documentation to back that up. Your current evaluations would keep those men from even being considered for promotion. Your job, Chief, is to help each man assigned to this division to better develop his skills as an Operations Specialist and as a sailor.
"We both know that your previous division Officer was your best friend. Everybody liked Casey. I am not Casey, I don't fraternize with enlisted men, especially those that serve under me. You and I are never going to be best friends. We can and should, however, respect each other professionally. If I was less than professional in my regard for you, how do you think your own evaluation would read? It's obvious that you resent my very presence. You miss your friend and the way he gave you a free hand to run this division. I am not Casey and that pisses you off. I understand. But, you need to learn to work with different management styles.
"Your attitude toward me is surly at best and often borders on insubordination. Those moments are mostly kept to the confines of my stateroom, so I try to overlook them. Think about this, if our roles were reversed, would you tolerate the disdain you show me everyday... I honestly don't think so.
"You are truly gifted as an Air Interceptor Controller. Your expertise could develop our guys into some of the best anywhere. But, AIC's are not the only skilled people this division needs. Can you truly say you have been involved with the ASW team or NGFS team. Have you shown any interest in developing Seamen like Jenkins? I don't think so.
"You act surprised that I know so much about this division. If you hung around when I come into CIC, you might learn something about me. But, you can't stand to be in my presence and hurry away as soon as you can. The only time I see you is when you have papers for me to sign. Even then you send an underling if there aren't any obvious questions to be answered. I spend time each day trying to get to know my men. I am interested in what they think and how they are getting along. You should try that, instead of regaling your chosen minions with tales of controlling CAP fighters.
"If I let you keep Jenkins on this list we could both be brought up on charges. If he died, you and I could both be facing charges of manslaughter. At the very least if his shrink found out he was allowed to work aloft, you and I would most likely face disciplinary action. The guy is still unstable. And you, knowing this, want to send him aloft? It's like you're daring him to jump." I marked Jenkins name off the chit.
"Chief I want you to take these evaluations with you. I want you to think about what I've said here today. Ask yourself if I have misled you in anything I said. Ask yourself if I have ever treated you with anything but respect? Also imagine you being assigned to the squadron and tasked with investigating the case of an 18 year old Seaman who had plunged to his death from the mast only days after threatening to jump to his death from the same dry docked ship's bridge railing. Consider possible findings of negligence or even criminal charges. Think about how that could impact the careers of everyone involved up to and including the Captain.
"I hope to see a more professional approach reflected in those evaluations when you bring them back to me." I handed him the evaluations folder and charged him to have a good weekend. Once he was gone I physically shuddered at what might have happened had I just approved that chit without reviewing the names. Jenkins was a dirtbag, but he was also a human being.
I took the chit to my finger sniffing department head. He asked why Jenkins name had been crossed off the list. Without waiting for a reply, he casually observed, "You should have left him on the chit. Probably would have saved us from processing him out on a dishonorable discharge later on. I waited until I was outside his stateroom to roll my eyes in wonder. At that moment I had little hope the Chief would come around to my way of thinking. I went home that night believing I was surrounded by idiots.
I should note here that I had to talk to `finger sniffer' three times before he forced Chief Morrison to stop bypassing me in his chain of command. They had been used to bypassing Casey as Divo and were comfortable working together. Try explaining the importance of the chain of command to your boss. Talk about diplomacy...
I can't say there was a miraculous change in Chief Morrison's behavior. But, little things were beginning to tell of some changes within the division. Chief put himself on the chit to attend ASW team training, something he had avoided in the past. He personally monitored and critiqued basic maneuvering board training. The most significant tell was in the evaluations he resubmitted. He explained that he and the two division LPOs, Leading Petty Officers, had sat down together and rewrote the evaluations. I was a happy camper.
I wasn't happy for long. Our XO, Executive Officer, a true leader in my book, advised me I was under investigation by the squadron. It seems that Chief Deplane filed an informal complaint with the Squadron Command Master Chief (CMC) that I had conspired with the officer who relieved me, Greg Flowers, to ruin his career. The XO assured me, I had nothing to worry about.
Flashback to two Chiefs reporting onboard....
On the same day that Chief Morrison had walked down the peer to report aboard Our destroyer, he was accompanied by another newly minted CPO. I was standing on the fo'c'sle, the upper most deck at the front of the ship. (Imagine that scene from titanic with their arms outstretched. They were perched on the handrailing on the fo'c'sle.) I watched them approach, knowing one of them was my new Sonar Chief. The slimmer one was smiling. Obviously excited about his newest assignment. I was hopeful that he was to be my new LCPO. You know what they say, `hope in one hand, spit in the other and see which one fills up first',
The other man, the one destined to be my LCPO, was taller than my 6'2". He was noticeably overweight and morose. He was not happy to be here. I would later learn, Chief Deplane was resentful that he had not been ordered to a newer, more sophisticated warship, a dedicated ASW platform. Chief Deplane had never served onboard any ship. He had been selected from among his "A School" classmates, in San Diego, to become an instructor. Through reenlistment incentives he had risen quickly through the ranks. He had put on his new uniform somewhere between San Diego and Charleston. He had never undergone and refused to undergo the traditional Chief's initiation ceremony.
The man had no understanding of his responsibilities as a LCPO. He was recalcitrant and lazy. He put in for leave during the time we were to attempt our biannual torpedo and ASROC certification. We were actually going to fire live weapons at a submarine. Only a select few ships got to fire actual, live weapons. Of course, every destroyer got to shoot their guns. Compared to launching an ASROC and torpedo, gun firing exercises were an everyday occurrence. But, here, my LCPO insisted he was not needed and that, instead, his parents desperately needed him to select a retirement property in Florida. I denied his leave chit, because the next highest ranking man in sonar was Second Class Petty Officer Johnston. A truly knowledgeable, effective and dedicated Petty Officer. I had great respect for him. He had served as my acting LCPO for several months before Deplane's arrival.
A day or so later, I was called into the XO's stateroom. He explained that Chief Deplane and the Command Master Chief (another dickhead) had approached him with Deplanes leave chit. Bottom line, the XO approved Deplane's leave chit. The XO said, "Jim, believe me, you'll be better off without the whiny son of a bitch". That was the first time he had used my first name, even in private. He further reminded me that I was to be moved to the Operations department shortly after this exercise and Deplane would be someone else's problem.
I immediately got with PO Johnston and we began training for our live firing at AUTEC. The exercise went so well I put Johnston in for, and he was awarded, a Navy Achievement medal. We received plaudits from our squadron and fleet commanders on the high scores achieved in our live firings. As promised, shortly after we finished our firing exercise I turned over the ASW division to Greg Flowers. Greg was about the same height as Deplane. But, where Deplane looked fat, Greg just looked big. I conducted the turnover following a checklist, so nothing was overlooked. I reviewed the personnel folders, all save Deplanes. I told Greg there was such a clash of personalities between myself and Deplane that I felt that they should develop their own relationship without my muddying the waters.
I took over the Operations Specialist division and tried to forget Deplane. Lord knows I had enough problems with Chief Morrison. Greg did on one occasion ask me why I didn't warn him about what a douchebag Deplane was.
A couple of weeks went by and Chief Morrison was moving in a whole different direction. When I entered CIC, he would greet me with a smile and discuss whatever training was being conducted. He even had one of his previous `rejects' training for AIC school. When he came to my stateroom we could relax and joke around. The change was drastic to say the least.
Eventually I decided I had worried enough about the charges Deplane had lodged. I was certain I had done nothing improper toward him. He had at some point been given a TDY, temporary duty assignment to squadron headquarters there in Charleston. I was in the XO's stateroom to get him to sign something and asked about those charges Deplane had tried to bring. The XO began to apologize and I thought `Uh oh! I'm going to need a lawyer'. He saw my face and began laughing. "I thought you heard about the big brouhaha in the Chiefs Mess last week."
I shook my head. "I haven't heard anything, XO. What happened in the Chiefs Mess"? I knew I was not well liked by the CMC, Command Master Chief, especially since one of my guys had given him a copy of a photo showing the instant the torpedo exited tube during our live firing exercise. The dickhead sent the photo to a Navy Publication claiming it was his. My guys set me wise and l let the Wardroom know what he had done. The dickhead CMC had been on the bridge taking pictures and couldn't have possibly taken that photo. The torpedo deck had been cordoned off with no one but a minimum of torpedomen allowed in that area. One of my torpedomen happened to be an excellent amateur photographer. When asked, my guy gave the CMC a copy, never thinking the bastard would do something so underhanded. Hence, I was not well liked by the CMC. I never understood why he kept his job after that story came out. Apparently he convinced the Captain it was the magazine's fault.
I suppose the look on my face sobered the XO. "Jim, relax. It's alright. I told you from the beginning not to worry. The Captain signed the lousy evaluation Lt. Flowers wrote up on Deplane. We all know you had no input at all regarding that eval. Deplane was and is a worthless piece of shit. He will be permanently assigned to health and recreation. He won't set foot on a ship again except to encourage use of the golf course or rec center.
He continued, "But about the Chiefs Mess. One day last week Deplane and the Squadron CMC were here asking questions about you in the Chiefs Mess. Chief Morrison happened to walk in and Deplane told the Squadron CMC, "Here's Nick, he came onboard the same day as me. He works for LT. Ford. Ask him, he'll tell you how impossible it is to work for the man. He's never satisfied and always looking for the slightest mistake to tear into you. Ain't that right Nick".
"Well", Chief Morrison snarled at Deplane. `What kind of shit are you trying to stir up now? All I know is since you came onboard with me, all you done is whine and complain. You fought it when he wouldn't let you set up a five section underway watch in sonar cause you claimed our sonar was totally ineffective, so what was the use. You fought it when he denied your leave chit cause he thought the senior sonar tech should be onboard when we live fired a torpedo and an ASROC at a real submarine we tracked with sonar. You fought it when he insisted you oversee the cleaning of your passageway after it failed XO's Messing and Berthing inspection three days in a row. In fact you fought everything he tried to get you to do. All you didn't fight was laying around on your fat ass, jerking off to porn, and bitching about Lt. Ford. Everybody knows both you and the Command Master Chief here hate him. Most likely because he believes in hard work and integrity. Things neither of you know nothing about. I work with Lt. Ford now. If he's so bad how come you couldn't get along with Lt. Flowers. He's practically a pussycat compared to Lt. Ford.
"You don't need to be coming around with the Squadron Command Master Chief trying to cause trouble for Lt. Ford. The only swinging dick on this whole ship that will even listen to your claptrap is our CMC. And that's cause Lt. Ford let it be known that he plagiarized a photo that rightly belonged to Third Class Torpedoman Jones. You really think you got the backing of the mess? I don't think so. I don't know about anybody else here but this place is beginning to stink. I'm going topside to get some fresh air".
The XO chuckled. "In a matter of minutes the Mess was empty except for Deplane, our CMC and the Squadron CMC. I got a call the next day from the Squadron CMC. He apologized for taking up our time and told me Deplane was being reassigned and our official manning was to reflect the loss accordingly.
"I would have told you sooner, but I figured Chief Morrison would have let you know. Like I said i never really thought it was important enough to worry about."
I left the XO's stateroom in a state of shock. I knew things were getting better between me and Morrison, but I never expected him to defend me. Certainly not in the Chiefs Mess, in front of the CMC. I went from feeling concerned to cautiously optimistic to downright giddy.
That afternoon, Chief Morrison came to my stateroom just before knock off. We talked about the ongoing refit and how it affected our spaces. I told him we would need to take advantage of this down time and get our spaces cleaned and painted. He presented me with a list of spaces and the Petty Officer detailed to lead each paint team. We then discussed the updated equipment being installed and which would require teams or individuals be formally trained. He then gave me a list of candidates for formal training. He had a complete roster and itinerary for travel and accommodations for our ASW team to train in Norfolk, Va. He had already notified the watchbill coordinators as well. I was thoroughly impressed. We had touched on these topics, but for him to step up and take action was a complete turnaround compared to how he had responded to my queries in the past. I think my facial expression must have shown some shock. I voiced my appreciation and admiration for his taking action based on my having mentioned these things just days ago.
His response was typical of the arrogant attitude that he consistently projected. I would compare it to typical `fighter pilot jock syndrome', except I have known fighter jocks and most were nice guys. Rear seaters on the other hand... not so nice. He was probably the cockiest bastard I have ever known.
Anyway, "Mr. Ford, I got you figured out now. It took he a while, but I know you now". This he emphasized by tapping the side of his head with his index finger. "Yes Sir. I can read you like a book. I can predict your every move".
Like I said the Chief was cocky. He always projected an air of confidence and he always had a spring in his step. I sometimes had the feeling that, when he stood talking to me, he stood on the balls of his feet to make himself appear taller. I really wanted to wipe that shit eating grin off his face. It flashed through my mind that he had somehow learned my darkest secret. Once I realized he hadn't really figured me out, I wanted desperately to take him down a notch or two. I remember not really believing what I was about to do.
The man was a couple of inches shorter than I. He had blond hair with a reddish tinge. He had some freckling and could never tan. He had worked out with Casey and had excellent definition with noticeable muscles in all the right places. He had sharply defined facial features, that probably prevented him from being handsome. But, with his blue eyes and cheeky grin, he was definitely attractive. His lush lips seemed to reflect whatever his attitude happened to be at the moment. A crooked grin, a knowing smile, a criticizing sneer, a throaty laugh... it was all focused around those lush lips. You know, for most people, you read their eyes. I never saw too much in his blue eyes. I always seemed to notice his lips.
As I stood, I directed him to stand also. I pushed my chair up against my desk so it was out of my way. I took on an air of confidence. "So Chief, I'm an open book to you, am I"?
Immediately I could sense he was off balance, suddenly not sure if I was a threat. I was at least two inches taller and some 30 pounds heavier. (Yes, I was a runner and yes I worked out.)
"Tell me Chief, what is it I am thinking right now"? I took a step closer.
I could see he wanted to move back in response to approach, but he forced himself to remain where he was. "Mr. Ford, You can't fool me. I know you now". At this point those luscious lips actually quivered.
I stepped into his personal space. "Okay Chief, what am I gonna do next"?
By now, it was clear that he was on the defensive. He couldn't attack and yet he refused to retreat. He looked suddenly helpless and managed only, "Mr. Ford"?
I rested my right hand behind his neck and pulled him to me. "What am I gonna do now Chief"? Before he could answer I pulled him into my embrace and kissed those luscious lips.
I swear to God, Bill, Fred and George! Those were the softest, sweetest, most amazing lips I have ever kissed in my entire life. Even now the memory does things to my body.
It may have been shock. I can't honestly say he responded. I will say he didn't pull away until I began to suck, nibble and lick those amazing lips. I think it was when I cupped his firm tight butt to pull his groin into mine that he broke the embrace and stepped away.
"So Chief I guess you saw that coming a mile away". His eyes darted around my stateroom, as if searching for something.
He sputtered, "I, Uh, I gotta go".
With an evil grin I said, "Where have you gotta go? We're not through yet"?
He stumbled as he stepped backwards toward the door. Again, he mumbled, "I gotta go", as he backed out into the passageway, closing the door behind him.
By the time I opened the door he was at the far end of the passageway, about to step through the watertight hatch. I called out, "Where you goin Chief? I'm not through with you yet".
He stopped, turned to me, smiled and replied, "I gotta go, I'll see ya tomorrow, er, uh, Monday. Mr. Ford.
Author's Note: All the foregoing is true. Only the names have been changed. I have in mind more chapters to post HOWEVER! They will be fictionalized accounts of my time in the military. The settings will be real. The people will be real. The sex will be 'mostly' fantasy. email me and I'll post more.
sojourn1950@yahoo.com