Barracks Bitch

[Hairypiglet]

I apologize I have been on vacation myself and extremely busy with work. I want you to know, I will be preparing things as discussed. However, can I just tell you how intensely emotionthis was. The way it ends really concerns me because of Montelongos parents in juxtaposition to this beautiful moment, "'Gabriel, if we weren’t in the Army, would you be okay with us being together?”  He suddenly asked, letting his buried hand stroke the big muscles of Gabriel’s chest.  Why had that question come out?"

You have created a multitude of important stories from these well-developed characters.

[Assmunch]

4 hours ago, Hairypiglet said:

I apologize I have been on vacation myself and extremely busy with work. I want you to know, I will be preparing things as discussed. However, can I just tell you how intensely emotionthis was. The way it ends really concerns me because of Montelongos parents in juxtaposition to this beautiful moment, "'Gabriel, if we weren’t in the Army, would you be okay with us being together?”  He suddenly asked, letting his buried hand stroke the big muscles of Gabriel’s chest.  Why had that question come out?"

You have created a multitude of important stories from these well-developed characters.

Thanks man!  I was deliberately holding back on touching on Sleeper’s backstory because if I’d done it BEFORE the relationship with Zeus, it would make Sleeper look like a bad guy.  And he’s not.  But yeah, it’s one of the twists I needed, to get Zeus to grow, so it will be painful.  And trust me, it’s truthfully hurting me to have to do it.  But they do have a little more time together, so there’s that.

[Kayne]

My Pleasure Bro!

[Assmunch]

LAMONT

 

Private Nathan Lamont knew he had to be careful, but he had a plan.  He was overjoyed when the Charlies were given a four day pass after their Airborne graduation with the big city of Atlanta, Georgia so close by.  He’d checked with everyone to see what their plans were and wasn’t surprised when everyone else decided to stay local to party and relax.  He could get a hotel in Atlanta in Midtown and no one he knew would be around that he had to avoid.  He would stay in the Cheshire Motor Inn, a place with a particularly seedy reputation within walking distance of the new bar The Heretic.  He also wanted to hit the Atlanta Eagle, another bar that catered to the Leather scene.  Two of those places were on the restricted list the Army maintained to keep soldiers away from unsavory and illegal activities.

Lamont was well informed about how to avoid notice and it was never any problem to keep under the radar.  His dick remained hard from the moment he decided on his plan, but he had no outlet for his sexual frustration at the moment.  His usual go-to, Valentino, had been avoiding him ever since the first week at Airborne and he’d come to the conclusion that the pretty, agreeable, and energetic blonde soldier found another dick to fuck his amazing ass.  That was a shame, because Valentino was a fun fuck, simultaneously submissive and eager.  Even so, Valentino was strictly a bottom, and Lamont had his cum-filled balls set on getting fucked as much as he did the fucking.  His opportunities for sex were rare and he had to get as much as he could in the next three days.

Lamont easily found the bulletin board at Benning on which rides were posted that were available to Atlanta, both official and personal and he selected one at random.  A Corporal Etlinger wanted $20 in gas money, which was a little expensive, but the ride met Lamont’s other requirements.   He didn’t want an official ride that would put him in Atlanta, and a Corporal was low enough rank that a Private from a different unit riding with him wouldn’t raise eyebrows.  And hopefully the Corporal wouldn’t have a lot of questions about his intentions even though he had a story prepared about visiting a friend who had moved there.  His last task was to check his kit, gear, and equipment into the storage depot on post where soldiers could drop off their stuff when they went TDY or to a special course elsewhere that didn’t require them to have their gear.  He was only going to bring his small backpack with a couple changes of civilian clothes.

Corporal Etlinger’s glittery metallic brown Mustang with white pinstriping down the side pulled up to the curb two minutes before 1400 hrs.  Lamont saw an arm wearing a blue plaid flannel shirt reach out to the passenger door to open it.  “You Lamont?” The voice called out.

“Yeah, that’s me.”  Lamont answered, stepping towards the open passenger door.

“Get in, let’s get on the road.”  Etlinger said.

Lamont pushed his backpack behind the passenger seat into the back.  “Bucket seats?  Nice!”  He commented.  “Bitchin ride, dude.” He said as he climbed in.

“Thanks.  Only reason I signed up for this bullshit.”  Etlinger responded.  “Don’t slam the door.”

Lamont had lucked out.  Etlinger was a fucking fox.  His loose fit, straight leg Levis looked new, and under his open front plaid flannel button down, a crew neck black tee shirt hugged his somewhat muscular chest before tucking into his jeans.   He had a heavy gold chain encircling his neck.  Etlinger’s brown hair and brown eyes gazed at him with intensity.  Handsome, but not pretty and just rough enough around the edges to look like good blue collar stock, the look was enhanced by the five o’clock shadow on Etlinger’s jaw.

Hmmm.  Now that he was inside the Mustang, Etlinger’s five o’clock shadow looked clipped, edged and cultivated rather than natural, which was a turn off.  Lamont didn’t like it when guys tried too hard to look good, or affected stuff he considered decoration like some loud and flashy bird doing a mating dance.  He did have great teeth and a nice body, but his eyebrows looked sculpted and shaped.  Lamont revised his earlier assessment, Etlinger obviously thought of himself as some kind of player, some hot shit asshole.  The gold chain, eyebrows, stubble, glowing white Nike high tops with the laces loose rather than tied, the tongue pulled forward - fucking Ugh.  The only thing missing was a cut in the eyebrow to mimic a scar, and some line patterns etched into the buzzed hair just above his ear like Vanilla Ice.  Lamont imagined the only reason he didn’t see any of that was grooming regs wouldn’t allow it.  He wondered what Etlinger did in the Army, he seemed to have way too much time to focus on how he looked, plus a shit corporal getting a Friday afternoon off?

“Seatbelt.  I don’t need any MP bullshit.”  Etlinger ordered.  “Where’s the $20?”  Probably some admin job, command staff, his CO away for the week for one reason or another, his Sergeant or LT taking the opportunity for a short day, long weekend for themselves.

Lamont scrambled to grab the belt and secure it.  That was another thing, Etlinger was talking to him like he was irritated, ordering him rather than asking.  And fucking Corporals didn’t get to order fucking Privates to do fucking anything.  They could, sure…if they wanted to get a reputation as a dick, but it was unlikely that the Private wasn’t going to call their bullshit.  But Lamont was just here for a ride so he pulled out his wallet and fished a twenty out and handed it to Etlinger.  That’s fine, it was just a couple hours or so.  They didn’t have to talk.  Lamont looked out the passenger window.  He didn’t miss that Etlinger hadn’t said ‘thanks’ when he handed him the money.  His opinion of the Corporal fell even further.

The drive to I-85 went by fast, neither of them saying anything.  Even if Lamont wanted to say something, the unrecognizable hip hop group blasting through the stereo speakers made it impossible, with the thump of a subwoofer (probably in the trunk) buffeting his body.  He couldn’t even decipher the words or what the song was about.  Lamont wondered how much Etlinger spent on all this image bullshit.  Probably everything he made.  Well, they didn’t have to be friends.

Lamont relaxed his attitude.  Who cared anyway?  He realized he was being bitchy because Etlinger disappointed him after his initial assessment and went from fox to fuckwad.  The Army was full of Etlingers.  Young idiots with the first real steady money they’d ever had and poor financial choices quickly followed. He laid his head back and closed his eyes.  It had been an early morning.

He didn’t really sleep, just dozed.  He was in an unfamiliar car, with someone he didn’t know (and didn’t much like) which meant his training wouldn’t let his brain let go of all awareness.  Infantry never rests unless your brothers are around you to take watch and let you collapse unconscious for a couple hours of good sleep.  Worst way to fall asleep, and the best sleep you get.  Nothing better than your lights just going out and you remember nothing until you get shaken awake two hours later.  So yeah, he wasn’t sleeping but he didn’t need to.  Another thing you learned out on patrol was how to close your eyes and rest your body and brain without actually falling asleep.  It could bring you back to almost human when you were too exhausted to even move.

He felt the car slow and opened his eyes.  They were coming to a traffic light, on a street crowded with buildings.  Probably downtown Atlanta.

He reached over and turned down the radio a bit, receiving a dirty look from Etlinger.  “Hey, any chance you can drop me off near my hotel?  It’s off of Cheshire Bridge Rd, near Piedmont.”

“Sure, give me a roadie and I’ll drop you off.” Etlinger replied with a smirk.

“Seriously man?”  Lamont said with a scowl.  “I’m not sucking your dick, dude.”  Rule Number One:  No military.  Well, except for Valentino, but Lamont knew Valentino wasn’t going to say anything.  This guy?  Absofuckinglutelynot.  It wouldn’t be the first time he had to walk a few miles.  Hell, walking an actual sidewalk was a luxury compared to rucking over terrain.  Just the thought of getting near this fake-ass poser’s dick made his stomach turn.  Lamont was proud to be a slut, but he was a slut with standards.  “Let me out here.”  He said.

“It was a joke man.”  Etlinger complained in sullen accusation, as if it was Lamont who crossed the line.

He reached behind the seat and pulled up his backpack, then leveled Hip Hop White Boy with a look that promised violence.  He could take this asshole apart with one hand without breaking a sweat.  “Pull over, fuckface.  I’m not asking.”  Lamont’s patience was gone.

“Okay, man.  Relax.”  Funny, Etlinger’s entire tone and demeanor changed completely.  His cockiness was non-existent, his face no longer held that cultivated jutting jaw, one eyebrow raised, no fake snarl on his lips.  He literally deflated.  Now Lamont could see the actual person Etlinger was, and he looked sad and pathetic.  Without his image act, the corporal was not impressive at all, just some poor kid (hah!  Etlinger had to be three or four years older than Lamont, but Lamont couldn’t help seeing a kid).  All veneer, no substance.  What the hell was happening to the Army?

Lamont also felt a little shook with the realization that people older than him, with more rank, weren’t necessarily better people with their shit together.  He shouldn’t be surprised by now.  The worst was realizing that about a superior officer in your chain of command.  When that happened, it really stung because without competent leadership you were surely dead, and you began doubting your training, which in turn undermined your confidence in your missions and objectives.  And those were the BIG 3 in Infantry:  Training, Mission, and Objectives.

Etlinger pulled into a parking lot, some fast food place called The Varsity.  He’d eaten before leaving the base, so he wasn’t hungry.  As soon as the Mustang stopped, he popped the lock and opened the door to climb out.

“Look, dog…” Etlinger started.

Lamont just about threw up in his mouth.  Dog?  Was that some kind of insult?  He ignored the idiot.  He made sure to slam the door before walking away.

Back at Benning Lamont had studied a map of Atlanta, and the area he was going to be staying in, so he knew roughly where he needed to be.  All he had to do was figure out where he was currently.  He walked to the nearest intersection, which was not far.  He was on North Avenue and the Interstate wasn’t far away, about a block or two.  So, he was Southwest of his target location.  He started walking.

He reached the Cheshire Motor Inn at 1830 hrs just as it was getting dark.  The walk was pleasant.  Neighborhoods, a huge park, strip malls, offices, historic homes, just like any other American city.  He checked in using his fake I.D.  He was 22 year old Abel Calloway, from Fort Wayne, Indiana.  His fake was professionally done, and had cost him $1100 but it was money well spent as he got a birth certificate, a social security card, and a driver’s license, all valid.  Abel Calloway was real, or at least he would have been if he had lived past the age of 8.

The Cheshire Motor Inn was a relic of the 1950’s, it had a couple two story buildings side by side, then one single story row across the parking lot.  Your room opened out onto the parking lot, a single big window beside the door.

But Lamont didn’t care about any of that.  What he did care about was that the Motel was cruisy.  And close to the bars and other places he wanted to hit.

As he was walking to his room, he noticed a man in his late 20’s or early 30’s unloading a suitcase from his Chrysler LeBaron.  The suit and tie, the LeBaron, the Motel, a worn suitcase… salesman most likely, saving money by getting a cheap Motel room.  The man caught Lamont staring and nodded in greeting.  Lamont nodded back.  Not bad.  Not the best looking guy, but hey, dick was dick, and he wasn’t gross or ugly, just out of shape.  Besides, the gold wedding ring on his left hand made him a desirable target all by itself.  Lamont didn’t necessarily have a thing for married guys, it was that they were clean and safe for the most part.  Married guys were just as worried about catching something and bringing it back to their wives as Lamont was.  Plus, married guys were primarily straight guys who just needed a little relief, or to get their freak on once in a while.  Whether they were suppressing actual homosexual feelings was something Lamont didn’t think about too much.  It didn’t matter why, what mattered was there was an awful lot of otherwise straight married men out there who didn’t mind getting off with another guy.  But there were two other things Lamont appreciated about married guys - first, they almost always topped or wanted a blowjob and rarely reciprocated, and second, they were usually older guys.  He guessed it took some time for your marriage to become boring enough to find some way to get that thrill again that wasn’t happening with your wife.

The salesman was a possibility, but later.  First order of business, get a shower, make sure he was cleaned out, then something light to eat.  A restaurant called The Collonade was nearby, but it looked expensive.  Real restaurants where you sat down and a waiter brought your food were all too expensive for his Private’s pay.  On his way to the motel just up the block he had walked past a mom and pop Italian place he’d try instead.  He could probably have dinner for ten bucks.

After eating, he popped a couple breath mints before walking inside the adult novelty shop across the street.  He needed lube.  It was a shame he’d have to throw out whatever he didn’t use, for one practical reason and one personal reason:  Carrying an unsecured liquid in your gear was a recipe for disaster.  You may as well just take the top off and pour it all over your stuff yourself.  And second - he sure as hell didn’t want anyone seeing him with lube.  All sorts of questions would come up.  The whole idea of lube was still a new phenomenon for the average normal American.  Deviants and perverts were the ones who found it necessary to use assistance for sex, like toys and lube.  It was getting more common, but still one of those ‘better not anyone know’ type of things.

While trying to decide on which brand to buy, he notice a sign behind the register that said ‘$5 minimum purchase for tokens’ and asked the clerk what the tokens were for.

“Video booths behind that door over there.”  The clerk indicated a door off to the side of the shop.

Lamont perked up at hearing that.  “I’ll take $5, thanks.  And the WET with the blue top, small bottle.”  He preferred Wet, just seemed a little more slippery and long lasting.  There were other lubes that just became sticky or dried out in the air.  Once his purchased was made, he went to the door.

It took his eyes about ten seconds to adjust fully from the glaring fluorescent lights out in the store to the darkness of the area behind the door.  A dark, seedy Candyland awaited.

The place was moderately busy, with about sixteen or so booths arranged in a small maze.  There were some guys leaning against the wall near the entry door, but Lamont could see more bodies wandering around further back.  The sound of porn could be heard from somewhere nearby.

He decided to just walk the place first, get an idea of the layout, as well as check out the clientele before he made any decisions.  He felt the eyes of the three guys near the entrance checking him out, and he gave a mental smile but ignored them.  He wouldn’t have to chase anyone down, not in here.

The entire place was painted black, with the only light being an ‘EXIT’ sign and small lights above the booth doors indicating if one was ‘In Use’, as well as the ambient glow on the ceiling from the tvs playing porn in the booths.  Just enough to see someone’s basic features.  The hallways were small, making it difficult to pass by another person without touching.  The smell was familiar, and his body had a now automatic response of surging heartbeat, increased blood pressure, shallow breathing and an instantly hard dick.  It was the smell of sex, exclusively male sex, an underlying scent of men, and cum mixed with basic antiseptic Lysol.

Every single Adult Theater or place where multitudes of men had sex smelled exactly like this, and the scent became associated with sexual thrill, orgasm, the hunt, hard cock, grunts of pleasure, hunger, thrusting anonymously with strangers, complete abandon and fifteen other now automatic reflex thoughts and feelings.  Smell was one of the most powerful human senses in terms of automatic nervous system response.  Smell was what warned you a predator was near, spiking your adrenaline immediately.  The smell of food spurring hunger.  Rot or death indicating possible danger, disease, revulsion.  Perfume or cologne signaling seduction and your guard relaxed.  Every single smell in the entire world forced your body to react before your mind even translated what the smell meant.  Before you knew what the world was, as a newborn infant, the smell of your mother instilled comfort and safety.  Smell could trump rational observation.

It was why they were taught very early on that deodorant and cologne weren’t used when you were on mission, on patrol, or out in the field.  The enemy could catch the scent on the wind, and a smart enemy could determine your location.  Simple human sweat could be anyone, including a fellow enemy or soldier, but created scents were very specific.  You still didn’t want to get too ripe though, but dirt, sand, some leafy plant with a strong odor usually took care of the worst ripeness.  Part of their field training included using scent to recon and track.  Smoke from a fire, oil and metal from heavy machinery, a cigarette, food cooking.  They were taught that cigarette smoking was forbidden in most situations for that very reason, and that frequent smokers had a deadened sense of smell that couldn’t pick up subtle clues that others could and that the smell of a burning cigarette traveled a very long distance.

As with the guys by the entry door, Lamont felt the eyes rake over him in the dark and the focused attention sent a single message:  fresh meat.  He’d have to be careful.  The pushy ones sometimes made it difficult for others to approach him.  A slut with standards chose the daily special, rather than being chosen by them.  Sometimes Lamont was direct, when he wanted to fuck.  Being assertive and dominant sent a clear message who was taking care of who.  Which mean the opposite behavior signaled a willingness to get fucked or suck some dick.

It was always better to draw the nervous ones in with a little shyness, but repeated looks that darted away when you were caught looking indicated interest, and promoted increased assertiveness by your target.  Sometimes Lamont wanted eager, desperate and hungry.  But today he wanted reluctant, nervous, doubtful.  He wanted the ones who were picky, and he knew he could get them.  There were always two or three in places like this.  Guys who hated the necessity of having to resort to anonymous sex, who hadn’t yet reconciled the feelings they got from trashy anonymous sex with the regretful thoughts of self recrimination they had for not liking vanilla sex as much.  Lamont knew he could inspire desire, just by being young and in incredible shape, for men like those.  His youth, at 20 years old, indicated he was relatively pristine, they’d read it as inexperienced, and if there was anything that type wanted it was a fresh, young, clean body.

He’d learned sex club etiquette not long after he turned 18, but there were additional rules in Adult arcades and theaters.  A direct look before entering a booth said ‘follow me in, or take the next booth for gloryhole action.’  Once in a booth, if you hadn’t checked out the person in the adjoining booth first, a quick glance through the hole would tell you the level of interest, whether you were interested yourself, and what type of action they might be looking for.  Stroking your hard dick indicated you wanted your dick sucked or to fuck.  Just being in a booth with a gloryhole indicated you wanted to be watched at least, and were potentially looking for action.  If you wanted to provoke, all you had to do was choose a movie and start rubbing your cock through your pants.

There actually were booths that were completely private if you were just there to watch Schoolgirl Vixen III take it up the ass while you beat your sad, neglected meat in a place that would get you excommunicated from your church if they knew you couldn’t even bring yourself to ejaculate on the floor and instead held a wad of paper towels you’d hastily grabbed from the bathroom to hide your shameful orgasm.  After all, Jesus might watch you jack off, but flaunting your pleasure weakness by spraying your seed everywhere was stepping over the line.  There were plenty of those types that frequented places like this too.  They could be spotted by the avoided eye contact, nervousness and the way they made a beeline towards a booth.

But cruising had it’s own unwritten rules, developed over decades of secret, hidden places that catered to the world of men who didn’t want intimacy or involvement.  Even back when homosexuality was against the law there were places men could go for anonymous sex in which neither party knew who the other was, thereby avoiding exposure.  Masked parties, back rooms, secret clubs, abandoned buildings, infrequently visited locations like parks at night, wharves and piers with cargo creating dark and hidden areas, truck stops and gas station bathrooms.  Lamont figured a man’s sexual needs invariably drove him to find any outlet for his desire, and while a minority percentage of men were devoted to women in general, and eventually to one woman in particular, the vast majority of men just wanted to get off with anything that had a hole.  They’d settle for a women to provide a family, comfort, and taking care of the home.  But for them, it was only a matter of incentive and desperation to determine the degree to which they’d sink to have the primordial thrill of spilling a load of jizz from their balls into just about anyone, whether it be a whore, a mistress, a cocksucker or some random stranger they’d never meet again.

In video arcades, once in a booth, not pulling your dick out, or sitting on the bench or chair meant you were the one looking to service cock.  Or it could mean you were just passing time in a booth, or waiting for just the right guy.  Lamont hated the ones that just sat in a booth without doing anything.  It basically took two booths out of commission.  If all you wanted to do was sit there, get one of the booths without gloryholes.  He’d once thought maybe they just wanted to watch another guy jack off without any interest in actually having physical contact, but fuck…everyone that came to these places wouldn’t just want to have someone watch them jack off, would they?

Up ahead stood someone that immediately drew Lamont’s interest.  The way he was leaning against the wall, affecting a casual boredom and disinterest piqued Lamont’s curiosity.  The low visibility didn’t reveal a lot except the guy’s basic build which was decent enough to be suitable for Lamont’s needs - trim waist, average but developed shoulders, just slightly smaller than Lamont.  As he got closer he saw short, close cropped dark hair and a goatee, along with a very proud nose.  Handsome, maybe blue collar, kind of rough looking.  Somewhere between late 20’s and mid 30’s.   Something about him started Lamont’s cock dripping.  Damn, he had to reel this one in.

He knew the play, the guy’s boredom said Lamont would have to seduce.  Lamont let his eyebrows relax and opened his lips slightly as he passed him, putting out an innocent vibe.  He changed his shoulders from confident to uncertain and meek, he slowed his stride.  When the guy’s eyes met his, Lamont looked down.  Looking down was ‘damn I was caught, I’m scared’.  Looking away was sometimes dismissive and sometimes uninterested, but it always signaled confidence.  Lamont wanted this one to think he was prey, so confidence was the wrong play.  He waited a three count before performing a quick look as he passed.  That was important, the second look.  The second look said ‘I really liked what I saw.’

Lamont turned the corner and stopped.  His heart was beating.  He loved the game, the hunt, the chase, the uncertainty and potential.  Would the guy follow?  Lamont suddenly thought if the guy was following, giving in too easily would make the guy dismiss him.  His intuition was something he could rely on, it had never failed him, and it was finely developed from the time he was 12 and began learning the ropes of seducing his teammates on the swim team, and some of their dads.  But his proudest moment was seducing his coach when he was 16.

Lamont inhaled.  He could smell the scent of someone’s recent orgasm, probably from the booth at his back.  Cum, that heady odor a man exuded as he was driven to shoot his seed, it all floated in the air around him.  He pushed off the wall and walked slowly.  He didn’t look back.  If the guy was following him, it would be better if he thought Lamont didn’t know he was being followed.  Hunters wanted to catch their prey, feel powerful doing it, getting a thrill from an unexpected attack.

Lamont heard steps behind him.  He moved aside to the row of three booths, trying to make himself small.  He was a scared little baby animal, unsure of his environment, seeking safety.

“‘Scuse me” a deep voice came from his left.  Lamont let himself shrink further towards the wall.  He pretended to be startled, flattening himself against the booth door behind him, which gave way and opened.  He shot a shocked look to the man with the voice.  It was his target.  He darted inside and closed the door.

If he was right, the booth next door would open in few seconds.  Lamont reached into his pocket and pulled out a couple tokens to feed them into the machine.  A porn started, some pretty blonde was getting SuperDicked by a black guy wearing a white tee shirt.  She looked so small, his cock was fucking huge, stretching her pussy to the absolute limit.  The scene panned out and there were four other huge black guys surrounding her.  Lamont thought her pigtails were a nice touch, it made her look like she’d just turned 18 if not younger.  Damn, that dude was giving it to her hard, and she was yelping.  Poor little white girl, she was going to get fucked full of so much black cock.  She probably wouldn’t make her Chemistry test tomorrow, so sad.  She was going to get kicked off the cheerleading team!  Lamont kind of hoped this was the kind of video where they fucked her full of cum, leaving her pussy dripping.  But he knew the scene had just started, so he hit the ‘NEXT’ button while he waited for hot goatee guy to commit.

Lamont bent over to look through the gloryholes on either side.  Nothing yet on his left, where he expected goatee guy to come in.  On the right was an even older guy, hard to tell, as all he saw was a decent six inch cock being stroked through the zipper fly of the guy’s jeans.  Definitely straight.  Straight guys loved pulling their cocks through their flys, as if exposing themselves more meant they wanted to do gay stuff.  Still, the wedding ring, heavy watch, hairy arms, and large gut put the guy on Lamont’s list.  Dick was dick, and clean married dick, even just six inches, was dick worth sucking.  Guy probably wouldn’t fuck, Lamont knew the type.  But a nice thick load of mid-life crisis and empty nest dissatisfaction would energize him for his night out later.  Daddies were always so grateful.

He heard the creak of the door to the booth to his left, and the latch click.  He darted a quick look, noting the white tee shirt and Levi jeans matching goatee guy.  Lamont immediately stood up and felt himself through his own jeans.  Fuck, or get fucked?  Goatee guy would decide.  Lamont waited ten seconds, didn’t see the guy’s fingers come through the hole, so he bent over to take a look through the hole.

Fucking Goddamn holy shit!  Goatee guy had his pants pulled down to mid thigh stroking a thick eight incher.  Lamont was done playing games, this was a cock prize, fucking FIRST PRIZE in the cock contest.  But he didn’t lose his cool.  The game was the game, the hunt was the hunt.  Too forward, and the stud would bolt.

He tentatively put his index finger on the rim of the hole, then pulled it back quickly.  Hard to miss if Mr. BlueCollar Goatee was looking, which Lamont knew he was.  Hell, Lamont could hear the lame dialogue of the porn BlueCollar Goatee was watching, and he sure as hell wasn’t watching Mrs. Bigtits tell the Plumber that her washing machine was leaking and all she wanted was to put another load in.

But BlueCollar Goatee was playing the game too.  Lamont watched while his stroking slowed, and he grabbed his balls and dick together, shaking it up and down.  He expected Lamont to be watching, that’s what made Lamont’s heart skip a beat.

Lamont felt his salivary glands release a gush of saliva.  This dude had waited patiently for just the right guy to walk in, wanting someone who would appreciate the beauty of his perfect cock, his big hanging balls.  Well, BlueCollar Goatee had hooked the right fish with his bait because Lamont knew exactly what this guy needed.  And at that moment, Lamont knew if the guy wanted it raw, he would have it.  His intuition was thrumming.  There was a thrilling confidence, almost arrogance to this guy that Lamont loved. This one loved to fuck, loved his own dick and wanted to push it inside someone worthy.  This was a guy who chose who he had sex with carefully, who didn’t just fuck any hole he could get, and Lamont knew he could get any hole he wanted in this place.  He dripped masculinity and aloof confidence.

Lamont knelt down in front of the glory hole and hooked his finger, keeping it there this time.  He put his face close, so the guy knew what he was getting, a mouth, available, waiting and willing.  And he knew which mouth it was, he’d seen Lamont dart inside the booth.  There was only one reason BlueCollar Goatee was doing his dance.  It was a message: show me you want it, because all eight inches wants you.

The guy kept stroking slowly, obviously enjoying the tease.  He squeezed towards the tip, producing a clear drop of pre cum before pointing his dick toward the hole.  Lamont stared watching the thick fluid gather then start to descend, dripping in slow motion.  He did the only thing he could, he opened his mouth and put his tongue out.

BlueCollar stepped closer and wiped the head of his cock across Lamont’s tongue.  Lamont was beyond the game now as his tongue retracted to savor the salty flavor of this magnificent man.  Fuck, his fluid tasted unbelievable. He was lost now, succumbed to the wanting, the desire.  The game was over.  BlueCollar was going to sink his dick into his waiting mouth.  His eyes barely saw through the top of the hole, but the hunger had a hold of him and the tease had him tunneled, everything in his focus was this man’s naked hips, his hairy wild bush, his thick rigid dick and the turgid penis grasped tightly in a masculine fist.  The presence of tiny black hairs on the knuckles of BlueCollar’s hand sent Lamont into a spiral of lust.  This was a man, a tough fucker who knew the value of what he held.  He considered his cock as a trophy to be acquired, something for a winner, an achiever.

Lamont knew that every cock he lusted after was on this pedestal, and BlueCollar loved the game, the hunt, just like he did, which only heightened Lamont’s lust.  This was a competitor, and the challenge demanded he make the interaction as competitive as he could.  So Lamont did the unexpected.

He stood up and pushed his own impressive dick through the hole…because BlueCollar was being a tease, and this was the moment that would determine how their meeting happened.  If BlueCollar was going to hold back, Lamont would press.  Oh, he understood the value, the allure, the seduction of holding back, but it was time to engage, to breach… either BlueCollar wanted direct engagement or he wanted more.   Lamont had decided a dick was penetrating one person or the other.  And a young 20 year old iron-hard 7 inch curved cock would force BlueCollar Goatee to decide what he wanted more… hot young innocent mouth or hard dick.  Lamont was ready for either but his preference was to be the one taking BlueCollar’s cock.

He felt a hand stroke his cock, a good sign.  BlueCollar wasn’t afraid to touch a dick.  The stroking was… amateurish… perfunctory.  Definitely a ‘not interested in that but still willing to play’ message.  Lamont withdrew to find BlueCollar pushing his cock in almost right beside his.

Fuck, here it was.  Lamont dropped into a squat, pushing his mouth onto the hard dripping cock in front of him.  He swallowed it half way, not wanting to send the message that he was experienced…yet.  He let out a deliberate choke, gagging.

“Fuck, you better suck that dick, boy.  That’s what you wanted.” He heard BlueCollar say from the other side of the wall,.

Lamont did another dive, as if he was eager to please, and choked again.

“Yeah, choke on that cock. Go deeper, faggot.”

Fuck…Lamont had hit the jackpot.  A dominant, abusive straight dude in denial.  Right off the bat he hooked a dude who was just waiting for some faggot hole to force his dick into.  If there was any God looking out for him, this BlueCollar Goatee would fuck his raw dick violently up his ass as deep as he could force it and spew a healthy load of baby batter guts deep into Lamont’s willing and receptive fuckhole.  In the age of AIDS, a raw fuck and ropes of straight cum were rare commodities.  It almost never happened.  Lamont’s intuition told him this was a guy who was either between girlfriends, or had decided fags would take his cum when women demanded a condom.  The sexual world for straights had changed just as drastically after the mid 80’s when they figured out AIDS wasn’t  just a gay disease.  Now everyone was scared.  Everyone was putting on condoms.  Fucking dental dams were being used just for cunnilingus.   Porn was changing, cumshots were never internal or near an opening.  AIDS had changed everything.

The throat slime was all over Lamont’s chin, and he had to back off the huge cock to take a breath.   He looked over his shoulder and saw that six inch cock shoved through the hole.  Guess that guy was watching the action after all.  That was the benefit of being the middle booth in the glory hold triplet.

What the fuck, why not.  He stood up and went to suck old dude’s dick, bending over.  BlueCollar could wait.  He was hooked.  Might be good for him to sit in frustration.

Lamont didn’t play any games with six incher…he swallowed that whole, all the way down.  It wasn’t too thick or unmanageable.  Nice size.  A mouthful.  He knew his ass was facing BlueCollar’s gloryhole, deliberately.  BlueCollar would have to make a decision.  His cocksucker was otherwise occupied…what would he do?  Oh, how unfortunate, there was only the untouched butthole of a 20 year old inexperienced youngster right here … what should I do?

BlueCollar did what every hormone laden hardon encumbered male would do.  He spit on his cock and pushed.  Lamont was penetrated at both ends, the booth perfectly dimensioned for him to press his ass to the hole behind him and at his head.  Fuck yeah.

He had a moment of pure bliss.  Cocks at both ends, and his favorite one in his ass, another in his mouth.  If they came at the same time, in his holes, he’d cum without touching himself.

He knew BlueCollar didn’t put on a condom, which frightened him and thrilled him at the same time.  Fuck, what was he doing?  The guy was a stranger.  He couldn’t stop himself, even so.  He knew if BlueCollar wanted to fuck his jizz deep in his ass he wouldn’t stop.  He wanted that guy’s cum, he wanted it deep up his ass.

Fuck, old guy in his mouth was welcome to shoot too.  Old married guys who were gut-laden, wife and three kids, cock through his fly…he got relief maybe a couple times a year if he was lucky.  Lamont would gladly swallow every swimmer the guy pumped out.

BlueCollar was pumping head to balls when the older guy unloaded with a series of grunts into Lamonts mouth.  It was sweet and thick, every successive volley heavier and more voluminous until Lamont’s mouth was filled with cum.  Damn, the guy must have been saving that up for a while.  Spit or swallow?

Reason prevailed, and Lamont spit the wad of jizz out onto the floor.  The fantasy was fine to entertain, actually sucking down a stranger’s load was something else entirely.  As disappointing as it was, Lamont had to be careful.  But the thick thrusting cock stretching his asshole was sending him into a state of abandon.  It had been too long since he’d felt a raw dick up his ass.  8 months to be exact.  He knew he was playing with fire and the danger element contributed to his heady, heightened arousal.

BlueCollar was bouncing against the plywood wall of the booth, thrusting hard, not caring about the damage he might be doing to the young pliant hole on the other side.  Fuck, BlueCollar was so deep.  Lamont kept still, pressing his ass back against the hole, mentally willing the man to lose control and shoot.  He could hit the bathroom after and expel the man’s seed, he told himself.  That would reduce the risk, right?  Yeah, that would be fine, no different than spitting a load out from his mouth.

Lamont had always loved that place in between, the thrilling indecision where what your mind wanted disagreed with what your conscience told you should be done.  It was the choice, the potential for complete satisfaction that remained just out of reach.  It was leaving the decision to the very last minute, would BlueCollar pull out or would he seek to force his cum deep inside Lamont?  Would Lamont even know the moment it was happening or would BlueCollar ejaculate silently without providing a clue?  Had the man already cum and was he just fucking his deposited load into a frothy foam now?

Lamont realized then that he didn’t care.  The man was sexy, hot, virile and being inseminated by him was what Lamont craved.  Fuck, he couldn’t help it, he couldn’t resist his basic nature.  The game he played with himself was the most fun, how he told himself he wouldn’t be a complete whore when the real him understood he had no true control and that he would always take the risk.  No, he’d say, not this time.  This time I’ll be careful, I won’t do what I did before.  But then he’d do it anyway because caution, safety, protection were just not ultimately satisfying.

Most of the time in this day and age, the top made the decision for him, putting on a rubber before fucking, which did sooth Lamont and he did honestly love the rest of the sex, the kissing, the sweaty bodies, the grunting and feeling of a full, stretched ass, of being dominated and submitting himself to a man.  All of that was wonderful and satisfying.  Very few interactions resulted in what Lamont would term ‘bad sex’.  However, raw, risky dangerous sex was in a whole different universe, whether it be a risky public location that could result in being caught, a person who was supposed to be untouchable because of their position like his swim coach, or having unsafe sex without a condom.

Sometimes he thought there must be something wrong with him that he loved it as much as he did.  Why couldn’t he like plain, straightforward vanilla sex as much as he loved the other kind?  Why was something illicit and forbidden such a thrill?

But those were questions for him to ponder AFTER he committed the act, not while the most incredible dick he’d had in a long time was fucking him so good he didn’t even care that another dick had come through the hole in front of his face.  Not a bad dick, but he hadn’t had the opportunity to see the guy attached so he wasn’t going to touch it.  He was a slut with standards, and the new dick didn’t meet his standards.

Lamont raised his left leg to put it on the bench in the booth, giving his ass a better spread and allowing him to feel BlueCollar’s awesome cock in a different way.  Fuuuuuuccck, the dude knew how to use that cock, deep long strokes that alternated between brutal and deep, to slow and shallow thrusts.  He’d been at it for more than five minutes and Lamont knew the guy was holding off, determined to enjoy the young 20 year old hole as long as he could.  Quality recognized quality, and BlueCollar probably understood something like this young hole didn’t come along but rarely.

BlueCollar paused in his thrusts, and Lamont knew the moment was near, he was trying to keep from shooting.  This was the moment, the time for a decision.  He could pull off, let BlueCollar shoot all over his ass, feel the warm, sticky liquid spurt over the sensitive skin and drip down.

He knew he’d already made his decision the moment he saw the guy’s cock through the hole, he wouldn’t pull off.  Besides, he told himself, untold amounts of precum had already been fucked deep inside him, who knew how much was already pooled in his guts, so what was the harm in more?  A simple rationalization that he might regret later, but regret had no place in the present.  Regret was a future thought that considered the past, always, restricted by its own rules of operation.

Now that the choice was reconciled, Lamont’s bloodstream was flooded with all the adrenaline, serotonin and endorphins his nervous system needed to send his head into a maelstrom of sexual pleasure that rivaled an orgasm.  Lamonts balls were fully retracted, his dick as hard as he’d ever felt it, dripping with its own surging young pre-cum.

He started moving his ass up and down on the dick, fucking himself back onto the shaft.  BlueCollar began shoving even more violently and they met in a perfect rhythm of synchronized lust.  BlueCollar had made his own decision, just as Lamont had done on numerous similar occasions, the decision to inject his hot load inside the hole beneath him regardless of consequences.  It was the ultimate feeling of sexual release when a top and a bottom agreed on how it all would end, when they merged as a single rutting beast with one goal: FUCK to IMPREGNATE.

Lamont let out an involuntary moan, he wanted it so bad that he’d lost all sense of his surroundings.  His brain was fully focused on the cock in his ass, the vision of this rough, sexy man’s muscular ass propelling his thick hairy cock into Lamont’s willing asshole, pounding against the booth walls and sending the unmistakable sounds of violent sexual release out into the rest of the arcade which were more apparent now that both of their video tokens had run out of time.

In an instant, Lamont felt the wall behind him shake, the cock inside him stop and spasm, the motions of the man behind the wall became erratic, breaking the rhythm.  Lamont closed his eyes and pressed fully against the wall.  He was being inseminated, milky white sperm shooting out deep inside his guts in ever increasing jerks of the hyper masculine fuckpole so beautifully designed by genetics and nature to commit this very act inside a warm bodily cavity.

Lamont never felt so rewarded or complete as when his hole achieved this purpose of bringing another man to orgasm, as if he’d fulfilled his purpose, that he’d done everything right and giving release to a man filled an emptiness inside him.  When he bottomed it was almost completely about allowing the man to use him fully, he almost didn’t even care about his own dick, or shooting his own load.  He knew how it felt to cum inside another man’s ass, to fill them with his seed, to give them that potent genetic fluid meant to pass along a part of himself to a worthy partner.  It was as if a part of him would then live inside them for the rest of their lives. It was a form of procreation, inseminating another, and it didn’t matter if it resulted in pregnancy.  Some form of his genetic material would fertilize the membranes it found.  Sperm had an infallible directive - wriggle inside and disintegrate to disperse your payload for absorption.

It was this that he wanted from certain men, from specific cocks.  He wanted part of their attractive masculinity to be implanted in him, just as he wanted his to mix with specific other men.  And he knew he would feel all the best attributes of BlueCollar merge with him making him a stronger, more capable man.

BlueCollar had slowed his thrusts, almost completely stopping in motion, before pulling his cock out of Lamont’s ass.  Lamont hurriedly turned and looked through the hole.  He wanted one last look.  Fuck, that was a beautiful cock, something about the dark hairy busy framed its now shiny length perfectly.  BlueCollar was in the process of using a papertowel to wipe it clean before pulling up his boxers and jeans quickly.  He seemed in a rush, a feeling Lamont knew all too well.  The act was completed, it was necessary but now that it was finished the urge to leave trumped everything else.

A quick check of the hands on each of BlueCollar’s pockets, probably to assure himself that nothing had fallen out, like his keys, money, or wallet, before he unlatched the door and left.  Lamont liked his style.  No thank you, no words exchanged, no final look.  In fact, every action indicated that Lamont no longer existed.  That comforted him, another indication that BlueCollar had resorted to this for one purpose, to get off and nothing more.  Lamont searched himself for any sign of disappointment, regret or fault for what he’d done, and found nothing except the desire to allow that man to do the same thing again.  He ran a couple fingers over his freshly fucked hole and played with the sticky reminder of his conquest.  Fuck, if he didn’t have another dick his entire weekend he’d still be satisfied.  A fuck like he’d just taken was going to make it difficult to enjoy any other men for weeks, he knew.

He realized he was done here.  He had no desire to troll around to find what was likely to be disappointing after that, but he’d keep the rest of the tokens because he also realized he’d probably return here at some point over the next couple days.  He also needed to get a couple hours sleep before going out tonight.  The hunt at a gay bar was a different kind of game involving flirting, tease, projecting a persona to bait interest.  Along with that came the ability to completely relax among others of his kind without looking over his shoulder at who might be watching.

Lamont imagined the disappointment in the men positioned along the halls of the arcade as he walked out the exit.

[laguyinhou]

Fucking sweet! 

[TwinkChaserSlut]

On 4/2/2022 at 4:26 AM, Assmunch said:

THE WEEKEND

 

I figured Zeus and Sleeper had gone off for some private time, but was happy to see them return.  I didn’t think either one of them would be careless but I couldn’t help the worry taking up a small space in the back of my mind.  They returned subdued and I wondered what had happened because Sleeper wasn’t walking with his usual swagger.

“What’s going on, guys?”  I asked.

Sleeper looked at Zeus and although he remained expressionless there was a deep undercurrent of uncertainty and sadness that radiated from his posture.

“We need to talk to you, buddy.”  Sleeper replied.

I nodded.  If Sleeper wanted to talk, this wasn’t something minor.  My best friend wasn’t someone who found it difficult to sort out his own head.  “Somewhere private then.  We don’t have a lot of time.  How about outside on the benches?  Less chance our voices will carry.”

Walking out the door the brothers all glanced at us.  I made a motion with my hand to let them know I’d handle it.  I could tell they’d noticed Zeus and Sleeper’s odd behavior and wanted to help.

I selected a spot far enough away from the group of smokers getting their final cigarette of the night.  Until Airborne it hadn’t occurred to me that the Bravos didn’t have a single smoker which I found curious.  That defied the odds.  After sitting down, I asked Zeus first.

“Buddy, what’s wrong?”

Zeus’s broad shoulders sank, his eyes refused to stray from the ground in front of him.  The uncharacteristically quiet night was chilly.  “I’m being bad again.”  The fog from our breathing seemed to linger longer than it should as if it held the weight of our feelings.

Sleeper shook his head and an angry look crossed his face.  It passed quickly.  He reached out and put his hand on Zeus’s shoulder.  “I’m sorry, Gabriel.  This is my fault.  We shouldn’t have taken our walk.”

Of course I was curious.  But I didn’t need to know the particulars to understand that Zeus’s issue wasn’t what happened on the walk, it was deeper.  I read the signs: Sleeper was upset on behalf of Zeus, not because of him.  Zeus was dealing with something that he would never blame Sleeper for and it sounded like he was blaming himself.

“Gabriel, look at me, please.”  I said.  When Zeus looked up, his eyes glistened with unshed tears.  This giant, capable soldier looked like a lost little boy and I couldn’t understand how someone who was so much larger than life could shrink himself down to appear so pitiful.  “You aren’t bad, Gabriel.  What do you want?  What does your heart tell you?”

Zeus shifted his gaze to Sleeper, and tears fell silently from his eyes.  I had to force myself to breathe through the overwhelming wave of sadness that bordered on despair that hit me.

“You love Sleeper.”  I said and sighed.  I knew this was coming. I didn’t think Sleeper would break this gentle man’s heart, but I hadn’t had a chance to have that talk with my best friend like I wanted.  I studied Sleeper’s face, his body language.  He wasn’t holding back from Zeus, in fact his hand had moved up to stroke Zeus’s handsome broken face, his thumb wiping the tears that fell.  No, Sleeper hadn’t broken Zeus’s heart.  He cared deeply about Zeus.

“And you, Sleeper?  What are you thinking?”

Sleeper shrugged, his eyes never leaving Zeus’s face.  “I love him back.  I figured that out tonight.  I’d do anything for him, but I don’t know how to fix this.” He said softly.

I tilted my head.  “Fix what?  Nothing needs to be fixed.  You love each other.”

“Assmunch, the Army -“ Sleeper started.

“So what?”  I interrupted him.  “Do you think you’re the only ones who have to hide?  This isn’t about a stupid policy.  Look, at some point there’s always going to be a conflict with what the Army wants and what you want.  My dad had to face that decision more than once.  Sometimes he chose the Army.  Sometimes he had to choose his family.  That’s something you figure out when it comes up.  This… this is about something else for Zeus.”

Sleeper took a breath.  “It won’t work, Andrew.  And Gabriel doesn’t want to break the rules.”

Maybe it was my recent reconciliation with Kevin, maybe it was because I was still basically a kid, but I felt they shouldn’t just give up.  A wiser, older me may have agreed with Sleeper’s assessment.  Yeah, Sleeper was just Sleeper about it, rolling with the punches and recognizing when he was out matched.  In sports you learned to accept defeat without internalizing it and used it as a lesson to correct your mistakes so that you could come back and fight better the next time.  But Zeus didn’t seem to have learned any of that.  In fact, Zeus appeared to give up the fight before he even stepped on the mat.

“Zeus, why do you have scars all over you?”  I asked him.

Zeus looked down at his big hands which were gripping his thighs.  “I was bad.  I had to be punished.”

That much I figured out already.  The real question was why… and who.  “What did you do?”

It didn’t seem possible, but Zeus shrunk down even further until he looked small and helpless.  I could swear he was a child in that moment, no older than 12, weak, uncertain, his voice was no longer broad and deep, no rumbling vibration caressed my body when he spoke about growing up and his brother.  Sleeper and I exchanged frequent alarmed stares as we listened to what had been done to our friend.  He quoted Bible verses often as a way to explain, but the worst part was the slow progression of how his spirit had been torn apart and crushed which he related without understanding what had been stolen from him by his brother’s ever increasing cruelty.  Zeus remembered every strapping.  They began with legitimate but minor infractions (still not worthy of being whipped by a thin leather rein, even so).  Then gradually they occurred for things Zeus couldn’t help or had no control over.  After a few years Ezekiel began whipping him for things that weren’t mistakes or misbehavior and it became apparent Zeus was simply a target on which Ezekiel could express his anger and cruelty.

“I wasn’t supposed to…”

“A man should always…”

“The Bible says…”

“It was my fault….”

“I didn’t listen…”

“It was his job to teach me…”

“I had to learn…”

With every repetition it became clearer and clearer that Zeus’s brother Ezekiel was an angry, bitter, cruel man who didn’t actually care about Zeus at all, in spite of his insistence that it was for Zeus’s own good.  The events Zeus described were ordinary kid things, not a single one of them were actually bad or malicious.  Not closing the screen door all the way… or letting it slam… Zeus got ten straps for that.  He interrupted his brother’s work when he was 12 to tell him he’d gotten an award for being the fastest to complete his math tables in the contest that day for his class, so excited and happy that Ezekiel would be proud he’d done so well.  He’d gotten 15 straps for stopping Ezekiel’s work, and for not immediately getting to his own chores when he got home.  He got whipped for giving his favorite horse a half a carrot one day.  He got whipped for not wanting to be whipped.

Holy. FUCKING.  HELL.

I don’t know how Zeus had survived all that without being completely broken.  I wanted to kill.  I’d always wondered if the time came when I saw real combat if I had it in me to actually kill another human being.  Some soldiers don’t, you know.  Some soldiers never fire a single round in combat.  Others will fire, but deliberately miss.  Look it up, it’s a common battlefield problem.  But now, I had no uncertainty.  Oh, I fucking had it in me, I could absolutely put a fucking bullet right through the center of Ezekiel’s skull.  I’d gladly watch his black, oily, evil brain splatter as the round exited the back of his worthless head.  A bullet was too good for him, though.  The words of Gutter, the Army Ranger who’d instructed us for that week in Germany came back to me.  “Your kill should be cold, it shouldn’t be personal.  Your enemy is an obstacle, that’s all.  If you’re angry, if you want him to suffer, you care about him too much.”  I couldn’t be cold about this.  I felt like throwing up.  What kind of person could whip a little kid until he bled?  Sleeper was furious, and tears were coming out of his eyes at the same time.  His breath was coming in deep, shaky, heaving snorts like the whuff of a bull about to charge.  I felt that tingling flush across my body as I finally put the last piece of Zeus’s puzzle together in my head.

If I had admired Zeus before, now I felt what I can only describe as a righteous, protective love that raged through me like a violent thunderstorm mixed with an intense pride at the strength it must have taken to come out the other side as probably the most upright, decent man I’d ever met.  That he could still feel anything good was a miracle and it only emphasized that Zeus was greater than us all.  He’d endured years of abuse that was worse than torture.  I understood how Puppy Dog Zeus could share this massive body with serious, quiet, masterful Zeus.  What had been done to him froze a part of his mind at a child’s age before it formed adult thoughts, the happy part before the pain.  There was no happiness for Zeus after his father died and Ezekiel took over.  Every piece of happy in him was a child’s version of happy.  In spite of his brother’s insistence that he become a man, Ezekiel’s actions ensured Zeus would never fully become one.  Zeus was faking it all, doing what he’d been told without understanding why men acted like men.  Knowing the rules, and knowing WHY there were rules were two very different things.  The former you followed blindly, the latter you reasoned through so you could judge when the rules were appropriate and necessary, and when they didn’t serve the situation.  This wasn’t about being good, and being bad.  Zeus would never truly know the difference until he saw it from a different perspective than he’d been brainwashed through torture to learn.

“Gabriel.  Do you love Addison?”  I asked him, struggling to keep my anger hidden from my voice.

Zeus nodded.

“If Addison did something bad…something truly bad, like stealing, would you give him a strapping to teach him a lesson?”

Zeus looked up in fright.  Then he looked at Sleeper.  Shaking his head fast, he said “No, I could never hurt Addison.  Never.”

“What about me?  Would you give me a strapping if you caught me stealing?”

Zeus didn’t answer as fast, which was good.  I needed him to think about it.  I watched his eyes roam off.  I wanted to actually chuckle because I could see his face screw up like a kid’s when they tried to think their way through something difficult.  Ah, it was good to find some joy in all this darkness.  Puppy Dog Zeus was just that - pure joy.  It just made me love this big man more.  So many of us lose the habits and mannerisms of youth, or learn to suppress them.  I saw it happening in my little brother Tim.  I felt another wave of understanding come to me about my parents and my Dad in particular.  How you want your kids to grow up, but have to watch the exuberant joy of youth gradually fade, and how it becomes a battle inside you between wanting that joy to stay around as long as possible and resigning yourself to teaching them to bury it or hide it so the harsh realities of life won’t hurt them too badly.  You have to walk a razor thin line balancing your love of who they are with what you want them to become.  Once again, I found myself thanking my Dad for the lessons he taught me while letting me decide how to manage and control my youthful impulses.  And through it all I knew my Mom and Dad loved me, even when they were angry at what I’d done.  That time when we’d first moved to Texas and were in base housing and I’d accidentally put a hole in my bedroom wall play wrestling with Tim.  Dad was angry, that would cost us money and this was Army property.  You didn’t damage someone else’s property with carelessness.  We fixed it, together.  Dad made me do most of the work which seemed like a lot when I was 10, but I understood now it wasn’t really that difficult.  The funny thing was it ended up being one of my favorite memories of Dad and I working together.  And he told me when the paint was drying how proud he was of me, how I’d done an excellent job.

“No, Andrew.  I wouldn’t strap you even though you know stealing is bad.” Zeus finally replied.  I wanted to ask him why, but it wasn’t time for him to see that yet.

“Okay, but I did a bad thing.  Would you let someone else give me a strapping?”

Zeus scowled.  “No. But I would make you give it back and I would tell you not to do it again.”

“So, you wouldn’t strap Sleeper for doing something bad, and you wouldn’t strap me, and you won’t let someone else do it.  Is strapping someone a good thing?”  I asked.  “I mean, hitting people is bad, right?”

Zeus screwed up his face again.  “You shouldn’t hit people, unless they deserve it.”

Ah, good, I thought.  Zeus COULD distinguish subtleties.  “So, if Sleeper and I did something REALLY bad, REALLY deserved it… then you would give us a strapping?”

“Andrew, no.  You and Sleeper are good.  I really like you.  I couldn’t hurt you like that, even if you were really bad.”  And my giant God sighed.

Now.  Maybe.  “Gabriel.  I don’t think Ezekiel liked you at all.  If he loved you, like you love us, he wouldn’t have been able to do that to you, even if you were really bad. What Ezekiel did was bad, Gabriel.  It was very bad.”

“But…” Zeus trailed off.

“Sleeper and I would never, NEVER give you a strapping no matter how bad you were, Gabriel.  No one deserves that.  Especially a child.  You could do the worst thing you could possibly imagine, and we wouldn’t do it.  Because we love you.  You don’t hurt someone you love.  When you love them, you do everything you can NOT to hurt them.  Was your brother ever nice to you?  Was he ever kind?  Did he tell you he loved you?”

Again, Zeus was lost in silent thought.  His face became more and more troubled.  He began blinking rapidly, and I saw his chest start to heave with short, shallow breaths.  I think he was starting to panic.  Thank God, Sleeper saw it too, and he immediately straddled the bench and pulled Zeus into a tight hug.

“I love you, buddy.”  I heard Sleeper whisper to him, nuzzling his face into Zeus’s head.  “You’re a good man.  A very good man.”  And Sleeper kept whispering to him, in gentle soothing tones, much of which I couldn’t hear.

At possibly the worst time, I heard the crunch of boots on gravel.

“Hey boys!”  Lance Corporal Potter announced.  Something about the Marine’s complete obliviousness to what was happening irritated me.  Refusing to read the situation was unforgivable.  I shot up and spun around.  Private Battles was with him.

“No.”  I said, staring them down.  “Go inside.”

“Corporal.  Go inside, please, Corporal, I think you meant to say.”

I looked at him, letting my eyes blink slowly.  What a fucking dickhead.  I gave Lance Corporal Dickhead, who could probably pick me up and break my back over his knee, a half grin.  “Interesting.  I don’t see a uniform.  I don’t see a rank insignia.  I could check my watch, but I’m going to take a guess and point out we aren’t on duty and it’s after duty hours.  Which means if he isn’t in my chain of command I can tell a Marine Lance Corporal anything I want.  With respect, Potter, this is Bravo business.  Go inside… please.”

I gave him credit for letting it go, even though I’d given him the out he still had the presence and grace to take it rather than puffing up.  Maybe he was only half a dickhead.  A baby dickhead.  Like a nub.  Lance Corporal Nub.  Fuck yeah, he might never know his nickname but I was entertaining the thought of making sure the brothers knew it.

He darted a look at Sleeper and Zeus.  I thought I read a brief puzzled look of concern cross his face.  “Okay.  Let us know if you need our help.  I don’t know what happened, but it doesn’t look good.  If you need us, we’ll be with you.”

I reluctantly gave him credit for finally reading the situation and actually being a brother about it.  Dammit all to fucking hell.  I wanted someone to hate right now, someone closer than Zeus’s brother Ezekiel.  Potter and Battles could take it, wouldn’t bother them at all if I was to be a dick right back.  But then Corporal Nub had to go and be a decent human.  I was still going with the nickname, I decided.  I’d keep it to myself, but his pathetic attempt to pull rank… a Corporal pulling rank… seriously?  That earned him the honor of keeping his nickname.  Maybe it was the Lance grade in front of his Corporal, maybe it was that Marine blood.  I wasn’t going to waste brain energy trying to figure it out.

“Thanks, much appreciated.  Zeus is going to be okay.  We got his back.”

 

“You know Brickmann, I didn’t get it before, why they’d choose you to be the leader.  I think I do now.”  And he nodded his head to Battles then went inside the barracks.  Battles hung back a moment longer, staring at me with a considering look that reminded me of Kevin taking me apart.  I think Battles had the same gears in his head.  Hmmm, smart Marines.  How unexpected.  I think I liked them just a little bit more.

I turned around and found Zeus and Sleeper in the same position.  Zeus appeared a little less small, less shrunken in on himself.  Sleeper was still nuzzled up against his ear with his eyes closed, his legs sandwiching Zeus’s larger hips and thighs.

I unbuttoned my uniform shirt and took a quick look around, marking the building, the corners, the roofline, the other tables which were empty.  A look behind me indicated no one was coming up the path.

“All clear, Sleeper.  Go ahead.”  And I raised my arms in a big stretching yawn which opened up my shirt and covered three quarters of the view as I stood above them.

The kiss I saw almost made me cry.

                                                   **********

It was a couple minutes to bed check when we got inside.  I bobbed my head in a nod to the Bravos at the unspoken question in their looks.  They all immediately relaxed and if they weren’t already in their bunks under the blankets they quickly climbed in.  I noticed Potter and Battles down the bay and gave them a nod of thanks.  Nub and Gears.  Maybe I’d let them in on it if we bonded during this course.  I was pretty sure they would see the humor in it.

Zeus seemed more himself as he walked to his rack.  For the first time since I’d known him, Zeus undressed by his rack, hung his uniform in his locker, stripped off his undershirt and pulled out his pajamas.  He stood there in just his white boxers.  Again, the entire bay came to a stillness.  I refused to look away from Zeus’s magnificent body, but if I did I knew I’d see everyone staring eagerly with looks that varied from complete adoration to lust.  Just the way his muscles rippled and bunched when he moved was like a siren song that called to you and urged you to sink beneath the waves of his masculine strength.  I felt like he was pulling me towards him yet I wasn’t moving, I couldn’t move if I wanted to, not until he told me to.

Zeus pulled out his puppy dog pajamas, the ones his mother had sent him.  I felt a smile come to my face.  Now that I knew a bit more about how Zeus grew up, it was obvious that at least his mother loved him and that she probably hadn’t bought those pajamas for him.  She’d probably made them, sewed them herself, which solved the mystery of how you get German Shepard puppy dog pajamas for a beast like Zeus.  I’d never seen him put them on before, only ever seen him wear them, but somehow I felt this time was different for him.  He paused for a moment and looked at them.  He put a hand on one of the puppies that frolicked, stroking it with a couple fingers.  He smiled, like a little boy on Christmas Day, lost in some memory of happiness.  I had held myself together until then spurred on by anger and determination for my friend.  All that left me suddenly as my tears started to fall.  I couldn’t help but think that little boy was free now to become a man.  We’d have to guide him there, teach him the things that his brother SHOULD have taught him instead of crushing his spirit but this was something the Bravos could do for our God.  I knew I would have to stay on my toes.  Some of the brothers had some stupid idiot ideas about what men should do.

After Zeus dressed he climbed into his bunk.  The duty Sergeant had done a bed check and turned out the main lights before leaving.  I was almost asleep when Zeus’s voice echoed through the bay.

“Good night everyone.”  We didn’t say good night in the Army.  Not like that, not to everyone.  It felt weird, but then I questioned why.  There’s nothing wrong with being nice.  But then I remembered, if this wasn’t Jump School, we’d have a Sergeant screaming from the end of the bay to shut the fuck up and knock ourselves out or he’d come do it for us.  That made me chuckle.

“Good night Zeus, go to sleep.”  I said back.

“Good night John Boy.”  Demon called out.

Some smart ass from the randoms called out.  “Good night Mary Ellen.”

Which made everyone laugh.  Yeah, like we were The Waltons.  Zeus and Holler probably came the closest to being a Walton.

Everyone laughed again when Zeus asked “Who’s Mary Ellen?”

 

                                                 *******

                                           TOWER WEEK

 

The second week of the Army Basic Airborne Course was Tower Week.  Everyone in the Bravos had made it through Ground Week.  That’s not to say it was easy, we were just at the top of our game.  Four of the randoms either dropped or cycled out for one reason or another - injury, unconquerable fear of heights, or lack of physical fitness were the most common reasons for soldiers to fail Ground Week but I couldn’t believe some of the failures were the result of lack of preparation and studying. Part of the course was knowing your equipment and procedure and the Black Hats constantly evaluated your proficiency and knowledge. Where were your hands?  What was this part of the harness called?  Were you paying attention to your Jumpmaster?  We ran everywhere back and forth, barracks, chow, classroom, field.  The 34 foot tower was no joke because it was high enough to put the thought in your head that if your equipment failed you’d plummet to your death.  Stepping out that door the first time was a moment of faith.

The first lesson of the day after our PT run of 3 miles (up from the 2 &1/2 miles during Ground Week) and breakfast was the Suspended Harness and Swing Landing Trainer, or the SLT.

 

On the Suspended Harness were were clipped in to mock parachute riser slips, those two straps that came down from your parachute canopy that you used to guide your movement in the air.  Our group and one other, about a hundred troops were all lined up under an open sided metal roofed building that contained overhead lines and hanging lift assemblies from which descended the mock riser slips that we were taught how to attach to our harnesses.  Our Black Hats explained where to put our hands, how to grip, how to position our bodies and once again the repetition of keeping our knees and feet together and keeping our head down chin to chest.  Frequently and repeatedly we pulled ourselves up from the ground using our grip on the riser slips to hand suspended using only the strength of our arms while the instructor pointed out corrections or what we should focus on.  And while it wasn’t exactly groping, no body part was safe from a Black Hat’s hands so you got used to being touched everywhere.

The Swing Landing Trainer was next.  This was an apparatus similar to the Suspended Harness only with movement.  From an eight foot high platform we individually stepped off to swing suspended as we moved horizontally down a zip line that was maybe 20 feet long.  Again, we were reminded to keep our feet and knees together.  You’d be surprised how easy that was to forget when you had five other things to focus on.  That was deliberate, we were told.  It had to be ingrained, unconscious, automatic.  Feet and knees together was what kept you from a stupid avoidable injury during landing.  And we practiced that PLF, the Parachute Landing Fall, again on the SLT but it was different because this time were were actually moving sideways rather than just falling vertically.  It was kind of cool, I thought, because you hung swinging back and forth four feet off the gravel pit while the Black Hat called instructions to you and you had no idea when the drop would come.  You had to be ready the entire time to execute your PLF.  Everything was geared toward muscle memory and being able to do it in your sleep.  And trust me, you dreamed about it at night.  Over and over again we moved through the line to jump off that platform.  By lunch time my groin hurt from the harness straps, and my hips ached.  You didn’t always roll when you hit even though you tried.  About half the time your feet hit and instead of rolling calves to knees to hips to shoulders you just went feet to hips.  We were definitely doing massages again tonight.  But after a while I was looking forward to stepping off that platform even though I hadn’t yet been able to ignore the jolt to my groin I knew was coming.  Some of the guys were leaning forward to go off instead of a lean and step so they wouldn’t have to experience that jerk at the bottom.  Of course they were corrected by the ever watchful Black Hat.  We were taught how to detach ourselves from our canopy after laying on the ground.

The rest of the morning was ground practice for the mock door mass exit, which thankfully gave our abused bodies a break from the punishment of harness chafe and hip and shoulder beating from the PLF.  Fucking hell.  The mass exit training involved attaching your static line clip to the anchor line, internalizing the timing of the Airborne Shuffle (that interval of shuffling that your entire line moved at towards the door) which was one second for each soldier, do not rush the door, do not pause at the door.  The mock door was just three feet off the ground and it was a free standing actual C-130 door we’d eventually be jumping out of if we made it to Jump Week.  The mock door was at the end of a 10 foot long wooden platform with steps and that was where we lined up.  It started to feel real.  We practiced handing off our static line to the Jumpmaster which was the strap that pulled our parachute out of our packs after we left the aircraft.  Lean, step, feet together knees together, hit the ground with both feet, knees and feet together, no PLF, hop away keeping your feet and knees together.  Did I mention keep your feet and knees together?  Yeah, you should keep your feet and knees together.  One of the big lessons was how to hold our static line and position of our arms while doing so.  In class we were told a few horror stories of jumpers who got tangled in their static line and it wasn’t pretty.   And we finally had our combat gear, our rucks, clipped to our harness below our reserve chute.

 

“You will not pause at the door.”  The Black Hat said to the group gathered by the platform.  “Move forward in a smooth controlled shuffle.  Follow the instructions of the Jumpmaster exactly and watch for his go.  Your secondary Jumpmaster will control you with his hands towards the exit door.”  The Jumpmaster was the Instructor who manned the exit door.  There were actually two, one at the door to grab your static line and a secondary three steps away to do a final visual equipment check and verify you were clipped onto the anchor line properly with your arm in the right position and keep you moving.  “It helps if you keep time in your head as the soldiers in front of you move - shuffle, step, exit.  Shuffle, step, exit.  Shuffle, step, exit.  Do NOT touch or adjust your equipment as you move towards the exit.  Keep your left hand firmly on your static line until the Jumpmaster pulls it from your hand.  RELEASE your static line when he grabs it, NOT BEFORE. Your combat gear will feel unbalanced and awkward where it hangs from your harness down in front of you as you climb the steps but YOU ARE NOT TO LIFT IT OR MOVE IT IN ANY WAY.  By this time you should know not to talk as you move toward your jump.”  This would be the first time we practiced with our rucks clipped to the front of our harnesses and they hung in front of our thighs down just below our knees.  The taller you were, the fewer problems you had, so Weeble was going to have a tough time of it.  Between his helmet, main chute pack, his reserve and his ruck you almost couldn’t see a soldier.

We were positioned in line in no specific order.  I was in the rear of our group, not dead last but five men away.  The morning was cold but it had warmed up to 42 degrees and it was grey and overcast.  Everyone seemed eager for this.  This was the last piece of the process of jumping.  We’d been trained and practiced landing, moving, and exiting.  After this we’d put it all together for mass exit training from the 34 foot tower.

And after lunch, that was the rest of our day until 1600 hrs when we had to inspect then secure our gear and equipment and return it to the building where we’d pick it up again the next day.  In spite of the amount of time we spent standing around waiting to practice our exit, we were all pretty exhausted.

In the Airborne course we were of course free and at liberty after evening chow and some of the students went off for various fun or activities on the base.  We’d all learned the first week that timing was important.  The base gym was busiest just after 1700 hours, up until 1900 hours.  So the Bravos tended to barracks duties until then.  Our two Marines and the Navy Corpsman attached themselves to the brotherhood and had started to become unofficial members of the Bravos.  Even though we were dragging ass, we still ran the mile and a half distance to the gym in our workout clothes.

Half of the Bravos were focused on keeping up their general fitness and endurance, like Bootlicker, Wanker, Holler, Demon and Shark.  They played half court basketball, did full body exercises on the mats along with pushups and sit-ups.  The rest of us did weight training to build size and strength.  We all started with some deep stretching using the buddy system to really push to full extension.

Currently, I knelt behind Dumbo hugging him to twist his torso while he sat on the mat, holding the stretch.

“Breathe, Dumbo.” I reminded him as I pulled him around just a little bit more.  “Slow three count in…three count out.  Okay, other way.”  I let him rotate around to his left, grabbed him again and pulled.  “Hold it, breathe…there you go.  A little more… good.”  I moved my hands to his ribs.  “Left arm up, cross it behind your head to your right shoulder.”  I grabbed his elbow with one hand, kept my other on his ribs.  I pulled him over.

“Ooooooohhhhh, yeah…”. He groaned as his sore muscles stretched.

“Breathe.”  I reminded him.  While I was manipulating his body, I saw the Charlies walk in.

I had a strange feeling come over me seeing the Charlies, like I was in two places at once.  The time before we pulled our mutiny and thought the Charlies were all jackasses, and my recognition now that they were like an extension of the Bravos for me, my brothers.  It was hard to reconcile.  I wondered how much of our initial aversion to the Alphas, Charlies and Deltas was deliberately imposed competitiveness spurred on by the Sergeants.  No, it was something else.  Yeah, they definitely pitted us against each other.  The Charlies were our main pain, Sarge letting us know every time the Charlies beat us in some qualification or task.  We traded top rank with them over and over again, the Alphas and Deltas fighting it out for 3rd and 4th.  The Charlies would take the lead, then we’d seize it back, then they’d outdo us, but we’d crush them again.  We ran faster to beat the Charlies.  We disassembled our various weapons and reassembled lightning quick to knock them back down to sniff our asses in second place.  They’d never beaten us once in marksmanship.  Navigation was always back and forth.  We were champs at Comms and Intel because of Wanker and Bootlicker.  We felt short in recon and mechanical.   Strategy was a toss up, always, but I think that was because the Sarges got together to fuck with us, they loved fucking with us.  It made the Bravos stronger, made everything an Us vs. Them situation.  I got that tingling flush again.  When you had an enemy, competition, doing well was not enough.  You had to win.  I had an idea.

“Lamont!”  I called to him.  We didn’t have a chance to talk after we met up the evening of our first day.  I hadn’t actually seen them during our training every day, and every evening I had the Bravos studying or doing barracks business.  This past weekend would have been the first opportunity, but again I had a ton of shit to do.  Thank God Sleeper and Zeus did my laundry waiting their turn in line.  Who knows what the randoms did, most of them left the barracks to run amok on the base and enjoy themselves.  I hoped the Bravos wouldn’t lose their focus like that.  Time enough for fun and games after we accomplished whatever little game the higher ups in Command had in store for us.  I knew there was a plan, you couldn’t miss the signs of our special training, keeping us as a group.  I still wasn’t sure how we’d been selected or why, only that we were selected as individual soldiers from a diverse occupational background.  We might never know.

Lamont and the Charlies came to the mats.

“How’d Ground Week go?  Did everyone get through?”  I asked him.

“Hey Assmunch.  Yeah, of course.  Didn’t seem that hard.  Hell, after Graf and Sergeant Horvath driving us to near collapse I’m not sure anything could take one of us out.  How’d the Bravos do?”

“Same, brother.  Every now and then I give them a taste of our Sarge so they don’t get complacent.”  I replied.

Lamont chuckled.  He leaned in and whispered.  “Me too.  I’ll never forget that hairy bastard.”

“Want to stretch with us?  I have a proposition.”  I told him.

“I’m intrigued.  Sure.”

“Sleeper,” I called to my best friend.  “Go get the Bravos.  We’re going to have a competition with our brothers, the Charlies.”

I helped Lamont do his stretches, outlining my plan.

“What are the stakes?” He asked.

“I’d like to make it Platoon stakes, but can’t think of a prize we can all do easily as a group.  So what about individual stakes?  Match by match?” I offered.

“Yeah, I think the guys would go for it.  Good workout, too.” He responded.

“Okay, you and I will choose the match ups, try to keep things even.  Laundry service next weekend is the prize.  Whoever loses has to do their winner’s laundry.”

“Perfect.  You go talk to your guys, I’ll talk to mine.”

I went over to the Bravos and told them the plan.  They were seriously hyped up.  I figured they would be, it was the Charlies.

Just then an older soldier, maybe in his late 30’s, came up to us.  He was wearing marine silkies that showed his thick powerful bare thighs.  “You guys done with the mats?” He asked.

“Uh, not exactly.  We were just about to start some hand to hand matches between our two groups.”  I explained.  “We can wait a bit if you need to use them, or give you some space.  We only need a little for the matches.”

“Actually,” he said looking around and taking us all in.  He lingered just a little longer on Zeus and Sleeper.  “I think I’d like to see this.  Need a ref?”

That was a relief.  It was better to have an outside ref, otherwise Lamont and I would have to argue.

“Absolutely!”  I agreed.  “Glad to have you.  Private Brickmann, Airborne Course.  Army.”  I stuck my hand out.

“Major Collins.  Marines.”  He shook my hand.  Now, you might think because we were out of uniform, at the gym, outside of duty hours it would be first names and casual.  And it would have been if our rank had been anywhere close.  He wasn’t being a dick, and I certainly wasn’t bragging about being an Army Private.  But you avoided mistakes if everyone knew where they stood.  He didn’t want to hide his rank because there were certain things he HAD to report if he saw them, and he wanted me to know.  I needed to let him know I was a trainee at Jump School.

“A pleasure, Sir.”  I said.  “You ever do one of these?”  I asked him.

“Oh, here and there.”  He said evasively.

I chuckled.  “Lamont, come meet the Major”. I called.  Lamont came right over and stuck out his hand.

“Private Lamont, Airborne Course. Army.”

“My pleasure Private.”  Major Collins said.

“Lamont, Major Collins has offered to ref for us.  Major, we usually do submission rules.  Is that satisfactory?”

“You’ve matched before?”  He asked.

“Yes, Sir.  Many times.  We don’t mess around, and everyone knows when to call it.  You won’t have any idiots holding out too long here.”

“Good, let’s keep it fun, but intense.  Don’t want anyone to get dropped because of some off duty injury. ”

“That’s the plan, Sir.  My guys are the Bravos.  Lamonts are the Charlies.  Lamont, let’s get Zeus out of the way first.  It’s never fair, no matter who you select to go against him.”

“Yeah, it’s just sad to watch.  I may as well send my weakest, Kilpatrick.  Maybe he’ll just hug the big guy to death.  I swear he’s got a crush on him.”

I laughed.  “We all have a crush on Zeus, bro.”

Major Collins broke in.  “Zeus is the big guy over there?”

“Yeah.”  I answered.  “No one can even give him a challenge.  He sits out most of the time.”

“How about you two?  Will you participate?”  The Major asked.

“We weren’t going to because we had to ref.  But if you’re doing it, I’d like to.  This is the first time we wouldn’t match in a Platoon challenge.”

“Good.  You guys go last then, against each other.”  He suggested.  “Give your guys one last chance to get some payback no matter which side has more losses.  Seeing their leaders go head to head is good for them.  And if you’re throwing away the match with Zeus, maybe I can start this off with some excitement.”  He grinned and raised an eyebrow.

Now Major Collins was absolutely in prime physical shape.  Six feet tall, just slightly taller than me.  He had to be 230, definitely knew his way around the weight room.  His thighs alone could probably crush a man’s skull.  The Major’s experience and Marine training would negate most of Zeus’s advantages of height and strength, which meant Zeus would have to be smart.

“I think you might find it harder than you’re expecting, Sir.  He’s a beast.” I warned him.

“Outstanding.”  The Major grunted.  Just like a Marine to think getting the piss beaten out of him was a fun night out.

Oh fuck, this was going to be good.

“Zeus!  You’re up first.”  I called.  “Sweats off, Zeus.  This is going to be a real challenge.  The Major respectfully requests that you don’t hold anything back.”  Zeus took off his sweatpants and sweatshirt and stood there in his tee shirt and PT shorts.

“Well fuck me.”  Major Collins mumbled.

“You get used to it.”  I said.   “Mostly.”

“Submission rules, just like before.  Let’s give them some room, brothers.”

“I’m fighting a Major, Andrew?”  Zeus questioned.

“I’m not a Major in the ring, soldier.  I’m your enemy.  If you hold anything back I will crush you.”  Major Collins said.  He gave Zeus an intense stare.

Zeus blinked, then looked at me.  I nodded.  Sleeper clapped him on the back and whispered something to him.  Suddenly Zeus’s eyes changed, and I could swear I saw a predator sizing up his prey as he looked at the Marine Officer.

“Start!”  Lamont called out.

Right out of the fucking gate Zeus took three steps and went into a grapple with Collins.  Without a pause Zeus dropped his left shoulder suddenly, slipping free of the Major’s grip and drove his shoulder into Collins’ midsection, wrapped his arm around his waist to lift him off the ground and then arched back to throw the Major to the mat behind him.  Zeus immediately flipped over and dove to try to pin the Major, but Collins wasn’t having any of it.  He rolled away and was on his feet in less than two seconds.  Zeus had sprung to his own feet right after failing to get Collins under him.

“Nice move.  It won’t work again.”  Collins taunted.

“I don’t need it to.”  Zeus said calmly.  Dangerously.

Collins moved fast, way too fast.  He was inside Zeus’s defense too fast for Zeus to grab him or hit him, and he got his left leg behind Zeus’s knee just as his forearm struck Zeus’s chest.  Zeus began to tilt back in a fall.  If Collins got him down it might end because I was pretty sure the Major knew about 50 ways to immobilize an opponent on the ground.  But Zeus wasn’t a pushover… literally or figuratively.  He twisted his torso opposite Collins’ position while grabbing the arm that struck him, using his own backwards momentum and body weight to drag the Major off his feet and over his body to throw him to the mat.  Zeus learned his lesson from the first throw and this time he didn’t let the Major go from his grip.

By now, our large group on the mats had drawn some attention, and others from the gym were coming over to watch.

“Is that the Major?”  I heard someone say.

The Major had wisely flung his legs away when he was pulled over and he kicked his feet on the mat to flip himself back over on top of Zeus.  Now they were face to face with the Marine on top.

“Mount! Don’t let him inside, Zeus!”  Sleeper called out.  “Guard!  Guard!”

Zeus’s feet were planted on the mat and he managed to bring his right elbow in before Collins could wedge his head and shoulder.  Zeus lifted his hips while forcing the Marine’s chest away with his right elbow.  At the same time Collins was attempting to lock Zeus’s legs with his own.

Zeus thrust up and forced Collins to disengage and they both scrambled back to their feet.

Collins immediately tried for a head strike but Zeus turned into the attempted blow, brushed it aside with his forearm, spun and delivered an elbow to the Marine’s midsection.  Collins was too savvy to let him get full contact and he danced back, abandoning his try to wrap Zeus’s chest with his other arm and bringing his knee up for a kidney shot which Zeus easily deflected with the arm that was in position from his elbow shot.

The action happening was so rapid it seemed like each of them knew the other’s move before it happened, like a choreographed dance.  I felt my pulse racing.  I’d never seen Zeus go full out like this.  They separated, studying each other.  Neither was even breathing hard.

Without an indication or warning, the Marine spun and kicked high towards Zeus’s head and my stomach clenched.  It happened in the blink of an eye and I knew Zeus was going to get slammed.  Fuck the Major was fast.  Zeus’s right hand shot up just as the Major’s heel got within a foot of his head and the Marine’s ankle smacked into Zeus’s hand.  The force of the kick had to be incredible but Zeus’s hand barely moved from the impact.  Zeus’s huge hand gripped the Major’s ankle, Zeus ducked, twisted under Collins’ leg yanking his foot around and he pulled, hard.

The Major was flung spinning face down to the mat and Zeus was already falling, his fist still wrapped around his opponent’s ankle.  It was going to be a pin.

Before Zeus made it down Collins flipped onto his back using Zeus’s hold on his leg to pull his knees in.  If Zeus hit, Collins was going to deliver a double knee right to Zeus’s stomach.  Zeus dive rolled, releasing the Major’s ankle, and somersaulted to his feet, facing away.  Collins didn’t waste the opportunity having rolled to his knees he dived towards the back of Zeus’s legs but Zeus was already moving, dancing away.

He allowed Collins to get to his feet.

“I thought someone like you might be more accustomed to offensive moves and neglect defense, but you grab offensive opportunity from your defensive moves.”  Collins said to Zeus.

“You’re very fast, Sir.”  Zeus replied.  “But you’re not strong enough.”

“I don’t need to be stronger than you, soldier.”  Collins replied mysteriously.

Their match had drawn a large crowd, and I think just about everyone that was in the gym had come to watch.  Even the Charlies were cheering Zeus on, and the rest of the gym crowd was cheering on the Marine Major.

“Then you should probably start fighting for real, Sir.”  Zeus said.

Huh?  I didn’t see the Major holding back at all.  Every attempted move or strike seemed intended to disable Zeus completely.

Collins smiled at Zeus.  “I’ll give you the same advice.  You won’t hurt me too badly, and if I land anything on you you’ll have to cycle back through the course because you won’t be able to move for the next few days.  So it’s up to you.  Take me out in the next five moves or you lose your place in the course.  I have nothing to lose.  You have everything to lose.”

The worried look on Zeus’s face when he heard the Marine’s words was quickly replaced by determination.

The crowd had gone silent, most likely thinking the same thing I was thinking - they hadn’t been fighting all out?  They’d just been toying with each other?

And then the blows started, too fast to figure out, each movement, spin, punch, knee, kick, turn, dodge and block became another move, another attack.  Blows were landed but neither of them allowed the full force of the blow to be absorbed.  A turn to the side to avoid a head shot became a return knee to the midsection, which was blocked and became an attempt to grab the knee or waist, which opened up the opponent’s neck and shoulders for a drop elbow.  Kicks were flung, blocked, countered and leveraged for opportunity to seize, twist or make a strike to a joint.

Now both Zeus and the Major were grunting and sweat was pouring.  I looked at my watch, this had gone on for 10 full minutes.

Each of them had been knocked to the mat where the other tried for a submission, but neither could immobilize the other.  Hell, I was sweating just watching this.  It stopped being fun and easy and seemed like they were seriously trying to hurt each other.  I nudged Lamont.  “Should we stop this?”  I whispered to him.

“I think they are both loving the hell out of this, Assmunch.  Let’s just trust them to know where to draw the line.”  He answered.

That was fine for him to say, it wasn’t his soldier at risk.  The last thing I wanted was for Zeus to be cycled because he got hurt sparring.  I’d give it another minute or so.

It didn’t last that long.  Collins began with a series of moves that seemed designed to flow into each other, and elicit specific defensive moves from Zeus.  Zeus did not disappoint, but I got the distinct feeling I was watching a chess match.  I knew a sacrifice was coming up, one designed to create an opening.  Collins was leading Zeus, moving him exactly where he wanted him.  Zeus was doing well, predicting every one of the Major’s moves.  A puzzled look crossed Zeus’s face.  I think he was figuring it out, but I didn’t think it would be in time.  Collins would make his move soon, I could feel it, see his body getting ready.

He was going to let Zeus hit him with everything, leave Zeus an opening he couldn’t refuse, but it would leave Zeus open to some trick or counter that would put an end to him.  Just what the fuck was the Major planning to do?

I almost couldn’t take it.  I’d started out figuring the Major would win, but over the course of the match it looked like Zeus stood a chance.  But now I was tense.  I was back to concluding Zeus would lose but I feared the loss would be something brutal.  Anything less and the Major would fail to submit him.

Suddenly, it was there.  Collins left his right side exposed, daring Zeus to take a shot.  I begged him silently to miss it.  I saw a resigned grin flash on Zeus’s face and he took the shot.  Which allowed the left side of Zeus head to be open.  Collins’ fist was already halfway to Zeus’s face when Zeus’s fist made contact with the Major’s ribs.  I gave the Marine credit, he never flinched.  He was committed to his plan.  A half second after Zeus rocked him in the ribs, he was struck in the jaw by the Major’s knuckles.

Zeus went down like a demolished building.

Dang, that was amazing. The chapter was a book too. 😛

[TwinkChaserSlut]

On 11/13/2022 at 8:48 AM, Assmunch said:

LAMONT

 

Private Nathan Lamont knew he had to be careful, but he had a plan.  He was overjoyed when the Charlies were given a four day pass after their Airborne graduation with the big city of Atlanta, Georgia so close by.  He’d checked with everyone to see what their plans were and wasn’t surprised when everyone else decided to stay local to party and relax.  He could get a hotel in Atlanta in Midtown and no one he knew would be around that he had to avoid.  He would stay in the Cheshire Motor Inn, a place with a particularly seedy reputation within walking distance of the new bar The Heretic.  He also wanted to hit the Atlanta Eagle, another bar that catered to the Leather scene.  Two of those places were on the restricted list the Army maintained to keep soldiers away from unsavory and illegal activities.

Lamont was well informed about how to avoid notice and it was never any problem to keep under the radar.  His dick remained hard from the moment he decided on his plan, but he had no outlet for his sexual frustration at the moment.  His usual go-to, Valentino, had been avoiding him ever since the first week at Airborne and he’d come to the conclusion that the pretty, agreeable, and energetic blonde soldier found another dick to fuck his amazing ass.  That was a shame, because Valentino was a fun fuck, simultaneously submissive and eager.  Even so, Valentino was strictly a bottom, and Lamont had his cum-filled balls set on getting fucked as much as he did the fucking.  His opportunities for sex were rare and he had to get as much as he could in the next three days.

Lamont easily found the bulletin board at Benning on which rides were posted that were available to Atlanta, both official and personal and he selected one at random.  A Corporal Etlinger wanted $20 in gas money, which was a little expensive, but the ride met Lamont’s other requirements.   He didn’t want an official ride that would put him in Atlanta, and a Corporal was low enough rank that a Private from a different unit riding with him wouldn’t raise eyebrows.  And hopefully the Corporal wouldn’t have a lot of questions about his intentions even though he had a story prepared about visiting a friend who had moved there.  His last task was to check his kit, gear, and equipment into the storage depot on post where soldiers could drop off their stuff when they went TDY or to a special course elsewhere that didn’t require them to have their gear.  He was only going to bring his small backpack with a couple changes of civilian clothes.

Corporal Etlinger’s glittery metallic brown Mustang with white pinstriping down the side pulled up to the curb two minutes before 1400 hrs.  Lamont saw an arm wearing a blue plaid flannel shirt reach out to the passenger door to open it.  “You Lamont?” The voice called out.

“Yeah, that’s me.”  Lamont answered, stepping towards the open passenger door.

“Get in, let’s get on the road.”  Etlinger said.

Lamont pushed his backpack behind the passenger seat into the back.  “Bucket seats?  Nice!”  He commented.  “Bitchin ride, dude.” He said as he climbed in.

“Thanks.  Only reason I signed up for this bullshit.”  Etlinger responded.  “Don’t slam the door.”

Lamont had lucked out.  Etlinger was a fucking fox.  His loose fit, straight leg Levis looked new, and under his open front plaid flannel button down, a crew neck black tee shirt hugged his somewhat muscular chest before tucking into his jeans.   He had a heavy gold chain encircling his neck.  Etlinger’s brown hair and brown eyes gazed at him with intensity.  Handsome, but not pretty and just rough enough around the edges to look like good blue collar stock, the look was enhanced by the five o’clock shadow on Etlinger’s jaw.

Hmmm.  Now that he was inside the Mustang, Etlinger’s five o’clock shadow looked clipped, edged and cultivated rather than natural, which was a turn off.  Lamont didn’t like it when guys tried too hard to look good, or affected stuff he considered decoration like some loud and flashy bird doing a mating dance.  He did have great teeth and a nice body, but his eyebrows looked sculpted and shaped.  Lamont revised his earlier assessment, Etlinger obviously thought of himself as some kind of player, some hot shit asshole.  The gold chain, eyebrows, stubble, glowing white Nike high tops with the laces loose rather than tied, the tongue pulled forward - fucking Ugh.  The only thing missing was a cut in the eyebrow to mimic a scar, and some line patterns etched into the buzzed hair just above his ear like Vanilla Ice.  Lamont imagined the only reason he didn’t see any of that was grooming regs wouldn’t allow it.  He wondered what Etlinger did in the Army, he seemed to have way too much time to focus on how he looked, plus a shit corporal getting a Friday afternoon off?

“Seatbelt.  I don’t need any MP bullshit.”  Etlinger ordered.  “Where’s the $20?”  Probably some admin job, command staff, his CO away for the week for one reason or another, his Sergeant or LT taking the opportunity for a short day, long weekend for themselves.

Lamont scrambled to grab the belt and secure it.  That was another thing, Etlinger was talking to him like he was irritated, ordering him rather than asking.  And fucking Corporals didn’t get to order fucking Privates to do fucking anything.  They could, sure…if they wanted to get a reputation as a dick, but it was unlikely that the Private wasn’t going to call their bullshit.  But Lamont was just here for a ride so he pulled out his wallet and fished a twenty out and handed it to Etlinger.  That’s fine, it was just a couple hours or so.  They didn’t have to talk.  Lamont looked out the passenger window.  He didn’t miss that Etlinger hadn’t said ‘thanks’ when he handed him the money.  His opinion of the Corporal fell even further.

The drive to I-85 went by fast, neither of them saying anything.  Even if Lamont wanted to say something, the unrecognizable hip hop group blasting through the stereo speakers made it impossible, with the thump of a subwoofer (probably in the trunk) buffeting his body.  He couldn’t even decipher the words or what the song was about.  Lamont wondered how much Etlinger spent on all this image bullshit.  Probably everything he made.  Well, they didn’t have to be friends.

Lamont relaxed his attitude.  Who cared anyway?  He realized he was being bitchy because Etlinger disappointed him after his initial assessment and went from fox to fuckwad.  The Army was full of Etlingers.  Young idiots with the first real steady money they’d ever had and poor financial choices quickly followed. He laid his head back and closed his eyes.  It had been an early morning.

He didn’t really sleep, just dozed.  He was in an unfamiliar car, with someone he didn’t know (and didn’t much like) which meant his training wouldn’t let his brain let go of all awareness.  Infantry never rests unless your brothers are around you to take watch and let you collapse unconscious for a couple hours of good sleep.  Worst way to fall asleep, and the best sleep you get.  Nothing better than your lights just going out and you remember nothing until you get shaken awake two hours later.  So yeah, he wasn’t sleeping but he didn’t need to.  Another thing you learned out on patrol was how to close your eyes and rest your body and brain without actually falling asleep.  It could bring you back to almost human when you were too exhausted to even move.

He felt the car slow and opened his eyes.  They were coming to a traffic light, on a street crowded with buildings.  Probably downtown Atlanta.

He reached over and turned down the radio a bit, receiving a dirty look from Etlinger.  “Hey, any chance you can drop me off near my hotel?  It’s off of Cheshire Bridge Rd, near Piedmont.”

“Sure, give me a roadie and I’ll drop you off.” Etlinger replied with a smirk.

“Seriously man?”  Lamont said with a scowl.  “I’m not sucking your dick, dude.”  Rule Number One:  No military.  Well, except for Valentino, but Lamont knew Valentino wasn’t going to say anything.  This guy?  Absofuckinglutelynot.  It wouldn’t be the first time he had to walk a few miles.  Hell, walking an actual sidewalk was a luxury compared to rucking over terrain.  Just the thought of getting near this fake-ass poser’s dick made his stomach turn.  Lamont was proud to be a slut, but he was a slut with standards.  “Let me out here.”  He said.

“It was a joke man.”  Etlinger complained in sullen accusation, as if it was Lamont who crossed the line.

He reached behind the seat and pulled up his backpack, then leveled Hip Hop White Boy with a look that promised violence.  He could take this asshole apart with one hand without breaking a sweat.  “Pull over, fuckface.  I’m not asking.”  Lamont’s patience was gone.

“Okay, man.  Relax.”  Funny, Etlinger’s entire tone and demeanor changed completely.  His cockiness was non-existent, his face no longer held that cultivated jutting jaw, one eyebrow raised, no fake snarl on his lips.  He literally deflated.  Now Lamont could see the actual person Etlinger was, and he looked sad and pathetic.  Without his image act, the corporal was not impressive at all, just some poor kid (hah!  Etlinger had to be three or four years older than Lamont, but Lamont couldn’t help seeing a kid).  All veneer, no substance.  What the hell was happening to the Army?

Lamont also felt a little shook with the realization that people older than him, with more rank, weren’t necessarily better people with their shit together.  He shouldn’t be surprised by now.  The worst was realizing that about a superior officer in your chain of command.  When that happened, it really stung because without competent leadership you were surely dead, and you began doubting your training, which in turn undermined your confidence in your missions and objectives.  And those were the BIG 3 in Infantry:  Training, Mission, and Objectives.

Etlinger pulled into a parking lot, some fast food place called The Varsity.  He’d eaten before leaving the base, so he wasn’t hungry.  As soon as the Mustang stopped, he popped the lock and opened the door to climb out.

“Look, dog…” Etlinger started.

Lamont just about threw up in his mouth.  Dog?  Was that some kind of insult?  He ignored the idiot.  He made sure to slam the door before walking away.

Back at Benning Lamont had studied a map of Atlanta, and the area he was going to be staying in, so he knew roughly where he needed to be.  All he had to do was figure out where he was currently.  He walked to the nearest intersection, which was not far.  He was on North Avenue and the Interstate wasn’t far away, about a block or two.  So, he was Southwest of his target location.  He started walking.

He reached the Cheshire Motor Inn at 1830 hrs just as it was getting dark.  The walk was pleasant.  Neighborhoods, a huge park, strip malls, offices, historic homes, just like any other American city.  He checked in using his fake I.D.  He was 22 year old Abel Calloway, from Fort Wayne, Indiana.  His fake was professionally done, and had cost him $1100 but it was money well spent as he got a birth certificate, a social security card, and a driver’s license, all valid.  Abel Calloway was real, or at least he would have been if he had lived past the age of 8.

The Cheshire Motor Inn was a relic of the 1950’s, it had a couple two story buildings side by side, then one single story row across the parking lot.  Your room opened out onto the parking lot, a single big window beside the door.

But Lamont didn’t care about any of that.  What he did care about was that the Motel was cruisy.  And close to the bars and other places he wanted to hit.

As he was walking to his room, he noticed a man in his late 20’s or early 30’s unloading a suitcase from his Chrysler LeBaron.  The suit and tie, the LeBaron, the Motel, a worn suitcase… salesman most likely, saving money by getting a cheap Motel room.  The man caught Lamont staring and nodded in greeting.  Lamont nodded back.  Not bad.  Not the best looking guy, but hey, dick was dick, and he wasn’t gross or ugly, just out of shape.  Besides, the gold wedding ring on his left hand made him a desirable target all by itself.  Lamont didn’t necessarily have a thing for married guys, it was that they were clean and safe for the most part.  Married guys were just as worried about catching something and bringing it back to their wives as Lamont was.  Plus, married guys were primarily straight guys who just needed a little relief, or to get their freak on once in a while.  Whether they were suppressing actual homosexual feelings was something Lamont didn’t think about too much.  It didn’t matter why, what mattered was there was an awful lot of otherwise straight married men out there who didn’t mind getting off with another guy.  But there were two other things Lamont appreciated about married guys - first, they almost always topped or wanted a blowjob and rarely reciprocated, and second, they were usually older guys.  He guessed it took some time for your marriage to become boring enough to find some way to get that thrill again that wasn’t happening with your wife.

The salesman was a possibility, but later.  First order of business, get a shower, make sure he was cleaned out, then something light to eat.  A restaurant called The Collonade was nearby, but it looked expensive.  Real restaurants where you sat down and a waiter brought your food were all too expensive for his Private’s pay.  On his way to the motel just up the block he had walked past a mom and pop Italian place he’d try instead.  He could probably have dinner for ten bucks.

After eating, he popped a couple breath mints before walking inside the adult novelty shop across the street.  He needed lube.  It was a shame he’d have to throw out whatever he didn’t use, for one practical reason and one personal reason:  Carrying an unsecured liquid in your gear was a recipe for disaster.  You may as well just take the top off and pour it all over your stuff yourself.  And second - he sure as hell didn’t want anyone seeing him with lube.  All sorts of questions would come up.  The whole idea of lube was still a new phenomenon for the average normal American.  Deviants and perverts were the ones who found it necessary to use assistance for sex, like toys and lube.  It was getting more common, but still one of those ‘better not anyone know’ type of things.

While trying to decide on which brand to buy, he notice a sign behind the register that said ‘$5 minimum purchase for tokens’ and asked the clerk what the tokens were for.

“Video booths behind that door over there.”  The clerk indicated a door off to the side of the shop.

Lamont perked up at hearing that.  “I’ll take $5, thanks.  And the WET with the blue top, small bottle.”  He preferred Wet, just seemed a little more slippery and long lasting.  There were other lubes that just became sticky or dried out in the air.  Once his purchased was made, he went to the door.

It took his eyes about ten seconds to adjust fully from the glaring fluorescent lights out in the store to the darkness of the area behind the door.  A dark, seedy Candyland awaited.

The place was moderately busy, with about sixteen or so booths arranged in a small maze.  There were some guys leaning against the wall near the entry door, but Lamont could see more bodies wandering around further back.  The sound of porn could be heard from somewhere nearby.

He decided to just walk the place first, get an idea of the layout, as well as check out the clientele before he made any decisions.  He felt the eyes of the three guys near the entrance checking him out, and he gave a mental smile but ignored them.  He wouldn’t have to chase anyone down, not in here.

The entire place was painted black, with the only light being an ‘EXIT’ sign and small lights above the booth doors indicating if one was ‘In Use’, as well as the ambient glow on the ceiling from the tvs playing porn in the booths.  Just enough to see someone’s basic features.  The hallways were small, making it difficult to pass by another person without touching.  The smell was familiar, and his body had a now automatic response of surging heartbeat, increased blood pressure, shallow breathing and an instantly hard dick.  It was the smell of sex, exclusively male sex, an underlying scent of men, and cum mixed with basic antiseptic Lysol.

Every single Adult Theater or place where multitudes of men had sex smelled exactly like this, and the scent became associated with sexual thrill, orgasm, the hunt, hard cock, grunts of pleasure, hunger, thrusting anonymously with strangers, complete abandon and fifteen other now automatic reflex thoughts and feelings.  Smell was one of the most powerful human senses in terms of automatic nervous system response.  Smell was what warned you a predator was near, spiking your adrenaline immediately.  The smell of food spurring hunger.  Rot or death indicating possible danger, disease, revulsion.  Perfume or cologne signaling seduction and your guard relaxed.  Every single smell in the entire world forced your body to react before your mind even translated what the smell meant.  Before you knew what the world was, as a newborn infant, the smell of your mother instilled comfort and safety.  Smell could trump rational observation.

It was why they were taught very early on that deodorant and cologne weren’t used when you were on mission, on patrol, or out in the field.  The enemy could catch the scent on the wind, and a smart enemy could determine your location.  Simple human sweat could be anyone, including a fellow enemy or soldier, but created scents were very specific.  You still didn’t want to get too ripe though, but dirt, sand, some leafy plant with a strong odor usually took care of the worst ripeness.  Part of their field training included using scent to recon and track.  Smoke from a fire, oil and metal from heavy machinery, a cigarette, food cooking.  They were taught that cigarette smoking was forbidden in most situations for that very reason, and that frequent smokers had a deadened sense of smell that couldn’t pick up subtle clues that others could and that the smell of a burning cigarette traveled a very long distance.

As with the guys by the entry door, Lamont felt the eyes rake over him in the dark and the focused attention sent a single message:  fresh meat.  He’d have to be careful.  The pushy ones sometimes made it difficult for others to approach him.  A slut with standards chose the daily special, rather than being chosen by them.  Sometimes Lamont was direct, when he wanted to fuck.  Being assertive and dominant sent a clear message who was taking care of who.  Which mean the opposite behavior signaled a willingness to get fucked or suck some dick.

It was always better to draw the nervous ones in with a little shyness, but repeated looks that darted away when you were caught looking indicated interest, and promoted increased assertiveness by your target.  Sometimes Lamont wanted eager, desperate and hungry.  But today he wanted reluctant, nervous, doubtful.  He wanted the ones who were picky, and he knew he could get them.  There were always two or three in places like this.  Guys who hated the necessity of having to resort to anonymous sex, who hadn’t yet reconciled the feelings they got from trashy anonymous sex with the regretful thoughts of self recrimination they had for not liking vanilla sex as much.  Lamont knew he could inspire desire, just by being young and in incredible shape, for men like those.  His youth, at 20 years old, indicated he was relatively pristine, they’d read it as inexperienced, and if there was anything that type wanted it was a fresh, young, clean body.

He’d learned sex club etiquette not long after he turned 18, but there were additional rules in Adult arcades and theaters.  A direct look before entering a booth said ‘follow me in, or take the next booth for gloryhole action.’  Once in a booth, if you hadn’t checked out the person in the adjoining booth first, a quick glance through the hole would tell you the level of interest, whether you were interested yourself, and what type of action they might be looking for.  Stroking your hard dick indicated you wanted your dick sucked or to fuck.  Just being in a booth with a gloryhole indicated you wanted to be watched at least, and were potentially looking for action.  If you wanted to provoke, all you had to do was choose a movie and start rubbing your cock through your pants.

There actually were booths that were completely private if you were just there to watch Schoolgirl Vixen III take it up the ass while you beat your sad, neglected meat in a place that would get you excommunicated from your church if they knew you couldn’t even bring yourself to ejaculate on the floor and instead held a wad of paper towels you’d hastily grabbed from the bathroom to hide your shameful orgasm.  After all, Jesus might watch you jack off, but flaunting your pleasure weakness by spraying your seed everywhere was stepping over the line.  There were plenty of those types that frequented places like this too.  They could be spotted by the avoided eye contact, nervousness and the way they made a beeline towards a booth.

But cruising had it’s own unwritten rules, developed over decades of secret, hidden places that catered to the world of men who didn’t want intimacy or involvement.  Even back when homosexuality was against the law there were places men could go for anonymous sex in which neither party knew who the other was, thereby avoiding exposure.  Masked parties, back rooms, secret clubs, abandoned buildings, infrequently visited locations like parks at night, wharves and piers with cargo creating dark and hidden areas, truck stops and gas station bathrooms.  Lamont figured a man’s sexual needs invariably drove him to find any outlet for his desire, and while a minority percentage of men were devoted to women in general, and eventually to one woman in particular, the vast majority of men just wanted to get off with anything that had a hole.  They’d settle for a women to provide a family, comfort, and taking care of the home.  But for them, it was only a matter of incentive and desperation to determine the degree to which they’d sink to have the primordial thrill of spilling a load of jizz from their balls into just about anyone, whether it be a whore, a mistress, a cocksucker or some random stranger they’d never meet again.

In video arcades, once in a booth, not pulling your dick out, or sitting on the bench or chair meant you were the one looking to service cock.  Or it could mean you were just passing time in a booth, or waiting for just the right guy.  Lamont hated the ones that just sat in a booth without doing anything.  It basically took two booths out of commission.  If all you wanted to do was sit there, get one of the booths without gloryholes.  He’d once thought maybe they just wanted to watch another guy jack off without any interest in actually having physical contact, but fuck…everyone that came to these places wouldn’t just want to have someone watch them jack off, would they?

Up ahead stood someone that immediately drew Lamont’s interest.  The way he was leaning against the wall, affecting a casual boredom and disinterest piqued Lamont’s curiosity.  The low visibility didn’t reveal a lot except the guy’s basic build which was decent enough to be suitable for Lamont’s needs - trim waist, average but developed shoulders, just slightly smaller than Lamont.  As he got closer he saw short, close cropped dark hair and a goatee, along with a very proud nose.  Handsome, maybe blue collar, kind of rough looking.  Somewhere between late 20’s and mid 30’s.   Something about him started Lamont’s cock dripping.  Damn, he had to reel this one in.

He knew the play, the guy’s boredom said Lamont would have to seduce.  Lamont let his eyebrows relax and opened his lips slightly as he passed him, putting out an innocent vibe.  He changed his shoulders from confident to uncertain and meek, he slowed his stride.  When the guy’s eyes met his, Lamont looked down.  Looking down was ‘damn I was caught, I’m scared’.  Looking away was sometimes dismissive and sometimes uninterested, but it always signaled confidence.  Lamont wanted this one to think he was prey, so confidence was the wrong play.  He waited a three count before performing a quick look as he passed.  That was important, the second look.  The second look said ‘I really liked what I saw.’

Lamont turned the corner and stopped.  His heart was beating.  He loved the game, the hunt, the chase, the uncertainty and potential.  Would the guy follow?  Lamont suddenly thought if the guy was following, giving in too easily would make the guy dismiss him.  His intuition was something he could rely on, it had never failed him, and it was finely developed from the time he was 12 and began learning the ropes of seducing his teammates on the swim team, and some of their dads.  But his proudest moment was seducing his coach when he was 16.

Lamont inhaled.  He could smell the scent of someone’s recent orgasm, probably from the booth at his back.  Cum, that heady odor a man exuded as he was driven to shoot his seed, it all floated in the air around him.  He pushed off the wall and walked slowly.  He didn’t look back.  If the guy was following him, it would be better if he thought Lamont didn’t know he was being followed.  Hunters wanted to catch their prey, feel powerful doing it, getting a thrill from an unexpected attack.

Lamont heard steps behind him.  He moved aside to the row of three booths, trying to make himself small.  He was a scared little baby animal, unsure of his environment, seeking safety.

“‘Scuse me” a deep voice came from his left.  Lamont let himself shrink further towards the wall.  He pretended to be startled, flattening himself against the booth door behind him, which gave way and opened.  He shot a shocked look to the man with the voice.  It was his target.  He darted inside and closed the door.

If he was right, the booth next door would open in few seconds.  Lamont reached into his pocket and pulled out a couple tokens to feed them into the machine.  A porn started, some pretty blonde was getting SuperDicked by a black guy wearing a white tee shirt.  She looked so small, his cock was fucking huge, stretching her pussy to the absolute limit.  The scene panned out and there were four other huge black guys surrounding her.  Lamont thought her pigtails were a nice touch, it made her look like she’d just turned 18 if not younger.  Damn, that dude was giving it to her hard, and she was yelping.  Poor little white girl, she was going to get fucked full of so much black cock.  She probably wouldn’t make her Chemistry test tomorrow, so sad.  She was going to get kicked off the cheerleading team!  Lamont kind of hoped this was the kind of video where they fucked her full of cum, leaving her pussy dripping.  But he knew the scene had just started, so he hit the ‘NEXT’ button while he waited for hot goatee guy to commit.

Lamont bent over to look through the gloryholes on either side.  Nothing yet on his left, where he expected goatee guy to come in.  On the right was an even older guy, hard to tell, as all he saw was a decent six inch cock being stroked through the zipper fly of the guy’s jeans.  Definitely straight.  Straight guys loved pulling their cocks through their flys, as if exposing themselves more meant they wanted to do gay stuff.  Still, the wedding ring, heavy watch, hairy arms, and large gut put the guy on Lamont’s list.  Dick was dick, and clean married dick, even just six inches, was dick worth sucking.  Guy probably wouldn’t fuck, Lamont knew the type.  But a nice thick load of mid-life crisis and empty nest dissatisfaction would energize him for his night out later.  Daddies were always so grateful.

He heard the creak of the door to the booth to his left, and the latch click.  He darted a quick look, noting the white tee shirt and Levi jeans matching goatee guy.  Lamont immediately stood up and felt himself through his own jeans.  Fuck, or get fucked?  Goatee guy would decide.  Lamont waited ten seconds, didn’t see the guy’s fingers come through the hole, so he bent over to take a look through the hole.

Fucking Goddamn holy shit!  Goatee guy had his pants pulled down to mid thigh stroking a thick eight incher.  Lamont was done playing games, this was a cock prize, fucking FIRST PRIZE in the cock contest.  But he didn’t lose his cool.  The game was the game, the hunt was the hunt.  Too forward, and the stud would bolt.

He tentatively put his index finger on the rim of the hole, then pulled it back quickly.  Hard to miss if Mr. BlueCollar Goatee was looking, which Lamont knew he was.  Hell, Lamont could hear the lame dialogue of the porn BlueCollar Goatee was watching, and he sure as hell wasn’t watching Mrs. Bigtits tell the Plumber that her washing machine was leaking and all she wanted was to put another load in.

But BlueCollar Goatee was playing the game too.  Lamont watched while his stroking slowed, and he grabbed his balls and dick together, shaking it up and down.  He expected Lamont to be watching, that’s what made Lamont’s heart skip a beat.

Lamont felt his salivary glands release a gush of saliva.  This dude had waited patiently for just the right guy to walk in, wanting someone who would appreciate the beauty of his perfect cock, his big hanging balls.  Well, BlueCollar Goatee had hooked the right fish with his bait because Lamont knew exactly what this guy needed.  And at that moment, Lamont knew if the guy wanted it raw, he would have it.  His intuition was thrumming.  There was a thrilling confidence, almost arrogance to this guy that Lamont loved. This one loved to fuck, loved his own dick and wanted to push it inside someone worthy.  This was a guy who chose who he had sex with carefully, who didn’t just fuck any hole he could get, and Lamont knew he could get any hole he wanted in this place.  He dripped masculinity and aloof confidence.

Lamont knelt down in front of the glory hole and hooked his finger, keeping it there this time.  He put his face close, so the guy knew what he was getting, a mouth, available, waiting and willing.  And he knew which mouth it was, he’d seen Lamont dart inside the booth.  There was only one reason BlueCollar Goatee was doing his dance.  It was a message: show me you want it, because all eight inches wants you.

The guy kept stroking slowly, obviously enjoying the tease.  He squeezed towards the tip, producing a clear drop of pre cum before pointing his dick toward the hole.  Lamont stared watching the thick fluid gather then start to descend, dripping in slow motion.  He did the only thing he could, he opened his mouth and put his tongue out.

BlueCollar stepped closer and wiped the head of his cock across Lamont’s tongue.  Lamont was beyond the game now as his tongue retracted to savor the salty flavor of this magnificent man.  Fuck, his fluid tasted unbelievable. He was lost now, succumbed to the wanting, the desire.  The game was over.  BlueCollar was going to sink his dick into his waiting mouth.  His eyes barely saw through the top of the hole, but the hunger had a hold of him and the tease had him tunneled, everything in his focus was this man’s naked hips, his hairy wild bush, his thick rigid dick and the turgid penis grasped tightly in a masculine fist.  The presence of tiny black hairs on the knuckles of BlueCollar’s hand sent Lamont into a spiral of lust.  This was a man, a tough fucker who knew the value of what he held.  He considered his cock as a trophy to be acquired, something for a winner, an achiever.

Lamont knew that every cock he lusted after was on this pedestal, and BlueCollar loved the game, the hunt, just like he did, which only heightened Lamont’s lust.  This was a competitor, and the challenge demanded he make the interaction as competitive as he could.  So Lamont did the unexpected.

He stood up and pushed his own impressive dick through the hole…because BlueCollar was being a tease, and this was the moment that would determine how their meeting happened.  If BlueCollar was going to hold back, Lamont would press.  Oh, he understood the value, the allure, the seduction of holding back, but it was time to engage, to breach… either BlueCollar wanted direct engagement or he wanted more.   Lamont had decided a dick was penetrating one person or the other.  And a young 20 year old iron-hard 7 inch curved cock would force BlueCollar Goatee to decide what he wanted more… hot young innocent mouth or hard dick.  Lamont was ready for either but his preference was to be the one taking BlueCollar’s cock.

He felt a hand stroke his cock, a good sign.  BlueCollar wasn’t afraid to touch a dick.  The stroking was… amateurish… perfunctory.  Definitely a ‘not interested in that but still willing to play’ message.  Lamont withdrew to find BlueCollar pushing his cock in almost right beside his.

Fuck, here it was.  Lamont dropped into a squat, pushing his mouth onto the hard dripping cock in front of him.  He swallowed it half way, not wanting to send the message that he was experienced…yet.  He let out a deliberate choke, gagging.

“Fuck, you better suck that dick, boy.  That’s what you wanted.” He heard BlueCollar say from the other side of the wall,.

Lamont did another dive, as if he was eager to please, and choked again.

“Yeah, choke on that cock. Go deeper, faggot.”

Fuck…Lamont had hit the jackpot.  A dominant, abusive straight dude in denial.  Right off the bat he hooked a dude who was just waiting for some faggot hole to force his dick into.  If there was any God looking out for him, this BlueCollar Goatee would fuck his raw dick violently up his ass as deep as he could force it and spew a healthy load of baby batter guts deep into Lamont’s willing and receptive fuckhole.  In the age of AIDS, a raw fuck and ropes of straight cum were rare commodities.  It almost never happened.  Lamont’s intuition told him this was a guy who was either between girlfriends, or had decided fags would take his cum when women demanded a condom.  The sexual world for straights had changed just as drastically after the mid 80’s when they figured out AIDS wasn’t  just a gay disease.  Now everyone was scared.  Everyone was putting on condoms.  Fucking dental dams were being used just for cunnilingus.   Porn was changing, cumshots were never internal or near an opening.  AIDS had changed everything.

The throat slime was all over Lamont’s chin, and he had to back off the huge cock to take a breath.   He looked over his shoulder and saw that six inch cock shoved through the hole.  Guess that guy was watching the action after all.  That was the benefit of being the middle booth in the glory hold triplet.

What the fuck, why not.  He stood up and went to suck old dude’s dick, bending over.  BlueCollar could wait.  He was hooked.  Might be good for him to sit in frustration.

Lamont didn’t play any games with six incher…he swallowed that whole, all the way down.  It wasn’t too thick or unmanageable.  Nice size.  A mouthful.  He knew his ass was facing BlueCollar’s gloryhole, deliberately.  BlueCollar would have to make a decision.  His cocksucker was otherwise occupied…what would he do?  Oh, how unfortunate, there was only the untouched butthole of a 20 year old inexperienced youngster right here … what should I do?

BlueCollar did what every hormone laden hardon encumbered male would do.  He spit on his cock and pushed.  Lamont was penetrated at both ends, the booth perfectly dimensioned for him to press his ass to the hole behind him and at his head.  Fuck yeah.

He had a moment of pure bliss.  Cocks at both ends, and his favorite one in his ass, another in his mouth.  If they came at the same time, in his holes, he’d cum without touching himself.

He knew BlueCollar didn’t put on a condom, which frightened him and thrilled him at the same time.  Fuck, what was he doing?  The guy was a stranger.  He couldn’t stop himself, even so.  He knew if BlueCollar wanted to fuck his jizz deep in his ass he wouldn’t stop.  He wanted that guy’s cum, he wanted it deep up his ass.

Fuck, old guy in his mouth was welcome to shoot too.  Old married guys who were gut-laden, wife and three kids, cock through his fly…he got relief maybe a couple times a year if he was lucky.  Lamont would gladly swallow every swimmer the guy pumped out.

BlueCollar was pumping head to balls when the older guy unloaded with a series of grunts into Lamonts mouth.  It was sweet and thick, every successive volley heavier and more voluminous until Lamont’s mouth was filled with cum.  Damn, the guy must have been saving that up for a while.  Spit or swallow?

Reason prevailed, and Lamont spit the wad of jizz out onto the floor.  The fantasy was fine to entertain, actually sucking down a stranger’s load was something else entirely.  As disappointing as it was, Lamont had to be careful.  But the thick thrusting cock stretching his asshole was sending him into a state of abandon.  It had been too long since he’d felt a raw dick up his ass.  8 months to be exact.  He knew he was playing with fire and the danger element contributed to his heady, heightened arousal.

BlueCollar was bouncing against the plywood wall of the booth, thrusting hard, not caring about the damage he might be doing to the young pliant hole on the other side.  Fuck, BlueCollar was so deep.  Lamont kept still, pressing his ass back against the hole, mentally willing the man to lose control and shoot.  He could hit the bathroom after and expel the man’s seed, he told himself.  That would reduce the risk, right?  Yeah, that would be fine, no different than spitting a load out from his mouth.

Lamont had always loved that place in between, the thrilling indecision where what your mind wanted disagreed with what your conscience told you should be done.  It was the choice, the potential for complete satisfaction that remained just out of reach.  It was leaving the decision to the very last minute, would BlueCollar pull out or would he seek to force his cum deep inside Lamont?  Would Lamont even know the moment it was happening or would BlueCollar ejaculate silently without providing a clue?  Had the man already cum and was he just fucking his deposited load into a frothy foam now?

Lamont realized then that he didn’t care.  The man was sexy, hot, virile and being inseminated by him was what Lamont craved.  Fuck, he couldn’t help it, he couldn’t resist his basic nature.  The game he played with himself was the most fun, how he told himself he wouldn’t be a complete whore when the real him understood he had no true control and that he would always take the risk.  No, he’d say, not this time.  This time I’ll be careful, I won’t do what I did before.  But then he’d do it anyway because caution, safety, protection were just not ultimately satisfying.

Most of the time in this day and age, the top made the decision for him, putting on a rubber before fucking, which did sooth Lamont and he did honestly love the rest of the sex, the kissing, the sweaty bodies, the grunting and feeling of a full, stretched ass, of being dominated and submitting himself to a man.  All of that was wonderful and satisfying.  Very few interactions resulted in what Lamont would term ‘bad sex’.  However, raw, risky dangerous sex was in a whole different universe, whether it be a risky public location that could result in being caught, a person who was supposed to be untouchable because of their position like his swim coach, or having unsafe sex without a condom.

Sometimes he thought there must be something wrong with him that he loved it as much as he did.  Why couldn’t he like plain, straightforward vanilla sex as much as he loved the other kind?  Why was something illicit and forbidden such a thrill?

But those were questions for him to ponder AFTER he committed the act, not while the most incredible dick he’d had in a long time was fucking him so good he didn’t even care that another dick had come through the hole in front of his face.  Not a bad dick, but he hadn’t had the opportunity to see the guy attached so he wasn’t going to touch it.  He was a slut with standards, and the new dick didn’t meet his standards.

Lamont raised his left leg to put it on the bench in the booth, giving his ass a better spread and allowing him to feel BlueCollar’s awesome cock in a different way.  Fuuuuuuccck, the dude knew how to use that cock, deep long strokes that alternated between brutal and deep, to slow and shallow thrusts.  He’d been at it for more than five minutes and Lamont knew the guy was holding off, determined to enjoy the young 20 year old hole as long as he could.  Quality recognized quality, and BlueCollar probably understood something like this young hole didn’t come along but rarely.

BlueCollar paused in his thrusts, and Lamont knew the moment was near, he was trying to keep from shooting.  This was the moment, the time for a decision.  He could pull off, let BlueCollar shoot all over his ass, feel the warm, sticky liquid spurt over the sensitive skin and drip down.

He knew he’d already made his decision the moment he saw the guy’s cock through the hole, he wouldn’t pull off.  Besides, he told himself, untold amounts of precum had already been fucked deep inside him, who knew how much was already pooled in his guts, so what was the harm in more?  A simple rationalization that he might regret later, but regret had no place in the present.  Regret was a future thought that considered the past, always, restricted by its own rules of operation.

Now that the choice was reconciled, Lamont’s bloodstream was flooded with all the adrenaline, serotonin and endorphins his nervous system needed to send his head into a maelstrom of sexual pleasure that rivaled an orgasm.  Lamonts balls were fully retracted, his dick as hard as he’d ever felt it, dripping with its own surging young pre-cum.

He started moving his ass up and down on the dick, fucking himself back onto the shaft.  BlueCollar began shoving even more violently and they met in a perfect rhythm of synchronized lust.  BlueCollar had made his own decision, just as Lamont had done on numerous similar occasions, the decision to inject his hot load inside the hole beneath him regardless of consequences.  It was the ultimate feeling of sexual release when a top and a bottom agreed on how it all would end, when they merged as a single rutting beast with one goal: FUCK to IMPREGNATE.

Lamont let out an involuntary moan, he wanted it so bad that he’d lost all sense of his surroundings.  His brain was fully focused on the cock in his ass, the vision of this rough, sexy man’s muscular ass propelling his thick hairy cock into Lamont’s willing asshole, pounding against the booth walls and sending the unmistakable sounds of violent sexual release out into the rest of the arcade which were more apparent now that both of their video tokens had run out of time.

In an instant, Lamont felt the wall behind him shake, the cock inside him stop and spasm, the motions of the man behind the wall became erratic, breaking the rhythm.  Lamont closed his eyes and pressed fully against the wall.  He was being inseminated, milky white sperm shooting out deep inside his guts in ever increasing jerks of the hyper masculine fuckpole so beautifully designed by genetics and nature to commit this very act inside a warm bodily cavity.

Lamont never felt so rewarded or complete as when his hole achieved this purpose of bringing another man to orgasm, as if he’d fulfilled his purpose, that he’d done everything right and giving release to a man filled an emptiness inside him.  When he bottomed it was almost completely about allowing the man to use him fully, he almost didn’t even care about his own dick, or shooting his own load.  He knew how it felt to cum inside another man’s ass, to fill them with his seed, to give them that potent genetic fluid meant to pass along a part of himself to a worthy partner.  It was as if a part of him would then live inside them for the rest of their lives. It was a form of procreation, inseminating another, and it didn’t matter if it resulted in pregnancy.  Some form of his genetic material would fertilize the membranes it found.  Sperm had an infallible directive - wriggle inside and disintegrate to disperse your payload for absorption.

It was this that he wanted from certain men, from specific cocks.  He wanted part of their attractive masculinity to be implanted in him, just as he wanted his to mix with specific other men.  And he knew he would feel all the best attributes of BlueCollar merge with him making him a stronger, more capable man.

BlueCollar had slowed his thrusts, almost completely stopping in motion, before pulling his cock out of Lamont’s ass.  Lamont hurriedly turned and looked through the hole.  He wanted one last look.  Fuck, that was a beautiful cock, something about the dark hairy busy framed its now shiny length perfectly.  BlueCollar was in the process of using a papertowel to wipe it clean before pulling up his boxers and jeans quickly.  He seemed in a rush, a feeling Lamont knew all too well.  The act was completed, it was necessary but now that it was finished the urge to leave trumped everything else.

A quick check of the hands on each of BlueCollar’s pockets, probably to assure himself that nothing had fallen out, like his keys, money, or wallet, before he unlatched the door and left.  Lamont liked his style.  No thank you, no words exchanged, no final look.  In fact, every action indicated that Lamont no longer existed.  That comforted him, another indication that BlueCollar had resorted to this for one purpose, to get off and nothing more.  Lamont searched himself for any sign of disappointment, regret or fault for what he’d done, and found nothing except the desire to allow that man to do the same thing again.  He ran a couple fingers over his freshly fucked hole and played with the sticky reminder of his conquest.  Fuck, if he didn’t have another dick his entire weekend he’d still be satisfied.  A fuck like he’d just taken was going to make it difficult to enjoy any other men for weeks, he knew.

He realized he was done here.  He had no desire to troll around to find what was likely to be disappointing after that, but he’d keep the rest of the tokens because he also realized he’d probably return here at some point over the next couple days.  He also needed to get a couple hours sleep before going out tonight.  The hunt at a gay bar was a different kind of game involving flirting, tease, projecting a persona to bait interest.  Along with that came the ability to completely relax among others of his kind without looking over his shoulder at who might be watching.

Lamont imagined the disappointment in the men positioned along the halls of the arcade as he walked out the exit.

"He ran a couple fingers over his freshly fucked hole and played with the sticky reminder of his conquest.  Fuck, if he didn’t have another dick his entire weekend he’d still be satisfied."

 

I so relate!

[Assmunch]

23 hours ago, laguyinhou said:

Fucking sweet! 

Thanks man!  

[Assmunch]

12 hours ago, TwinkChaserSlut said:

Dang, that was amazing. The chapter was a book too. 😛

LOL. Yeah, my chapters tend to run long, but I’m glad you like it!

[blackrobe]

22 minutes ago, Assmunch said:

LOL. Yeah, my chapters tend to run long, but I’m glad you like it!

Funny, I never feel like any chapter or this story is long enough...  I think that's a good sign.

[Assmunch]

10 hours ago, blackrobe said:

Funny, I never feel like any chapter or this story is long enough...  I think that's a good sign.

Absolutely!  We absolutely don’t want boring.  LOL

[TwinkChaserSlut]

On 12/17/2021 at 5:44 PM, Assmunch said:

It had been a hard week. Our platoon was out in the field on training maneuvers. We arrived back at the barracks tired, muddy, and chilled to the bone.  We figured out two days in that Sarge, being the asshole he is, didn’t tell us we’d be camping out and in the open the entire week so he could teach us a ‘readiness’ lesson.  It was November for fuck’s sake.  We had no gear, no cover, no vest, just boots, fatigues and weapons.  Two of those things were what Sarge called ‘the only things a soldier needs’.  Boots and weapons.  A soldier fights naked if he has to.  Readiness was the army code word for surprise.  And in the army, there are never any good surprises.  The cold soaking rain certainly wasn’t, and I just knew Sarge had scouted the weather ahead of time.  Ironically, the mud we crawled through, slogged through, choked on and wore actually provided a slight extra insulation.  Even if we could have showered we probably wouldn’t have, aside from the rain which did little to make us feel clean.  You reach a point where the pain and dirt just feels normal.  Still, it was rough.  But if you didn’t like roughing it in the Army, you should have joined the Air Force.  Those words of wisdom from Sarge were our mantra.  He seemed to get intense satisfaction from driving us past our limits.  Asshole.  But he was OUR asshole and we considered him one of our brothers.  Our older, dickwad asshole brother, but still a brother.

 

We all trudged into the barracks looking forward to shucking our muddy battle dress, getting a hot shower, and having a weekend of partying and rest.  Addison, whose nickname was Sleeper, was already peeling off his uniform before he even took two steps inside the door.  I had to chuckle, our training was that ingrained.  In the barracks, dress code was relaxed.  You could walk around naked if you wanted, which many of the guys did during down time.  You didn’t do it during duty hours, but only because of Sarge’s ‘readiness’ drills.  Sucks to be you if you were the last one to fall in.  Sucks to be you if you fall in with one hair out of place.  But one step outside the barracks door was the Army’s world, and Sarge looked for any excuse, any infraction to heap a shitload of abuse and punishment on the slacker.  And sometimes we ALL paid a price.   But cross that threshold and Sleeper rarely waited to get butt as naked.

 

Sleeper was naked before the last guy got through the door.  Of course.  Sleeper wasn’t shy.  He flaunted his athletic, beefy magnificence.  We gave him the nickname because he had been a wrestler in high school, all state in the 190 lb weight class.  He was used to locker rooms, group showers, hanging out naked with the guys.  At 6’1” he was obviously a beast in high school, and a year in the Army had packed on 30 more pounds of muscle.  6’1”, 220 just sat well on him, with his ridiculous casual masculine swagger.  When we first thought up the name, it was because Holler, whose real name was Foger, thought Sleeper was talking about t.v. wrestling and asked him if he knew how to do the Sleeper hold.  Hell, most of us thought it was a good question, but Sleeper scowled and educated us about freestyle competition wrestling and what you could and couldn’t do.  Some of the stuff they did when the ref couldn’t see was downright brutal.  Fingers in the asshole, gripping nuts, grinding your junk into their face, stuff like that.  He said the refs tended to ignore that stuff as long as it was during the execution of a move.  But deliberately cutting off your opponent’s air and blood supply was unsportsmanlike and unnecessary roughness, two fouls that could get you a point penalty at least, and disqualified at worst.  But the name Sleeper stuck, and he gradually accepted that you don’t get to choose your nickname, and his was mild compared to some of the others.  Even Holler was a rather tame nickname, we just couldn’t come up with anything really clever for that backwoods redneck.  Every word he spoke had a slurred country drawl so thick it needed a translation.  It was so bad that Puta, our New York Puerto Rican brother asked ‘Ay Puta, were ya born in a holler down in kintuckee?’ Fuck, he tried to mimic Holler’s southern accent, but it was nowhere near and the rest of us about cried we laughed so hard.  Holler glared at Puta, but we all knew nothing was going to happen.  Holler was about 140 lbs soaking wet, a scrawny, gangly little shit.  Puta would break him like a twig.  Puta called everyone Puta unless he was being serious.  That’s how he got his nickname.  We told him we’d stop calling him that when he stopped calling everyone that.  He just said ‘Ay, fuck you puta.’  Just a bunch of guys going around calling each other ‘whore’ in Spanish.  Gotta love the Army.

 

Enough about that, you’ll learn the other brother’s names later.  Where was I?  Oh yeah, Sleeper’s big round marble white ass rumbling towards the showers, two globes of perfect muscle stacked on tree trunk thighs that flared out beyond his narrow hips.  It looked like snow on hills, he was so white.  Still, he wasn’t the biggest brother, nor the most built.  That honor belonged to Zeus.  Holy shit, Zeus was just blessed by the Gods.  No one bothered Zeus.  Not that Zeus was mean, or angry, or frightening.  Zeus was a clam, silent giant.  Even when he looked at us individually, it never seemed to be a judgement.  He was difficult to figure out.  Sometimes, rarely, he smiled at a joke someone made.  If you got that smile from him, that rare emotional response, you felt like you won some big prize.  He just had….something.  Something the rest of us wished we could learn.  But we settled with just basking in its effects when Zeus deigned to interact with us poor mortals.

 

“Which one of you grunts messed up my beautiful barracks with your fucking filth!?!” came the roar from behind us.  At this point we were all, except Zeus, at least half undressed.  Zeus hadn’t made a single move to get undressed.  “Fall in!”

 

Fuck!  Sarge knew there was no way we could NOT muck up the place.  Hell, half of us, like Sleeper, undressed just a couple steps inside, so we WOULDN’T create a mess we’d just have to clean up.  32 filthy guys in limited square feet peeling off shoes, socks, uniforms, underwear, no one cared what body part pressed up against who.  All asses and armpits, as Sarge says.

 

We scrambled immediately into formation.  Footlong (we WANTED to call him horsedick but better sense prevailed) wasn’t even half out of his pants and he had to waddle into line and just leave them around his knees, his wet boxer briefs suctioned to his namesake down his right leg.  His absurd double doorknob sized balls hung down the other leg, almost hanging as low as his cock.  He said he had to divide them up like that or it was just too much meat in one place.

 

Sarge’s green eyes gazed at the floor, sweeping in lazy arcs, an angry frown deepening with every smear of mud he saw.  He looked up at the wall beside the door where a muddy handprint marred the whitewash.

 

Quietly…dangerously… he said “who is barrack’s bitch this week?”

 

We all went white when we heard him say barrack’s bitch.  That was supposed to be a secret.  How’d he find out?  Barrack’s bitch was our little hazing game on Saturday nights, the only night of the week when we were on post that we could let loose.  One brother, chosen at random from a hat, had to take orders from anyone who gave it, do anything they were told.  Barrack’s Bitch bought the beer, or liquor for those who wanted that.  Barrack’s bitch fetched refills, cleaned up spills, did party tricks for our amusement, was subservient at all times, and basically let the rest of us feel just a little power and control, for just a brief moment, in our powerless grunt lives.  I forget who originally came up with the idea, maybe it was Bootlicker, he always had great ideas.  He was easily the smartest of all of us.  How he ended up eating mud with the rest of us in a rainy miserable November, I’ll never know.  He could have gone to college.

 

“Someone better speak up.  I can take away your Saturday anytime I want.  A sergeant doesn’t repeat himself.”

 

“Wanker is Barrack’s bitch, Sarge. “ Wanker said.  Oh fuck, we owed him big.  We hadn’t had a chance to do the drawing yet, so technically we didn’t have a bitch this week.  Wanker fucking volunteered.  And you NEVER volunteer in the Army.  I felt bad that Wanker was probably going to spend the next three hours of his liberty cleaning up our mess.

 

“Excellent.  Outstanding. You were on my list anyway.“ Sarge said with every inflection of sarcasm he could milk from his cold, dead heart.  “Private Wanker, you’re with me.  The rest of you animals better remove any sign of your unfortunate presence from my barracks before I get back.  She better shine and glow like a virgin after her first fuck.”   He stared at us for a three count.

 

“MOVE YOUR SORRY FUCKING ASSES, GRUNTS! IT WAS NOT A REQUEST.”

 

We damn near injured ourselves as we darted around picking up clothing, it didn’t matter whose.  Sleeper grabbed someone’s underwear, the cleanest thing he could find, and started wiping up mud, the globes of his chiseled ass vibrating while his dick and balls swung between his legs like a fucking bell ringing that the pope had died.  That gave everyone the idea, and, well… that was how 30 soldiers ended up naked and scrubbing mud with their own underwear on their hand and knees while Sarge watched for a minute.  Satisfied that we were doing the job, he turned and left, with Wanker following his beefy back, Sarge’s pristine uniform dry, spotless and pressed like he hadn’t spent a week babysitting idiots sitting in mud.  What the fuck?  He had MAYBE 45 seconds between when we left the transport and when he came through the barrack’s door.  How could he be clean, dry and spotless?

 

Anyway, not even Sarge said anything to Zeus, who still stood absolutely silent at parade rest, staring at the rest of us working.  He’d never undressed.  His fatigues were muddy, but his boots were clean.  I guess he didn’t feel like he made a mess, so he wasn’t going to clean it up, and no one was going to say anything about it.  Zeus was…. well, confusing would be a good word.

 

So we got everything cleaned up, our faces up someone else’s ass until it was spotless.  Then we hit the showers.  Everyone except Zeus.  We took our time, looking forward to the party, letting the hot water soak away our tiredness.

 

“Should we wait for Wanker?  Or should we choose another bitch?”  Dimples asked?  No, he didn’t have dimples when he smiled.  Not on those cheeks anyway.

 

“Fuck dat.” Puta replied.  “Dat puta volunteered.  I’m no gonna be putting my name in a hat dis week.  Das all I care about.  He be back soon.”

 

We all silently agreed.  After all, he escaped having to mop up mud with someone’s dirty underwear.  Soon we were all cleaned up and feeling fresh.  It took a while to get clean.  We all dried off and went to our bunks to throw on some clothes, even if it was just a pair of socks or underwear.  Footlong of course wore his usual boxer briefs.  He didn’t like anyone looking at his massive cock, which was difficult NOT to look at when it swung free.

 

Zeus got up and went to the showers.  He never showered with the brothers.  He just waited patiently, quietly doing his quiet thing.  We did notice though, that while we were using up all the hot water, he’d cleaned the mud from all our boots, and put them at the end of the bunks.  Our fatigues were piled neatly, still muddy, on an empty rack near the corner.  Zeus was a good guy, an excellent soldier.  He just didn’t like to join the group.  I did wonder why we’d never chosen his name for Barrack’s bitch, though.  But, as with everything else, I just figured he was blessed by the Gods.

 

About that time Wanker returned.  He seemed a little jumpy, and stripped down to go shower himself.

 

“You gotta wait, Wanker.” I said.

 

“What for, Assmunch?  I don’t start bitchwork yet.”

 

Yeah, that’s me.  Assmunch.  It USED to be Scarlett on account of how red I turned when angry, exerting myself, embarrassed… hell, I turned red if I breathed.  But one of my turns at Barrack’s bitch went a bit wild.  I violated the subservience rule, and was ordered to kiss the brother’s ass that I’d offended.

 

“Kiss it.” Sleeper said, presenting his amazing ass to my face.  Troll and Cellblock held me on my knees to either side.

 

Cellblock pushed my face closer.  I could feel the hot, damp atmosphere of Sleeper’s sweaty, hairless crack hitting me like a sauna.

 

“Oh look, Scarlett is all red.” Troll laughed.  “Your brother gave you an order.  Kiss. His. Ass.”

 

I darted in and gave his left asscheek a quick peck.

 

“Oh, that makes the other cheek lonely.  Scarlett, be a pal and kiss the other one” Sleeper said with a dirty grin.  “But I’m not your sister.  Kiss it like you mean it.  “

 

Truth was, it wasn’t a big deal.  It was just his butt, and it was a nice one.  But acting like I hated it was part of the game.  So I pressed my lips to his right asscheek and made out with it.  Damn, it was solid, and smooth, and tasted of sweat and that cheap soap we used.  I pulled away after ten seconds.

 

“I think he was into it, bro” Cellblock commented.  “His tongue tasted all of that lily white booty.”

 

“Really?  Did you like the taste of my ass, bitch?”  Sleeper looked over his shoulder with eyebrows raised.  “Don’t be ashamed to admit it.  I know it’s a piece of grade a prime beef.  It should taste delicious.”  He flexed his ass  then wiggled it in my face.  “But that wasn’t the best part.  You gotta get deep in the meat near the bone for the most flavor. “

 

He bent over, his cheeks spread as he looked at me from between his knees.  I’d never been this close to another man’s asshole, and the sight kinda stunned me for a second.  I don’t know if all assholes looked like his, but it seemed like it was all just smooth white skin with a tiny little rift.  No hair, no pucker, no visible difference from the asscheek I just frenched.  I looked at him, his eyes daring me, that confident grin.  He was a rotten handsome prick.  But, if I was going to lick anyone’s asshole, my best friend’s was probably the only one.

 

“Fuck it.” I said.  The guys were all gathered around, hooting, catcalling, laughing.  They were going to witness this bullshit with horrified attention like a car wreck you couldn’t look away from.  And I was determined to make it as unpleasant for them as I could.  Which meant going full on gay with it.

 

“Lemme have my arms.” I said to Cellblock and Troll.  They dutifully released me and stood fascinated to see if I’d go through with it.

 

I placed my hands on his ass, gripping his glutes, pushing his cheeks together and apart.  “You ready?  After this, you’re gonna understand why the ladies love me.  When I go down, I give it everything I got.  You’re going to beg me to do this to you again.”

 

“You ain’t never had no ladies.  Don’t try to lie.  You probably gonna leave bite marks on his shitter.”  Cellblock said.

 

With that, I dove in.  I kept his asscheeks apart so the guys could watch my big tongue slurp right up his crack, starting at his taint and pushing upwards across his insanely perfect hole to the end of his crack.

 

“Oh shit!  He really went in!” Troll said.  The other brothers varied in their reactions, from disgust to cheering.

 

I zeroed in on the target, my mouth open, and smothered his almost hidden sphincter with my tongue.  Sleeper let out an involuntary “ohhhhhh fuck” and I moved my hands to his thighs and pulled him into me as I began assaulting that hole with my tongue, lips, nose, chin, just grinding away with heavy slurping noises, tons of saliva and noises like I was eating the best meal of my life.  Sleeper was trying not to move, but I could feel slight pushes and tiny flexes of his thighs I was gripping.  I no longer had any awareness of what the guys were doing, simply lost in eating Sleeper’s asshole like a pussy.

 

“Shit dude.  You gotta stop.” He said after a minute or so.  I didn’t know how long I was in there.

 

“You sure, sir?” I mumbled from between his cheeks.

 

“Dude, stop.  Okay… you’re done.”  I pulled away, my face wet.  I’m sure I was red as a beet, but it was worth it.  I looked down at his face, still between his legs, his eyes were closed and he was breathing a little heavy.  I noticed his dick was almost hard, his foreskin pulled almost all the way back, and he was leaking pre-cum.  He reached up between his legs and swiped across his asshole, probably to give himself a moment to recover and get rid of the dick slime dripping off his cock so the guys wouldn’t see.  Looks like Sleeper enjoyed it more than a little, I thought.  I had to admit, I enjoyed it too.  Not too much different than eating pussy.

 

“Now I have assmunching juice all over me!” He growled.

 

“You asked for it, and I did warn you.” I replied, wiping my face with my hand.

 

“How’d it taste, Assmunch?  Looks like he gave you a full helping.  You were buried up his crack for five minutes.  We couldn’t even see your nose.”  Bootlicker jibed.

 

“Tasted like freedom, America, and grunt beef!” I laughed back.

 

Sleeper was still bent over, his hands on his knees.  His ass still near my face, cheeks spread, his shiny asshole clenching and releasing.  “Whew, I need a beer.  Bitch, get me a beer.  It’s gonna take me a minute to dry out.  Felt like you were trying to taste what I had for breakfast.  Holy good God in heaven.  “

 

“Be right back. “.

 

So… Assmunch stuck.  You gotta roll with the punches.   Sleeper and I would later have a heart to heart about my skills, but that’s a story for later.   We were best buds, of course we were going to talk about it.  And more it turns out.

 

Where was I?  Oh yeah, Wanker stripped down headed to the showers.

 

“What for Assmunch?”

 

“Zeus is in there.  You gotta wait.”  I told him.

 

Wanker sighed, knowing he had to let Zeus take his shower alone.  He went to his bunk, looking like he hurt his leg or something.  He wasn’t walking right.

 

The rest of the guys were hyping up for our party, ready to get things moving.

 

“You okay Wanker?  What’s up with you? “ I asked.  “If you need to go see medical, we can choose another bitch.  But you did get off easy not having to clean up.  What did Sarge want, anyway?”

 

“It’s no big deal.  Just a sore hip.” He said morosely, which was out of character for him.  He was usually one of the funny ones, always cracking jokes.  Even when we caught him in the toilet whacking off he just laughed and busted his nut right in front of us.  He actually hit Sackless right on the chin with one of his spurts.  Wanker’s got a fucking firehose when he shoots.  He’s the distance champion for nut AND piss out of all of us.  “Sarge just needed to discipline me for something.  I kinda fucked up, but he’s going to give me a pass this time.”

 

“Fuck man, that sounds serious.  What’d you do?”  I asked.

 

“It was supposed to be a joke, just a prank on the Charlies.  You know those guys are dickwads, not like us.  Well, THEIR Sarge raised hell with our Sarge.”

 

“WHAT DID YOU DO?” I stressed again.

 

“Put liquid contact adhesive in their shampoo dispenser.”

 

“Sounds like a Bootlicker idea” I mused, laughing.  “Oh that’s evil.  But wouldn’t they have to use it right away?  Or it’d just turn to rubber, right?”

 

“No, that’s the beauty of it.” Wanker said, without any enthusiasm at all.  “If it doesn’t contact air, it stays liquid.  Bootlicker knows his shit.  That’s why the Charlies look like green recruits now.  They had to shave their heads just like in boot camp.  Bald as babies.  They finally grew their hair back this year, and they had to shave it all again.”

 

“Fucking classic.  Doesn’t sound like anything that the Sarges would get involved in though.”

 

Wanker sighed.  “The shampoo dispensers were trashed.  Had to be replaced.  Sarge said willful destruction of Army property is taken very seriously.  I woulda been fucked.”  He paused, closed his eyes.  In a weak voice almost too quiet to hear he continued “I WAS fucked.”

 

I was puzzled why he wasn’t happier.  “But you said Sarge gave you a pass.”

 

Wanker looked me dead in the eye and repeated “no, I was fucked.”  There was a change in his emphasis that seemed odd.

 

“God don’t be dumb, Assmunch.  That’s how I got the pass.  Charlie’s Sarge plowed his huge Hungarian dick into my ass.  I was fucked by Sergeant Charlie.  And he didn’t pull out, use a condom or go easy.  He ripped me apart and busted in my asshole, which is still dripping his nut, while I was bent over Sarge’s desk like a cheap whore.   I squatted as soon as I was outside, but fuck there’s like a gallon of it in me, it just keeps coming out.”  Wanker was damn near crying, but he was keeping it together .  Soldiers don’t cry.  “Don’t tell the guys.  I shouldn’t even have told you.  Okay?”

 

“You don’t have to worry, Parker.” I said.  Just using his first name sounded weird to me, but this was no time for juvenile nicknames.  “I’m glad you told me.  Are you okay?  Do you need me to do anything?”

 

“I’ll be fine.  It’s not the end of the world.  I took my punishment.  I agreed to it.’ He said with a morose chuckle.  “And honestly, it would have been worse getting demoted and having to leave you guys, maybe leave the Army.  That would have hurt way more I think.”

 

I nodded, understanding.  Pain was a known quantity, we lived and breathed pain.  We carried on.  It was all bearable when you had your brothers beside you.

 

“But, I need a favor.  Later, not now.” He said.

 

“Name it, brother, it’s yours.” I replied.

 

“After the party, I need you to look at my ass.  It felt like he broke something inside me.  I can’t ask anyone else, don’t want to go to the infirmary and answer a lot of questions.  I figure you’d probably know what to look for after being up Sleeper’s hole that time.  You can say no.”

 

I pulled him into a deep hug.  “I’d be honored to.  After the party.”  I held him for a few more seconds, and felt the tension drain from his body.

 

Looking like he felt better, we saw Zeus coming back, fully clothed in some pajamas his mom probably sent him.  Little German Shepard puppies frolicking all over them, but no one said a word.  He didn’t even look stupid wearing pajamas a six year old would wear.  Fuck, I wish I had half of whatever God blood flowed through his steel veins.  Where she found puppy dog pajamas to fit a 6’5” hulk that barely fit into his fatigues was a mystery only she knew.  Zeus walked to his bunk like he was dressed in biker’s leathers, or fucking medieval armor.

 

“Go clean up, I’ll stall the brothers.” I told Wanker.  “I’ll set up for you so they don’t get cranky.”  We both knew if they got cranky Wanker would be given way more shit than usual.

 

He walked away.  I turned to Zeus.  “Thanks for doing our boots Zeus.  That was really nice of you.”

 

He turned to me, almost to see if I was being sarcastic.  I wasn’t.  Then he smiled and I felt the world shift.  For a moment I felt like the star of his world.  I know I was lighting up red, probably the reddest I’ve ever been, but fuck if I cared.  I couldn’t move, couldn’t look away from his piercing hazel eyes.

 

“”It’s okay Andrew.  I didn’t help clean.” His voice was a physical sensation, a vibration that caressed my entire body.  It was deep, gentle but with a force like a wave that moves you without harm or pressure.  He wasn’t even trying to be charming or dominant or alpha, all of those things were just exuded naturally from every pore on his body.  I would have cut my own throat at that moment, with a smile, if he but asked.

 

Did he know?  Did he realize how he affected all of us?  Did he see my absolute capitulation and hero worship written on my face?  I couldn’t hide it if I tried, my brain made no sense when he looked at me.  During hushed conversations with the brothers, we realized he affected every single one of us the same way.  Hell, Puta had never once called Zeus ‘Puta’, that was how altering Zeus was.  Sarge never screamed at him, ever.

 

“I was going to shine them, but you guys weren’t in the shower long enough.”  He almost sounded like he was apologizing to me.  What the fuck, no that wasn’t going to happen.  He wasn’t anyone that should apologize.

 

“It was nice enough that you got the mud off.  And we used all the hot water, which was an asshole thing to do.  We didn’t deserve for you to do anything nice for us.”

 

I swear this was the most Zeus had said to any one of us.  What the fuck was going on tonight?  Wanker gets ass raped, and agreed to it no less, got flooded with jizz, is still going to be Barrack’s bitch, and now Zeus is having a fucking conversation with me, a blessed fucking pleasant conversation with a God like any of that is normal.

 

I’m having a stroke.  That’s the only explanation.  I’m out of my mind near death and it’s all a hallucination.

 

Zeus looked down at his feet hanging off the end of his bunk.  I got a sudden feeling that he was sad.

 

“It’s okay.  The water was still warm.  It felt good after being in the cold rain.  You guys are always so nice to me.  I’m not good at the stuff you do for fun.” He said softly, trying to be quiet.  I guess he didn’t want the brothers to overhear us.

 

“Is that why you always stay in your bunk?”

 

“Yeah.”

 

That hit me hard.  We’re we excluding one of our brothers because we thought he was too good for our foolish games?  When he sat apart watching us have fun and never inviting him?  Did he not think he was a God above all of us?

 

“Zeus.  Look at me, please.” I said.

 

He looked over.  His deep hazel eyes had a sad hope.  It crushed me completely.

 

“Do you know why we call you Zeus?”  I asked.

 

“Because I’m big?” He guessed.

 

I almost laughed.  But I didn’t want to ruin this moment.  “No Zeus, we call you that because your brothers and I think that you are a God walking among us.  Yeah, being tall, with those insane muscles helps.  But there’s so much more about you we like.  We love that everything you do is perfect.  You ace every task.  You never fuck up, or say something dumb, or do ANYTHING wrong.  When you walk, it’s like watching a wild animal stalk its prey.  When you speak, your voice rumbles like thunder.  When you look at us, like you’re looking at me now, our souls tremble.  We don’t know why, but you have something incredible in you that just comes out and hits us like lightning.  We’ve all just accepted that you’re the best of all of us.  That’s just how it is.  We’ve talked about it.  If we were back in time, you’d be our king.  I know it sounds stupid, but we literally worship the ground you walk on. “

 

“You wouldn’t feel that way if you knew.” He said.

 

A cold knot formed in my stomach.  He had some dark secret he couldn’t tell us?  Fuck all.  My mind was spinning.  How the fuck do I handle this?  The other part of my brain kicked in.  The side that was smart, that argued against doing stupid shit.  It said two words: so what?  So what if he has a dark secret?  He’s your brother, and you don’t abandon a brother.

 

“Zeus, my brother, nothing you can tell me would change a thing.  You could have fucked your cousin and I wouldn’t care.”  That got a grin from him.  “I don’t care if you sucked dick for money and took it up the ass from Abdul the clerk at the corner stop and shop.  Wouldn’t change a thing. “ I thought I saw him give a barely perceptible jerk at that.  Nah, couldn’t be.  Could it?  I mean, I wanted to know, but NOT know.  “Of course, the only thing that might change would be I’d need a special favor now and then, if you know what I mean.” I joked.  I grinned back at him, gauging his reaction.

 

He seemed to deflate, like he all the sudden relaxed from an incredible heavy load he’d been carrying.  “You mean it, Andrew?”

 

“I mean it.  And, starting now, you gotta start using our nicknames.  That’s what brothers do.  I’m Assmunch.  Don’t much like it, but I earned it.  ” I told him.

 

“Why do they call you Assmunch?” He asked sincerely.  Man, his voice.

 

I figured if my guess was right, he’d like the story, so I told him about tongue raping Sleeper’s ass.  He sat there staring at me with eyes that just got wider and wider.

 

“No way!” He exclaimed, the most intense emotion I’d ever seen come out of him.

 

“Oh yes.  Five minutes they said I ate his ass.  You know the best part?”

 

He was hooked, leaning forward.  “What?”

 

“Sleeper got a boner and was leaking dickjuice everywhere.  He had to hide it from the other guys, but I saw it.  You can’t tell anyone though.  We gotta keep the secret that Sleeper just loves to get his ass eaten.”

 

“Wow!  Really? Sleeper?”

 

“Yeah, he’s really got the best ass.  I’ve been taking care of him about once a week since then.  We have a deal.  I eat his ass until he cums, sometimes without even touching his dick.  And then he gives me a handjob and I get to shoot my load.”

 

“Do you like it?” He asked, way more interested than I’d ever seen him be.  He wasn’t calm and aloof anymore.  “You know, eating his ass?”

 

“Yeah, not too different than eating pussy.  Taste is different, and it’s just my spit and no pussy juice, but to be honest what I like most is how it gets Sleeper all worked up.  I’d do anything for him.  He’s my best friend. “

 

Zeus nodded.  “Yeah, I can see that.  I like Sleeper too.  He’s my favorite.”

 

I looked at Zeus, and rolled the dice.  I was pretty sure I was right.  But this would clinch it.  “You know, he’d probably love it if you wanted to give it a try.  The man really can’t get enough tongue in his ass.”  I left that hanging there, then continued.  “Come on, bring your puppy dog pajamas and help me set up for tonight.  You don’t have to stay, and I won’t say anything about what we talked about, okay?”

 

Zeus got up from his rack.  Looking down, he pulled out the bottom of his shirt.  “They’re German Shepards” he said, smiling like a kid.  Fuck I could just kiss him he was so friggin adorable right then.

 

Without thinking, I grabbed his sleeve and said “c’mon puppy, party’s this way”

Love the 👅 action too!

[Zeke17043]

I wonder how the rest of Private Lamont's trip went...?  I'll bet he was popular at the motel.

[Assmunch]

18 hours ago, Zeke17043 said:

I wonder how the rest of Private Lamont's trip went...?  I'll bet he was popular at the motel.

Yes, I actually had more encounters planned…but, Lamont’s kind of an asshole and writing him disgusts me a little.  Not for the sex, but how he goes about it.  He’s kind of a predator.  Anyway, I planned for him to fuck the salesman he saw, who was going to be reluctant and Lamont was going to sweet talk him into doing things he didn’t want to do, culminating in Lamont fucking him bare after the guy asked him to use a condom, but Lamont relents and pulls out to cum.  Then he was going to the Heretic, and get fucked on the dance floor, blow a guy in the bathroom, but bolt when someone tried to fuck him raw in the dark room.  

Going back to the motel, after 1 a.m. on a Friday night, the motel gets very cruisy.  There’s a lot of foot traffic.  I was going to have Lamont have a few safe encounters until 3 a.m.  At that point, he’d have been awake for 24 hours.  I REALLY wanted to do the Saturday night at the Eagle I’d set up, and get into some leather play, but again, my soul felt greasy after what I did write so I decided I’d sent the message I wanted to send, which was WHY the Bravos are so special, and seeing Lamont, a Charlie, and how he behaves and who he is, I wanted people to understand with that contrast how much better of a person, a leader, Assmunch is.

[laguyinhou]

Awesome. Every word you write seems at once deliberate and natural progression. It's a story that keeps me coming back time after time