Seduced By The Sea - Intermission

Seduced By The Sea, Chapter III

By Griz

umgriz@protonmail.com

Hi, Sailors;

Well, did that take long enough?

Way fuckin' longer than I'd intended. My regrets and apologies. When the boys on Farm W in Fergus County are talking to me, I have to pay attention and get down what they say. Fuckers finally took a deep breath so I could listen to Zach and Tom. I hope you like their conversation. You might consider going back to the last few paragraphs of Chapter II before reading III. Oh, just start over; I had to!

Griz

*** The following story is a work of erotic fiction. If you are under the age of 18 or if this type of fiction is prohibited in the location where you are reading this, do not read any further.

All characters and names are creations of the author. Any resemblance to persons living or dead is purely coincidental.

Please show your support for Nifty, a great organization that gives opportunities to all types of authors to express themselves. To find out how you can contribute, go to donate.nifty.org/donate.html ***

Tom smiled at me.

"Ready!"

With pages of entry forms on the clipboard beside Tom, I motioned for him to stand between the bunk and the door. My back was to the closed door, not because I was trying to get away from invading him too much---yet---but because the quarters were a little over three meters by three meters. There wasn't much room for one sailor in there, let alone two; but our work was only about numbers, and finding them in the most interesting places and innocent-looking ways. "I have done this many times, Tom. All we're doing is establish a base line. We can make it go fairly fast and efficiently if you'll call out the limb or trunk or extremity. I'll measure it and call it out. You write it on the forms. Then we trade off with the tape and chart. Make sense?

"It makes sense. Can I take the pen from your desk? Do you prefer I write in pencil?"

"Use either you want; they're both there. Oh, one thing: I'll get a Trapper Keeper thing; one for you, one for me. Printed forms, training instruction sheets, things like that. Keep it with you, and when you train, you'll also keep track of the weight, reps, specific exercise, stretching."

"How often will we measure?"

"Once a week, same day. Hmmmm.....I have an idea. When is your watch finished in the surgery?"

"Four bells."

"What's typical for you after work?"

"I eat. My own custom is to eat no later in the evening than two bells. I fuel when my metabolism is still active."

"And after that?"

"Digest, treadmill, read, sleep."

"Solitary life, Tom; but not sedentary."

"Yeah, I know. Ironic, really; I leave Fallon County and wind up on a ship with three times as many people on it. I didn't realize it at the time, but I actually liked that agro life. Just my little family, thirty Spartan classmates and three hundred tumbleweeds."

"And now you are one sardine in a bunk ward with dozens of other sardines."

"Well, Zach; I always say, `If you're gonna be a sardine, be the best one in the best can in the fleet', so here I am!"

"Good attitude. Have you run into any other Montanans while aboard? Anyone else been on the receiving end of your generosity with the sun block?"

"Heh.....no, Sir. Just you."

Tom stood and removed his Navy-issued gym shorts. Beneath was a jock. Well, really, a jock in a jock. I stayed sitting in the chair for a moment and then looked him in the eye, doing my best to obtain some downward peripheral vision so I could take in that kid's perfect body. `Calm down, Zach.....you're gonna see all of it. The tape is going to be your tour guide.....'

Down on one knee, I started measuring from the ground up, kneeling and measuring Tom's left calf. Being right-handed, focusing on the gymnast's left side was going to present fewer road blocks to our progress of getting that base line. Tom's skin had little cushion. I was guessing his own body fat percentage was near my own.

"45.5"

"Oh---metric? Okay. 45.5"

"Weekly measurements reveal weekly gains. You'll be more encouraged by each successive week showing even a millimeter or two of gain than three weeks still moving around within one inch. Besides-----the US military has moved to metrics in nearly everything, but the US taxpayer doesn't know that. So. I don't have a scale here, but you likely have a few at your disposal in the gym and the clinic. Take your weight as of this afternoon and get it on here, too."

"Aye-aye, Captain! I've been wanting to say that to someone since getting aboard....."

"Any of us would appreciate it. We'd also appreciate it if you didn't say it to anyone BUT a captain. You get four stripes and you get four times the ego, too. I've no doubt you'll find that out yourself."

"Probably not, Zach. There is no captain nurse practitioner in this man's Navy. I'll be happy to get what I get, and I plan on getting all I can----as long as I still work with sailors to stay healthy and in one piece."

"So an MD is out of the question?"

"It's not out of the question, but I can do almost as much in less time, and at less financial cost. Makes me sound impatient, and I suppose I am. There are only three things I want in my life, at least at this point: A solid life career in the US Navy, pride in accomplishments for my family, and a family of my own."

I loosed the tape measure from his calf and moved my left hand up Tom's leg to his thigh. He had some hair on him, and the soft texture surprised me. It was dark and somewhat dense and, to be honest, felt good on my fingertips and palm. I moved my right hand up with the tape and wrapped it around his thigh.

"69."

"Right now? But we just met....."

"Excuse me, Sailor?"

"You said sixty-nine. I was.....oh, never mind my ill-timed and inappropriate sense of humor. 69 centimeters it is."

"I might as well get a measurement of your humor, too. That WAS you trying to be funny, right?"

"I'm the hottest guy on this ship and the funniest. You're getting a two-for-one, Captain Zach."

"`Three-For-One', Ensign Tom. Don't forget your ego, which likely exceeds the massive mass of the rest of you."

Tom laughed and I pretended to drop the tape so I could keep my hands on his muscular thigh. Damn, he felt good. This time, I measured a little higher up, putting my right hand in closer proximity to that well-filled pouch on his jock. Tom stepped his feet apart a little.

I could see some of the pubic hair that wasn't contained by the jock, which was, admittedly, a turn-on. A dick is nice, sure; but what caught my attention as much as a dick was the fur that surrounds it. I'd seen Tom in the shower, but seeing him dry enhanced the hair on his body.

My eyes went up Tom's body to his face. He was watching me take the long, slow trip from that fur to the trail that rose from beneath the jock to his belly button. Tom smiled just barely.

"Hi."

"Tom."

"Sooo.....waist now?"

"Might as well, seeing how it's right there."

"Last time I measured, it was thirty inches. Thirty very ticklish inches."

"Now it's.....76 centimeters. Ticklish, are you? That's good to know. Where else?"

"Chest."

"You're ticklish on your chest?"

"No.....well, I don't think so.....but what I meant was my chest is next on the list of things to measure."

"Ah. And yet.....I suspect you are ticklish. Or have an involuntary response to stimulus."

I kept my eyes on Tom and placed my hands gently but firmly on his hips. Slowly, ever so slowly, I moved my hands up the side of his trunk and stopped at his lats dorsi. The tape was still in my left hand, and I caught one end in my right, just at his spine. Moving my hands on Tom's perfect physique was almost a religious experience.

His muscles were built to make him powerful in gymnastic exercises; not to make him a grotesque caricature the way some bodybuilders are. I'm not disparaging them; they have their goals to get big. I wondered, though, what practicality all that bulk had. To show what is possible', was my guess. For the same reason kids in 4H chased ribbons for their animals; because we can'.

Tom and I continued measuring and documenting. By the time we were finished, almost an entire page captured lengths, widths and circumferences where muscles had grown larger, and could grow larger still. There was one last measurement to be taken.

"Um, neck, Zach."

"You mean the thing I wanted to ring yesterday, right around eight bells?"

Tom looked up and smiled at me. He had dimples, and I could imagine the steady succession of school photographs that brought him from a kindergartener to high school graduate. His face grew and bone structure developed, but I'd bet my next fish and chips that those dimples stayed the same.

"Aw, did you really want to ring my neck? I'm here to personally see that your next few weeks with us aren't boring. Don't ring my neck quite yet!"

"I won't. There's a mountain of paperwork to be completed if a SEAL needs to perform affectionately with lethal force. And what're you're here to do professionally, now that I know what your personal pursuits are."

"The deft and thorough application of sunscreen, emollients and antibacterial compounds."

"And a Snoopy?"

"At least one, although I think I've exhausted the supply. So.....that's how a SEAL is `affectionate'?"

"One of the many ways. Hold still while I ring this tape around your neck. Affectionately, of course."

Tom smiled, and just so I'm not seen to be a cold dick all the time, I imperceptibly raise the corner of my mouth in response. I moved the end of the tape to the side of his head, just below his ear, and joined it with the numbers that grew in sequence all the way to 150 centimeters. I just needed about forty-four of them at that moment.

I leaned face closer, and my nose was only a couple of inches from my fingers. Then, just to be a warm dick, I released a lung full of 98.6 US Navy air right where I held the tape. I got what I came for: measuring a neck that was perfectly the same as Tom's arm. Oh. Yeah, I got that, too; but I what I really came for: a slow shudder and, as an added benefit, a barely-whispered

"Ohhhh.....god....."

I still had the tape around Tom's neck, and now I smiled, though his eyes were perpendicular to my grin.

"Too tight?"

"No.....you're.....fine. I'm sure it can be tight, though."

"I'm sure you're right. When you don't do it very often, sometimes you're out of practice, and yeah, it's tight."

"Are you out of practice?"

I dropped the tape from his neck, but pressed my thumb against the Splenius Capitis muscle, and then ran it slowly up to the base of Tom's skull. Ensign Donaldson might be a Medic---and very likely a good one---but I am a SEAL. I can apply pressure to almost any muscle on a man's body and bring comfort, pleasure or death. That day, I was shooting for two of three.

"Am I out of practice.....it's been awhile. I don't engage like this with many people. And you're my first Medic. The first one who can tell me if I'm too tight."

"Oh, fuck.....I mean, Zach, that's the Splenius Capitis. Right where the scar was on you, yesterday. And now you're on the.....oh, god.....Complexxxxxxxxxxxussss....."

"Am I? Still? I guess my aim is off."

"Whatever you're aiming forrrrrr.....please don't stop....."

"One of a few targets. I think we got all the measurements, so my aim was true and complete. Oh.....there is one not on the list."

"Fuck. You stopped. So.....you know anatomy. Let's see how good you and I are together. That is, if you don't mind....."

"Not at all. Today is all about starting to be good together, if only for thirty days until we reach port. There's a good foundation here already, Tom. I can see that. I trust my SEAL sense, which has never failed me. You and I can be great together. So. About that last measurement....."

"Ohhhh.....yeah.....I guess about that.....just for the fun of it, you call out the muscles and if you're right about my body and I'm right about your target, I'll move the tape there."

"For the fun of it'? Okay, but I am pretty serious about fun, Tom. The last measurement involves three muscles, all of which can grow through strength training, and one non-muscle tissue. I'll call em out, and you move the tape to measure the area in question, as you suggested."

I held the tape in both hands in front of him. Tom looked up and right into my face. It seemed evident he took both his body and my target seriously, and I could see the pages of Gray's Anatomy already flipping behind his eyes. You fuckin' intense-looking, dimple-mouthed beautiful man. Goddamn.

"Hmmm.....you measured my neck, and there's nothing above it that can develop in musculature. So.....further South. Okay....."

As if he was on a mat-covered floor, Tom raised his arms straight to the sides, and paused a moment, then raised them straight up above his head, fingers pointed at the ceiling bulkhead only a centimeter above them. I had my eyes zeroed in on his, but my peripheral vision was taking in more of him than he realized. I saw the still-broad shoulders and the taper down to his narrow waist. The brown fur in his armpits. All of it that ran from high on his chest down to where it met the dense forest above his plumped cock.

"Get the tape around my waist, Zach. I'll move it up or down based on what you call out. Oh.....by the way, tight is good. I can manage `tight' just fine. Don't let go of me, Captain."

"You're going nowhere, and at about 15 knots per hour."

I reached behind Tom, stepping a little closer to him and maneuvering the tape between my hands. I joined them in front, right at his Naval navel. Tom giggled.

"Am I tickling you?"

"No. Would it matter?"

"No. I'm gonna hold onto you even if you're wriggling and wiggling and giggling all over these twenty-seven cubic meters."

"IF you tickle me just right and just right where, you'll have to pull me down off the bulkhead."

"Then don't tell me where `right where' is.....I won't promise I'd avoid it. I take my fun where I can get it."

"Oh, I'll make sure you get it, Zach. More than once."

You fucker. This tennis match hasn't even begun, but the volleys are definitely a work-out.

"Yeah, a lot of big talk. I've been told about `all the fun in store', and then fifteen minutes later, I'm the only one who's still awake."

"Fifteen minutes'?? Hell, I'd be ashamed to show my face if all I brought was fifteen minutes of fun. It's like bronc riders. They're not aimin' to be done in eight seconds; they crawl up on their mount, hold on and ride as long as they can get away with. I'm no different. Fifteen minutes'. Done right, that's how long a handshake should last. You can read a man real well in a handshake. The longer the shake, the better the read; the longer a cowboy holds on, the better the ride. Just common sense."

"Rectus Abdominus."

Tom smiled and moved my hands below his navel, but not releasing his gentle grip on my firm grip on him. Yeah, I'm gonna keep my hold on you.

"Sartorius."

Tom's smile grew and his dimples descended deeply. I don't use this word much, but damn: so cute. Tom moved my hands and the measuring tape connection to the left of center about ten centimeters. I paused a moment, still keeping my eagle eyes on him.

"Illiotibial band."

Tom's smile opened right up to show his perfect teeth. He giggled just a little, and I tilted my head just as much. Tom was a puppy in the window of a pet shop I was walking past, and I did not want or need a puppy. And yet, yesterday I stopped walking and began spending way too much time and showing even more attention---and affection---to something I knew I couldn't take home with me. Damnit.

Tom held onto my hands, but made a quarter turn. I was now on his hip, his hand on mine, holding me steady. Wasn't I the one who said I'd hold onto him? Pretty sure that's right. In profile view, Tom was a well-built, solidly-muscled colt of a man. Even at rest, I could see the individual muscle groups in his thighs and calves. Yes, a Medic; yes, a US Navy officer on a path of quick ascent. But a SEAL out of uniform was before my eyes. I knew that was a seed I needed to plant. No doubt Tom had a seed or two he needed to plant, as well; and deeply, too. Back to my mind on that mission.....

"Do you want to see how smart you are and guess the last of the four?"

"I don't need to guess."

"Then get busy. You're not the only one getting measured today."

Tom laughed. He didn't move my hands, but he removed his from them. Tom turned slowly so he faced the bunks. He rested his arms on the top bunk, leaning forward at the barest of angles. My hands and the tape reached the target: Gluteus Maximus. Or rather, right between two glutes. Yesss.....

I could feel my pulse increase. I had two fingers holding the long end of the tape, and the other two holding the first end. The middle finger of my left hand was, naturally or unnaturally (you decide) just a little within the divide of the two perfect orbs. I crouched again so I was eye-level with said target.

"Can you see it?"

"I know where it is, but no, I have four too-big fingers and two way-big hands impeding results."

"Ah. I know there's a lot of hair in the way. We're hairy critters in Fallon County. It's soft, though. No one would mistake me for a Wire-Haired Wheaten Terrier."

So. He thinks he's a cute puppy, too. Well, he's not wrong, but he's not humble, either. That's a good thing.

"Okay, I got the number. Now we can measure again and see progress in three of those muscles. As far as I know, the Illiotibial Band isn't a muscle, and doesn't grow."

"Nope, you're right; it's just in a good area where lots of other things grow. So; is it a good number, Zach?"

"Yup, sure is. Looks good back here. I guess we're done."

"With me, right? Just done with me?"

Tom turned back around to face me. How we weren't both hard and dripping, I had no idea. If he can control his body that well, then fuck, yeah; a definite SEAL candidate.

"The whole point of this was to see where you and I can start together. We'll repeat this, and often. I have no intention of being done with you."

"You outrank me when we're in uniform, Zach. Standing here together in nothing but fur? Well, I have no intention of being done with you, either. I guess thirty days can fly by, but I hope we can stretch it out as long as possible and make this last. Who knows? If it's something we both want, maybe longer than a month at sea."

"I already told you I'm gonna hang onto you, Tom."

"And I'm gonna hang onto you, Zach. I think you're gonna help me grow in lots of ways, with good results."

"I also told you I have a good aim. I don't set my eyes on a target unless I think it's beyond just probable. You've given me something good to work with and toward, and my hands-on approach will get us both where we need to be, Tom."

"Nice. Good. Just so you know, though; I don't see this as a one-way street. I have my own benefits to bring to this, Zach. You won't be disappointed with what I'm willing to put in."

"I'm counting on your in-put. I'll need it. Sooner than later, but we'll get there."

"We're already there, Zach. I think. I suppose I'm fantasizing, though. Maybe I'm asleep in my bunk, and we haven't even pulled away from Karachi."

"I think Freud or even Jung would have a field day with this, if it's a dream. Maybe it would take both of `em to figure it out, since I seem to be having the same dream."

"Damn, Zach."

"Now, before we trade positions here, tell me; what's up with that?"

Tom looked into my eyes with curiosity in his own.

"What's up with what?"

"That. This."

I placed my hands on Tom's hips and spun him around. He reflexively held himself steady with his arms back up on the top bunk.

"This."

Tom turned his head back and followed my eyes down to his perfect, muscular, drool-worthy stud-fuck ass.

"Oh! HAHAHA! Yeah, well, THAT. Okay, so, after I graduated, one of the guys at an Olympic camp saw my ass and said it was so hairy, I should get a tattoo of a teddy bear. He said it would look like a real teddy bear. I thought it was funny. So, I got the tattoo."

I crouched so I was eye-level with Ted. I didn't need to see that damned bear. I wanted to kiss it.

"Ahhh.....makes sense. Yeah, that's a furry bear, but until I was close up while doing the last measurement, I didn't see it. Saw it in the shower yesterday when you and Ted E Bear were wet, though. Nice work."

"Thanks. One's enough! Once it started healing, I was itching all the time. I got through it just before joining."

I stood up again and, since why not, I held onto Tom's hips and moved him around so he was facing me. I had nothing to say to cover the silence which hung between us. Tom didn't speak, either. Not with his mouth, but his eyes did a lot of talking. Tom gulped and tentatively moved his hands up to my chest.

"Um.....I suppose every guy wants a bigger chest.....like this.....so.....damn, yours is incredible. How big is it?"

"I guess you could take the tape and find out."

"I guess I could....."

But he didn't. Not right away. Tom and I held onto each other, a respectful distance away but still close enough that our interest and intentions would've been obvious to Ray Charles.

Fuck it. Fuck it all. Yeah, we're gonna train together, and yeah, we'll each make gains, but right then? Fuck it. I was dropping heavy bombs on targets in the Nevada desert, and hitting bull's eyes every single time. It was time to land this thing.

I moved my right hand down his hips just a couple of centimeters, and back about the same distance. Tom inhaled quickly and his eyes grew wider. A new example of `incoming', Tom..... I was going to feel that bear's fur and give it a blanket the size of my big hand. Won't lie; I'd wanted to get there yesterday. I wanted that kid in my arms and me in his, and mash my lips to his. I wanted that to last thirty days. I'd had my attractions in my life, but nothing like that; nothing like Tom. Fuck, I'd pretty much secluded my love and sex life away, focusing instead on a career so successful, some president was going to make me Judge Advocate General because there was no other choice.

I wanted something so challenging to get, the effort would've been worth every waking and sleeping moment. Who needs love? Who needs sex? I wanted ribbons, stripes and scrambled egg on the visor of my hat. And right then.....I wanted Tom. Not love, not sex; Tom. Something in him triggered me in the depths of desire. Sex, yeah. But what was the other attraction? That was new. That was something that had made me a target, when I was used to being the one doing the targeting.

My fingers crept, millimeter by millimeter, back toward that damned furry bear. I was leaning face down and closer to Tom's, and he was, though shocked and surprised by that, reciprocated in kind. Moments and millimeters from our target, our breaths meeting each other, there was not going to be any further measuring. The Nimitz could ground herself on a reef and pipe `abandon ship, do not provide', and I'd respond---and take Tom with me---but we were together and I was not letting go.

Not quite six short blasts and one long, the three knocks on the hatch nonetheless ceased all activity within those twenty-seven cubic meters. We froze, moments away from confirming all those subtle (and not at all subtle) verbal and physical signals we'd been sending each other since Eight Bells yesterday. A deep, laughing voice from the other side of the hatch followed the knock.

"Hey, am I late for induction and measuring?"

Rondo Fucking Standing Bear, getting his revenge for losing---and badly---at Backgammon. From that moment forward, he would lose humiliatingly.

I looked back at Tom. We remained in our embrace. I wanted to kiss him, to feel his full body against mine, but I was in a room that could be spanned within a second at most. To wait for three of them, just so I could taste and savor this cub in my arms, would be all too telling and even more revealing, if the hatch wasn't locked.

Fuck. It wasn't locked.

"Hey, Zach.....Oh. Fuck. I thought you said `enter'. Uhhhm.....Must've been Mike in the next quarters."

Thirty days, one court martial and an entire career, all flashed in front of my eyes.