Convoy Cock

I was working as an intelligence operator with the U.S. Army in Kosovo. I worked at KFOR Main, which was the NATO HQ, located at "Film City," perched on top of a hill looking down on the city of Pristina. My job was to make maps and charts, plotting different incident, trends, and activities. It was interesting enough at first, but fairly repetitive through a six month tour.

I was always on the lookout for ways to break up my routine, which was, well, routine. I lived a life of work, workouts in the gym, reading or movies in the evening -- and repeat. There were lots of people around -- Americans and from other countries -- but I hadn't found any action, if you know what I mean. I was always scoping, especially in the gym and in the showers, but I never got any signals or vibes. So I did a lot of reading.

Like I was saying, I was looking for things to do, ways to get out of the camp, so when a task to do give a briefing down at KFOR Rear came up, I went for it. I convinced the captain that I could give the briefing just as well as the 1Lt, who was "really busy right now," (whatever).

KFOR Rear was in Skopje, Macedonia, about a two to three hour drive to the south, depending on the weather, traffic, and congestion at the border. Best of all, Skopje was an actual place -- stores, bars, coffee shops, the works. Pristina didn't have much to start with, what with the war having just ended, but we weren't allowed out on the town anyway. Skopje, on the other hand, had a walking out policy. Skopje had possibilities.

I didn't exactly rate my own jeep and driver, so I called up log ops and told them to save me a seat somewhere in the daily supply convoy. I reported to the FLG in the morning and they assigned me to a cargo 10-ton. I threw my kit up to the driver who stowed it behind the seat.

"Thanks," I said to the driver. "No problem, Sergeant," he answered a little stiffly, not looking at me while drove the truck into his spot in the convoy line up. I looked him over. He was young, about 19 or 20, and looked physically fit, muscular. I tried to decide how tall he was, maybe 5'10",.I wasn't sure. He had brown hair buzzed down to the wood and a thin, angular face.

Neither of us said anything for awhile. There was some chatter on the radio, but I wasn't listening. It was overcast, but warm and humid, and I was sweating in my body armor and helmet. The U.S. is the only army in Kosovo that makes everyone wear all that gear outside the camp, for no good reason, as there was no real threat. After half an hour, I asked him what the hold up was. "One of the sea containers shifted off the rail as they were loading it. They have to bring up the forklift to get it on straight."

I didn't have anything to say to that, but I decided to start asking other questions. He was Private Steves, from San Diego. Obviously a little nervous around a sergeant he didn't know, I kept asking questions until the ice was broken and he loosened up a little. He was 20, (just turned last month), joined up after high school, and liked to watch ice hockey. He complained about all the playoff games not starting until 0100 because of the time difference. He had been pretty good at math in school, but he thought that being in the army had made him stupid and he couldn't remember any of it.

By this time, we were underway and driving on what passed for a highway -- a two-lane road that was as much pothole as it was pavement. There was nothing resembling American rules of the road as civilian cars and trucks jostled with the military traffic and each other, moving back and forth trying avoid the worst of all the holes and the tractors and the horse-drawn carts, without any reduction in speed. Vehicles passed each other whenever they wanted, but the local drivers seemed to prefer passing uphill and/or around bends. The traffic stayed like that for the whole trip. I only thought we were going to be killed twice. The first time when the car in front stopped abruptly with no warning or obvious reason; the second was when a van who was passing whipped in front, clipping our front bumper and denting his fender. Steves didn't slow down or otherwise react. I decided that it was a commonplace incident.

But getting back to where we were, Steves was turning out to be alright. He seemed like a smart guy, but bored doing nothing but convoy driving. I assured him that the int shop was no better, making "updated" ethnicity maps that were just the same data every month. We started joking about an article we'd both read in a recent Stars and Stripes newspaper. Some loser officer had been quoted about his "stressful" experiences in Kosovo and his "difficulty with the terrible atrocities that he'd seen." Bullshit. That lazy flopper was a staff officer who hadn't seen anything in Kosovo besides the back of his eyelids. The truth of things that was there was little going on. L.A. has bigger firefights every day.

He started to ask questions about me and where I'd been. I was 26, just made buck sergeant, a little fast. I hadn't been overseas before, except for one year in South Korea. My regular posting was to the Corps HQ staff in Fort Hood, Texas, but I was originally from Buffalo. I'm 6' tall, blue eyes, buzzed brown hair. I've got fair skin and freckles, and not much body hair above the waist. I like to swim to keep fit stateside, but in Kosovo I only had the gym.

By now, we'd been on the road an hour and I was starting to get hard. I hadn't jerked off that morning -- no time -- and I was developing a case of convoy cock. It's well known in the army that the vibration of bouncing around in truck on road moves will give you one of those semi-hardons, stiff enough to be uncomfortable, and not going away either. I asked Steves if he had a girlfriend back home. He said no and went back to talking about ice hockey.

We came to a stop for a moment as the traffic in front was jammed around some potholes and a tractor. Steves took the opportunity to reach in the front of his pants and shift his dick around. "Convoy cock," he said, grinning at me. He still had his hand in there. "Tell me about it," I replied, and did the same. The traffic started moving again and Steves put both hands back on the wheel.

"I get hard while I'm driving all the time," Steves told me. "And once you get a boner, there's nothing to think about on the road except your dick the rest of the way. I spend half my day with a case of blue balls."

"And the other half of your day?" I asked.

"I pull myself," he replied. "But I have to share a room with 5 other guys, so I sometimes can't get any privacy. So sometimes I just jerk off while I drive."

"Don't you have a passenger with you? I thought vehicles weren't allowed out without two people?"

"We aren't supposed to. But every once in awhile something gets changed around at the last minute and I'm on my own."

"Well, I can't blame you. I wouldn't getting off myself," I said, getting harder all the time as I tried to guess how big Steves was out of the corner of my eye.

By this time, we were in the pass through the mountains that separate Kosovo from Macedonia, just short of the border. The road twists dangerously along the side of the mountains while the green hills rise high above and fall below to the river and the train tracks. We came up to the border and the civilian traffic mixed in with the convoy swung into the customs line. We swung into the line for the KFOR bypass.

The bypass is a through road for KFOR vehicles only that goes around all the customs and border nausea. Unfortunately, it's only one lane, so you have to wait until your packet is allowed through. Fortunately, we didn't have long to wait. Halfway through, however, the traffic backed up and we came to a halt. Steves had stopped the truck close behind the one in front so I couldn't see what the hold up was. Neither could anyone else from the pointless comments on the radio.

We sat with the truck idling. Steves had his hand down his pants again. "Oh yeah," he undid his seatbelt and wiggled around.

"There's accident up ahead at the intersection. A Hungarian BRDM hit a civvie tractor trailer," said the convoy commander over the radio. "It's gonna be a long wait."

Steves was now clearly stroking himself inside his pants. I started feeling myself up too. "Hey, uh, Sarge..." he trailed off.

"What?"

"Um, oh, never mind."

"Go ahead, Steves. What do I care?" I looked him straight in the eye, with a smirk on my face. He didn't take any more prompting. He undid his combat pants, pulled his dick out through the fly of his boxers, closed his eyes, and started stroking. It was a good-sized dick too, he was no slouch in that department. I was all fired up now and I pulled out my own dick too.

I looked over at Steves again and he was looking breathlessly at my crotch as I pulled on myself. Without really thinking about it, I decided to take the risk, reaching over and taking over on his cock. He closed his eyes and whimpered. I didn't know how long we'd have, so I went hard on him, trying to bring him off quickly. It didn't take much time at all and with a fairly loud cry he spunked all over my hand and himself. Just then the traffic started moving again, so I put myself away while he cleaned himself up with a rag he had under his seat.

Skopje isn't very far from the border so it didn't take long to get to KFOR Rear from there. Neither of us said anything about what just happened. When we arrived, Steves stopped to let me off at the duty center before he went to unload his truck. I drew a billet, turned in my weapon, and ditched that damned body armor.

My briefing wasn't until tomorrow morning, so I changed into PT gear and went for a run to take my mind of Steves and his thick cock. I showered, read the paper, and ate dinner. I was pretty determined to go downtown, but I decided I'd hang around the canteen for a bit first, to give Steves a chance to find me if he wanted to.

When he hadn't shown up by 1930 hours, I grabbed a cab for the city. I did some shopping and bought myself some new Nikes and a pair of counterfeit Tommy Hilfiger jeans. I found the English language bookstore too and bought a pile of stuff. Everyone recommends buying gold jewellery in Skopje because it's cheap, but I wouldn't be able to tell if I was being ripped off or not, so I didn't bother. I spent the rest of the money I exchanged on some ice cream and an espresso. Then I took a cab back.

By the time I got back and dumped all my stuff, it was 2245. But, the bar at the canteen was still open for another 15 minutes so I thought I'd give Steves one more chance. It worked. I found him slouched in a couch watching a movie, (Anaconda, I think), by himself, sipping a beer.

"Hey," was all I said. "Hey," he answered, his face brightening up. "I'd given up on you. Not that we have anywhere to go." There's very little privacy on a base, few places where it's safe to get it on.

"My room. I have a double to myself in an empty wing." Being a sergeant gets you better accommodations.

As soon as the door was closed he grabbed my crotch and felt me through my jeans. Steves was wearing a tight t-shirt and I ran my hand over his pecs and his nipples. I leaned over and kissed him with an open mouth. He returned it and our tongues ran over one another.

Still kissing him, I slipped one hand inside the back of his shirt up his back against his bare skin. My left hand slid down inside the waistband of his jeans. He wasn't wearing any underwear. His ass was firm and smooth. He started to grind his crotch against mine while he pulled on my ass. I started pulling off his shirt and started to move him towards the bed.

It wasn't long before we were both naked and giving each other a hand job while lying on my bunk. His build was muscular, you could tell he worked out, and kind of compact; he wasn't very tall, maybe 5'6". I slid down and started licking his balls and cock. After a little of that, I pulled his foreskin all the way back and started blowing him in earnest. He put his hands gently on my head and I looked up at him. His eyes were tightly closed and his face was contorted with pleasure as he made groaning sounds, trying not to be too loud in the barracks.

After a few minutes he pulled my face off him. "Fuck me," he moaned, lifting his legs back. I sucked on each of his nipples for a few seconds as I fingered his ass. That got a positive reaction, so I reached down into my duffel bag for some lube for my hand, and went back to his asshole, slowly inserting one finger and then two.

I applied lots of lube to my own raging hard on and pressed it against his anus. He was tight as I went in, but he took it like a trooper. I took it easy on him, and let him get used to it. When he started begging to be fucked again, I started in on a rhythm. Too bad I didn't last long. I came with a massive gush inside him and that set him off too. We collapsed, breathless, in each other's arms.

I gave my briefing the next morning and hopped on the next convoy going north back to Pristina. But I made sure that Steves knew how to find me at KFOR Main. He normally made the trip up and back three times a week, and neither of us were going to waste any opportunities to get laid. The rest of my tour in Kosovo was considerably more fun.

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written by svcbn