Navy And Marines Training

I stopped working on my flight reports and looked up across the 18 inches that separated Andy from me. The time had come to end the game of touchy-feelie we had been playing all afternoon.

Life in the military is built around deciding whether a guy means only what he says or is really hitting at deeper, more entertaining possibilities. There are more gay men in the military than you can shake a dick at, but until the Pentagon gets its act together, all a guy needs is one homophobic prick taken into his confidence to put a hell of a serious crimp into his future.

I was stationed aboard a certain LHA on its way to the Gulf when Captain Andy flew aboard with his Harrier squadron at Subic Bay. We were winding down our raj there and hauling the aircraft down to Singapore, so he'd be aboard about a week for the transmit and exercises scheduled along the way.

I wasn't thrilled about getting a roommate. Roommates generally interfere with my after-hours R&R, but when Andy swaggered in, the usual bitches I'd been doing underway stopped being much of a concern.

Except for my dimples and his green eyes to my blue, we looked amazingly alike: about 6'2", blond hair, pug noses, strong brows and jaws, and power-packed muscles everywhere you care to look. Just then, I cared to look everywhere. A guy doesn't like to sound conceited, but you don't sail aboard Navy ships for years without knowing whether you have bait for the beast. I had it. Captain Andy had it too.

When Andy slipped out of his flight suit and I discovered he was a freeballer, my internal queer alarm went off so loud Judge Crater probably heard it. For the next couple of hours, we sat at side-by-side desks while he blathered and I tried to filter through to the subtext - if there was one.

He was a marine captain. I was a navy lieutenant (oddly enough, the same rank), so our positions in the pecking order didn't matter dick as far as who sucked and who shot. Finally I gave up, looked into those amiable green eyes, and asked, "Are you a top or a bottom?"

Marines are cute, but no one ever accused them of being quick. Subtexts aren't their usual bag. He looked at the racks in our room - mine on top and long since made, his on the bottom with the linen still stacked and waiting - and got lost between A and B: "The bottom is just fine."

This was going to be harder than I'd expected. Maybe he really was one of those straight marines I keep reading about in Pentagon propaganda. "No," I said with my version of a subtle, knowing smile, "Do you like to be on the top or the bottom? Most of you jarhead jet-jockeys seem to like taking better than giving." Frank talk finally got through the haze but also made the guy blush red-pepper hot and stammer gibberish.

Marines like being shown what to do. So I showed him. I started slowly enough, reaching over to kiss his neck on the way to his right ear. My lips washed the blush from his face but set shivers and gooseflesh in its place. He put his hand up, unsure of whether to push me away or pull me closer; but when he brushed against my chest and felt my swollen tits through my T-shirt, I pulled my dog tags off and let my shirt follow them to the deck. Captain Andy was fascinated by my abundant blond chest fur. I rose, rubbing my smooth-textured pelt against his cheek, pulling his head against my chest until the racing cadence of my heart was unmistakable.

His broad hands slipped down from my shoulders to learn every inch of my strong flanks. When they instinctively drifted down, by easy degrees, to my khaki-clad ass, I knew he was a jarhead I could depend on for a thumping good time. The careless grating of his Corps-cropped head against my arms, the low puppy yelps of pleasure he was making as he nuzzled my pecs, and his scent of man-sweat all gave me the green light for stage two.

Still, I couldn't help thinking that something about Captain Andy wasn't quite right. Most of my marines would have their legs spread toward the ceiling and their asses stretched wide for me by now. Andy fumbled about, seemingly uncertain, happy to let me have the con as he snuffled fecklessly around my tits.

I ordered all-head flank and pulled his ass out of the chair. His tags and shredded T-shirt joined mine on the deck so I could check out his set of hard, marine-built muscles. He wasn't as pumped as some of the enlisted grunts I'd done abroad, but they have dick to do all day but work out. Captain Andy was worlds more delectable that any other squid officer abroad.

Beads of sweat gleamed on his broad, tanned, hairless pecs. Hard, brown tits stood tall for the taking. What caught my fancy most of all, though, was his pointer trim. That's my pet name for the cute little fringe of fur clean-bodied men often have pointing dickward down from their belly-buttons. His was thick and tightly curled and leading just where I wanted to follow. When he'd changed out of his flight suit, I'd gotten a glimpse of thigh; now I needed to fill my world with dick. His did just the trick. Big men often have big dicks, but his was almost as fine as mine - and ever more eager. Thick blue veins pulsed with expectation. Getting him naked had been a minor comedy; but once I plucked him bare, high drama began.

I tossed him backward onto his unmade rack and slipped my face between his strong, unsure thighs. A unique mix of sweat and JP- 5 fumes had cooked all day in his crotch until Escoffier would have turned from his tureen in envy. Andy's hands held my head away for an instant, perhaps fearing what was to come; but the thrill of the moment and every marine's hard-charging need to experience everything soon reminded him who was in charge.

I started deep, slurping the savory sauce du jour from his wrinkled man-sack until I thought I'd never need dessert. I licked his thighs and the base of his gloriously jet-jock joystick, working upward as it bounced hard against his pointer- trim and the lean warrior belly that lay beneath.

I might be there still, snuffling along his shank like a harrier with a fresh, juicy bone, if a surge of crystal pre-cum hadn't splashed and sparkled against his belly, reminding me of the unlucky times in which we live. If I couldn't suck his oversized dick until I gagged on his jarhead load, where should I go next? I could Trojan his tool and chow down - or shove my rubber-clad rod so far into his cute marine face that he'd have heartburn. His tits needed tweaking in the worst way. His full lips lay parted, begging in unconscious desperation for my tongue. The possibilities were endless - but, fortunately, he wasn't.

I didn't learn until later in the night that the asshole had been, until I came along, that rarest of marine meat: virgin. I might have enjoyed myself even more if I had known, but I just thought the bastard was shy. I don't blame myself for missing the signals. How could a jarhead get through OCS and flight school, and then fly about with the fleet, and not have his hole plumbed at least once? At least he had the good sense not to give me any trouble when I flipped his ass over and reached for the KY.

Captain Andy's jarhead butt was even better than most, firm and full and ready for all the fun I had to shove his way. Soft skin stretched taut over muscle that was hard and ready as coiled carbon steel. But as my fingers slipped across the smooth curves of his marine pleasure-mounds, his whole body writhed in wriggles, and that powerful warrior body melted in response to every delicious sensation of the moment.

Those marine muscles stopped wriggling when my lubed finger snaked between them on the way to prying open his asshole. He locked up tight around me, desperate to have something thicker and longer finish the job. One finger followed another, fighting against his frantic grip to make headway, until putting off the finale any longer would have been an act against nature. Fortunately for both of us, I'm a natural kind of guy. My dick was wrapped in rubber and greased for a grunt in a hard-charging, light speed flash.

One hand lifted his ass into the air while the other forced his shoulders down against the mattress to provide maximum presentation. My thick nine inches found his pucker and dicked around with him awhile to be mean, sliding across his eager, quivering asshole, making him beg just a little more before he got what I had.

When I learned mercy and slammed into his hole, the reaction was well worth the wait. The magnificent bastard exploded forward like a shot and would have made good his instinctive escape if my dickhead hadn't been swollen too big to get back out through his tight jarhead ass.

Dick caught hard on the inside of his sphincters, and they rebounded like a trampoline, pulling him back against my hips. I locked my hands over his shoulders to make sure his passing fear of the unknown wouldn't try again to overcome his deeper, more ancient need for dick. By the time I was sliding outward again, Captain Andy had made peace with my presence. His cheeks were clenching tight along my crankshaft, his hands had reached back to cup my ass, and one masculine purr after another eased out into the night from between his lips to tell the world how he really felt about being fucked hard up the ass by the first Navy helo-jockey to come along.

As the sweaty smacks of my pelvis pounding into Andy's firm man- cheeks accelerated into a random noise akin to the patter of summer rainfall, his soft purrs and coos grew rapidly into the yelps of a young man having one very good time. My own grunts and growls were probably not far behind, but I was too fucking busy to take notes. His slick guts slipped across the tender head of my dick, coaxing my crank to unheard-of thickness as it lured whole squadrons of whip tailed kamikazes up from their hidden bases.

My lips tore into the back of his neck, slurping up his musk as they moved up across bare flesh and stubble to give his cute little ears a real licking. For a seeming eternity, I was content to suck and nip at his lobes, happy with the shivers that shook loose his muscular marine bedrock and sent him reeling. My tongue finished the job, twisting far into his ear as quickly and furiously as a vicious rumor, wreaking havoc in its path.

I had his humpy body hooked fore and aft and was using it the way a cur dog would use a pedigree bitch when I realized the one thing I was missing. I wanted what that cur could never get - an up-close and personal view of my bitch's face while I nailed him hard. Captain Andy needed to show me how much he liked being fucked by my thick naval dick. Rolling his ass over didn't take a second. As though from long practice, his feet hooked onto the underside of my rack, rolling his hole upward into perfect position for me to finish using it the way any marine hole deserved to be used. By now his eyes were worth watching - sparkling bright with that tell-tale glow bred of fuck-friction and the knowledge that he was having more fun than he could think about at one time.

The change of position also meant his lips could stretch upward to mine, eager for the kind of reward his ass was earning with every nine-inch injection. Our tongues met and slipped apart again in the heaving give and take only two men locked together hook-and-tail can know. I felt his hands clawing at my back, pulling me down against him.

My crankshaft switched into overdrive, twisting new paths through his dick-demolished asshole with every savage stroke. My cadence quickened until the piston-fed flinches in his face were transformed into a prolonged seizure of satisfaction. Captain Andy's strong marine jaw slackened against his own selfish animal need to feed off more and more of my fuck-friction. His shithole was already bearing down so hard onto my rubbered root that spontaneous combustion lurked just ahead.

About the time my ballbag finally clenched up enough to stop slamming into his ass, his prostate must have popped like corn in a campfire. Those green eyes rolled back into his head, his legs and arms all flailed about in opposite directions, and that clean-marine mouth twisted into blasphemies that would make a congressman blush. By then, though, my own ream-rhythm was just as out of control. My head remained stoically on station, hovering a foot above Andy's, recording his tortured face with some small fragment of consciousness. My hips, however, were long since amok, driving my dick deeper and better with every convulsive, grunt-loving grind.

I think Andy must have seized up first, because I felt every muscle in his ass clench solid at once. His arms clutched tight about me. Those delicious green eyes slammed shut to discover the awful ecstacy that lay within. My time came a stroke later - and a stroke felt just like what I was having. This wasn't any ordinary buttfuck; what Captain Andy did to my dick was Nobel- quality physics. Whether because of the heat or the selfish grip his grunt guts had on my crank, my dick didn't just shoot sweet jism - it fucking exploded out through the top of my head until I knew for sure I'd fucked up a nut.

My hips continued pounding dick into Andy until, when his good time was over, Andy reached up and clamped his hand over my mouth to shut me the hell up before we drew a fire party. By that time my balls were flushed dry; I'd pumped everything I had up his ass but just didn't have the couth to call and end to a good thing.

I shut up all right and managed to get my breath, but pulling out of Andy's ass was almost impossible. Not only were his hands and feet still wrapped tightly around me, but I'd developed the cramp of the century in my right leg. By the time I untangled our bodies, the cramp had made me lose my balance and splash down into the jarhead jism Andy had sprayed all over himself.

After taking my load, any normal man is happy to coast and cuddle a while to recharge his batteries before I slam more satisfaction out of his ass. Captain Andy was no normal man. His limitless need for dick was extravagant even by marine standards. The slut just couldn't get enough, pestering me to do it again until I wondered how much more flesh I could rub from my bone.

When I begged off, he begged even louder, confessing that he'd been cherry until I came along. Shit, knowing that, I had to do the decent thing and reconsider. The next week was busy enough for a lifetime. Andy flew five missions in his aircraft; I lost track of the ones we flew together. Sometimes helping out a hunky shipmate can be a real pain in the ass - but then sometimes the hunky shipmates don't mind that at all.

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written by anonymous