Snippets of My Military Life
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Snippets of My Military Life
My Life:
I spent time in the United States Air Force as a fireman in the late 1980s and early 1990s, before we instituted Don't Ask Don't Tell. While there, I had some good experiences and some that were quite bad, but for the sake of this, I want to focus on the more interesting experiences (which I assure you are true), dealing with sexual matters, both directly and indirectly. I don't have many, but I wanted to share them here.
I was young, too young, really. The military always targets boys on the cusp of manhood, who haven't the life experience to comprehend a decision as monumental as joining the military and possibly dying for their country; they haven't even lived yet. And while that's true of all the 18-year-olds who join, it held doubly true for me.
I grew up a shy, sheltered kid who barely knew anything about life, and I ran away (into the military) from my little town in the American South because I wanted to get the hell out of there before it killed me. So, I jumped into the big wide world with little notion of what life had in store for me.
Basic Training:
Like reveille, basic training was a wakeup call. I knew in the back of my mind I was gay, but I couldn't accept it at the time. So, as a shy, sheltered kid, I experienced a drastic alteration of life from always having my own bedroom and a level of privacy that cultivated an inherent sense of modesty to open barracks and gang showers. Even in school, I kept my head down in the locker room (a place I wished I could say I felt comfortable) and undressed as little as possible. In basic training, they made everyone strip naked and paraded through a rather perfunctory shower the night we arrived. I suspect it had less to do with cleaning up than it did about a group of men seeing one another at their most vulnerable. I think everyone looked; you couldn't help but look. I know I did. I had before me a banquet of manhood in a variety of sizes, colors, and degrees of attractiveness. The training instructor stood to the side, watching this parade of naked new airmen. At the time, I could only think of the masculine bodies before me and wondering what the fuck I had gotten myself into, but now I recognize the instructor's purpose for watching us. He sized everyone up.
The instructor decided the pecking order through the flight's assigned hierarchy. It stemmed from two criteria, height and flaccid cock size. The airman who ended up our "leader" was an African American who looked like a young Denzel Washington, both the tallest among us at six feet four and obviously the most well-endowed. I would guess about seven smooth flaccid inches. The man just beneath him had a similar endowment and only slightly shorter in height. This white male had those classic All-American good looks. He had quarterback-of-the-high-school-football-team muscles, ripped and polished from hard work. He had an ass, both compact and dense, that one could munch on it for the rest of one's life, dark hair in a clean-cut style, square jaw, and the most stunning pair of blue eyes I'd ever seen. For me, he embodied a walking wet dream, the memories of whom I still occasionally indulge myself.
I wish that I could claim that we had long, hard days with lots of hanky-panky going on after lights-out, but apart from the occasional view of naked male bodies, nothing happened that I witnessed. I did hear, however, that some of my fellow airmen in the second bay of bunks caught one of their neighbors masturbating in his bed. After the uproar that occurred from it, that put any notion of sexual relief entirely out of mind.
First Crush:
A particular airman, let's call him Chris, arrived at the base of my first duty station a month before I did. He lived in one of the plain states and spent his high school years on the wrestling team, and his summers, detasseling corn by hand, both of which honed his body into a tight, thick, fireplug. Even though he had an average height, his size made him appear short. I've admired a few men of this shape, and I must say that I carried a severe infatuation for him, much to my detriment, as he was straight as an arrow.
In those early days, we lived in the old fireman dormitory (rundown with a shared bathroom and a gang shower), which had about ten dorm rooms for the younger, single firemen who shared them in pairs. Chris and I, sadly (and probably for the best), were not roommates.
I had seen Chris naked in the shower several times at that point. His skin had bronzed from the waist up, without nary a blemish, and had the appearance of a young farmer whose shower washed away the dirt and dried sweat from the day's exertions. The patch of skin that interested me most, however, had invariably never seen daylight. It sat atop his thick, heavy legs that wearing shorts had tanned to a degree.
Chris had an ass one could bounce a silver dollar on, and in harmony with the rest of him, he had a girthy appendage that hung atop a firmly taut sack filled with two nuts the size of apricots. And even in those closeted days, in my head I could not help but want him to shove his cock into my ass or my face repeatedly, using me for his pleasure, showing me what a man he really was, until he managed to fill me with every ounce of cum that his body could produce for an incalculable amount of time. And on every occasion that he and I showered together, I left the confines of that wet, nearly barren room where my fantasies of him played about in my head, a lonely and excessively horny, virginal, 18-year-old who would never have him.
I have but a single fond memory of him. After work one morning (as we had 24-hour shifts), we returned to the dorms to clean up and unwind on our day off. Only he and I lived in the dorm from our shift at the time (everyone else who lived there worked on the opposite shift), and that left the dorm mostly deserted, especially on the day in question.
Usually, I started my after-work shower first, and he would show up a minute or two later. On this day, he knew I had to pay a bill, and would shower afterward. He hadn't expected me to show up before he finished because, as I rounded the corner, I found him facing away from the entrance, his right hand loping the mule as fast as possible intending to make a quick deposit down the drain. I didn't interrupt him. How terribly rude that would be at such a delicate moment as all men want to finish. So, I waited and watched in the doorway of this public locale. I figured if he was willing to do it there, he was willing for someone to catch him.
His ass flexed as he fucked his fist, and when he reached the point in his pleasure that he no longer cared about the consequences, he leaned forward against the wall and threw his head back, panting in a desperate need for release. On the balls of his feet, the muscles of his legs danced as his orgasm came upon him, and with a roar, he ejaculated against the far wall, marking his territory for anyone to see. Just before he turned to clean himself in the shower spray, I slipped from the room and waited about ten seconds before entering the shower.
"Hey, where've you been?" he asked, sounding awkward, as he already knew I went to pay a bill.
His cock, although rapidly deflating, at half-mast looked about 7-inches long, thicker than in its fully flaccid state, and his foreskin had retracted a bit showing half his cock head. He did his best to pretend that nothing had happened, but he had to conclude I heard him. I figured I would allay his fears, as I didn't want to embarrass him.
"I had to pay a bill. Did I hear you sneeze in here? It practically echoed down the hall."
To which he said he had, invoking the old water-up-the-nose excuse.
I felt sad that he had wasted his cum on the wall of the shower room when right beside him stood someone who would gladly (Oh, who am I kidding?), ecstatically and with reverence to this glorious man who stood by me, take within my body (one way or another) every load he could shoot for all eternity.
That may sound over the top now, but I felt so enamored over this man that I ached at times. Fortunately, there came the point, at my first duty station, that I lost my virginity, and boy, I needed it.
Virginity lost, finally:
It happened the summer of my 19th year while stationed in Europe. By then, all the firemen had moved to the new dormitory, which also had a shared bathroom but individual shower stalls, so the time of having the pleasure of witnessing Chris naked had long since ended, and my most treasured source for masturbatory fantasies had dried up. It left me limping along for months with whatever porn rag I could acquire off base, but it wasn't the same.
If I do say so myself, I made an attractive 19-year-old, and I had drawn the attention of several military men from the base, a buck-sergeant, two staff-sergeants, two tech-sergeants, and a captain who risked trouble with fraternization should his superiors have discovered he and I spent several hours talking. They had all hit-on me at various locations, but I hadn't felt the least bit of attraction to any of them, and despite how badly I needed a thorough fucking to bring my horny urges under control, I wouldn't do it with just anyone.
Off-base that Summer, I sat at the bar of the local military hangout, tossing back a few and contemplating another night of going back to the dorm to fend off the unwanted hands of my repulsive buck-sergeant roommate. I had the integrity to never make advances on Chris because I knew he wouldn't appreciate them, but my roommate couldn't look without touching.
At about 10:00 p.m. that Saturday evening, a man came up to the bar, sat on the stool beside me, ordered a drink, and chatted me up. I guessed his age as mid-thirties, and he reminded me a lot of George Peppard in Breakfast at Tiffany's. He had just reached the rank of master-sergeant and worked in the same part of the base as me. I knew what he wanted. He wanted what they all did: to fuck me. At first, I thought about how it wouldn't have surprised me to discover they all knew one another and made bets on who could get me in bed. However, my George Peppard look-a-like proved an interesting fellow who could listen as well as talk without propositioning me first. At about midnight, he asked me if I like to play chess, and I said that I did. He said he had a chessboard at his place and wanted to know if I wanted to play a few rounds. As a transparent pretense to get me back to his apartment, he may as well have asked if I wanted to see his etchings.
I had made my choice and went with him. He lived only three blocks from the base, so we walked there. As Europe could be rather expensive, he lived in an efficiency, so his bed took center stage. He turned on a few tiny lamps with low light levels and switched on some music to maintain the mood. He had a chessboard on a table and two stools at the side of the room.
"Oh, so you actually do have a chessboard," I said.
"Yes, I do play."
"Want to play a game?"
"Do you really want to play chess?" he asked.
"It'll keep me from having to lie should anyone ask."
So, we played a game of chess. It's hard to say if George tried to win, but I won the game. Afterward, he stood up, I followed, and he hugged me. He felt so warm, and his arms, which wrapped my body, gave me none of the sensations that he was a relative stranger. The military provides a kinship, so members know and understand one another on some level, and with that comes a quantity of trust. He lived alone, and I thought perhaps he was just lonely, like me. I told him I had never had sex before, and he said that was okay, he knew what to do.
George kissed me and unbuttoned my shirt, so I unbuttoned his. He had a rugged military body, and different from that of Chris. He unbuttoned my pants, they dropped to the floor, and he palmed my cock. I like him touching me. I practically dove into his pants, searching for what I would eventually have in my mouth and ass that night like a prize hidden in his trousers just for me. He had a handsome cock, about 7-inches hard, and in the Goldilocks zone of cherry-picking thickness.
He laid me onto the bed and sucked my cock, probably for demonstration. He made sure not to let me cum. The sensation of warm wetness engulfing me felt unlike anything I had experienced. I placed my left hand on his head as he bobbed up and down on me, and it made a strange association, having those sensations without my hand wrapped around my dick; it seemed mind-bending.
The time came for me to give it a try. I had never touched another cock but mine. The soft skin of George's cock felt like mine, but my cock felt no sensation by touching it. I had so many firsts that night. I brought my face near his cock, and he smelled delicious. I didn't realize that the smell of cock would be so erotic. I pressed its warmth to my face and inhaled deeply.
He laughed a little. "You like that?"
"You smell so good."
"I'm glad you like it."
I gave him a tentative lick, and it tasted like clean skin, a bit salty, perhaps. I put my mouth over the end of his cock, swirled my tongue around it, bobbed my head a bit, and tried to feel my way into learning to suck cock. I did my best, and he seemed to enjoy it.
He pulled me up to him. We kissed for a little while, and he asked me if he could fuck me. I and I said that I hoped he would.
I know now that if he had used a condom that would have given the privilege of breeding me first to some other man, and he wanted to be my first. I couldn't blame him; those opportunities don't come along every day. George was a good guy; I could tell. It pleased me for him to be my first.
He treated me with gentleness penetrating me, and he made the sensation of finally having a cock inside me, an exciting, enjoyable, and relatively pain-free experience. The feel of skin on skin, as I came to know, is far more pleasant, smooth, and sensual than with a condom. George made what could have been an awkward and painful experience into something that I can look back upon and remember fondly. I did well in picking him. I don't regret those times I spent with him at his apartment as he treated me to many exhilarating rides on his cock and made me feel alive and normal for the first time in my life. You never forget your first, and I know I will always remember my George.
The incredible Sergeant Dash:
Before I get to it, I would like the reader to understand that I make no embellishments here, and for as unbelievable as I know this to be, it is true. However, I wouldn't blame a doubter, and had I not experienced it, I wouldn't believe it either, but here it is.
My second duty station brought me back to the states, just after having turned 21 years old. Not long after I arrived, I began working at night in the dispatch for the fire department AKA the alarm room, so I didn't have the opportunity to get to know many of the firemen on my shift or spend time with them while on duty (and certainly not while off).
My roommate, at the time, didn't particularly like me. He suspected my gayness and held homophobic views. I overheard him tell his girlfriend when I left the room that I should be someone's secretary and not in the military. This prelude led to the fishing expedition that he attempted while in the privacy of our room one day.
The dormitories had adult-sized bunkbeds, and after a tiring night, I came home to sleep in my bottom bunk to recoup for my return to work that evening. He tried not to make too much noise while I slept, but as I had just laid down, he attempted the aforementioned "fishing expedition" to trick me into revealing my homosexual proclivities.
Out of the blue, he asked me, "Have you ever seen Sergeant Dash naked?"
From his position on the top bunk, he couldn't see that his blatant attempt had replaced my eye mask with a scowl. I glared at the bottom of his bed, seething; I wanted to punch him in the face. However, I took a quiet, deep breath, and while attempting to sound as offhanded and profoundly indifferent as possible, I replied, "No. Why would I want to?" I then dropped it.
He said, "Oh, no reason."
Uh-huh...right. At the time, I didn't think anything else of it, but it was my first introduction to Sergeant Dash, and my roommate's question had more to it than I realized.
Not long afterward, I requested a room change with the excuse that my roommate smoked, and I couldn't handle it, which was true. The sergeant in charge of such things granted me a new room down the hall, and as he knew me as a diligent, reliable, alarm room operator who worked the night shift, he left me with no roommate for as long as he could, allowing me to sleep during the day undisturbed.
The weeks past and one day after having just come on duty, I stood at the half-open Dutch door peering out into the world beyond the walk-in closet that was the alarm room. From the right, a few of the firemen walked by. I concluded by their attire that they had finished a session in the department's gym and passed me to enter the restroom/locker room next door to my left. These pumped, sweaty men included Sergeant Dash.
By this point, I had seen Dash before in his uniform. He looked 30-years-old, stood six-feet-tall, dirty blonde hair, handsome face (although not like Chris), and he filled his uniform rather well with an impressive amount of musculature. I would guess he weighed 210 lbs., and despite his size, he displayed a physique in his uniform that appeared quite trim. Naturally, I found him attractive.
This day, as the group walked by, I had the opportunity to view a bit more of Sergeant Dash. He wore a loose string shirt (which showed everything) over workout pants, which covered some huge thigh muscles. His upper body, although pale, had enormous shoulders, and his oversized pecs, as pumped as they were, looked ready to nurse a small infant. The overhang shadowed a six-pack that the fluid on his system could never hide. As he walked by, chatting with the other firemen, he looked me in the eye when he saw me. He nodded his head to me, smiled a little, and they continued their way to the locker room.
Having left Europe, where I felt free to have my occasions with George, I felt uncomfortable in the states. It was the early 1990s, and homophobia still twisted the minds of too many Americans. So, after my return, for the most part, I kept my head down, and I felt incredibly lonely. It had been a while since a handsome man had smiled at me, and although I knew he meant nothing by it, it gave me a little glow inside anyway. It was surely better than nothing.
All this preceded the reason for his inclusion here, which occurred a few weeks later. The images of this fleeting experience, which only lasted long enough to wash my hands, have burned themselves into my memory. The images come to me in slow motion, and I will relay them as vividly I can.
I arrived at work, as I always did, at 8:00 p.m. By then, the rest of the firemen had downtime, and they generally did whatever they wanted until morning, they merely had to remain in or around the building.
On the evening in question, I had busied myself printing the usual nightly paperwork when halfway through the printer ran out of ink. I had never changed a powder-ink cartridge before, and I made a mess of it, especially on my hands. The powder combined with the oils of my skin, and it left black smudges on everything I touched, and I needed to wash it off. So, I requested on the intercom for one of the men to relieve me for a few minutes.
I had no idea of my timing; the circumstance and opportunity arrived with complete serendipity.
A fireman arrived, and I left the alarm room, rounding the door, headed for the locker room next door. My arm and elbow opened the door to prevent ink smudges, and the first thing I noticed was how many firemen were loitering in the locker room. Eight of them stood idle in various locations, forming a semi-circle, two against the sinks to my left, one directly in the beeline to the sink I intended to use, and the rest along the wall to my right. No one said a word to me when I entered, and they didn't speak to one another for the few minutes I was there; they barely noticed me. Without exception, they had their heads turned into the room, and as I navigated around the fireman who blocked my line to the sink, I discovered what had drawn their attention so thoroughly.
Sergeant Dash had finished his workout a bit earlier. He had showered, shaved his body, and dried himself before my arrival, so these men were standing there for some time if they saw the beginning. Dash, facing right in profile, had his massively muscular left leg bent at the knee with his foot on the bench beside him. He stood there, slathering his leg in lotion. This handsome, naked, muscular man must have known these firemen watched him, and while the sight of his muscles flexing as he rubbed lotion into his completely hairless body would be enough to get my attention, I know that wasn't the purpose of the loitering or the main object of the show. Sergeant Dash had the most magnificent cock I had ever seen. Even as he stood there, his left knee bent and foot on the bench, it gave me a clear and completely unobstructed view of just how magnificent it was. A smooth tube of flesh, thicker than a broom handle, arched over his hairless scrotum and plunged downward until the head, which was the same width as the shaft, reached two inches above his knee. His astonishing, flaccid appendage could easily have measured a foot in length.
My beeline to the sink brought me well within a couple of yards of him, and I had an excellent closeup view on the way, better than the other firemen as they stood back, and while at the sink, he remained entirely in my peripheral.
He gave the impression that he didn't know the men were there, Dash used the lotion until he covered the leg and then stood there, facing everyone, applying it to his chest and abs, his cock reaching to his knees in full view of his audience. I had to conclude that this was a show he had put on before, perhaps often or even daily.
I washed my hands and watched Dash while pretending not to, and for a moment, it angered me that these men, probably heterosexuals who watched the show in curiosity, could do so openly. And a man like me felt as though doing so would reveal my secret, and therefore, it forced me to watch surreptitiously.
Undoubtedly more than the others, I would have enjoyed to openly watch the show occurring at the side of my vision. If Dash wanted adoration or worship, I would have stood first in line to provide it. Unlike the others, for me, the show would come to an end the faster I washed my hands, so while the ink took some doing to remove, I couldn't stand there pretending not to watch until it ended on its own. I was forced to leave, and it continued without me. Due to the secret I held, I didn't even have the luxury of looking back to give Sergeant Dash an admiring glance before leaving the room.
My mind felt abuzz with activity, and afterward, as I sat in the alarm room alone, ruminating over the full experience, feeling lonelier than ever, and I began to contemplate admitting my gayness to the military and leaving it. I already saw the obvious gross contrasts between myself and others who would have what I never could while I lived a lie in the air force. In the locker room, however, between the audience and me, it demonstrated the subtleties of contrast that altered my behavior on a deeper level and forced me to deny myself regularly, as if it were nothing, so I overlooked every occasion. However, these things slights to one's being do accumulate an effect, and while the military forced me to live a lie, I could not be myself or accept myself for who I was, and I desperately wanted that. I believed that having done so, perhaps it would create an opportunity for another George to enter my life.
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