Afternoons in the barracks complex's communal lounge had become a sort of informal study group since the start of my relationship with Sam. I had to work hard to keep up with the math required by our school and there was no way I could concentrate alone in a room with my lover, making a crowded public place the only real option. And it was a tough school, so I seldom lacked for company.
Usually Sam was right there with me, but his math background was strong and when the upcoming test was all about numbers he needed less time with the books than the rest of us. So on this day it was just me and about a dozen classmates, chasing formulae like they were butterflies.
Fortunately we were wrapping things up by the time Sam came in, because he brought everyone's concentration to a sudden crashing halt. The two of us had taken up an evening running habit, and he was in his gear and ready to go. And by his gear
I mean a scanty pair of running shorts and some Adidas. He looked like a six foot three inch heroic Greek statue, in onyx instead of marble. Every head swiveled, every conversation paused.
“You know,” said the girl next to me on the couch, a blonde midwesterner named Taylor, “it's like sixty five degrees. I don't think your roommate is shirtless to stay cool.”
“Are you kidding?” I said, in a voice loud enough for Sam to hear. “If they put a big Navy “N” on a thong, this dude would wear it running.”
“And you'd wear it to inspection,” Sam said with a grin. “Fuck your chin, they'd be checking your bikini line for stubble.”
“Yeah, maybe,” I said amidst the laughter. “But if I did, you know you'd be ass naked tryin' to show me up. Just stencil your name on your ass and buff up your toenails.”
“Shit,” he said. “Hey, Taylor, you ever hear of Black's Beach?”
“Yeah,” she said. “Nude beach, right? Everybody says they're gonna go, nobody does?”
“Yeah,” he said. “Me 'n Kenny went up to Mission Beach couple weeks ago, somebody tells him about it. Says it's up the coast like twenty miles. So this motherfucker just strips off his shorts and starts walkin'. Like, welp, I'm off
He did a funny walk, toes pointed out and hips swinging like he was waving his cock from side to side. Everyone in the lounge was in stitches. I waited until the laughter calmed down, which took a minute since Sam hammed it up once he saw he was getting the laughs, then nudged Taylor with an elbow.
“He's talking about the beach,” I said. “You know what this fool wore that day? I'll give you a hint: It wasn't board shorts.”
“Oh no,” she said, laughing. “Don't tell me he went European.”
“I only wish, Taylor,” I said, shaking my head. “I only wish.”
Sam raised his eyebrows curiously, since a tight European-style swimsuit was exactly what he'd worn.
“No,” I said, “those things have drawstrings and cover a fella's ass. Provide some support. Keep a man contained,
if you follow.”
“I follow, I follow,” she said, laughing at the crotch-gripping gesture I made to emphasize the word contained.
“No,” I said, “what he wore was definitely a bikini bottom. And I'm not talking Gidget's bikini, I'm talking strings and side-ties.”
“Ass,” said Sam, grinning along with the laughter. “It was shorts.”
“Sure,” I said. “Yellow polka-dot thong shorts.”
“Now, see,” said Taylor while everyone laughed, “we all saw you two in your underwear. I am one hundred percent sure that Sammy cannot wear a thong. No way it would contain
She aped my crotch-gripping gesture, which was somehow even funnier than when I'd done it.
“Oh, it didn't,” I said. I put my elbow against my crotch and waved my arm around, wrist flopping back and forth. Everyone laughed again, especially Sam.
“Come on, come on,” he said. “Time to run. Get changed, fool.”
“Yeah,” I said. “Everyone that's coming, five minutes.”
We had more company every time we ran. Conditioning tests were infrequent during our school, but not totally absent. And they caught a few people out every time. Nobody was responsible for anyone else's fitness, but I was class leader by rank, score, and appointment, and I tried to lead as much as I could.
Imagine my surprise when I ran into two of our bosses, Chief Duncan and Lieutenant Hitchcock, standing right outside the door smoking and listening in on us. I ran the conversation back in my mind. It was not unproblematic, if they were of a mind to be angry. Fortunately they weren't.
“Sir,” I said. “Chief. Good evening.”
The Chief stopped me with a small gesture as I started to go past.
“So, sir,” he said to Hitchcock, “any more questions about why this class leads by so much?”
“Nope,” said the Lieutenant with a smile. “None at all. You lead a study group every night, Fireman Ken?”
is a strong word, sir,” I said. “We're here every night, but it's a communal effort.”
“This is not a commune, FN,” he said. “Your class is doing well. That is largely because its two best students lead it in study every night. Take the credit you're due.” “Well, sir,”
I absolutely did not say at all, “our class benefits from the fact that my roommate and I cannot study in our room because we start making out the instant we're alone. The only reason it's a study group instead of a study pair is that we're the popular kids. Would seem odd to take credit for that.”
“Thank you, sir,” is what I actually said.
“Your school,” he said, “has a drop rate better than thirty-three percent. You have dropped zero from your class.”
“Yes, sir,” I said. “They have damn fine leadership, sir.”
“Better,” he said with a laugh.
“Fuckin' wiseass,” said Chief Duncan. But he laughed, too.
Some of our classmates were gathering around Sam in PT gear. I glanced their way, which was really as much of a gesture as I could make.
“Takin' 'em for a run?” said the Chief. “How many?”
“About a dozen, usually,” I said.
“That's too many to mob. Form 'em.”
“Alright. Carry on.”
Needless to say, I didn't dress any more warmly than Sam. Every damn thing had to be a contest. It took us a few minutes to get the gang formed up to run in formation, and half a block to get everyone approximately in stride. Marching isn't a daily part of Navy life, especially in the more technical (read: nerdy) ratings.
We had an odd encounter that night. Sam and I ran much farther than most of our classmates, and our habit when leading a group for a run was to do about a two-mile loop through the base that ended in front of the barracks, let them break off, then do a slightly longer and higher-paced lap on our own.
Our route took us past the BOQ, the Bachelor Officers' Quarters, shortly after we dropped off the kids. And by seeming coincidence, Lieutenant Hitchcock was just setting out on his own evening run as we went by. I was still new enough to the military that it was odd to me to greet an officer in a circumstance like that. No salute, no popping to attention. In time it becomes just a casual moment between professionals, but everything is intimidating to FNGs.
“Sir,” we said in almost perfect unison.
Hitchcock was a good looking guy. Sandy blonde hair, the long build of a swimmer, and an easy self-assurance that was almost laconic. He seemed cool enough, to the extremely limited degree I knew him.
“FN Ken, FA Samuel,” he said. “Glad to see you keeping your fitness up. And good work helping your classmates with theirs.”
“Thank you, sir,” we said, again in near unison.
“Stay at the top of your class,” he said, “do things like this, you're going have opportunities after your 'A' School.”
“Aye, aye,” I said. Sam broke our synchronicity by saying “Thank you sir” again. Unimaginative.
The lieutenant fell silent for long enough that I tried to figure out how to peel away without seeming like we were trying to peel away. Then I saw him start to speak and stop, and I realized there was a purpose behind our meeting. Another block and he'd figured out how to say what was on his mind.
“Kenny, Sam,” he said. His use of our first names without ranks immediately caught our attention. “I frequent a certain club up the hill. Last weekend so did you two.”
He was referring to a gay nightclub, obviously.
“Listen,” he said, “I'm not going to try to chase you away from each other. It's different for us. Just be careful. You're smart, you've got your shit together, just... be careful.”
“Always,” I said.
“Yeah,” he said. “It helped me to realize I'm not alone. So now you know. You're not alone. There's not much we can do for each other, but if you find me on a weekend at that club, I'd be happy to offer whatever advice I can.”
And that, save a companionable nod, was that. He turned away at the next intersection. Sam and I ran in silence for a while.
Such things happened a few times while I was in uniform. Hell, I did it a few times myself. It feels like a spy giving up his or her cover identity, but the only thing you really need to know is whether the person you're talking to is a ball of self-destruction. If they're not, community is good. Now that acceptance is a thing I'll be curious to see the percentage of queer people in the service. My money is on higher than the broader population.
“Hey, Kenny,” said Sam after a while.
“Not sure,” he said, “but I think Lieutenant Hitchcock's a fag.”
“Ass,” I said, duly laughing.
“We gotta break up,” he said. “He's way hotter than you.”
“Oh, please,” I said. “I'm much hotter than him. And he doesn't want some big brother who's gotta top every night. We break up that shit's gonna backfire on you.”
“Prob'ly,” he said with a laugh. “Maybe we can share.”
“I'm down,” I said. “Maybe he was offering advice on how to run a threesome with military efficiency.”
“Can't hurt to ask.”
“Probably can, actually,” I said with a laugh. We ran another couple minutes in silence.
“I don't have to top all
the time,” Sam said. I laughed at the defensive tone.
“Ain't a thing, big fella,” I said. “I enjoy it.”
“Don't make you feel...” His voice trailed off.
“Weak? Submissive? Insert simultaneously misogynist and homophobic slur here?”
“Yeah,” he said. “That.”
“Look,” I said, “normally I reject labels and roles. But since it's just us girls: Out here I may run your shit, but in the bedroom I'm definitely the bottom in this relationship. I fuck you sometimes, but it's what, four to one? Five?”
“Nights?” he said. “Or... um... fuckings? You fuck me like once a week, I guess? But you count weekends, I gotta be working that ass better'n once a day. Count it by fuckings it's gotta be ten to one.”
“And if there's a blowjob,” I said, “all by itself, not part of greater festivities, I'm probably giving it.”
“Now I feel selfish,” he said.
“No no,” I said. “Not where I'm going at all. I am entirely happy with our sex life. Sucking your cock turns me on no end. Getting fucked is awesome. And I always get mine in the end. No pun intended. Really, I'm completely happy.”
“Okay,” he said.
“To these homophobic fuckers being a fag is weakness. And being the fag that gets fucked is the ultimate
weakness. It's why being the class leader amuses me so much. They could never knowingly put a sissy faggot in charge of real
“Yeah,” he said, maybe a little sadly.
“Chin up, lover mine,” I said with a smile. “The point I'm making is that there's no weakness here. At all. None. None of the scared punks has the strength to be you or me or Hitchcock. We're the Sacred Band, they're just the phalanx. I love knowing that while I'm beating them at all the shit they consider manly, I'm doing the thing they consider most unmanly.”
“You are one contrary motherfucker. And you sure do think a lot.”
“Guilty. On both counts.”
“Ken,” he said, “I just don't want to make you feel... less,
“I am less than no one, my love,” I said. “And we just tripped into some shit you
need to think about.”
“Yeah,” he said after a few strides. “Maybe.”
“Look,” I said. “Sexual roles don't define shit outside the bedroom. And if you find yourself worried about your pretty little twink boyfriend's relative manhood, minuteman...”
“And here I was gonna catch tonight,” he said. “Now I gotta fuck you within an inch of your life.”
“You'd better, bitch,” I said. Sam nodded and grinned and I could feel his tension leave. He believed me.
“For the record,” he said, “I ain't anywhere near as strong as you. Don't even argue tonight, pretty little twink. Let's get back to the room so I can fuck your cute ass.”
Sam's determination to work on his sexual stamina had given our nights a certain form: First he got off. He knew it was easier to last the second time, so he basically took a mulligan every night. Second, edge play. He lasted a hell of a lot longer if he'd been to the edge of orgasm and pulled back at least once. Doesn't work for me, if I get close and pull back it makes me quicker the next time. But not Sam.
I flopped down on the couch after we showered, expecting some making out to start the festivities. Sam had other ideas. He just dropped his towel and stepped up onto the couch, feet on either side of me and hands against the wall. His cock bumped my face.
“Hear this turns you on no end,” he said.
“You needed to hear it?” I said.
“Shut up and suck, pretty twink,” he said with an affectionate smile that was entirely at odds with what happened next.
I didn't suck him. I got my face fucked. He wasn't completely erect when he first slipped into my mouth, and I had time to enjoy feeling his cock swell pretty quickly to full weapon status. Then it got rough.
It took maybe ten strokes for his cock to get all the way down my throat. The first time he bottomed out he immediately drew all the way back until just his head was in my mouth, let me lick and suckle at it for a second, then pushed all the way back in. Within a couple minutes we had a pattern: Deep throat for a few strokes, pull back, a few more strokes, pull back, repeat, repeat, repeat.
I loved it. The slickness of the head of his cock between my lips, the stretching of my jaw every time he went in, the taste of his pre-cum, and most of all his assertiveness. He went so hard his balls slapped my chin each time he bottomed out.
And I loved him for the fact that he just couldn't make himself be rough the whole time. When he got close he dropped a hand to my head, gently caressing even as he pumped. And his dirty talk, as ever, ran to “oh baby that's so good” rather than “yeah, suck it, bitch.”
When he came it was with just the head in my mouth, my lips stroking the first couple inches of his cock. His orgasm was as big as ever. I swallowed enough times for it to qualify as a drink.
“Jesus, man,” I said as he sank down astride my lap. “You're like a dietary supplement.”
“Is it wrong,” he said with a grin, “that I'm proud of that?”
“Whatever floats your boat, goofball,” I said.
He barely made a pit stop for kissing on his way down my body. Five minutes after he finished in my mouth I was deep in his. Sam was so comically competitive that the fact that I could take him all the way in my throat drove him to choke himself on my cock for an entire evening, absolutely determined to overcome his gag reflex. He did it, eventually. And then it was a feature. I had to grab his head sometimes to remind him that it's not the only
thing that's fun about oral.
Tonight he had a purpose. He sucked me until I got close, then dropped my cock out of his mouth and moved down. I thought he was just out to prolong it, but he grinned up at me, grabbed my legs, and tugged me to the very edge of the seat.
“Pick your legs up,” he said. This was new.
There are a lot of nerve endings around the back door. I'd never been licked back there in more than a passing way. Sam quickly had me squirming.
“Oh my god, Sam,” I said. “That's fucking fantastic.”
He grinned and shifted his arm around until he managed to grab my cock with his face still in my ass.
“Don't cum,” he said. “Warn me when you get close.”
He stayed at it until he drove me nuts. Ass, cock, ass, cock, he had oral sex ADD. He'd blow me until I got close then leave my cock alone completely while he licked me, then he'd suck me with one long finger up my ass until I was close again.
I was surprised when he stopped, but only for a moment. The protest died on my lips.
“Refractory period passed?” I said as Sam rose up onto his knees and rubbed his cock against mine. There was something menacing about his smile as he lubed himself.
The first penetration was amazingly intense. Every nerve ending was on high alert. It was the sensation I knew, but more so. And Sam knew it, his smile was positively smug.
“Yeah,” he said, “I'll be doing that again.”
“Damn right you will,” I said.
“Hush,” he said, grinning again. “You can tell me what to do out there. And that's fine. But tonight you take the dickin' I give you and you say thank you.”
“Aye, aye,” I said, returning the grin. Sam leaned down for a kiss, his cock moving very slowly inside me.
Usually our fucking started slow and quickly built to a frenzy, but this time he just kept moving at the same languid rhythm. Like he had a very lazy metronome in his head. And it just slowly, relentlessly drove me higher and higher. Slowly, slowly, his bare skin against mine. At first I was mad for him to go faster, but after a while all I wanted was for it to go on all night.
Which was, of course, no part of his intention. He stopped, all the way inside me, and leaned down to kiss me for a long time. He still had the smug little smirk on his face, and I knew damn well he was just getting himself to the place where he wouldn't be in danger of popping too soon.
“You know,” I said, “sex with you is like football in high school. Gotta go through warm ups first, do some drills, hear a fucking speech, pop each other a couple times to get in the mood... then maybe, if you're lucky, you get to the game.”
“And then,” he said, “you got some little fucker talkin' shit, lookin' to get his ass kicked.”
“Or fucked, as it were.”
He laughed, pulled out of me, and stood up.
“Yeah,” he said. “You're gonna want to pull a mattress on the floor. Face down, motherfucker, your ass is getting wore the fuck out.”
I love intimacy and connection and tender lovemaking, but there's something to be said for getting absolutely railed. Sam's cock felt huge penetrating me from behind, and this time there was nothing slow or gentle about it. Within minutes he was fucking me so hard I was a little worried the sound of flesh coming together would carry out of our room. And within a few more minutes, I didn't even care.
We fucked all over the room. Sam kept pulling out to cool down, and every time we got back at it we were in a different spot. The beds, the couch, the floor, bent over a desk, at one point I was halfway under
And even after we finished- twice, in my case, once with Sam's hand stroking me in time with his thrusts and another in his mouth while he cooled off- we weren't finished. He walked back into the room after a second shower, dropped his towel, and unceremoniously sat himself astride my chest as I lay on my rack. His cock was completely erect again and suddenly the only thing I could see.
“Fuckin' thing won't leave me alone,” he said.
” I said. “Seems to be me that gets to deal with it.”
“Well,” he said, “it was thinkin' of you that got it this way. So shut up and deal. Start with my balls.”
We really weren't getting a lot of sleep. I made that point to Sam when he finally settled down to spoon me, which was the only way we could share a rack.
“You know,” I said, “I'd heard the Navy runs on fuel oil and coffee. I just didn't know the coffee was on account of all the dick.”
“Yeah, man,” he said. “They had to give up rum and the lash, but sodomy is alive and well.”
“Good to know. Suddenly I have high hopes for my career.”
“Slut,” he said with a sleepy chuckle. “You'll be an admiral at twenty five.”
“Boy's gotta use what he's got, sweetheart,” I said. Sam may not even have been awake to hear it.
*** Notes: Really liked how the first story turned out and I seem to be writing two more stories about these characters, so let's get to know them a little. Wrote some character exploration, wrote a sex scene, bolted them together, hope you enjoy.
This story is protected by International Copyright Law, by the author, all rights reserved. If found posted anywhere other than Lushstories.com
with this note attached, it has been posted without my permission.
<a href="http://www.lushstories.com/stories/gay-male/samuel-pt-4.aspx">Samuel, Pt. 4</a>