Aaron Finds Out

Note to all Navy personnel: I have nothing but the utmost respect for you. All people and acts portrayed herein are purely fictitious and never happened as far as I know.

Note to Everyone Else: This is my first attempt at such writing, so any constructive criticism is appreciated. I may write a follow-up based on reader replies, so please feel free to write in.

Vocabulary

ASMO - Essentially, getting kicked out of the Navy.

Head - Bathroom

PT - Physical Training

RDC - Recruit Division Commander

Watch - A shift (in this case, two hours), during which a recruit "guards" a place against intruders.

*

Aaron snapped awake, his dream scattering like dust in the wind, leaving him alone with a raging hardon that demanded his attention. For a moment, he didn't know where he was. Then he saw the racks, felt the uncomfortable desk, and it came to him.

He reached down and unselfconsciously massaged himself through his utility pants. Still waking, he surveyed the drab cinderblock walls, somehow made even more depressing by the uniform white paint. Undoubtedly it had been a punishment for some poor recruit.

Speaking of punishment...he discreetly looked around. No one here - that was good. He shouldn't have been sleeping, of course - he had the head watch. ..The punishment head watch. For three days in a row, he had been caught talking at the worst possible times. Every time he had earned head watch.

For those of you unfamiliar with Navy boot camp and its lovable quirks, recruits must stand guard throughout the night. Some divisions require it around the clock, but this division was too new for that. Thus, it was Aaron's job to guard the head against intruders...

Aaron checked the clock. It was 0102 - he had 43 minutes left. By the sound of it, no one was awake except the roving and aft watches. Given the fact that he hadn't awoken to shouts and a heavy workout, petty officer Kline was probably asleep.

He studied the watch bill, torn. On one hand, he had an RDC that could show up any time. On the other, (or rather, inside - he was cupping and pressing, cupping and pressing...) was his cock, so hard that it hurt, reminding him that it had been two weeks since he had cum.

That had been in his own hand, pants puddled around his ankles, hot jizz dripping through his fingers to the hardwood floor below the computer. He had been chatting with Amy over the internet. She was hotter than hell, and even lived in his town. Though they had done almost everything in cyberspace, she refused to meet him in person, or even over the phone. Of course, that had still been incredible - Amy was wonderfully gifted with writing and photography...

Anyway, she was far behind him. He had signed up for the Navy and wouldn't be back for at least six years. He had joined as a nuke, and thus had to serve two more years due to extensive training.

He pressed his hard cock once more, stifling the urge to moan - the noise would be deafening in the silence. He checked the clock once more and slowly eased out of his desk (almost identical to the ones from his high school). He slowly pushed open the door to the head, holding it as it closed to prevent more noise.

The smell of many men and not enough disinfectant assaulted him, and he grimaced as he worked back to the second-to-last stall. He brushed aside the yellow-beige shower curtain (no doors for recruits...) with his left hand, his right fumbling with his belt.

He entered and managed to undo the plain black belt, closing the curtains as he did so. He had just enough time to see that the shower area was wet - the head crew must have been slacking off today.

Those shower areas were really something - once per day, each side of the compartment would funnel roughly 35 men through in 10 minutes. He had to laugh at the poor saps who came in at the end, who had to share showerheads or endure petty officer Kline's humiliating comments. His rack was at the very front, so he almost always got in first.

As he thought this, he unbuttoned his pants, pushed them down along with his PT shorts and briefs in one frantic motion. His cock, engorged bounced back up and slapped the front of his utility shirt, leaving a large drop of precum on the light blue fabric.

He sat heavily, all caution gone. He cupped the head of his cock in his right hand, letting the rough skin stimulate the circumcised tip. His hand glided down, gripping the shaft and thumbing the ridge just below his piss-hole. It seemed ridiculous, but he would have sworn his dick, a little over 7 inches when he left home, was larger now - extended quite a ways past his fist.

He started pumping his hand furiously, the noise loud and obvious in the echoey, fragrant room. Suddenly, he paused, his head cocked to the right. He had almost 40 minutes - why not make this good?

He leaned back against the ugly cinderblock wall and worked his saliva up. After a few seconds, he leaned forward and spat directly on the head of his cock. Slowly, ever so slowly, he started massaging it in small clock-wise motions with his thumb.

Oh, it was heavenly!

His mind conjured Amy, with her exploratory nature. At first it had been normal, though highly stimulating cybersex. She had just the right words, and always seemed to know how he was feeling and what he wanted.

Then it had started to turn kinky. Not that either of them was bored, but it doubled, trebled the pleasure. It also banished any thought that she might not be from his town - one of the first diversions was sex on the riverbank of a local park. At one point in the session, an old man, certainly no younger than 50, had noticed them. In short order, he was working his thick, veiny, uncircumcised cock. About midway through the proceedings, he had cum large, ropey strands on the rocks, knees almost buckling.

At first, Aaron had regarded these with some dismay - Amy had to calm him down a bit to get him to finish that session involving the elderly man. Eventually though, he came to see it as a way to show off - the man might only be imaginary, but if his presence could evoke such strong feelings of discomfort, it could also summon feelings of pride, both of his partner and of his performance. It brought his writing and visualizing skills to whole new planes as he tried to impress people who didn't even exist.

By this time, he was getting close. He had switched some time ago to more conventional jerking off, breath coming in short, shallow gasps. That was when he saw it.

A tiny bit of black sticking out from behind the divider of this stall and the last. No recruit would have the energy to fight with the boots to go the head in the night - he would just wear his PT shoes. That left one person. Immediately his hand stopped, and all arousal left him.

He had no more than registered this thought when the shower curtain was ripped aside and a deceptively calm voice asked, "What are you doing, recruit?"

At first, Aaron didn't even understand - he'd never heard the petty officer speak in a normal tone of voice, and it was like watching a foreign film without subtitles. He just stared, dumbfounded.

Petty officer Kline stepped forward, halfway in the stall now. In a much sharper, slightly louder tone, he said, "I asked you what you're doing, recruit!"

"Uh, petty off-"

"You stand at attention when you address a petty officer, recruit!" All hint of calm was gone - this was the voice with which he had commanded thousands of men throughout his career.

Aaron stood, heels clicking together (he flinched - the petty officer hated that), hands at the place the seams of his utility pants should have been. "I was...using the head, petty officer."

The petty officer sneered, his eyes a cold blue which reflected only disgust for those around him. In his former cold, low voice, he said "I can see that, recruit. Are you paid to jack off and let enemies in the head?"

"No petty officer."

"Then don't do it!"

"Aye aye, petty officer!"

The petty officer asked, without batting an eye, "What were you thinking about?"

...Later, Aaron would attribute this response to too little sleep, too much tension, and having followed too many orders without thought. As it was, he had to live with it for the rest of his time in boot camp.

"Sex in the park with old men, petty...offi...cer." Aaron slowed as he heard what he was saying, and had just about enough time think that he wished he had actually had sex with a girl before he died when the petty officer put a hand on his right shoulder.

"Sit down, recruit." He gave him a little help, pushing him down. Aaron sat once more, feeling the cold sweat from his last endeavor on the seat below.

"Listen up recruit, because I'm only going to say this once. You have two options - I can ASMO you for homosexual admission, or I can make sure you're not going to harass any other recruit by making sure your homoerotic urges are kept down. Which would you prefer?"

That brought it home. "Please petty officer, I can't go home..."

Aaron lowered his eyes to his boots. He just knew the petty officer would demand a word for word answer - he always did, but this time the petty officer surprised him.

"Alright, recruit." There was the sound of metal jingling, and then a zipper.

Aaron brought his head back up in a hurry to say he wasn't gay, but found himself face to cock with the petty officer's thick member. Immediately, it struck him as exactly the way he had imagined the old man's cock. Dark bluish-purple veins were prominent on a thick, uncircumcised cock that bent slightly to the left.

He gasped, and the petty officer touched it to his lips, moving his hand from Aaron's shoulder to the back of his head. It brushed his lips and Aaron inhaled, smelling something warm and...indescribably male.

He started to say he wasn't gay, and got as far as "I-"

The petty officer pulled with his right hand and thrust with his cock, burying 6 inches of manhood in Aaron's face. Aaron's eyes bugged, and he instinctively exhaled as hard as he could to try to get this thing out of his throat.

"Oh, you are a pro, recruit." The petty officer withdrew slowly, letting Aaron taste that same male quality that escaped words. It seemed the same, even through different mediums of sense.

He plunged again, this time a full seven inches, his pubes brushing Aaron's nose. Aaron inhaled once more, and realized something.

He liked it.

He might not like the man, but he loved that taste, that smell that was all men. He immediately started trying to take more. The next time the petty officer pulled back, he grabbed the slick base of the cock with his right hand, and withdrew slightly. The petty officer seemed to know he was still in control, so he took his hand off the back of Aaron's head.

Aaron pulled back so that only the head was in his mouth. He flicked his tongue out, tracing the ridge as he had traced his own with his thumb.

The petty officer breathed out heavily, "You are a pro, recruit. How long you been sucking cock?" Aaron made some noncommittal sound around the mass of meat in his mouth, and proceeded to bury the fuckmeat to the point where his nose was pressing into the petty officer's skin.

He withdrew completely and addressed the balls. He took just a tiny bit of skin in at first, then one of the balls. For a time, he alternated, just enjoying that taste and smell.

He worked his way up, starting at the base of the cock, then taking the head once more. He picked up the pace, bobbing his head up and down, relishing the sensations. He hardly noticed the petty officer's hand creep back behind his head, settling on the gentle curve just above his neck.

His breath had become ragged, and when the petty officer thrust this time, he held Aaron's head in place.

Wet heat bloomed in Aaron's mouth, and a taste even better followed. He instinctively started swallowing this perfect substance. A tiny bit escaped him, dribbling out of the corner of his mouth, but nothing else. It seemed to last for hours. He came, shooting jets of cum up in the air. Some hit his utility shirt, some landed on his arm, and quite a bit more landed in his briefs and on his trouser legs.

Then it was over. The petty officer withdrew, his eyes cold again. He zipped his pants and buckled his belt. "You'll have watch again in two nights. We have to make sure you don't try anything with the other recruits." With that, he turned and left.

The taste remained in Aaron's mouth, a memory of that organ that would come to rule his life. And when that started to fade, he lapped it up from his arm, wiped it off his shirt and ate it. Last, and most satisfying of all, he lowered his head to his briefs, inhaling a shade of that scent and drinking of the liquid therein.

"What the fuck?"

Aaron jerked up and saw another recruit standing there, staring. Greyson, or something. He swallowed and quickly got out, leaving the recruit with stories to tell...

To Be Continued...