It's ironic what goes through your mind when you're in your room, on your back, ten inches of anthracite coal pistoning up your butt. Your roommate is running the railroad, Casey Jones getting old number 382 running down the tracks, heading to the depot.

Charge: Violation of Uniform Code of Military Justice, Conduct Unbecoming. In that Lieutenant Anthony "Binky" Rasmussen was observed on his back, legs spread, arms embracing Lieutenant Luther "Sixpack" Parker as Lt. Parker was fucking Lt. Rasmussen with his ten inch big black cock. Lt. Rasmussen was moaning like a Navy wife whose husband had just returned from deployment and was catching up on missed pussy.

How did I get here? Well, it's quite a story.

I checked into the squadron (which will remain nameless, to protect the guilty) at the end of their deployment. That's when people transfer out and their replacements transfer in. A week later, Luther Parker also reported. Since he was a pilot and I was a WSO (Weapons System Officer, or Wizzo), the Ops boss crewed us up. And, since we were both bachelors, he arranged for us to share a two-man room in the Bachelor Officer's Quarters. It was during our squadron orientation that we acquired our military call signs.

Luther was pretty well put together and had an impressive physique when he was shirtless. Hence, "Sixpack." Me? I had kicked a smoking habit I had since before high school by changing Charms lollypops for cigarettes, a different habit I had today. So, did they call me "Charms?" Oh, hell no. What do you give a baby to satisfy its sucking reflex? That's right, a binkie. And so I became "Binkie."

Thus began our tour. Since we were a crew and lived together, we did everything together. Got up about the same time, ate together, went to the squadron spaces together. Most of his training was on flying the airplane, while mine focused on systems operation. But we came together as a crew in the flight simulator and during training flights. We became closer than brothers. And that may have been behind what was to come.

We were both runners, and afternoons after work hours and before dinner we would run. Four or five miles, daily. Afterwards, time to cool down and shower. Luther was "comfortable in his own skin;" he would strip down and lounge sitting on a towel to avoid staining the furniture. That old wives' tale about black men's endowment? For him, true. Me? A little more modest, either wrapping a towel around my waist or a pair of cotton shorts. After a half hour or so, through the shower and off to dinner. Most evenings, we studied flight manuals and other technical data to prepare for the next day's training. Again, very casual clothes. Luther wore some type of tee shirt, boxer shorts and boat shoes. I wore a tee shirt with my cotton Navy shorts and slippers.

Our training required we know much of the other's duties. In case of an in-flight emergency, we had to work together to keep the jet in the air. We would quiz each other on different scenarios to ensure we approached the solution according to established procedures. Sometimes, when we differed, it got animated. Aviators do as much flying with their hands as they do in their airplanes, and sometimes we were dogfighting around the room. Either he or I would crash our plane into the other's, which set off a bout of wrestling. Luther was much stronger than me, so I had to use my quickness to elude his grasp. But he was wily, and would maneuver me into a corner where he would pick me up, spin me around, and toss me onto my bed.

One night, when he tossed me, I had my arm around his neck and pulled him down with me. I landed on the mattress on my back, and he landed full weight, on top of me. It knocked the wind out of me, and I lay there, trying to breathe with his 220 pounds pressing against my chest, making it difficult. His eyes met mine, his look impassive. I was panting softly, lips slightly open, trying to regain my breath. I slowly removed my arm from his neck. "If you were to get up, I might breathe again."

His lips curled into a tight smile. He used his arms to push his torso from mine, holding his pelvis to me. My legs had spread and his were inside. He slid his pelvis slightly side to side as he shifted to get up. I could feel his cock against me, and even flaccid, it was massive. Then he was up, moving back to his desk, picking up his flight manual and resuming where we had left off.

That's when I started to remember different events, coming together. How he would lean over my shoulder, massaging my neck while commenting on something I was reading. Our room wasn't all that large, and I just thought it was because of his size that he seemed to brush against me quite a lot. And after running or after showering, he seemed to spend a lot of time sitting in his chair, on his towel, his cock hanging down. While sitting, he would lift his testicles and wipe underneath with a washcloth. He kept his pubic hair trimmed and would scratch the area, making his genitalia bounce. And it was a train wreck, I couldn't look away. A few times I asked him to be more modest, and he would for a few days, but soon he was back to the old ways. And he knew I was looking. He was putting on a show for me.

The day it began, we had just returned from a two-week training detachment to the desert. Simulated combat conditions. A lot of flying, not much sleep. But Luther and I had made history.

If you follow Star Trek, you know of the Kobayashi Maru test, designed as unwinnable, used ostensibly to evaluate a student's command capabilities in a stressful situation. When Captain Kirk was a cadet, he recognized it was unwinnable, and cheated to defeat it. The Air Force had done the same thing with a surface-to-air site that we were supposed to neutralize. There was no way to hit it without being detected and falling to their SAM missiles. When we debriefed with the rest of the squadron after the first attempt, we found they had successfully defended against all of our tactics. It was an unbeatable target. That's when I remembered the Kobayashi Maru test. That night, Luther and I plotted a strategy on how we would defeat them.

The next morning, we briefed and took off with a wingman. Halfway through the route, Luther radioed that we had a low oil pressure indication on the #2 engine and would be dropping out. The wingman acknowledged and continued the route. We descended to 500 feet and went feet wet to the west, about 20 miles over the ocean. We then climbed to 35,000 feet and programmed our transponder to simulate a French Polynesian airliner. The FAA tower asked where we had come from. Luther told them we had transponder and radio#1 problems, turning it on and off again, and that French Polynesia departure must have misfiled our flight plan. While this furball was being sorted out, we were approaching the radar site. The tower kept attempting to steer us away, but Luther turned the transponder off and kept clicking the radio. We were two miles out at 350 knots when we struck.

Luther lit the candles (afterburners), pushed the nose over and began the run on the site. By the time they figured out that we weren't a French Polynesian DC-8, we were laying twelve practice bombs in the target circle. Luther did a four-G pullout, a victory roll, and we lit out for home.

Then the poop, as they say, moved bodaciously through the prop.

They may not have known who we were going in, but they sure as hell knew us going away. By the time we taxied to the parking ramp, we had quite a reception committee. This was a joint operation headed up by a Navy vice-admiral and an Air Force lieutenant general (three star flag officers). The Admiral was there, as was our C.O. They said nothing, but I could tell by the look on their faces we just might have flown our last flight. They took us to the hangar, where we changed from our flight gear into khaki uniforms. Then it was off to the base commander's office, where the Air Force general and his staff were waiting for us.

Luther and I had agreed to admit nothing, and we stood at attention, while the Air Force general tore us up over our disregard for the rules and how our cheating cast dishonor on naval aviation in general and us in particular. He paused to take a breath when Luther broke in.

"Begging the general's pardon, but in what scenario would an attack on your site have succeeded?"

"You may shut the fuck up, Lieutenant. This isn't about my radar site, it's about your disregard for the rules, and cheating."

"Again, begging the general's pardon, but that is exactly my point. Your people designed this battle problem to be unbeatable. In essence, that also is cheating. We merely adjusted our tactics to overcome your scenario. Initiative to overcome an impossible situation."

The general's face turned so red I thought blood was going to start shooting out of his ears. He started sputtering, spittle shooting from his mouth. When his aide tried to lay a calming hand on his shoulder, it was slapped away.

Then the Admiral spoke. "Well, Deke," he said in his Alabama drawl, "it looks like you have met your match. I've waited for a while now for someone to recognize your trap and beat it. And these are the boys who did it. Now maybe we can sit down together and come up with something that more closely resembles what they will see when they get out in the real world."

With that, the Admiral stood and marched out the door, followed by the C.O. "You boys come along," he called back to us.

Back at the hangar, the Admiral said, "Duke (the C.O.), I'm going to write these boys a letter of commendation. You put them in for air medals. And the lieutenant commander board meets in two months. You send me a special evaluation on each of them, for my endorsement, to get into their records before the board. They may be below zone, but by God, these are the type of men we need to lead our troops in battle, and I'm going to make Hong Kong sure they get that opportunity.

The flight back home was uneventful. After parking and filling out paperwork, we had the next three days off.

Back at the room, it was off with the uniforms and into the shower. First me, then Luther.

I was sitting at my desk wearing my Navy cotton shorts. Luther, wearing nothing at all, sauntered over to his locker and pulled out a $500.00 bottle of bourbon. He poured three fingers into two glasses, handing one to me. "Life's too short to drink cheap whiskey," he said. Lifting his glass, he said, "Here's to Captain James T. Kirk and his solution to an unsolvable problem."

"Here, here," I said. And drank.

"Here's to Vice Admiral "Magnolia" Smith, who recognizes superior aviator skill and leadership when he sees it."

"Here, here," I said. And drank.

Refilling our glasses, he continued. "Here's to those cheating motherfucking zoomie cock-suckers who thought they could outsmart the dynamic duo of "Sixpack" and "Binkie". "May their sperm be weak and their women ugly."

"Here, here," I said. And drank

"Here's to "Duke" Richards, the best God-damned C.O. of any squadron in the Navy. May his future be bright."

"Here, here," I said. And drank.

Refilling our glasses, he continued. "Here's to the future of Lieutenant Commander Luther "Sixpack" Parker and Lieutenant Commander Anthony "Binkie" Rasmussen, may it be limited only by their imagination."

"Here, here," I said. And drank.

"Here's to Naval Aviation. May you and I guide it into the future with our skill and leadership."

"Here, here," I said. And drank

That was a whole lot of "drank." I stood up, went to the head and pissed.

I came back, sat down and looked up at Luther. He had a glass in one hand and the bottle in the other, but he was looking intently at me, his eyes bright. "How you feeling, bro?"

'I'm pretty fucking lit. That there's some mighty potent hooch you got, pardner."

He set the glass and bottle down, came to me and, straddling me, sat on my lap. Placing his hands around my neck, he leaned forward and pressed his forehead against mine. Looking into my eyes, he whispered, "I've been thinking about your for a while now. You and those little lollypops. Maybe you want to try some black cock instead. Feel it stretch that sexy little mouth of yours?"

And then, his lips covered mine. His tongue worked against them, working its way inside.

My eyes flew open wide. I had never had a gay thought in my life, and now here I was, being kissed by another man.

And it was exciting. My mouth opened and my tongue greeted his. And I moaned. Like a little bitch, I moaned.

That's what he wanted to hear. His hands circled my neck, his mouth continued attacking mine, his tongue thick in my mouth.

Then he stood, his hands still on my neck, drawing me up, pulling me forward and down to kneel at his feet. His fingers intertwined in my hair, pulling me to where his erect cock brushed against my mouth. Beads of fluid formed at the slit in the tip, becoming rivulets that painted my lips.

He sat down, holding my face against his knob. "Lick it. Lick it. Taste me."

My eyes left his and moved to the impressive weapon before me. It looked big when I saw it as he walked the room naked. Kneeling at his feet with it fully erect and only inches from my face, it was massive. The fluid leaking out spread the slit wide. He moved my mouth against it, smearing more of his sticky fluid across my face. My tongue automatically extended, scooping the liquid, tasting it for the first time. There was a lot of it. Slightly sticky and salty, but not unpleasant.

"Ahh, that's good," Luther said. "That's the appetizer. Keep at it, there's sausage gravy coming."

I had never considered participating in gay sex, but here I was, sucking his cock like a Dairy Queen soda. His hands were on my head. And then it happened. "Look at me!" he commanded. My eyes met his as he grunted "Ugh, fuck yeah, it's chow time," and the first bolt of his semen burst into my mouth. Not a squirt, a solid stream.

My mouth was already full of his cock, so his ejaculate filled the spaces around it. His prostate must have been the size of a grapefruit. Already filled from the first shot, the second blew out my cheeks. I instinctively swallowed. Again. And again. Four swallows. Finally, he released my head and leaned back in the chair with a sigh. He pulled his cock from my mouth and it began to soften. A whiskey chaser took most of the taste away.

Having swallowed all he had to offer, I thought that was the end. Not so fast.

He stood up, retrieved a towel from the head, and laid it on his bed. He came back and lifted me to my feet. Our eyes met briefly before he moved forward again, his mouth descending on mine. This time, mine opened at the first request, my tongue greeting his. His arms encircled me, his hands on my ass, pulling me against him. I could feel his erection returning, trapped between us. My hands went to his head, holding it as we made out like a couple of horny high schoolers.

Then his hands went to the waistband of my shorts, pulling them down. He stood on them, and I stepped out of them as he maneuvered me to the bed.

He lay us on the bed, all the while locked in an embrace. I was now sober enough to understand where he was going, that this was the prelude to him fucking me. My mind was in a quandary. A blowjob was one thing, taking that battering ram up my exhaust pipe another. Was I ready for something like that? I wasn't sure.

I broke our kiss. "Luther, I don't know if I'm ready to do something like this."

With his lips against my ear, his soft voice was soothing. "It's okay, baby. You're going to love it. You aren't my first. All the others came back for more. Once I get your pussy opened up, you will too. Relax and let Daddy take care of you. Just let it happen."

Baby? Not his first? My pussy? Daddy?

"Luther, you're not gay, are you?"

"Oh hell no." He laughed. "But maybe you've noticed the lack of available women in the area. And the ones we've seen at the club, I wouldn't fuck them with YOUR dick. So I adjust to what's available."

I felt a finger rubbing against my anus. "Aaahhh," I moaned.

"Yeah, baby. You didn't know how good a touch to that little brown star could make you feel, did you? I'm going to show you a whole new world of pleasure. Let me work my magic."

With that, he rose to his knees and lifted my feet onto his shoulders. Then he retrieved a small blue bottle from his nightstand. Squirting a clear liquid from the bottle onto his fingers, he said, "Reach around and spread your cheeks for me. This stuff will show you a whole different level of pleasure."

As my hands reached down, I noticed for the first time that I didn't have an erection. Now that I thought about it, I hadn't had one all night. All this sex play, and I had stayed limp. Curious.

When his fingers made contact, I closed my eyes. The liquid was warm, with a pleasant scent. He used a finger to gently prod the opening, massaging it, gradually entering. More liquid, deeper penetration. An in and out (fucking?) and twisting motion. More liquid, deeper penetration. I felt his knuckles against me, his finger now all the way in. In and out, more twisting. I'm huffing now, a soft grunt when he penetrates, gasping when he retreats.

He withdraws. More liquid. Then he reenters-with two fingers. His fingers are large. I wince at the intrusion, but almost immediately he is beyond the muscle ring. And it's a full, deep penetration. His fingers curl, massaging my prostate. My soft penis begins to leak, that same clear fluid Luther's did, only much less. I'm having this pleasurable sensation now, quite different from those times when I fucked a woman. It's not centered on my cock. It's more like it's happening in my mind, spreading throughout my body. My bottom lip is caught between my teeth, my pelvis undulating with the rhythm of his hand. I moan "mmm" as he enters, "aaahhh" as he retreats.

He withdraws again. More liquid. Now it's three fingers. And they're not small. The rhythm is faster, his thrusts harder. The pressure on my prostate increases, pushing more fluid out and onto my stomach. My eyes remain closed, but I see sparklers, my skin tingles, my pelvis thrusting harder against his invading hand. The sensation continues, my senses mounting. I have never felt anything like this before.

Then he withdraws. He pulls a packet from his nightstand, tearing it open. It's a condom. He quickly rolls it on, covers it with the liquid from the bottle, and lines it up with my anus.

"Look at me, baby."

He began rubbing the head against my anus. "I want to see your eyes change when I bust your cherry. I'm going to fuck you with my big cock. And it's going to rock your world. When I'm done, you won't remember fucking a woman."

Then he began entry. His fingers had spread me open, but not quite wide enough to accommodate his girth. There was some discomfort, a few seconds of a burning feeling, and the head was in. After that, the rest easily followed.

I'm sure I registered shock at the initial penetration, but by the time he was fully seated, all I felt was stretched. Then he began to fuck me.

The same feeling I had before returned, only much more intense. He leaned forward, bending me at the waist, my feet near my head. He began kissing me again, not the soft romantic kisses of a lover, but the brutal, claiming kisses of the conqueror. And I willingly took them.

My hands returned to his head, holding it while our mouths devoured each other's. His hands returned to my ass, holding it as he fed me his cock.

His lips left mine, and he whispered into my ear. "I love this hot, tight pussy. I'm going to fuck it every day. You're going to be my Navy wife, sucking my cock, swallowing my cum, spreading your legs any time I want."

My mind exploded. I had an orgasm unlike any I had ever had before. Every muscle in my body contracted. I felt my prostate contract, not pulse. Semen flowed out in a steady stream.

Luther felt it, too. "That's it, cum for me, baby." He picked up speed. My orgasm intensified. Then he suddenly stopped, uttered, "Oh, fuck, yeah," and I could feel the pulsating convulsions of his cock against my anus as he filled the condom.

He sat up, dropping my feet from his shoulders. We both looked down as he withdrew his cock from my body. The tip looked like a water balloon, filled with his milky off-white semen.

The condom disappeared down the toilet. I used the towel to clean myself, tossing it into the hamper.

Afterwards, we lay together on his bed, my head on his shoulder, his arm around my neck, his fingers tweaking my nipple.

"I meant what I said. You need to decide to accept your new role, or we're going to have to split up."

I heard his words. Remembered the whole experience. Wondering which choice I would make, I dozed off.