USS Independence CV62
By Ensign James Rozo, USN
Author's Notes: Immersed in a pervasive military culture, the children of Navy members are endearingly known as brats. Living a transitory lifestyle, speaking in jargon and acronyms, they are resilient, adaptive, and inquisitive. Growing up around sailors and ships, impressionable boys are exposed to homoerotic rituals and indoctrinated into the service's sacred mysteries.
Chapter 7: Navy Brat
"Twenty years from now you will be more disappointed by the things you didn't do than by the ones you did. So throw off your bowlines. Sail away from safe harbor. Catch the trade winds in your sails. Explore, Dream, Discover." ~ attributed to Mark Twain ~
Getting underway in 36 hours, USS Independence is a flurry of activity as many new sailors and midshipmen report aboard for duty and summer training.
The crew fanatically addresses countless personal administrative matters, including resolving medical issues, securing POVs in long term parking, coordinating financial arrangements, and establishing detailed care plans for spouses, children, and pets.
Traversing the pier, Midshipman 1/c Hopkins is awe-struck by the carrier's imposing size and stately design - her organic beauty, graceful lines, and inherent nobility.
A cornerstone of foreign policy since World War II, the carrier is 4.5 acres of mobile sovereign American territory. An intimidating instrument of diplomacy, operating in international waters, she doesn't need the permission of host countries to engage the enemies of freedom. A versatile platform across the full spectrum of missions, she is the most powerful expression of democracy's might.
Maneuvering around working parties, Hopkins observes sailors humping supplies.
Bound in servitude, physical property of the Navy, the enlisted men are an essential source of manual labor. Working under the sweltering noonday sun, sweat soaked tee shirts accentuate the sailors' muscular chests and ripped abdominals.
Moving with purpose and the gracefulness of youth, well-worn bellbottom dungarees cling tightly to the sailor's tensing and flexing glutes and corded quadriceps. Displaying prominent packages, the taut trousers provide limited accommodations for the men to stow their gear.
Taking a deep breath, Hopkins absorbs the intoxicating enlisted pheromones. Immersed in the smells of salt water, sailors, and ships, his cock starts to inflate.
Ascending the officer's brow, approaching the quarterdeck, 1-69-1-Q, attired in an immaculate summer white uniform, the midshipman follows proper Naval protocol... faces aft, snaps to attention, salutes the National Ensign, rotates 45 degrees, and salutes the Officer of the Deck.
"Very respectfully request permission to come aboard, sir."
"Permission granted," responds LT Jamal Howard.
Mariners regard it as unlucky to step aboard a vessel left foot first. As a Navy brat well versed in shipboard etiquette, he smartly steps onto the quarterdeck with his right foot.
The main ceremonial and reception area, the quarterdeck is traditionally afforded special deference and profound respect. Highly decorated, containing brightwork and fancywork, the fastidiously clean area is the most important place on the ship while inport.
"Here are my orders sir."
Projecting an easy confidence that belies his youth, he hands over a copy of the Military Personnel Command's directive to report aboard for six weeks of summer training.
"Very well."
Receiving advance notification, the assignment of midshipman 1/c James Peter Hopkins III, the privileged son of Vice Admiral Hopkins, Jr., USN, Commander Naval Forces Southern Command, Fourth Fleet, has been eagerly anticipated.
Descendant from military officers, his ancestors distinguished themselves in service to the Nation since the war for Independence. The progeny of Annapolis graduates, the boy is immersed in the Navy from birth - imbued with a commitment to duty, honor, and country.
Confirming the orders, the Lieutenant inspects the exquisite midshipman.
Not yet a man, but no longer a boy, the midshipman is draped in perfection. His flawless bronzed complexion and refined masculine features - strong jawline, full lips, confident bright blue eyes, and short-cropped golden curly hair - convey an aristocratic aura.
Blinding sunlight illuminates his translucent white uniform... drawing all eyes to his glowing body. Standing on display, immortalized in marble like Michelangelo's `David', the quarterdeck has transformed into Florence's Palazzo della Signoria.
The enlisted sailors standing watch - the Boatswain Mate-of-the-Watch (BMOW) and the Messenger - stare in awe, lost in the adoration of masculine beauty.
"Welcome aboard Independence," said the Lieutenant.
"Thank you, sir. She's a beauty."
The feminine personification of a ship, regardless of its commissioned name, is a longstanding maritime tradition. Endowed with life by her dedicated crew, sailed with pride, female pronouns are used affectionately by the men who call her home. Living aboard a vessel, forever changed by the experience, sailors forge deep emotional bonds with their ships.
"You've been assigned to Engineering... the Messenger will escort you below."
"Aye, aye, sir."
In Engineering Hopkins will be the Assistant Repair Division Officer under the tutelage of Ensign Rozo - the CHENG's best young officer. As running mate and mentor, Rozo will coordinate the boy's check-in, messing & berthing arrangements, and work assignments.
The Ensign will also protect the boy from opportunistic predators.
Sternly counseled by the XO, Rozo understands there will be serious consequences if the Admiral's kid is returned to Annapolis ravaged beyond acceptable limits.
"Please follow me midshipman," as the Messenger opens a quick-acting-water-tight door to Hanger Bay 1, 1-59-0-Q, and they depart the quarterdeck.
"Sweet sea-pussy," intones the BMOW, BM1 Sanders.
"Say again?" as LT Howard turns towards the first class petty officer.
"The midshipman, sir. Definite prime sea-pussy."
Excessively handsome, Hopkins inherently attracts interest from all-hands. His fate is sealed in engineering where snipes will hit-on him mercilessly... especially after discovering his father is a flag officer. Every enlisted man dreams about shafting an Admiral's kid.
"Do you think Hopkins realizes the adventure he's embarking upon?" asks the BM1.
"Absolutely. As a brat he knows the score," smirks the LT.
Growing up on naval bases and around ships, the brat frequently observed naked sailors engaged in homoerotic roughhousing and grab-ass play. Baptized into the congregation of cocksuckers by sailors at the Fleet Recreation Center, the experience ignited his lifelong fascination with enlisted cock.
And sailors are equally fascinated by midshipman sea-pussy.
Midshipman-mania, an epidemic since departing the shipyard, has infected the crew.
They have eagerly anticipated the opportunity to train the baby-zeroes and help them acquire requisite qualifications, skills, and knowledge. Nautical mile certification, the origins obscured in a fog of legend and myth, is a particularly transformative rite-of-passage for the 3/c midshipmen.
"Did you see his amazing ass?" asks the BM1. "Wouldn't mind tapping that myself!"
Leaving little to the imagination, the white crackerjacks reveal the sailor's tumid shaft. Grinning, he envisions Hopkins struggling to accommodate the oversized appendage as it mercilessly traverses the boy's anfractuous passageway.
"Yeah, well, forget it. You know 1/c midshipmen are off-limits... especially Hopkins. Best to concentrate your energy on the available 3/c midshipmen."
"Yes sir," responds the contemplative sailor.
Although technically off-limits, Navy Regs do not explicitly prohibit interactions between sailors and 1/c midshipmen. Skirting protocols, slave to baser predatory urges, many crewmen will aggressively pursue the baby-zero and dreams of glory.
At sea, disconnected from the world of women, every sailor masturbates thinking of pussy or the next best thing, sea-pussy. A distinction without a difference, there's nothing quite like a piece of midshipman ass... succulent and satisfying.
Besides, it's best to shaft midshipmen as often as possible before they are commissioned and return the favor... screwing over enlisted men with impunity.
Undeterred by daunting prospects, driven by the thrill of the forbidden, the BM1 considers the risk-reward of various strategies. Trained to surmount obstacles, tradition alone will not protect Hopkins from the motivated sailor's perverse designs.
Lost in thought, LT Howard contemplates his own dietary requirements.
He needs to acquire a midshipman or some fresh seafood before other predators claim all the choicest commodities. Preferring variety in his diet, he enjoys new conquests instead of taking on a permanent `officer's boy' like many of his colleagues.
A discriminating carnivore, enjoying creamy white boys... his preferred meal, he maintains impeccably high standards. The consumption of midshipman Hopkins, undeniably the tastiest morsel aboard, would be an unparalleled culinary experience.
Excited by the thought, he cannot wait to fuck the brat.
A product of poor working class Southern Baptists, Howard grew up under the ingrained prejudices of the Deep South. Despite the injustices, his father instills discipline and patriotism in the boy... recounting glorious adventures in the Navy sailing aboard frigates and destroyers.
Motivated, the clever boy with exceptional physical gifts excels academically and athletically... besting the privileged scions of Dixie's illustrious white families.
Naively, he applies to the US Naval Academy.
To his dismay, however, he is told by his congressman that while Annapolis doesn't need colored officer candidates, he'd make a good enlisted sailor performing manual labor as a Boatswain's Mate or Boiler Technician.
Fuck that! The proud boy knows he is officer material.
President Thomas Jefferson disliked the Navy because he thought it was too elitist - with punctilious courtesy and protocols, egotistical glory-hound officers, and tailored uniforms with gold braid and fancy buttons. Stratified by rank, it is a society of exclusion controlled by affluent men of noble mien.
Fuming, he attends Texas A&M... where he joins the battalion of midshipmen. Despite achieving commendable leadership marks, upon graduation he is offered only a reserve commission and is assigned a high lineal number... placing him behind all Annapolis graduates.
Senior Naval Leadership has always valued USNA officers over working class university ROTC products. Providing USNA graduates with every possible advantage, perpetuating the system, they get first choice of prestigious billet assignments.
Exacting a measure of revenge for the injustice, Lieutenant Howard now delights in breaking-in and teaching academy boys about sacrifice on the high seas.
For the motivated predator, there is nothing more enjoyable than watching a protesting pink academy asshole struggling to stretch around his impossibly thick black cock.
Advancing down the serpentine passageway, navigating bends in the protesting colon, he violently rearranges his prey's internal organs. Punching in-and-out, thrusting 10-inches deep, changing angles of attack, deliberately destroying the defenseless ring, he mercilessly breeds the privileged white ass and plants potent black seed and justice.
In his mind, if anyone deserves a brutal ass fucking, it's the son of VADM Hopkins.
But first he must pry the boy away from Ensign Rozo's vigilance.
Considering alternatives, dismissing forceful options with deleterious implications, he calculates the optimum path for success. And a plan quickly coalesces.
Meanwhile, traversing Hanger Bay 1, Hopkins draws the attention of sailors who stop, stare, and drown in a wake of desire. Mentally stripping him with lascivious eyes, they display prominent erections while fantasizing about balling the gorgeous midshipman.
Furtively observing the sailors, Hopkins eagerly anticipates sampling the ship's fare.
And it's not immediately clear who is hunting whom.
Twenty-six miles away, at Naval Air Station Oceana, Virginia Beach, Carrier Air Wing Six (CVW-6) has been making preparations for getting underway with Independence.
The Air Wing consists of several multi-mission components: fighter squadrons (VF-14, VF-32), attack squadrons (VA-15, VA-87, VA-176), an airborne early warning squadron (VAW-122), a tactical electronic warfare squadron (VAQ-13), a helicopter anti-submarine squadron (HS-15), and an air anti-submarine squadron (VS-28).
When fully embarked, the aviators will swell the ship's complement to 5,215 swinging dicks.
Working around the clock, dozens of 48-foot semitrailers and buses ferry squadron personnel, avionics equipment, tools, footlockers, and sea bags from Oceana to the ship.
A significant logistical challenge, constrained by operational schedule and limited pier space, numerous working parties unload conveyances and aggressively compete for staging areas. Disdaining each other's warfare community, fights frequently erupt between ship's force and air wing personnel over limited forklift and crane resources.
It's nothing personal, just black-shoes and brown-shoes competing for supremacy.
Watching the evolution with calculating gazes, surveying the sea of opportunity, ship's force apex predators observe the excited airmen. The excessively handsome, sexually curious, and physically inferior airmen will be targeted for subjugation.
Once underway, the unsuspecting boys will quickly learn about the inherent dangers of life at sea. Manipulating circumstances, skillfully setting traps, striking and exercising dominion, alpha-males will triumphantly consume the airmen's shattered masculinity.
Indisputably, there's nothing quite like transforming fledgling airmen into sea-pussy.
1MC: `There are personnel working aloft, do not rotate, radiate, or energize any electric or electronic equipment, or operate ship's whistle while personnel are working aloft on board Independence.'
Midshipman 1/c Hopkins quickly acclimates to the carrier.
Exploring the ship, he navigates miles of convoluted passageways on ten decks. Striking topside, he walks around the expansive flight deck and investigates the aircraft deck-edge elevators, steam catapults, hydraulic actuated jet blast deflectors, and the wire rope arresting gear cables.
Reflecting on history, he envisions the thousands of sorties and traps flawlessly executed by dedicated aviators in the accomplished of National objectives.
Positioned between starboard elevators 1 and 3, the 152-foot high Island, containing command & control compartments - the CO's Bridge, Flag Bridge, and Primary Flight Control, counterbalances the port cantilevered angled flight deck.
Perched upon the superstructure's mast are the AN/SPS-48C 3D air search radar, AN/SPS-67 2D surface search radar, AN/SPS-4 navigation radar, and dozens of tactical electronic sensors, warfare decoys and countermeasures, satellite and communication antennas, and weather instruments.
Departing the flight deck via the port catwalk, he strikes below to the 03level.
Stepping over structural knee-knockers, Hopkins locates the catapult machinery rooms and the massive hydraulic arresting gear engines responsible for the capture and recovery of aircraft.
Moving aft and passing air wing berthing compartments, he observes naked airmen skylarking. Engaged in grab-ass games, the play will soon have deadly consequences as predators, excited by the thrill of the hunt, plot the take down of inferior shipmates.
The losers will be brutally indoctrinated into the reality of life underway.
And many assholes will be bruised, battered, and ruined.
Proceeding to the starboard quarter, descending one deck, Hopkins stands outside the Repair Division aft berthing compartment, 02-224-3L. The 40-man compartment, containing coffin racks and standup lockers, is home to the sailors working in the Pipe Shop ER03 and Damage Control Shop ER04.
As the Assistant Division Officer, he is responsible for conducting health and cleanliness inspections of the division's forward and aft berthing compartments - ensuring no gear is adrift, the decks swept and sanitized, racks properly made, and dirty laundry collected.
The midshipman is also searching for a satisfying meal.
Collecting his thoughts, Hopkins enters the enlisted inner sanctum.
Breathing deeply, he inhales an intoxicating amalgamation of potent virility. Swimming in a sea of pheromones and colognes, the volatilized chemical compounds suffuse his senses - and his traitorous cock starts to elongate.
Inspecting the compartment, he is distracted by naked sailors strutting around like proud peacocks brazenly displaying their masculinity.
Other sailors are in their racks with their porn collections in hand. Shameless exhibitionists, having no qualms discussing their masturbation tendencies and ejaculation fantasies, the sailors have hundreds of idioms for the act.
Expressions included: walking the dog, spanking the monkey, choking the chicken, slamming the ham, whacking off, beating the bishop, yanking the crank, punching the clown, slapping the sausage, shaking the snake, tossing the boss, buttering your corn, changing your oil, greasing the bone, mangling the midget, milking the lizard, pumping the python, and tenderizing the meat.
Often joked about, they abuse themselves throughout the ship daily - in their racks, shower stalls, fan rooms, work centers, pump rooms, shaft alleys, catwalks, etc. And while for many it's a solitary endeavor, others prefer the assistance of a shipmate.
And hundreds of gallons of sperm are discharged into the ocean every day.
In the berthing lounge a passel of sailors are discussing the upcoming initiation and nautical mile certification of Klodaski - the new 3/c midshipman assigned to the division. Eagerly anticipated, they will ceremoniously welcome the novice to the Fleet.
Envisioning the festivities, several sailors unconsciously stroke their tumid shafts.
Listening to the exchange, Hopkins' focus is inexorably drawn to the improperly stowed gear swelling between their muscular thighs. Similarly equipped, the sailors delight in the freedom afforded by the exclusive all-male environment.
"Hey, it's Midshipman Hopkins!" a jubilant sailor announces to the group.
Driven by dreams of conquest and glory, the sailors have schemed to isolate Hopkins from Ensign Rozo's protective custody. Untethered from his guardian, they quickly mobilize to take advantage of the opportunity... engaging the boy with genuine enthusiasm.
"Midshipman, you looking forward to being at sea?" asks a sailor.
"Definitely... nothing better than haze gray and underway."
A wondrous adventure, there's nothing like being at sea with shipmates & brothers, rascals & rogues, kindred souls, and secret lovers.
"Yeah, nothing better," adds an HT2, envisioning plowing some sweet sea-pussy.
Surrounding Hopkins, they skillfully draw him deeper into the compartment, sheepherding him like a lamb to slaughter. Trembling involuntarily with almost unbearable anticipation, the sailors are eager to utilize the Admiral's kid.
"Did you enjoy your 3/c nautical mile certification?" asks a curious HT3.
"Oh, umm... it was ok," he responds blushing uncontrollably.
Assigned to a frigate out of Naval Station Mayport, he was aggressively initiated by the motivated crew. Insatiable, they tested the limits of lubrication, friction, and wear.
"We wouldn't mind recertifying you," jokes an enthusiastic HT2.
"Oh hell yeah... we all would enjoy that!" adds another petty officer.
The excitement is palpable for a few fleeting moments as the sailors envision the unparalleled pleasure of plowing academy sea-pussy. Unfortunately, the upperclassman's ass is now strictly off-limits to enlisted men... reserved for the exclusive enjoyment of commissioned gentlemen.
No one, however, has explicitly prohibited the utilization of his throat... and the sailors know the midshipman is a fully qualified fleet cock sucker.
Unbeknownst to Hopkins, an HT2 previously served aboard USS Josephus Daniels CG-27 under Captain Hopkins, the boy's father, several years ago as a young HTFA. Remembering the golden-haired brat, he recounts stories about the young teen's insatiable craving for enlisted jam.
(Note: See "A Brat's Peregrination" in the military section for background.)
"You probably don't remember me... I served aboard Daniels," said the HT2.
"Oh, umm... no, sorry I don't."
"Perhaps you recognize this," as the sailor thrusts his cock forward.
The throbbing erection with a large mushroom cap, standing smartly at attention, has a prominent and distinctive vein running the length of the tumid shaft. Below, large lolling testicles hang tantalizingly like forbidden fruit on the tree of knowledge.
Crafted by a divine hand, radiating power, the cock beckons to his soul.
Momentarily flustered, taking a deep breath, redolent pheromones ignite a kaleidoscope of images as memories flood the stunned midshipman, and decadent flavors resonate on his tongue. Unforgettable, every communion is a unique feast and blessing.
Confirming the truth, the sailors snicker derisively.
"We'll keep your secret if you agree to suck us," offers the HT2.
"All of us," add several sailors, exchanging wolfish grins.
Overwhelmed with desire, the midshipman embraces his fate. Consummating the bargain, the air is charged with expectancy as he willingly descends to his knees.
"It's beautiful," Hopkins whispers reverently.
"Show it respect."
Leaning forward, the midshipman pays homage to his god.
Professing his faith, he extends his well-trained lips and kisses the spongy head. Licking and caressing the flared gland, savoring the taste, he detects exquisite layers of flavor... earthy undertones of raspberry, cherry, and black pepper.
"Blow me cocksucker," commands the sailor.
In a state of grace, the midshipman takes the sailor deep inside his welcoming mouth.
Thrusting forward with purpose, the sailor explores the orifice. Successfully navigating the restricted channel, perched upon the defenseless precipice, he aggressively slams all 8-inches of enlisted cock home into the constricted throat... halfway to the boy's stomach.
"Damn, he took it all!" shouts an impressed shipmate.
"Yeah, throat fuck him," encourages another sailor.
Maneuvering for unobstructed views, the audience of elated sailors detect the outline of the cock protruding in the midshipman's neck.
Two-blocked, with bloated balls pressed against Hopkins' flush face, the HT2 is prevented from proceeding any deeper. Intoxicated with the power of supremacy, persistently thrusting in-and-out of the enraptured brat, the sailor brutally punishes the convulsing throat.
Gripping the boy's head in a warrior's grip, trembling involuntarily with euphoria, he explodes and feeds the midshipman a torrent of sacred enlisted seed.
"Swallow it all," the sailor needlessly instructs with a smile of satisfaction.
An obedient servant, Hopkins is filled with grace.
Word quickly spreads, and over the next six weeks the 110 sailors in Repair Division provide Hopkins with an all-you-can-eat buffet and quarts of salubrious navy jam.
In the Navy, rank is everything.
And life as an officer is sweet; for a sailor, not so much.
But sometimes the enlisted condition is tolerable... especially when a skilled cock sucking midshipman is assigned to their division.
And for a hungry midshipman, the shipboard adventure is a blessing.
The voyage aboard USS Independence continues in Chapter 8: Shift Colors.
Comments and readers' experiences with sailors, shipboard or ashore, are always of interest.
The author may be reached at JRozoNavyDoD@gmx.com