Selasa, 28 Desember 2010

(Unfounded) Fears

of a Dry Spell

Uncle Sam sent me Greetings. Oh, shit! Not wanting to get embroiled in a very unpopular war, a cousin and I ran down to the Air Force recruiting office. Two weeks later, after standing in a long line of naked guys getting the standard ball check and “bend over and spread ‘em” we were off to boot camp. The most troubling issue for me, which I expressed to my cousin on the flight down there, was “What the fuck do we do when we get horny?” “I heard they put Saltpeter in the food; it keeps you from getting a hard-on.”

That first night, right after Sarge snapped the lights off and the room went pitch black, the rhythmic sounds and tiny squeaking of bed springs floated through the barracks. A few snickers. The bunk next to mine started up. Then a few more added to the chorus. A short while later sighs of satisfaction and the distinct aroma of cum was thick in the air. At 4a.m. the lights snapped on. 40 guys jumped out of bed, most with dried semen covering their torsos, and all of us running for the gang shower with our morning boners pointing the way. So much for Saltpeter. “Looks like you were wrong, cuz.” “Yeah, thank God!”



Basic training was over. Tech school followed – and everyone took to hiding in the latrine stalls to surreptitiously relieve aching balls. Then my first assignment; my fears began anew. On the way to the base I wondered, “Now what? More hiding?” The barracks turned out to be more like college dorm rooms: Two guys to a room. Beds, lockers, dressers, and a sink. I got put in with a buck sergeant a few years older. He greeted me wearing nothing but a smile, pointed to the bunk, locker and dresser I would use. I dumped my stuff and pulled my dop kit and a towel to head down to the latrine to shower. “It’s a lot easier to just undress here. Guys walk the hall naked all the time. No big deal.” I followed instructions. When I returned to the room, he was stretched out on his bed, slowly stroking his hard-on while he browsed through a porn magazine. I tried to reign in my surprise too late. “Hey, if this bothers you, go down to the day room for an hour every night.” “Nah, it’s okay. I shared a room with my brother.” “Bottom drawer under my locker – help yourself to a magazine if you want.” I hung my towel, put my stuff away with a smile of relief and did as he suggested. I got comfortable and he tossed a bottle of lube over to me. “You gotta buy the next bottle.” “Okay.” When he came, he pushed his hips high into the air, groaned and soaked his upper body. He slowly rubbed it into his skin and watched me until I shot. We tossed the magazines to the floor between our bunks, he flipped off the light and we slept like babies.



A couple weeks later, I began to notice his eyes were on me more than his porn. I smiled at him; he closed the mag and stood up. I stood up to face him. He threw a towel down and used his foot to wipe our cum off the floor. We hit our bunks, he flipped off the light and we went to sleep without a word. Several nights later, standing and stroking, he reached out and cupped my balls and our mutual jacking began.



A few weeks after that, on a Friday night, he invited me to a party up on the third floor. We walked in and 6 guys were sitting around drinking beer and talking. We all recognized one another. A projector was loaded with a reel and pointed at one wall. Somebody tossed me a beer and I joined the conversation. 15 minutes later the door got locked, the light went off, the projector started. In the flickering light I saw guys groping their crotches. It wasn’t long before cocks were unleashed and clothes got strewn on the floor. A hand wrapped around my hard dick and began stroking. Holy crap! an honest-to-God circle jerk. Needless to say, the experience was mind-blowing. 8 guys fondling each other’s cocks, kneading balls, whacking off and shooting hot, thick loads everywhere. I became a regular invitee to the monthly events.



When the warm weather rolled in, a guy asked if I liked to tan in the buff. It’s important to note he was not one of the group. We went up to the flat roof of the barracks. Several old, stained mattresses were leaned against the parapet, loosely covered in plastic tarps to protect against rain and bird shit. We pulled two, stripped, and sat down. And – as always happens with guys – when we slathered on tanning lotion, we both got raging hard-on’s. He looked at mine, I looked at his; we both shrugged and went for it.



Between this guy, my bunkmate, and the monthly jerk-off sessions with the group, I was one happy, busy bator.

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