Back to Basics

It's been awhile since I have gotten down to what most people want to read: sex. Hardcore, unadulterated, talking-about-plowing-boy-hole, hot fucking, dirty, sex.

Far too long.

Anyway, this is about my life, in and out of bed, and sometimes that gets sidetracked. But. That also means I'm more than a bit behind in relating some of the guys I've gotten myself into.

Quite literally.

Let’s get started addressing that.

So, I found myself in a land far, far away, about 36 hours after I was informed that I would be going on temporary duty to "assist" in a training exercise. Now, the training itself sucked monkey nuts. It was boring. I did very little, and most of the time even when I was needed, it involved very little actual participation. That's the fucking Army for you. Draw in people from all the services for 3+ weeks of fun when in reality we could have done it in 3 days. Fun.

So beyond the fact that I got to spend time in a tent, where it was hot as balls and the locale smelt of kimchee, I had a semi decent time. I got to do a lot of reading, which I enjoy. I got to meet some cool guys. Most importantly, I worked on improving my inter-service relationships.

Three relationships, in fact.

Ever since Top Gun came out, the thought of having sex with a hot, cocky, swaggering fighter jock loomed large in just about EVERYONE's mind, to some degree. Men, women, whatever. You go to Pensacola, Panama City, anywhere where there is training and/or bases for pilots and you can can witness this first hand.

Trust me, I'm certainly not immune to this fantasy either.

Imagine, however, if you have one such swaggering, insanely hot, Tom-Cruise-would-mortgage-his-scientologist-soul-to-look-this-good pilot who is stuck in a tent with you for three weeks. Further imagine that the latrine, shower, and sleeping facilities are all open; no dividers, no privacy, no surprises. Everything is seen.

That is the position I found myself to be in.

Thank. God.

After the third day of living together, even in a 23 man tent, I knew my hot pilot was a fag. Call me crazy, but the fact that he spouted a very obvious, and rather nice, tent in his PT shorts the first time I stripped naked in front of him may have clued me in. That, and the fact that somehow from then on he always managed to be at the showers at the exact same time as me.

I was showering three times a day.

Hmmm.

Josh. What a stud! Blond hair, 5'10" (he claimed 6', but there is no way in hell), and a solid 175 pounds of utter cockiness. His eyes weren't blue, which you would assume for his coloring of hair and skin, but rather a grayish green that seemed to change colors, very noticeable and very VERY hot. The man looked like he'd been a gymnast at the Academy, if he had told me he was, I'd have believed him. His abs were popped, his arms defined, and he had an ass on him that could quite easily de-shell a pistachio in half a second or less. Capped with a quite nice 7.5" or so cut cock, he was a looker.

And he knew it.

Fortunately, he was also horny as fuck, and wanted dick. Judging by the way he followed me around like a lost puppy, chatting me up in that cute, adoring little-brother way every second I was within eyeshot, it gradually came to dawn on me who he wanted it from. I mean, you beat me over the head with a bat often enough and eventually I get the point.

No, I knew after about 30 seconds with the stud he was a 'mo. About 2 minutes past that, I knew he was a bottom. The problem as those first few days went by wasn't getting him into bed; it was, quite literally, FINDING a bed. As I've said, there was no privacy anywhere, no dividers, no way to get a hot piece of ass unseen. The exercise was on 24 hour operations, split into Gold (day) and Black (night) shifts. There was never a time you could find a quiet corner somewhere and pillage some hot hole.

It took me a few days to get my bearings of the cantonment, see what I could/couldn't get away with, and get the schedule for the exercise down.

Once I managed that and I knew the When, and I definitely knew the Who, What and Why, all I needed was a Where.

That was the problem.

No matter how hard I tried, I couldn't find a building I could get into where I could pork Josh. Short of an out-of-the-way porta-jon, there were no options. And the porta-jon, in my mind, was NO option; even I have some standards.

Between the jetlag (Seattle is 16 hours behind where I was), the fact that my shifts had changed, from Black to Gold, and the damn heat, I wasn't sleeping phenomenally well. I woke up on the fourth night at about 0330 and couldn't go back to sleep. After laying there in the dark, trying to drown the snores from the cot next to me, I finally got up, pulled on my shoes, reflective belt (it's a military thing), shirt and went out for a run. I figured I would sweat a bit less in the early morning.

Hah. I wish.

It was still humid as hell, and after about the fourth mile I was just as sweaty as when I ran during the day. At least it wasn't miserably hot, though.

As I approached the turn around point, I noticed my shoelace was untied and stopped to tie it. I looked up and was surprised by the amount of stars that I could see. It was dark; very, very dark. Looking around, I realized there was nothing around me, I was out in the middle of nowhere.

It hit me.

I tied my shoe, and ran like hell back to the LSA. I grabbed my shower kit, towel, shower shoes, and headed up to the bathhouse, whistling the whole way.

I'm glad that only a few of the natives were there, more so that I could claim not to understand them, because I was happy as a clam and sporting a semi the whole time I was in the shower. Let me tell you; 9" of cock at half mast is rather noticeable, and it made for a great deal of talking and pointing.

I saw Josh at lunch. He came over, flashed his bright white smile and launched into such a rapidly eager conversation I could only sit there amused and nod occasionally when he paused. The fact that I was rubbing my bulge under the table and imagining his thighs clamped down around my waist wasn't helping my attention much, either.

Coming back to reality, I cleared my throat and he lapsed into silence, looking at me expectantly. I told him about this morning, that I couldn't sleep and decided to go on a run. I mentioned how much nicer it was running in the cool morning, even if it was still humid. He nodded, and said he could understand that. Smiling, I set the hook.

"Well, awesome bro. I was hoping you would be interested in running with me. You know, it can be so much better doing it with a partner," I told him, huge grin on my face.

For a second, his face was blank. A microsecond. The next moment, he looked like he'd just been told he was the newest $324 million Powerball winner.

"Mike, that'd be fucking awesome! I need to improve my run time (doubtful), and I bet there are all sorts of...techniques... you can teach me," he said.

The fact that he reached down and casually rubbed at the crotch of his flight suit showed he wasn't hoping for pointers on his running technique.

I smiled back and just said, "Josh; be ready to learn more than you bargained for."

With that last rejoinder, I grabbed my tray, and left the mess tent before he could say another word. I wanted the cocky little slut to be panting, eager and ready for my rod.

I avoided him the rest of the day. When I saw him coming, I'd duck away, or launch into a conversation he couldn't intrude into. I could tell as the end of the shift came he was bursting with impatience and frustration. Just as I wanted.

Shifts were 12 hours, running from midnight to noon, noon to midnight. As I left the security checkpoint following the end of our shift, I heard a shout of "wait up" behind me.

I didn't.

Within seconds, I heard the pounding of boots on pavement pursuing me and finally a panting, flustered, bitchy pilot was walking beside me.

"Dude. What the fuck. You've been avoiding me all day. That’s fuc-"

He didn't get any further.

I spun to the side, grabbed him hard by both biceps, lifted him up off the ground and mashed my lips against his. It was risky; we were on the road going back to the LSA where anyone could see, but it was midnight and we were alone. Either way, I kissed him, tongue flicking his, mouth demanding, searching, grasping, devouring everything he had. He melted, going boneless, as I held him there, suspended above the ground. Only seconds, but feeling like hours, and I pulled back and set him down. He staggered. Turning, I resumed walking back to the tents.

After standing there for a minute, dazed, he caught back up.

"Um. Wow. So. Mike. You're..."

I laughed. "Yes, Josh, I like guys. Which you knew. Stop acting surprised and get ready for what’s coming," I told him.

"No, no, no," he quickly said, "What I was trying to say is that you are a fucking AMAZING kisser. Holy fuck, I've never felt anything like that before!"

I paused for a second, stopping again in the middle of the road. I looked at him, blond hair glinting slightly in the crescent moon light, teeth flashing in his grin. I looked down and noticed not only was he tenting, his flight suit sticking out noticeably as he stood there, but there was a spreading wetspot from his precum.

"Just wait for tonight, Josh. You'll see."

We kept walking back to the tents.

"Mike, I know you were thinking about 0330, but wouldn't it make more sense to go now? We could go on our... run, shower, then go to bed without having an interrupted nights sleep."

Thinking about that, I looked over at him and smiled. "You really want my fucking cock up your hole right now, don't you, you fucking slut?"

He didn't even hesitate.

"Yes. Fucking goddamn YES," he said.

Heh.

"Alright, fighter jock, lets go get changed."

I think you know what happened next.

~Mike

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