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This story, like the other I've submitted to Nifty, is true, though names have been changed and identifying details omitted. If you have any questions or wish to give me feedback, please feel free to send an email to garogora@aol.com.
I started boot camp before my eighteenth birthday. Not long before, mind you. I turned eighteen with no fanfare and, miraculously, with the event having escaped my drill instructors' notice. I didn't struggle as much as some of the other recruits, but the last thing any recruit wants is to spend his birthday on the quarterdeck.
I should explain a bit more about myself. If you want the full story, I already wrote the naughtier bits out under Adult Youth, titled "Discovery in Sin City". Check it out if you're into the kind of stories that fall under Adult Youth. Otherwise, get the short version. Without too much detail, I was raised by a neglectful, alcoholic father who preferred work and booze over family, and an abusive stepmother. I knew I was gay from the first time I ever saw a man naked, in the showers at a pool when I was ten years old. I became sexually active at the age of twelve, mostly with men old enough to be my father. I loved every second of it. I started out sucking dick in public bathrooms, but after a sexually charged encounter with a friend of my father's who was an exotic dancer, I had my first experience with anal sex. I managed to keep my sexual proclivities secret from my family, somehow, until I was seventeen. Even then, my stepmother only learned that I had had sex with a friend my age, and before she had a chance to use that information to damage my future, I was off to the Marine Corps.
(Note: None of the names used here are real, because I don't like giving out identifying information. For myself, I'll use the name Ryan Foreman. It's not my real name, and any similarities to any existing Ryan Foreman out there is unintentional.)
This is not a story about having tons of sex in Marine Corps boot camp. The sex actually came well after the end of boot camp, but Don't Ask, Don't Tell was in full swing at the time this story begins (in early 2010) and I was not trying to get caught.
I did have some sex-adjacent encounters in boot camp. I couldn't tell you how exciting it is to take a shower in a cramped space with 70 of the hottest men America had to offer. There were a few fellow Marine recruits I got to share some curious glances with. Recruit C was one of only recruits younger than I was. I enjoyed getting a look at his thick, average-length cock even if I never got to see it hard. Recruits A and H had some of the biggest dicks I had ever seen despite being fully soft. I got to watch Recruit D, whose dick was a little bigger than my own proportionally-girthy seven inches, masturbate from beginning to end, but I was never sure if he even noticed I was there. Throughout each of these, I was surprised to discover a degree of self-control I never suspected I had, allowing me to avoid obvious arousal. In fact, I was almost nine weeks into boot camp before I felt the urge to actually masturbate, an experience that ended up being so messy I was shocked I had time to clean it up without being caught.
Boot camp was over in thirteen surprisingly short weeks. My parents came to my graduation. It was an astounding difference, being with my parents but also being an adult with my own money, able to make my own choices. They were different because I was a man now, but I was also a very different man than the boy they remembered (or, indeed, the one I remembered). For one thing, boot camp had trimmed the baby fat from my body. I had gone in about 180 pounds, with just enough fat on the belly to make it vague whether or not I worked out. I came out about 165, having lost most of the fat on my body and having gained a bit of muscle. For another, my attitude and outlook had been molded by twelve weeks of being treated like subhuman trash, followed by Marine Week, the final week of recruit training, in which our accomplishments - and the change in behavior from the DIs - made us feel as though we had ascended from being less than human to something far greater.
After ten days of leave - a mandatory experience for new Marines - I returned to training. Marine Combat Training was a fun experience, though again, largely not fun in a sexual way.
I did have one brief sexual encounter, but I was too afraid to go through with it. See, I was on liberty with a buddy. He and I decided to hit a nearby mall to see Iron Man 2 in theaters. On our way there via bus, we had a sort of layover at a bus station in Oceanside that had a public bathroom. Those of you who opted to read my previous story know - I have a history with public bathrooms. Sure enough, no sooner did I check the place out than I found a man sporting an erection at a urinal. I hadn't sucked a dick in over 8 months - not since my stepmother made me go with her to Florida in the middle of the previous summer. It was now April and I had a thirst for cum. However, as I mentioned before, I had a buddy waiting for me outside, so I gave the cruiser's meaty, uncut rod a couple of strokes, apologized, and left. I do really regret this now, though, because I learned years later that the buddy I was with was a closeted gay man himself, and very into me. Missed opportunities.
After MCT, I went to a school to learn my military occupational specialty. Here, I would get a little closer to breaking that dry spell, but still not actually achieve it. The best I managed was watching my roommate jerk off through the vent on our room's bathroom door, which he didn't realize gave a perfect view of the toilet to anyone who happened to be lying on the floor outside the bathroom. It was pervy, but I was desperate for stimulation and he was hot.
My dry spell passed the one-year mark there, and by the end of training, I was ready to dip my toes back in the water. I had no idea how to cruise on a military base beyond knowing that it was a bad idea. My public bathroom experience wasn't going to help me.
When I arrived at my first duty station, I was pleased to see how much privacy was afforded to the barracks rooms there. While my barracks room at my MOS school had enough beds for four Marines (though only enough Marines for two or three per room), the new barracks featured a common area with a minifridge and a sink, a bathroom, and two small but separated one-man bedrooms. Not long after that, I was introduced to my new shop.
I was immediately infatuated with both of the sergeants. They were attractive men. Sergeant Jackson was short, lean, blond, and had very full, red lips. Others referred to them as his DSL's. I really hoped they were used for that purpose, too. The other sergeant, Sergeant Cortes, was about my height, but more burly. The main reason I was attracted to him was that he looked astonishingly similar to a former fuck buddy of mine by the name of Derek. We also had the tall, lean Latino Corporal Sandoval; a handsome, charismatic black PFC named Sanford, and a staff NCO and officer.
The Marine Corps being what it was, there was a good deal of homophobia, but also a lot of homoerotic behavior that many guys felt comfortable with because they assumed everyone involved was straight. I remember one particularly slow day, we were sitting around chatting and Sergeant Cortes started teasing Sergeant Jackson about his lips. Without missing a beat, Sergeant Jackson sarcastically confirmed, "These lips have sucked more dick than PFC Foreman's mother."
It was the first time I had been included in this kind of banter, and I was prepared. "My stepmom or my bio mom?" I asked innocently.
Sergeant Jackson considered the question before responding, "Both."
"My bio mom was a Vegas stripper, so I can imagine how much your jaw must hurt trying to keep up with her." Sergeant Cortes laughed uproariously, more amused at my courage at responding in kind than by the joke itself.
It was a largely innocent moment, but it planted a seed in my mind. Was Sergeant Jackson joking, or was he disguising the truth as a joke, taking refuge in the audacity of the statement? My interest in Sergeant Cortes began to fade from that moment, despite his similar appearance to a sexual partner I wasn't fully over yet. I had to know whether Sergeant Jackson had spent his time the way I used to, craving and servicing as many dicks as could cross his path.
I discovered personal ads on the internet that week, and began searching them for key words like "military", "Marine", and the name of the base on which I was stationed. I was disappointed every time these men turned out not to be Sergeant Jackson, but I got over that disappointement pretty quickly when I started having men over in my barracks room.
The first Marine to pay me a visit was a private, which surprised me. I wasn't expecting to be the guy with higher rank. In truth, though, I was pretty sure he had a few years on me in the Corps, and I guessed he had been in legal trouble and had been demoted. He came over in the middle of the afternoon my first Saturday there, at a time when I assumed the barracks would be as empty as it ever got. It was a good instinct, as most Marines had much better things to do on a Saturday than sit around the barracks.
Dale was a stocky, muscular, hairy white guy, younger than my usual public-bathroom crowd by far. His dick was a bit smaller than average, perhaps 4.5 inches hard. I sucked him with as much gusto as if he were as hung as Rick or any of the bigger guys I was used to. I had learned, in six years of sucking dick, that size didn't matter to a man who was getting his dick sucked unless I made it seem like it mattered. I didn't want to be disappointed. I wanted to love sucking his cock, since it was my first in over a year. He was certainly pleased by how much I enjoyed myself, which only led to him being interested in what was hiding in my shorts.
When he bent down and squeezed my erection through my shorts and boxers, Dale whispered, "Fuck, you're a big boy, huh?"
His word choice made me think of Rick, the man who I sucked off my very first time and many times after that, who always called me a good boy when I swallowed his cock. I spasmed a bit and the precum started flowing. I stood and Dale chuckled when he saw the growing wet spot on the front of my shorts. "Don't worry," he said, "that can happen. Overexcited or whatever. Happens to all of us."
I looked back at him, confused, before I realized: he thought I had just jizzed in my shorts. I chuckled back, then pulled off my shirt and dropped my shorts. "That's just precum, dude. I've never had a problem like that before."
I stood there, now wearing nothing but loose boxers, hairy, muscled, bulging, and leaking. He looked up at me from the bed, admiration all over his face. He was equally attractive, I thought, but the look on his face was less like lust than worship. He seemed frozen in place. It occurred to me, suddenly, that despite being two to four years older than me, Dale almost certainly had significantly less sexual experience than I did. He was no virgin, I guessed, but a corn-fed midwestern boy. Certainly also not accustomed to having casual sex with total strangers.
I reached for his hand. It was rough: the hand of an aircraft mechanic. I lifted it, took it in both hands. I felt the calluses on his palms and the hairs on the reverse side. His hands were much bigger than mine. I slowly started lowering it, but not back to the bedside. "Do you want to feel it?" I asked, my voice taking on a husky quality as I whispered. Dale nodded fervently.
I tucked his fingers into the waistband of my boxers and released his hand. I could feel his fingertips beginning to parse my pubes. A twitch: my boxers came down a fraction of an inch. My trimmed pubes peeked out over the top. He got his fingers even lower. I put my hands behind my back and hooked my thumbs into the waistband as well, helping him lower my boxers evenly at his own pace.
Part of my shaft was exposed now. He saw the girth of it and an audible moan escaped his lips. I smiled at him. I wondered how much that smile resembled Rick's wolfish smile when I was so drawn to his dick all those years ago.
Dale decided he was done being patient and pulled them down a little quicker. When my manhood sprang free, a slimy trail of precum flew through the air. He was so close, about half of it landed in his chest hair. The other half landed on his chin and lips. His tongue darted out to taste the offering. He seemed to enjoy it and looked up at me expectantly. I waited for a moment, watching another bead of precum gather at my slit, get too heavy to support itself, and drip slowly into his chest hair.
"Do you want to taste it?" I asked. He didn't anwer, but leaned forward to take as much of my dick as he could, which was not all of it. As he went, I pressed my hands into the small of my back and leaned back to enjoy it. He came off my dick to speak.
"Don't cum in my mouth. I - I want -"
He stumbled over the words, so I took a guess. "You want me to fuck you?" He froze, but nodded. "Don't worry," I told him, guiding his head back onto my dick. "I'm nowhere near cumming."
He pulled off again after about five minutes, seemingly thinking I had shot my load in his mouth despite the agreement.
"Just precum," I said, taking my dick and squeezing out a long string of it for him. He watched it, mesmerized, and leaned in to catch it with his tongue before it broke. After slurping the precum away, he pulled off to speak again.
"I think I'm ready."
I reached over to my bedside table and opened the drawer. It was astounding to me that after years of keeping my sexual activities my deepest, darkest secret and having so little privacy that I either didn't have a bedroom, or did but couldn't close the door to it, I was now able to not only buy my own condoms and lube, but to keep those supplies next to my bed for easy access with no repercussions.
I passed him the condom. It was actually my first time using one. My high school sex ed class had never gotten this in-depth and I didn't want to seem inexperienced here, so I made it seem like part of the light dom/sub thing we had going on. I watched carefully as he slid it over the head, piching the tip of the condom before unrolling it all the way. I was confident I wouldn't have any trouble doing that myself.
As soon as the condom was on, I squirted a little bit of lube onto the index finger of my right hand and reached down to rub it in his crack. I had never used lube before, but I had a general idea of what to do. I was more accustomed to doing this with my own precum. I really liked his ass. The cheeks were smooth, but his crack had a bit of darker hair running down it.
I thought back to Terry, the first man to actually fuck my ass, as I slipped the finger into Dale's asshole. He whimpered in a slightly performative way that I thought was meant to make it clear to me not to stop. He certainly didn't seem interested in the prospect of me stopping. When I slipped my finger in a little further to find his prostate, I found another surprise: he had pre-lubed.
I pulled my finger out slowly and looked him in the eye. "I'm curious," I said with a wry smile. "Did you lube yourself up before coming over or am I not your first today?"
He smiled back. "I had a plug in all morning for this," he answered, his nerves suddenly as lubricated as his hole. "You told me you were seven inches and thick, and I needed to be ready."
I got behind him and gently slapped my dick against his hole. "Let's see how ready, then."
And I leaned forward, pushing myself in. The last ass I had fucked was my buddy Gary's. Despite being a virgin, Gary was nowhere near as tight. Dale's body was squeezing me, pulling me in but barring me entry at the same time. He pushed back against me, arching his back and releasing a deep breath I hadn't realized he was holding.
It was almost like he had melted. Any resistance I had felt was gone. My pubes were mingling with the hair of his crack in an instant. He let out a gasp that I assumed was probably more pain than pleasure. Had I realized he was about to relax, I would have applied a lot less pressure. I whispered an apology. He grunted back, "My fault." I waited, not wanting to move until he was ready for it. After a moment, he said through gritted teeth, "Fuck me."
I was shocked at how little the condom dulled the pleasure. Perhaps it was due to things I had heard from sexually active friends or the media, but I had had this illusion that sex with a condom was just not as good. It was no different to me. Or, perhaps, it had been so long since I had experienced this that the sensation was bubbling over. I wondered how quickly I would have emptied my load in his ass if we had done this bareback and was glad for the condom, whether it was helping me keep going or not.
I wasn't keeping track of the time, but after what seemed like 10 long minutes, Dale grunted a question that broke me out of the reverie I was in. I only heard him the second time he asked. "Can we change positions?"
He flipped around and lay back on my bed, stuffing a wad of blankets under his right hip as he did so. I moved into position and he leaned further left, lifting his right leg to my left shoulder.
I was always a sucker for hairy legs. This large, muscular, fuzzy calf by my face was absolutely no exception. I nuzzled and kissed it as I made my re-entry. Dale's eyes rolled. I preferred this position over doggy, and it seemed he did too. There was a point - about an inch before I was all the way in - that caused him to gasp and twitch every time the ridge of my cockhead passed it. I made sure to pay it some extra attention, pulling out and pushing in about a half inch in either direction. His reaction made it clear I was hitting his prostate. I enjoyed watching it.
He shifted a bit, pulling his right knee toward his chest. I shifted to match so I could keep hitting his prostate the same way. With no more conscious thought than I was giving to my thrusting rhythm, I began playing with his nipples with my left hand. His pecs were larger, more defined than mine. They were less hairy, but still a sight to behold. I placed my right hand on his throat. It wasn't a choking grasp; more a statement of ownership. I could feel his pulse pounding. I could feel his muscles tightening and relaxing as I pressed his buttons. My right hand travelled up his throat to his chin. He had clearly shaved that morning, but it was nearing evening and the blond stubble there was just faintly visible. From there, my hand moved to his left shoulder, starting at the outside and kneading my way back in. His traps were impressive. I squeezed it nonchalantly, causing him to give his loudest grunt yet.
I shushed him quietly while continuing to thrust and withdraw. "Fuck, you're so tight," I hissed as he clamped down on me. I tilted my head back, focusing on the world-erasing pleasure I felt from his loosened ass constricting my thick erection. He was shaking. It only added to the sensation. I found, suddenly, that I didn't care how much longer he wanted to go. I was fast approaching the point of no return, and taking it slower would only make him squeeze me more. I needed to pound him to hold my orgasm at bay. So I did. I released his shoulder and picked up the pace. His moans went from long, low, grunts to short, sharp "Ah, ah, ah"s.
His hole seemed made for my pleasure, and in the moment, it felt absolutely right to unleash my pleasure in it. I didn't stop pounding, but I did add my own grunts to his as I filled the condom so much it leaked out onto my balls and his crack. I kept brainlessly thrusting, my cock practically screaming in protest at the overstimulation. I ran my hands across his big pecs, tweaking his nipples, and down his happy trail toward his dick when I realized my hand was covered in cum, too.
I asked in utter confusion, "Were you beating off?" I felt like that would have been something I remembered.
He shook his head, then said, in a strained whisper: "Can you stop? I'm getting really fucking sensitive."
I stopped thrusting. Slightly embarrassed, I began slowly pulling out of him. When my cock came free with a pop, I bent down and kissed his furry abs, cleaning the cum out of his hair as best I could. When I straightened up, he gestured towards the glistening remnants of cum on his flat belly.
"Is that normal for you?" he asked.
I blanched a little. "Sorry," I said, shrugging. "I've been sucking dick long enough to really enjoy the taste."
He shook his head, his eyes a little unfocused. "I meant making me cum without touching my dick. That has never - not from getting fucked - never. Never happened to me before." He gulped in air as he spoke, interrupting himself and pausing to catch his breath again. "I can't even fucking see straight, man."
I slid off the bed and stood next to him, gently tugging off the condom and dropping it into the trash bin beside my bed. I was still hard. I turned to walk to my little closet, meaning to grab a rag so we could wipe ourselves down. Dale grabbed my hip and said, "Wait."
He slid off the bed, too, and buried his face in my crotch, sucking the leaked cum off my balls and thighs. "Tastes so fucking good, man."
He started sucking my still-erect cock. It was too much to handle, so I pushed him off with a whispered, "Sorry, I'm too sensitive for that too." He nodded, then stood up, stumbling slightly. I opened my bedroom door and poked my head out, listening for any signs my roommate might be home. Satisfied, I said, "Let's shower up."
He avoided getting his hair wet, focusing on cleaning off his belly, dick, and ass. I did the same, and we made our way back into my room, where he got fully dressed and I pulled on only a pair of blue gym shorts that didn't really disguise the fact that I was still half-hard. I'd had them since high school. They were a little too small on me now due to the size of my more-muscular thighs and ass, but they were extremely flattering. I could even wear them to the gym without arousing suspicion, since I was definitely a grower, not a show-er. If I wore boxer briefs or spandex under my shorts, very little bulge was visible at all.
When he was dressed, I led him toward the door. We exchanged some pleasantries.
"Hope we can do this again soon."
"Definitely, man."
He walked out into the common area, and then opened the outer door and left. When I heard it close behind him, I walked over to my window and opened it. It smelled like lube and sweat. I decided I didn't hate the smell. I managed to take one good deep breath before I heard a knock at the door.
I thought it might be Dale, so I went to answer it without pulling on a shirt first. It wasn't Dale though, but Sergeant Jackson.
The cocky smile slid from my face. "Oh, hey, Sergeant," I said. "Good afternoon."
"Hey, Foreman," he said, looking over his shoulder at the stairs down to the ground level of our barracks building. "Who was that that just left? Making friends already?"
I shrugged. "No idea. He was looking for Rogers." I nodded toward my roommate's door.
Sergeant Jackson shrugged, then looked me up and down. "I was gonna ask if you wanted to hit the gym together, but you clearly just got back from a workout." I wasn't sure if his eyes lingered on my bulging dick, but I was suddenly self-conscious. He didn't comment on it further, though. "I know you don't really know anyone here yet. Want to come over and play the new Monster Hunter with me?"
I didn't actually want to spend the rest of the day alone, so I agreed. "Yeah, lemme grab a shirt first, Sergeant."
He opened his mouth as if to say something, but thought the better of it. He stuck his foot out to hold the door open as I released it and turned into my bedroom. I don't know whether it was my imagination, a trick of the light, or real, but I thought I saw, in the corner of my eye, his tongue dart across those famous, alleged dick-sucking lips.